THE RESURRECTION by C. H. Spurgeon

Publishing Committee · Battle Creek, Mich. · Mar 5, 1861

THE RESURRECTION.

By C. H. Spurgeon

An extract from a sermon, delivered, April 1st, 1860, at Exeter Hall, London. BY C. H. SPURGEON.

So much upon this first point. But observe, while the identity is real, the transformation is glorious. The body here is mortal, always subject to decay. We dwell in a poor uncomfortable tent; continually is the canvas being rent, the cords are being pulled up. We are full of sufferings, and aches, and pains, which are but the premonitions of coming death. We all know, some by our decayed teeth, which are, as I said the other day, but the emblems of a decayed man : others by those grey hairs which are scattered here and there ; we all know that our bodies are so constituted that they cannot remain here except for a limited period, and they must—so God has willed it—return to their native dust. Not so however, the new body; "It is sown in corruption, it is raised in incorruption." It will be a body upon which the tooth of time can have no power, and into which the dart of death can never be thrust. Age shall roll after age, but that body shall exist in everlasting youth. It shall sing, but never shall its song be stayed by weakness ; there shall be no signs of mortality ; the shroud, the mattock, and the spade are never seen in heaven. Such a thing as an open grave shall never appear in the celestial king-

dom ; there they live, live, live, but never, never, never shall they die. See then, how different the body must be ; for as this body is constituted, every nerve and every bloodvessel tell me I must die. It cannot be otherwise. I must endure this stern decree, "Dust to dust, and earth to earth, ashes to ashes," but in heaven every nerve of the new body shall cry, "Immortality." Every part of that new frame shall speak for itself, and tell to the spirit that they are everlasting companions, married in eternal wedlock.

There shall be, moreover, a great change in the new body as to its beauty. "It is sown in dishonor ; it shall be raised in glory." The old metaphor employed by all preachers upon this doctrine must be used again. You see here a crawling caterpillar, a picture of yourself, a creature that eats and drinks, and may readily be trodden on. Wait a few weeks, that caterpillar shall spin a shroud, lie down, become inactive, and sleep. A picture of what you shall do. You must spin your winding-sheet and then be laid in the tomb. But wait awhile: when the warmth of the sun shall come, that apparently lifeless thing shall burst its sheath. The chrysalis shall fall off, and the insect fly forth equipped with glittering wings. Having arrived at its full state of perfection, the image, the very image of the creature shall be seen by us all dancing in sunbeams. So shall we after passing through the wormwood here to our chrysalis state in the grave, burst our coffins and mount aloft glorious winged creatures made like unto the angels;—the same creatures, but oh! so changed, so different, that we should scarce know our former selves if we could be able to meet them again after we have been glorified in heaven.

There shall be a change, then, in our form and nature. Old master Spenser, who was a rare hand at making metaphors, says, "The body here is like an old rusty piece of iron, but Death shall be the blacksmith ; he shall take it and he shall make it hot in the fire, until it shall sparkle and send forth burning heat, and look bright and shining." And so surely it is. We are thrust into the earth as into the fire, and there shall we be made to sparkle and shine, and to be full of radiance ; no more the rusty things that we once were, but fiery spirits, like the cherubim and the seraphim, we shall wear a power and a glory the like of which we have not even yet conceived.

Again, another transformation shall take place, namely, in power. "It is sown in weakness, it is raised in power." The same body that is weak, shall be raised in power. We are puny things here ; there is a limit to our labors, and our usefulness is straightened by reason of our inability to perform what we would. And oh, how weak we become when we die. A man must be carried by his own friends to his own grave : he cannot even lay himself down in his last resting-place. Passively he submits to be laid out, to be wrapped up in his winding-sheet, and to be shut up in the darkness of the grave. Silently, passively, he submits to be carried away with the pall covered over him, and to be put into the earth. The clods

