A Discourse of Life and Death
The Christian Hope in Death
Death is not an end but a glorious transition to eternal life, where sorrow and pain cease and the soul is freed.
But for us, brought up in a holier school, death is a far different thing: we don't need consolations against death like the pagans do; rather, death serves us as a consolation against every kind of affliction, so that we must not only strengthen ourselves, as they did, not to fear it, but also accustom ourselves to hope for it. For us, it is not a departure from pain and evil, but an access to all good: not the end of life, but the end of death, and the beginning of life. Better, says Solomon, is the day of death than the day of birth—and why? Because it is not for us a last day, but the dawning of an everlasting day. In that glorious light, we will no longer have either sorrow for the past or expectation of the future: for everything will be present to us there, and that present will never pass away. No more will we pour ourselves out in vain and painful pleasures: for we will be filled with true and substantial pleasures. No more will we pain ourselves heaping together these exhalations of the earth: for the heavens will be ours, and this mass of earth, which always draws us toward the earth, will be buried in the earth. No more will we weary ourselves climbing from degree to degree, and from honor to honor: for we will be raised high above all the heights of the world; and from on high we will laugh at the folly of all those we once admired, who fight together for a point, and like little children for less than an apple. No more to be brief shal we haue combates in our selues: for our flesh shall be dead, and our spirit in full life: our passion buried, and our reason in perfect libertie. Our soule deliuered out of this foule & filthie prison, where, by long continuing it is growen into an habite of crookednes, shall againe draw her owne breath, recognize her ancient dwelling, and againe remember her former glory & dignity.
The Soul's True Home
The body is a prison for the soul, which is celestial and must be freed through death to see clearly and fly to heaven.
This flesh, my friend, which you feel, this body which you touch, is not man. Man is from heaven; heaven is his country and his air. That he is in his body is only by way of exile and confinement. Man in deed is soule and spirit: Man is rather of celestiall and diuine qualitie, wherin is nothing grosse nor materiall. This body such as now it is, is but the barke & shell of the soule: which must necessarily be broken, if we will be hatched: if we will indeed liue & see the light. We have, it seems, some life and some sense in us, but are so crooked and contracted that we cannot so much as stretch out our wings, much less take flight toward heaven, until we are unburdened of this earthly burden. We look, but through false spectacles; we have eyes but overgrown with pearls; we think we see, but it is in a dream, in which we see nothing but deceit.
Faith Without Fear
Christians who profess belief in eternal life yet tremble at death expose their weak faith and attachment to worldly vanities.
All that we haue, and all that we know is but abuse and vanitie. Death alone can restore us both life and light—and we, so thick-headed, think she comes to rob us of them. We say we are Christians: that we beleeue after this mortall, a life immortall: that death is but a separation of the body and soule: and that the soule returnes to his happie abode, there to ioy in God, who only is all good: that at the last day it shall againe take the body, which shal no more be subiect to corruptiõ. We fill all our books with these fine speeches—yet when it comes down to it, the very name of death, as the most horrible thing in the world, makes us shake and tremble. If we believe what we say, what is it we fear? To be happy? To be at ease? To be more content in a moment than we could be in the longest possible mortal life? or must not we of force confesse, that we beleue it but in part? that all we haue is but words? that all our discourses, as of these hardie trencher knights, are but vaunting and vanitie? Some you shall see, that wil say: I know well that I passe out of this life into a better: I make no doubt of it: only I feare the midway step, that I am to step ouer. Weak harted creatures! they wil kill thẽselues to get their miserable liuing: suffer infinite paines, and infinite wounds at another mans pleasure: passe infinit deaths without dying, for things of nought, for things that perish, and perchance make them perish with them. But when they haue but one pace to passe to be at rest, not for a day, but for euer: not an indifferent rest, but such as mans minde cannot comprehende: they tremble, their harts faile them, they are affrayde: and yet the ground of their harme is nothing but feare. Let them neuer tell me, they apprehend the paine: it is but an abuse: a purpose to conceale the litle faith they haue.
Learning to Die Daily
Rather than clinging to a painful life, we should learn to die daily and embrace death as the gateway to eternal rest.
No, they would rather suffer from gout, sciatica, or any disease at all than die a gentle death with the least possible pain; they would rather waste away limb by limb, outliving their own senses, movements, and actions, than die quickly and immediately live forever. Don't tell me they want to learn how to live in this world; everyone is already sufficiently instructed in that, and there isn't one person who isn't an expert at it. Instead, they should learn in this world how to die. To die well once, you must die to yourself daily, living as prepared as if the end of each day's work were the end of your life. Yet, on the contrary, there is nothing more offensive to their ears than hearing about death. Senseless people! We risk our lives in the ordinary hazards of war for seven francs' pay; we are the first in an assault for a little loot; we go into places with no hope of returning, often endangering both our bodies and our souls. But to free ourselves from all hazards, to win things of inestimable value, and to enter eternal life, we falter at the first step—a step that has no difficulty except in our own minds. Indeed, we falter so much that if we weren't forced to pass through it, and if God didn't insist on doing us a favor despite ourselves, we would hardly find anyone in the world, no matter how unhappy or wretched, who would ever take that step.
