SERMON 136:
On Mourning For The Dead
An Introductory Comment

This was Wesley's seventh written sermon,1 and it brings his traditional preoccupations with 'the art of dying' into an acutely personal focus. Its occasion was the funeral of an Oxford friend, young Robin Griffiths, son of the vicar of the parish church of Broadway in Worcestershire. There is a tradition (preserved by Tyerman) that he had been Wesley's 'first convert'.2 The manuscript records (and the diary confirms) that the sermon was completed 'Jan. 11, 1726/27, Wednesday, 10 [a.m.]'. The holograph survives in the Methodist Archives in Manchester on nine leaves numbered on their rectos; the versos are blank except for Wesley's subsequent annotations; the whole shows signs of an understandable haste and stress, with many more corrections and lacunae than the typical Wesley holograph. The sermon was preached in the Broadway church on January 15, 1726/27
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What may be most obvious in this sermon is its air of 'Christian stoicism', which is to say, its outright condemnation of grief as unworthy of Christians and a sign of a deficiency in their faith and state of grace ('Grief is the parent of so much evil, and the occasion of so little good to mankind.'). This is all the more remarkable in a funeral sermon in the presence of young Griffiths's parents, his fianc馥 (Nancy Tooker), and other friends. It is, therefore, something of a variation on the general commonplaces of the ars moriendi in the face of death itself.

It was first published in the Arminian Magazine in 1797,3 with a curious misidentification: 'It gives us satisfaction that we are able to present our readers with another original sermon of Mr. Wesley's. This was preached at Epworth, Jan. 11, 1726, at the funeral of John Griffith, a hopeful young man, son of one of his parishioners.' Joseph Benson followed this lead in his edition (1811) and was followed in turn by Thomas Jackson, who added a title, 'On Mourning for the Dead'. The text here is a conflation of the first draft with such later revisions as have seemed to recover as much as possible of what Wesley may actually have said.

21 Then said his servants unto him, What thing is this that thou hast done? thou didst fast and weep for the child, while it was alive; but when the child was dead, thou didst rise and eat bread.
22 And he said, While the child was yet alive, I fasted and wept: for I said, Who can tell whether GOD will be gracious to me, that the child may live?
23 But now he is dead, wherefore should I fast? can I bring him back again? I shall go to him, but he shall not return to me.
24 And David comforted Bath-sheba his wife, and went in unto her, and lay with her: and she bare a son, and he called his name Solomon: and the LORD loved him.
25 And he sent by the hand of Nathan the prophet; and he called his name Jedidiah, because of the LORD.
26 And Joab fought against Rabbah of the children of Ammon, and took the royal city.
27 And Joab sent messengers to David, and said, I have fought against Rabbah, and have taken the city of waters.
28 Now therefore gather the rest of the people together, and encamp against the city, and take it: lest I take the city, and it be called after my name.

On Mourning For The Dead
2 Samuel 12:23

In the twelfth chapter of the second book of Samuel, at the twenty-third verse:1

Now he is dead, wherefore should I fast? Can I bring him back again? I shall go to him, but he shall not return to me.

[1.] The resolve of a wise and good man,2 just recovering the use of his reason and virtue after the bitterness of soul he had tasted from the hourly expectation of the death of a beloved son, is comprised in these few but strong words. He that 'fasted and wept',3 'lay all night upon the earth',4 and refused not only comfort but even needful sustenance while the child was yet alive, in hopes that God would be gracious as well in that as other instances, and reverse the just sentence he had pronounced; when it was put in execution, when he was dead, 'arose, and changed his apparel',5 having first paid his devotions to his great Master, acknowledging doubtless the mildness of his severity, and owning with gratitude and humility the obligation laid upon him in that he was not consumed as well as chastened by his heavy hand, came into his house, and behaved with his usual composure and cheerfulness. The reason of this strange alteration in his proceedings, as it appeared to those who were ignorant of the principles on which he acted, he here explains with the most beautiful [justness]6 of thought and energy of expression. 'Now he is dead, wherefore should I fast? Can I bring him back again? I shall go to him, but he shall not return to me!'

[2.] That he whose own pious and well-grounded reflections afforded him the most solid comfort should reason on so solemn an occasion with such accuracy and closeness is no more a matter of admiration than that he who then reasoned with such accuracy and closeness should find the best comfort in his own pious reflections.

