Then, again, another of the elements, as I suppose, which constitute the hostile aspect that Death assumes to most of us, is that it apparently hales us away from all the wholesome activities and occupations of life, and bans us into a state of apparent inaction.  The thought that death is rest does sometimes attract the weary or harassed, or they fancy it does, but that is a morbid feeling, and much more common in sentimental epitaphs than among the usual thoughts of men.  To most of us there is no joy, but a chill, in the anticipation that all the forms of activity which have so occupied, and often enriched, our lives here, are to be cut off at once.  ’What am I to do if I have no books?’ says the student.  ’What am I to do if I have no mill?’ says the spinner.  ’What am I to do if I have no nursery or kitchen?’ say the women.  What are you to do?  There is only one quieting answer to such questions.  It tells us that what we are doing here is learning our trade, and that we are to be moved into another workshop there, to practise it.  Nothing can bereave us of the force we made our own, being here; and ’there is nobler work for us to do’ when the Master of all the servants stoops from His Throne and says:  ’Thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things; have thou authority over ten cities.’  Then the faithfulness of the steward will be exchanged for the authority of the ruler, and the toil of the servant for a share in the joy of the Lord.

So another of the elements which make Death an enemy is turned into an element which makes it a friend, and instead of the separation from this earthly body, the organ of our activity and the medium of our connection with the external universe being the condemnation of the naked spirit to inaction, it is the emancipation of the spirit into greater activity.  For nothing drops away at death that does not make a man the richer for its loss, and when the dross is purged from the silver, there remains ’a vessel unto honour, fit for the Master’s use.’  This mightier activity is the contribution to our blessedness, which Death makes to them who use their activities here in Christ’s service.

Then, still further, another of the elements which is converted from being a terror into a joy is that Death, the separator, becomes to Christ’s servants Death, the uniter.  We all know how that function of death is perhaps the one that makes us shrink from it the most, dread it the most, and sometimes hate it the most.  But it will be with us as it was with those who were to be initiated into ancient religious rites.  Blindfolded, they were led by a hand that grasped theirs but was not seen, through dark, narrow, devious passages, but they were led into a great company in a mighty hall.  Seen from this side, the ministry of Death parts a man from dear ones, but, oh! if we could see round the turn in the corridor, we should see that the solitude is but for a moment, and that