2 Peter 1:12-15 Why I will not be negligent to put you always in remembrance of these things, though you know them… It is worthy of remark how frequently the inspired writers insist on fundamental doctrines. They had, indeed, evidently no desire to tie down either themselves or their converts to any one set of truths, whilst there were others which God's Spirit was ready to unfold. On the contrary, they speak reprovingly of that indolence or indifference which made men rest in first principles when it became them to go on to perfection; but nevertheless they had no idea of men abandoning the first principles, as though they were not necessary to the more advanced inquirer. Now, the first thing we wish to point out is the sincere desire for the glory of God in the salvation of sinners, which must have animated the man who could breathe the language of our text. We read in such language an entire forgetfulness of self, the indication of a pure zeal for the welfare of the Church. If carnal motives had actuated the apostle, he would probably have desired that his departure might be injurious to the Church. Suppose that, having been kept sound in the faith, so long as he ministered amongst them, numbers were afterwards to decline, what testimony would seem to be given to his power and faithfulness as contrasted with those of his successors in office! Something of the same kind is frequently occurring in the world. The felt injury which results from the loss of an individual causes him greater glory than even all the benefits which he may have been enabled to effect. When, for example, a statesman, who has guided with a master hand the vessel of the commonwealth through the breakers and shoals, is withdrawn from his post whether by death or intrigue, and the rudder is given into a feebler grasp, what, if he sought only his own reputation, would that statesman more desire than that dangers should threaten and shipwreck to the state seem inevitable? It would be by the proud inferiority of those who filled his place, that his own greatness would become most conspicuous. And we are not without examples off the same kind in regard of the ministers of Christ. Now, we have hitherto simply argued upon the evidence which we think is furnished by our text to the humility of the apostle, of the readiness of St. Peter to be counted nothing, and less than nothing, provided the cause of Christ might prosper and prevail. But now we wish to take a somewhat different view of the passage. We have already said, that in all probability the apostle was not reckoning upon what might be done by his successors towards preserving in his converts the remembrance of the truths he had taught. He appears rather to have calculated upon the permanence of his own instructions, when himself should have been withdrawn by death. This is very observable. He announces his determination of putting the Church in remembrance as long as he lived; arguing, manifestly, that it would never be safe for him to relax in his work; nevertheless he reckons on the Church retaining the remembrance, when death should have silenced his monitory voice. You will perceive there is here something like a contradiction. If it were necessary to be always putting them in remembrance whilst he lived, how could he hope that there would not be forgetfulness when he was dead? We think it possible that the apostle had reference to what was likely to be the power of his death; and if so, there is a beauty and a pathos in the passage which is not to be surpassed in the whole range of Scripture. There is often practically far more of power in the death than in the life of a religious individual. There is something so hallowed around the memory of the dead, something so spiritual and unearthly, that the most hardened are more touched by the remembered words of the departed than by all the utterances of the living. When memory syllables to us the admonitions of those who lie mouldering in the dust, it is almost as if a spectre spoke, and we start and shrink as if in contact with a messenger from the invisible world. Neither is this the only or the chief reason why death gives this impressiveness and this permanence to inculcated truth. It is in death that a man puts to the proof the worth of the principles which he has spent life in recommending and enforcing; and if he be enabled, during the taking down of the "earthly house of this tabernacle," to give evidence of a joy and a peace of spirit which are to be accounted for only by the truth of what he has taught, why there is yet more in his tranquillity and assurance than in all the fervour and power which he may have thrown into his lessons to convince men that he has followed no cunningly devised fable. It is this which lays so great a weight of responsibleness upon those who are much with the righteous in the season of their sickness and death. Yes, more, far more, may be done by dying than has been effected by living. It is a blessed thought, and appears in no common degree to strip death of its repulsiveness, and even invest it with beauty. This is what I call victory in death. Even as the Captain of our salvation is said to have destroyed death, so may we, treading humbly in his footsteps, use it to undermine the empire of Satan. Of this the Church teems with proof. Thus was it that confessors and martyrs prevailed. Oh! it should mightily encourage us to persevere in enduring to the end, to know that when we shall be weakest then we may be strongest. In place of feeling when we lie down on our death-bed that all is over, and we can do nothing more, we may feel that if the dying statesman cannot benefit the state, nor the expiring warrior beat down the foe, the departing Christian may fight the battle of God, and speed the march of Christianity. We shall not die as teachers; we shall, God helping, teach in dying. The tears which are wept over us shall be from the fountains of the heart broken up by our removal. Our memory shall haunt the scene of our labours. Now, suppose we take another view of this text. It is not unlikely that St. Peter had respect to his writings when he announced that he would endeavour to instruct after death. He preached to one generation; he wrote for every future. It was his hope and endeavour, as announced in our text, to instruct after death. He did not wish to be forgotten, so that when he passed away from earth he might survive in his writings, and still be instrumental in winning souls to Christ. There is something very grand and ennobling about this ambition. It seems to me that the man who entertains and accomplishes the wish of doing the work of an evangelist after death, triumphs over death in the highest possible sense. I could almost dare to say that he never dies. There is many a private Christian who is long remembered and venerated, whose example is efficacious long after his decease, and whose lessons operate when the tongue which delivered them has mouldered into dust. And we call it the destruction, the abolition of death, when man may thus do good notwithstanding his decease. This is true immortality; for such as these the curse is wholly done away. They know no pause in the highest employments. And may it not be lawful to desire and to strive for the being thus held in remembrance after death? As Christians, we should pant to bring glory to God. We should not be willing to be circumscribed by life. The battle is to go on, and we should long to take part. The Church is to be edified, and we should crave for employment; yea, it might be as pure and as humble a wish as ever was breathed, though it might sound like that of one eager for human distinction, if it did not suffice us to be useful to others whilst we tabernacled amongst them, but if, throwing onwards our thoughts to yet distant days, we were to address our fellow-men in the words of the apostle: "We will endeavour that ye may be able after our decease to have these things always in remembrance." Now, we cannot conclude without pointing out to you the exquisite composedness with which St. Peter speaks of death, and without breathing a prayer that when our last hour shall be near we may as placidly expect its approach. The apostle evidently contemplates without apprehension his dissolution, though he knew that he must die a cruel and ignominious death. And his only anxiety is for the welfare of those from whom he should be separated. It only argues terror of death when men shrink from making arrangements in anticipation of their dissolution. I love to hear the dying Christian speak calmly of the churchyard where he wishes to be buried, of the distribution of his property, of the place where his children are to live, I feel that he is ready for his last dread account, when he can thus, without flinching, direct all which has concern to his being numbered with the dead; but the noblest thing of all is when the dying Christian shows that his last thoughts are on the welfare of the Church and the glory of God. The wounded warrior, as the life-blood ebbs away, will sometimes kindle at the noise of the battle. He will half raise himself from the earth, listen to the distant shout, and forget his anguish as he fancies that he hears the triumph of his comrades in arms. Yes, chivalry has such stories to tell; but Christianity has nobler. The servants of Christ, when they can no longer join the war, will breathe out the soul in longings for its success. They will think on the yet vast powers of heathenism — on the aboundings of vice — on the spreadings of infidelity; and, though about to put off their armour and enter into rest, will give their last thought to the struggle, and their last prayer for the triumph of the hosts of the Lord. (H. Melvill, B. D.) Parallel Verses KJV: Wherefore I will not be negligent to put you always in remembrance of these things, though ye know them, and be established in the present truth. |
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