[3.] To what end, saith this holy and resigned mourner, should I fast, now the child is dead? Why should I add grief to grief; why bring a voluntary increase to the affliction I already sustain? Would it not be equally useless to him and me? Have my tears or complaints the power to refix his soul in her decayed, forsaken mansion?7 Or indeed would he wish to change, though the power were in his hands, the happy regions of which he is now possessed for this land of care, pain, and misery? O vain thought! Never can he, never will he, return to me. Be it my comfort, my constant comfort when my sorrows bear hard upon me, that I shortly, very shortly, shall go to him! That this tedious dream, life,8 will be soon at an end, and then even with these eyes shall I gaze upon him; then shall I behold him again, and behold him with that perfect love, that sincere and elevated softness, to which even the heart of a parent is here a stranger! when the Lord God shall wipe away tears9 from my eyes, and the least part of my happiness will be that the sorrow of his absence shall flee away!10

[4.] The unprofitable and, by consequence, the sinful nature of profusely sorrowing for the dead is easily deduced from the former part of this reflection; in the latter we have11 a remedy fitly suited to the disease; a consideration which, duly applied, will not fail either to prevent or rescue us from this real misfortune, which rises from the apprehension of one, the bitterness of which is purely owing to imagination.

[5.] Grief, in general, is the parent of so much evil, and the occasion of so little good to mankind, that it may be wondered how it found a place in our nature. 'Twas indeed of man's own, not of God's creation, who may permit but [is] never the author of evil. The same hour gave birth to grief and sin, as the same moment will deliver us from both: for neither did it exist before human nature was corrupted, nor will it continue when that is restored to its ancient perfection.12

[6.] Indeed, in this present state of things, that Wise Being who knows well to extract good out of evil has shown us one way of making this uneasy frailty highly conducive both to the increase of our virtue and happiness. Even grief, if it lead us to repentance and proceed from a serious sense of our faults, is not to be repented of, since those who thus 'sow in tears shall reap in joy'.13 If we confine it to this particular occasion it does not impair, but greatly assists our imperfect reason, pain either of body or mind both acting quicker than reflection and infixing more deeply in the memory any circumstance it attends on.

[7.] From the very nature of grief, which is an uneasiness in the mind on the apprehension of some present evil, it appears that its arising in us on any other occasion is owing entirely to our want of judgment. Is anything but sin, are any of those accidents in the language of men termed misfortunses―such as reproach, poverty, loss of life, or even of friends―ｒeal evils? So far from it that if we dare believe our Creator they are often positive blessings. They all work together for our good,14 and our Lord accordingly commands us, even when the severest loss, that of our reputation,15 befalls us, if 'tis in a good cause―as it must be our own fault if it be not―to
'rejoice and be exceeding glad'.16

[8.] But what fully evinces the utter absurdity of almost all grief, unless that for our own failings, is that the occasion of it is past before it begins. To recall what has already been is flatly impossible and beyond the reach of Omnipotence itself.17 Why then should any who are not fond of misery indulge their minds in so fruitless an inquietude?18 They that pursue happiness will have a care how they cherish such a passion as is neither desirable in itself, nor serves to any purpose present or future.

[9.] If any species of this idle, unprofitable passion be more peculiarly useless than the rest, 'tis that we feel when we sorrow for the dead. We destroy the health of our body and impair the strength of our minds, and take no price for those invaluable blessings; we give up our present without any prospect of future advantage, without a possibility of either recalling them hither or profiting them where they are.

[10.] As indifferent a proof as this is of our wisdom, 'tis still a worse of our affection to the deceased. 'Tis the property of envy, and not of love, to repine at another's happiness; to weep because all tears are wiped from his eyes. Shall it disturb us, who call ourselves his friends, that a weary wanderer has at length come to his wished-for home? Nay, weep we rather for ourselves, who still want that happy ease, to whom that rest appears yet only in prospect.

[11.] Gracious is our God and merciful, who, knowing what was in man葉hat passion, when it has conquered reason, always takes the appearance of it19様est we should be misled by this appearance, adds the sanction of his unerring commands to the natural dictates of our understanding. The judgment perhaps might be so clouded by passion as to think it reasonable to be profuse in our sorrow at parting from a beloved object. But revelation tells us that this, as all occurrences of life, must be borne with patience and moderation; otherwise we lay a greater weight on our own souls than external accidents can do without our concurrence; with humility, because the offended justice of God might well have inflicted much worse; and with resignation, because we know, whatever happens is for our good; and though it were not, we are not able to contend with, and should not therefore provoke, him that is stronger than us.20

