“Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace, according to Thy word:

“For mine eyes have seen Thy salvation.”—St. Luke ii. 29, 30.

Our thoughts are often directed to the blessed prospect of our Lord’s return, and there cannot be a doubt that His personal coming is the crowning hope of the Church of God. At the same time, it is most important for us to be, if I may so express it, familiar with the thought of the present heaven. The youngest amongst us may be cut down at any moment, and the old amongst us must be convinced that our time is short, and that our places must soon be filled by others. We ought, therefore, to know where we are going, and what it is that awaits us when “the earthly house of this tabernacle shall be dissolved.” [28a]

The words of our text, so often chanted in our churches, express a sentiment to which, I fear, many who chant them are entire strangers, for they express the peaceful readiness with which Simeon was looking forward to his death. It had been “revealed unto him by the Holy Ghost, that he should not see death, before he had seen the Lord’s Christ.” [28b] He had, therefore, spent his latter days waiting and watching for the promised Christ, and at length, when the Child was presented in the Temple, he saw in that Child the Messiah for whom he had been waiting, and then it was that, his hope being fulfilled, he could bless God and say, “Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace.”

There are three subjects suggested by his words.

I. The View which is here given of Death.

He does not speak of it as annihilation, destruction, or stupefaction, but as a departure or removal from one place to another. If a person were to depart from this place and go elsewhere, he would simply change his home. Until he departs his home is here, but when he departs his home is elsewhere.

Is it not exactly the same when the spirit departs from its present home and removes to the building of God, the house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens? In this case, as in an earthly removal, departure implies the continuance of life. Thus I rejoice in the many passages in which death is spoken of as a departure. It was clearly the idea in the mind of St. Paul, as when he said, “having a desire to depart,” [29a] and again, “The time of my departure is at hand.” [29b] When those we love are in far distant lands we see them not, but they are there; our eyes cannot behold them, nor our ears hear their pleasant voices, for they are far away, but that does not lead us to doubt either their life, their intelligence, or their affection. Just so it is with those that are gone. We no longer hear the voice, or look on the loved countenance, but we are fully persuaded that, as spirits, they are living elsewhere, that separation is not destruction, and that removal does not involve the diminution of the intelligent powers of the living mind.But if death is thus a departure, where is the place to which the spirit goes? Over this point there is a veil thrown in Scripture. If we were to know all about it there would be nothing in the knowledge to affect our practical conduct, so there is no knowledge given. Nor do we require it, for one thing is told us, and that one thing is enough. If assured of that one thing we want no more. What, then, is that one thing so clearly revealed to us in God’s holy Word? Where shall we find an account of it? Let us turn to the language of the Apostle Paul: “I am in a strait betwixt two, having a desire to depart, and to be with Christ.” [30a] He knew, therefore, that in his departure he should depart to be with Christ, in the conscious enjoyment of His perceptible and never-ceasing love.

II. The Spirit in which the Believer may die.

This is described in the words of Simeon, “Let thy servant depart in peace.” Simeon could look forward to his dying hour in a tranquil spirit of calm, resting peace. How often is there care on the heart of the dying believer. A father may be leaving his wife and family, who have been dependent on him for support; or a mother her children, with the strong conviction that there is no substitute for a mother’s love. Let no one suppose that there is no trial of faith in such a separation, and that it is not, in many cases, very hard to trust. But in Christ Jesus there may be peace even in such a parting, and the dying mother, if she knows her Saviour, may trust her all into His loving hands, and say, “I know whom I have believed, and am persuaded that He is able to keep that which I have committed unto Him.” [30b] She has committed her children into His care. They are her deposit with God, and she may be at perfect peace in the assurance that, though she is departing, He is remaining, and will remain a faithful Saviour till every one of those dear children is presented safe before His throne.

Let no one suppose that it is not a very solemn thing to die, to be suddenly cut off from everything of which we have ever had any experience, and to launch out alone into an invisible world. It cannot, therefore, be an easy thing to die in peace. But, thanks be to God, we believe that the departing spirit passes at once into the loving presence of our Redeemer, and why should there not be peace? I believe it is the forgetfulness of this personal entrance into the personal presence of a personal Saviour that sometimes seems to darken the dying hour. People forget those few words, “Thou art with me,” [31a] and then they are afraid. But when we rest on those words, and combine them with our assured hope, knowing that He is now with us invisibly, and that we are going to be with Him visibly, then we shall be able to say, as Simeon did, “Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace.”

III. The Great Foundation of Simeon’s Peaceful Trust.

His eyes had seen the salvation of God. What he had really seen was the promised Messiah, that is, the Lord’s Christ. The little child was the promised Saviour, and to him the Saviour was salvation. The Person and the Gift were so bound together that they were as one. He could not know the Person without the Gift, or enjoy the Gift except through the Person. Thus our Lord, more than thirty years afterwards, spoke of Himself as “the Salvation,” [31b] when He said, as He entered into the house of ZacchÆus, “This day is salvation come to this house.” Simeon had what we cannot have, something material that he could handle and look upon. His hand could handle and his eye could see the little child; and there cannot be a doubt that there is in the human mind a craving after something visible, tangible, and material. But we have nothing of the kind; we cannot hold our salvation in our hands. Neither do we want it there. It is safer in the hands of our Lord Himself. But though we cannot say, “Mine eyes have seen,” we can say, thanks be to God, “Mine heart hath seen,” and we can understand the words, “Whom having not seen, ye love.” [32a] There is exactly the same union in that passage between the Saviour and the salvation. Receiving Him we receive salvation, and beholding Him with the eye of faith we behold, as it were, our names written in the Book of Life.

To behold the Saviour is a very personal matter. It is not merely to behold Him like a monument on a distant hill, which we can admire, but never enter; or as a harbour of refuge which we cannot reach. It must not be with us as it was with Balaam when he said, “I shall behold Him, but not nigh,” [32b] for the invitation to us is to draw near, and our privilege is in our inmost soul to pour out our heart before Him, as before One who knows all its secrets, and through His own most precious blood has blotted out all its guilt. This has thrown a gleam of sacred light into many a death-chamber. May God grant that it may be the same with each of us. Let none of us rest until we can say, “Mine eyes have seen Thy salvation,” till we not merely know that there is a Saviour, but can rest assured that He has saved us, and has made us—even us—heirs of God and joint-heirs with Himself in His kingdom.