are shoveled over him, but he knows it not, neither could he resist his burial if he were conscious of it. But that powerless body shall be raised in power. That was a fine idea of Martin Luther, which he borrowed from St. Anselm, that the saints shall be so strong when they are risen from the dead, that if they choose they could shake the world ; they could pull up islands by their roots, or hurl mountains into the air. Some modern writers, borrowing their ideas from Milton, where he speaks of the battles of the angels, where they plucked up the hills with all their shaggy loads, rivers and trees at once, and hurled them at the fallen spirits, have taught that we shall be clothed with gigantic force. I think if we do not go the length of the poets, we have every reason to believe that the power of the risen body will be utterly inconceivable. These, however, are but guesses at the truth ; this great mystery is yet beyond us. I believe that when I shall enter upon my new body, I shall be able to fly from one spot to another as swiftly as I will ; I shall be here and there, swift as the rays of light. From strength to strength, my spirit shall be able to leap onward to obey the behests of God ; upborn with wings of ether, it shall flash its way across that shoreless sea, and see the glory of God in all his works, and yet ever behold his face. For the eye shall then be strong enough to pierce through leagues of distance, and the memory shall never fail. The heart shall be able to love to fiery degree, and the head to comprehend right thoroughly. It doth not yet appear what we shall be. But brethren and sisters, to come back to reality, and leave fiction for a moment, though it doth not appear what we shall be, yet we know that when he shall appear, we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is. And do you know what we shall be like, if we shall be like him? Behold the picture of what Jesus Christ is like, and we shall be like him. "I saw," saith John, "one like unto the Son of man, clothed with a garment down to the feet, and girt about the paps with a golden girdle. His head and his hairs were white like wool, as white as snow ; and his eyes were as a flame of fire ; and his feet like unto fine brass, as if they burned in a furnace ; and his voice as the sound of many waters. And he had in his right hand seven stars, and out of his mouth went a sharp two-edged sword ; and his countenance was as the sun shineth in his strength. And when I saw him, I fell at his feet as dead." Such shall we be when we are like Christ. What tongue can tell, what soul can guess the glories, that surround the saints when they start from their beds of dust, and rise to immortality !

But now, to turn away from these, which I fear to very many of you are uninteresting particulars, let me give you one or two figures, which may show to you the change which shall take place in us on the day of resurrection.

Do you see yonder a beggar? He is picking rags from a dunghill ; he pulls out piece after piece from the heap of dust, as he uses his rake ; you may see the like any day, if you will go to those great dust-yards in Agar Town. There he pulls out piece after piece, and puts it in his basket.

What can be the value of those miserable rags? He takes them away, they are carried off, picked, sorted, rag to its own rag, like to like. By and by they are washed, they are put into the mill, they are beaten hard, they are smashed, they are ground to pulp ; and what is that I see just coming out of yonder mill? A clear white sheet without a stain ; and whence came this? "I am the son of the old rag," saith he, "nay I am the identical rag that was but a few hours ago picked from the dung-heap." Oh! strange ! Doth purity come out of impurity, and doth this beauty, this utility come out of that which was neither comely nor useful, but which men loathed, and cast away as a worthless thing? See here, brethren, the picture of yourselves ; your bodies are like rags, put away into this vast dung-hill earth, and there buried, but the angel shall come and sort you, body to its body, the righteous to the righteous and the wicked to the wicked, they shall come together, bone to his bone, and flesh to his flesh ; and what do I see? I behold a body like unto an angel, with eyes of fire, and a face like the brightness of the sun, and wings like lightening for swiftness. Whence art thou, thou bright spirit? I am he that was buried, I am that thing that once was worms' meat, but now I am glorious through the name of Jesus, and through the power of God. You have there before you a picture of the resurrection, a homely picture it is true, but one which may vividly convey the idea to homely minds.

To use yet a fresh figure, I see a beggar passing a rich man's door ; that poor wretch is covered with filth, his garments are hanging about him in pieces as if the wind would blow all away, and drive both man and garments amongst the rags upon the dunghill. How he shivers, how he seeks to pull about him that scant cloak which will not meet around his loins, and will not shield him from the blast. As for his shoes, they are indeed old and clouted, and all his garments are of such a sort that one never could know the original, for they have been mended and patched again. He is freely invited to come into the rich man's hall ; we will not tell you what is done in the meantime, but we shall see him come out of that door again, and would you know him? Would you believe that he is the same man? He has been washed and cleansed ; on his back there hangs the imperial purple, while on his head glitters a brilliant crown ; his feet are shod with silver, and on his hands there are rings of gold. About the paps he wears a golden girdle, and as he comes abroad bright spirits wait on him and do him honor ; angels wait to be his servants, and think it to be their highest pleasure to fly to do his will. Is this the same man, and is this the same dress? It is the same. By some marvelous might, rather by a divine energy, God has received this beggar, taken him into the inner chamber of the grave ; has washed him from all imperfections ; and now he comes out as one of the princes of the blood royal of heaven. And as is his nature, such is his apparel ; as is his dignity, such is his estate, and such the company of servants who wait upon him.