The Illusion of More Years
The desire for a longer life is futile, for time is short and worldly pleasures never satisfy; we should not postpone death.
Someone else will say, 'If only I had lived until I was fifty.' Or sixty. I would have been content. I wouldn't have cared to live longer. But to die so young is no reason — I should have known the world before I left it. Simple soule! In this world there is neither young nor old. The longest age, compared to all that is past or all that is to come, is nothing. And when you've lived to the age you now desire, all the past will be nothing. You'll still gape for what is to come. The past will yield you only sorrow, the future only expectation, the present no contentment. You'll be as ready then to demand longer respite as before. You flee your creditor from month to month and time to time, as ready to pay on the last day as on the first. You seek only to be acquitted.
Trusting God's Perfect Timing
Worldly pleasures are empty, and God knows the right time to call us home; we should trust His plan and not lament unfinished plans.
Thou hast tasted all which the world esteemeth pleasures: not one of them is new vnto thee. By drinking oftener, thou shalt be neuer awhit the more satisfyed: for the body thou cariest, like the bored paile of Danaus daughters, will neuer be full. Thou mayst sooner weare it out, then weary thy selfe with vsing, or rather abusing it. Thou crauest long life to cast it away, to spend it on worthles delights, to mispend it on vanities. Thou art couetous in desiring, and prodigall in spending. Say not thou findest fault with the Court, or the Pallace: but that thou desirest longer to serue the commonwealth, to serue thy countrie, to serue God. He that set thee on worke knowes vntill what day, and what houre, thou shouldest be at it: he well knowes how to direct his worke. Should he leaue thee there longer, perchance thou wouldest marre all. But if he pays you generously for your labor—giving as much for half a day's work as for a whole one, and as much for working until noon as for bearing the heat of the entire day—shouldn't you be all the more thankful and praise him? Yet if you examine your own conscience, you aren't lamenting the cause of the widow or the orphan you left hanging in court; nor the duty you owe a son, a father, or a friend that you claim you wanted to fulfill; nor the mission for the common good you were just about to undertake; nor the service you desire to do for God, who knows much better how to use you than you know how to use yourself. It's your houses and gardens you lament, your unfinished plans and goals, and your life—which you consider incomplete—that no amount of days, years, or ages could ever perfect. Yet you could perfect it in a moment, if you could only think in good earnest that it doesn't matter where it ends, as long as it ends well.
Read the original English
But vnto vs brought vp in a more holy schoole, death is a farre other thing: neither neede we as the Pagans of consolations against death: but that death serue vs, as a consolation against all sorts of affliction: so that we must not only strengthen our selues, as they, not to feare it, but accustome ourselues to hope for it. For vnto vs it is not a departing frõ pain & euil, but an accesse vnto all good: not the end of life, but the end of death, & the beginning of life. Better, saith Salomon, is the day of death, then the day of birth, and why? because it is not to vs a last day, but the dawning of an euerlasting day. No more shall we haue in that glorious light, either sorow for the past, or expectation of the future: for all shall be there present vnto vs, and that present shall neuer more passe. No more shal we powre out our selues in vaine & painfull pleasures: for we shal be filled with true & substantiall pleasures. No more shal we paine our selues in heaping togither these exhalatiõs of the earth: for the heauens shall be ours, and this masse of earth, which euer drawes vs towards the earth, shalbe buried in the earth. No more shal we ouerwearie our selues with mounting from degree to degree, and from honor to honor: for we shall highlie be raysed aboue all heights of the world; and from on high laugh at the folly of all those we once admired, who fight together for a point, and as litle childrẽ for lesse then an apple.
No more to be brief shal we haue combates in our selues: for our flesh shall be dead, and our spirit in full life: our passion buried, and our reason in perfect libertie. Our soule deliuered out of this foule & filthie prison, where, by long continuing it is growen into an habite of crookednes, shall againe draw her owne breath, recognize her ancient dwelling, and againe remember her former glory & dignity. This flesh my frend which thou feelest, this body which thou touchest is not man: Man is from heauen: heauen is his countrie and his aire. That he is in his body, is but by way of exile & confinement. Man in deed is soule and spirit: Man is rather of celestiall and diuine qualitie, wherin is nothing grosse nor materiall. This body such as now it is, is but the barke & shell of the soule: which must necessarily be broken, if we will be hatched: if we will indeed liue & see the light. We haue it semes, some life, and some sence in vs: but are so croked and contracted, that we cannot so much as stretch out our wings, much lesse take our flight towards heauen, vntill we be disburthened of this earthlie burthen. We looke, but through false spectacles: we haue eyes but ouergrowen with pearles: we thinke we see, but it is in a dreame, wherin we see nothing but deceit.