[12.] Against this fault, which is inconsistent with those virtues, and therefore tacitly forbidden in the precepts that enjoin them, St. Paul warns us in express words: 'I would not have you to be ignorant, brethren, concerning them which are asleep; that ye sorrow not even as others, who have no hope. For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so them also which sleep in Jesus will God bring with him. . . . Wherefore comfort one another with these words.'a And these indeed are the only words that can give lasting comfort to a spirit whom such an affliction hath wounded. Why should I be so unreasonable, so unkind, as to desire the return of a soul, now in happiness, to me, to this habitation of sin and misery; since I know that the time will come, yea, is now at hand, when in spite of the great gulf fixed21 between us I shall shake off these chains and go to him!

[13.] What he was I am both unable to paint in suitable colours, and unwilling to attempt it. Although the chief, at least most common argument, for those laboured encomiums of the dead22 which for many years have so much prevailed among us, is that then there can be no suspicion of flattery, yet we all know the pulpit on these occasions has been so frequently prostituted to these servile ends that 'tis now no longer capable of serving them. Men take it for granted that what is then said is words of course; that the speaker consults the beauty, not the likeness, of the piece; and, so it be but well drawn, cares not who it resembles. In a word, that his business is to show his own wit, and the generosity of his friend, by throwing into the composition all the virtues and perfections that have a place in his own imagination.23

[14.] This indeed is an end that is visibly served in these ill-timed commendations; of what other use they are is hard to say. 'Tis of no service to the dead to celebrate his actions, since he has the applause of God24 and his own conscience. And 'tis of little to the living; since he who desires a pattern may find enough proposed as such in the sacred writings. Why must one be raised from the dead to instruct him, while Moses, the Prophets, and the blessed Jesus are still presented to his view in those everliving tables? Certain it is that he who will not imitate these would not be converted though one literally rose from the dead.25

[15.] Let it suffice to have paid my last duty to him (whether he is now hovering o'er these lower regions, or retired already to the mansions of eternal glory)26 by saying in few, plain, and hearty words, such as were his own, and such as were always most agreeable to him: that he was to his parents an affectionate, dutiful son; to his acquaintance an ingenious,27 cheerful, well-natured companion; and to me a well-tried, sincere friend.

[16.] At such a loss, if considered without the alleviating circumstances, who can blame him that drops a tear? The tender meltings of a heart dissolved with fondness when it reflects on several agreeable moments which have now taken their flight never to return, give an authority to some degree of sorrow; nor will human frailty permit an ordinary acquaintance to take his last leave of them without it. Who then can conceive, much less describe, the strong emotion, the secret workings of soul, which a parent feels on such an occasion? None, surely, but those who are parents themselves; unless those few who have experienced the power of friendship葉han which human nature, on this side of the grave, knows no closer, no softer, no stronger tie!
[17.] At the tearing asunder these sacred bands, well may we allow without blame some parting pangs傭ut the difficulty is to put as speedy a period to them as religion and reason command us. What can give us effectual ease after that rupture which has left such an aching void in our breast? What indeed but the reflection already mentioned, which can be never inculcated too often, that we are hasting to him again? That, pass but a few years, perhaps hours, which will soon be over, and not only this but all our other desires will be satisfied; when we shall exchange the gaudy shadow of pleasure we have enjoyed for sincere, substantial, untransitory happiness.
[18.] With this consideration well imprinted in our mind 'tis far better, as Solomon observes, to go [to] the house of mourning than to the house of feasting.28 The one unbraces the soul, disarms our resolution, and lays us open to any attack; the other cautions us to collect our reason, and stand upon our guard, and infuses that noble steadiness and seriousness of temper which it is not in the power of any ordinary shock to discompose. At the sight of those objects 'tis natural to reflect that the next summons may be our own; and that since death 'is the end of all men' without exception, 'tis high time for 'the living to lay it to heart'.29

[19.] If we are at any time in danger of being overcome by dwelling too long on the gloomy side of this prospect, to the giving us pain, the making us unfit for the duties and offices of life, or the impairing our faculties of body or mind―which proceeding, as has been already shown, is both absurd, unprofitable, and sinful―let us immediately recur to the bright side of it, and reflect with cheerfulness and gratitude that our own time passeth away like a shadow;30 and that when we awake from this momentary dream we shall then have a clearer view of that latter day in which our Redeemer shall stand upon the earth;31 when this corruptible shall put on incorruption, and this mortal be clothed with immortality; and when we shall sing with the united choirs of men and angels, O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?32