Not to multiply illustrations, we will use but one more. I see before me an old and battered cup, which many a black lip hath touched, out of which many a villain's throat has received moisture. It is battered and covered over with filth. Who could tell what metal it is? It is brought in and given to the silversmith ; he no sooner receives it than he begins to break it into pieces ; he dashes it into shivers again and again ; he pounds it until he has broken it, and then puts it into his fining pot and melts it. Now you begin to see it sparkle again, and by and by he beats it out and fashions it into a goodly chalice, out of which a king may drink. Is this the same? the very same thing. This glorious cup ; is this the old battered silver we saw just now? silver, did I say, it looked like battered filth.—Yes, it is the same, and we who are here below like vessels, alas ! too unfit for the Master's use ; vessels which have even given comfort to the evil ones, and helped to do the work of Satan, we shall be put into the furnace of the grave, and be there melted down and fused and fashioned into a glorious wine-cup that shall stand upon the banqueting table of the Son of God.

I have thus sought to illustrate the change, and now I will occupy your attention but one or two minutes on another thought which seems to lie within the range of my text. We have had the real identity under the glorious transformation. I bring you back to a thought kindred to the first. There will be in the bodies of the righteous an undoubted personality of character. If you sow barley, it will not produce wheat ; if you sow tares, they will not spring up in the form of rye. Every grain has its own peculiar form : God hath given to every seed his own body. So my brothers and sisters, there are differences among us here ; no two bodies are precisely alike : there are marks on our countenances, and in our bodily conformation, that show that we are different. We are of one blood, but not of one fashion. Well when we are put into the grave we shall crumble back, and come to the same elements ; but when we rise we shall every one of us rise diverse from the other. The body of Paul shall not produce a body precisely like Peter. Nor shall the flesh of Andrew bring forth a new body like that of the sons of Zebedee ; but to every seed his own body. In the case of our blessed Lord and Master, you will remember that when he rose himself from the dead, he preserved his personality ; there were still the wounds in his hands, and still there was the spear-mark in his side. I do not doubt that when he underwent his transfiguration, and at the time of his ascension up to heaven, he still retained the marks of his wounds. For do we not sing, and is not our song based upon Scripture?

He looks like a lamb that had been slain, And wears his priesthood still.

So, brethren, though of course we shall retain no weakness, nothing which will cause us sorrow, yet every Christian will retain his individuality ; as will he like and yet unlike all his fellows. As we know Isaiah from Jeremy here, so shall we know them above. As I differ from you here, if we too shall together praise God, there shall be some difference between us above. Not the difference in failings, but the difference in the perfections of the form of the new body. I sometimes think martyrs will wear their scars. And why should they not? It were a loss to them if they should lose their honors. Perhaps they shall wear their ruby crowns in Paradise, and we shall know then—

"Foremost 'mongst the sons of light, 'Midst the bright one doubly bright."

Perhaps the men who came from the catacombs of Rome will wear some sort of pallor on their brow that will show that they came from darkness, where they saw not the light of the sun. Perhaps the minister of Christ, though he shall not need to say to his fellows, "know the Lord," shall still be chief among the tellers out of the ways of God. Perhaps the sweet singer of Israel shall still be foremost in the choir of the golden harps, and loudest among them that shall lead the strain. And if these be fancies, yet am I sure that one star differeth from another star in glory. Orion shall not be confounded with Arcturus, nor shall Mazzaroth for a moment be confounded with Orion. We shall all be separate and distinct. Perhaps we shall each one have our constellation there, as we shall cluster into our own societies, and gather around those whom we best have known on earth. Personality will be maintained. I do not doubt but what you will know Isaiah in heaven ; and you will recognize the great preachers of the ancient Christian church ; you will be able to speak with Chrysostom, and will talk with Whitefield. It may be you shall have for your companions those who were your companions here ; those with whom you take sweet counsel, and walk to the house of God shall be with you there, and you shall know them, and with transporting joy you shall there together tell your former trials and ancient triumphs, and the glories you are alike made to share.

Treasure up, then, these things, the identity of your body after its glorious transformation, and, at the same time, the personality which will prevail.

The things I have already spoken should make the children of God happy. At Stratford-on-Bow, in the days of Queen Mary, there was once a stake erected for the burning of two martyrs, one of them a lame man, the other a blind man. Just when the fire was lit, the lame man hurled away his staff, and turning round said to the blind man, "Courage, brother, this fire will cure us both." So can the righteous say of the grave, "Courage, the grave will cure us all ; we shall leave our infirmities behind us." What patience this should give us to endure all our trials, for they are not of long duration. They are but as the carvings of the graver's tool, shaping these rough blocks of clay, to bring them into the right form and shape, that they may bear the image of the heavenly.