and certain time of
our death is all appointed; the place of it also; and all the
circumstances. Just when it is to happen; to-night, to-morrow, this
year, next year, perhaps not this dying century; we shall perhaps live to
write A.D. 1901 on our letters. Near or afar off, it is all appointed.
And all the circumstances of it also. I don't know why Rutherford should
say to Kennedy that it is a terrible thing to 'die in one's day clothes,'
unless he hides a parable under that. But whether in day clothes or
night clothes; whether like Dr. Andrew Thomson, our first minister, in
Melville Street, and with his hand on the latchkey of his own door; or,
like Dr. Candlish, his successor, in his bed, and repeating, now
Shakespeare, and now the Psalmist; by the upsetting of a boat, the shape
in which death came near to Kennedy, or by the upsetting of a coach, as I
escaped myself, not being ready. 'The Lord knew,' writes Rutherford,
'that you had forgotten something that was necessary for your journey,
and let you go back for it. You had not all your armour on wherewith to
meet with the last enemy.' By day or by night; by land or by sea; alone,
or surrounded by weeping friends; in rapture like Hugh Kennedy, or in
thick darkness like your Lord; all, all is appointed. Just think of it;
the types may be cast, the paper may be woven, the ink may be made that
is to announce to the world your death and mine. It is all appointed,
and we cannot alter it or postpone it. The only thing we have any hand
in is this: whether our death, when it comes, is to be a success or a
failure; that is to say, whether we shall die well or ill. Since we die
but once, then, and since so much turns upon it, let us take advice how
we are to do it well. We cannot come back to make a second attempt; if
we do not shoot the gulf successfully, we cannot climb back and try the
leap again; we die once, and, after death, the judgment. Now, when we
have any difficult thing before us, how do we prepare ourselves for it?
Do we not practise it as often as we possibly can? If it is running in a
race, or wrestling in a match, or playing a tune, or shooting at a
target, do we not assiduously practise it? Yes, every sensible man is
careful to have his hand and his foot accustomed to the trial before the
appointed day comes. Practice makes perfect: practise dying, then, as
Rutherford counsels you, and you will make a perfect thing of your death,
and not otherwise