All that we haue, and all that we know is but abuse and vanitie. Death only can restore vs both life and light: and we thinke (so blockish we are) that she comes to robbe vs of them. We say we are Christians: that we beleeue after this mortall, a life immortall: that death is but a separation of the body and soule: and that the soule returnes to his happie abode, there to ioy in God, who only is all good: that at the last day it shall againe take the body, which shal no more be subiect to corruptiõ. With these goodly discourses we fill all our bookes: and in the meane while, whẽ it comes to the point, the very name of death as the horriblest thing in the world makes vs quake & tremble. If we beleue as we speak, what is that we feare? to be happy? to be at our ease? to be more content in a momẽt, then we might be in the longest mortal life that might be?
or must not we of force confesse, that we beleue it but in part? that all we haue is but words? that all our discourses, as of these hardie trencher knights, are but vaunting and vanitie? Some you shall see, that wil say: I know well that I passe out of this life into a better: I make no doubt of it: only I feare the midway step, that I am to step ouer. Weak harted creatures! they wil kill thẽselues to get their miserable liuing: suffer infinite paines, and infinite wounds at another mans pleasure: passe infinit deaths without dying, for things of nought, for things that perish, and perchance make them perish with them. But when they haue but one pace to passe to be at rest, not for a day, but for euer: not an indifferent rest, but such as mans minde cannot comprehende: they tremble, their harts faile them, they are affrayde: and yet the ground of their harme is nothing but feare. Let them neuer tell me, they apprehend the paine: it is but an abuse: a purpose to conceale the litle faith they haue.
No, no, they would rather languish of the goute, the sciatica, any disease whatsoeuer: then dye one sweete death with the least paine possible: rather pininglie dye limme after limme, outliuing as it were, all their sences, motions, and actions, then speedily dye, immediatly to liue for euer. Let them tell me no more that they would in this world learne to liue: for euery one is therevnto sufficiently instructed in himselfe, and not one but is cunning in the trade. Nay rather they should learne in this world to dye: and once to dye well, dye dayly in themselues: so prepared, as if the ende of euery dayes worke, were the ende of our life. Now contrarywise there is nothing to their eares more offensiue, then to heare of death. Senseless people! we abandon our life to the ordinarie hazards of warre, for seauen franks pay: are formost in an assault, for a litle bootie: goe into places, whence there is no hope of returning, with danger many times both of bodies and soules. But to free vs from all hazards, to winne things inestimable, to enter an eternall life, we faint in the passage of one pace, wherein is no difficultie, but in opinion: yea we so faint, that were it not of force we must passe, and that God in despite of vs will doe vs a good turne, hardly should we finde in all the world one, how vnhappy or wretched soeuer, that would euer passe. Another will say, had I liued till 50.
or 60. yeares, I should haue bin contented: I should not haue cared to liue longer: but to dye so yong is no reason, I should haue knowen the world before I had left it. Simple soule! in this world there is neither young nor olde. The longest age in comparison of all that is past, or all that is to come, is nothing: and when thou hast liued to the age thou now desirest, all the past will be nothing: thou wilt still gape, for that is to come. The past will yeeld thee but sorrowe, the future but expectation, the present no contentment. As ready thou wilt then be to redemaund longer respite, as before. Thou fliest thy creditor from moneth to moneth, and time to time, as readie to pay the last daye, as the first: thou seekest but to be acquitted.
Thou hast tasted all which the world esteemeth pleasures: not one of them is new vnto thee. By drinking oftener, thou shalt be neuer awhit the more satisfyed: for the body thou cariest, like the bored paile of Danaus daughters, will neuer be full. Thou mayst sooner weare it out, then weary thy selfe with vsing, or rather abusing it. Thou crauest long life to cast it away, to spend it on worthles delights, to mispend it on vanities. Thou art couetous in desiring, and prodigall in spending. Say not thou findest fault with the Court, or the Pallace: but that thou desirest longer to serue the commonwealth, to serue thy countrie, to serue God. He that set thee on worke knowes vntill what day, and what houre, thou shouldest be at it: he well knowes how to direct his worke. Should he leaue thee there longer, perchance thou wouldest marre all.
But if he will pay thee liberally for thy labour, as much for halfe a dayes worke, as for a whole: as much for hauing wrought till noone, as for hauing borne all the heate of the day: art thou not so much the more to thanke and prayse him? but if thou examine thine owne conscience, thou lamentest not the cause of the widdow, and the orphan, which thou hast left depending in iudgement: not the dutie of a sonne, of a father, or of a frend, which thou pretendest thou wouldest performe: not the ambassage for the common wealth, which thou wert euen ready to vndertake: not the seruice thou desirest to doe vnto God, who knowes much better howe to serue himselfe of thee, then thou of thy selfe. It is thy houses and gardens thou lamentest, thy imperfect plottes and purposes, thy life (as thou thinkest) imperfect: which by no dayes, nor yeares, nor ages, might be perfected: and yet thy selfe mightst perfect in a moment, couldest thou but thinke in good earnest, that where it ende it skilles not, so that it end well.
A Discourse of Life and Death companion
A prayer for every moment, already on your phone
Chosen Portion puts a curated historic prayer in front of you each day — so the words are there before the moment arrives.
Chosen Portion is the digital descendant of the carried prayer book: the short daily prayers this collection preserves, delivered one a day to your pocket.
- One short, memorable prayer delivered daily — build your repertoire a card at a time
- Prayers matched to real situations: fear, gratitude, decisions, grief, sleep
- Save favourites into your personal pocket collection you can open anywhere