Today, we continue our study of John Flavel’s book Keeping the Heart and revisit Proverbs 4:23, the book’s premise: “Keep your heart with all vigilance, for from it flow the springs of life.” This verse emphasizes the importance of guarding our hearts at all times, as all our thoughts, actions, and words stem from it. Merely going through the motions differs greatly from acting with sincerity and integrity, which must come from the heart. Conversely, neglecting to guard our hearts leads to consequences, as Jesus noted:
For from within, out of the heart of man, come evil thoughts, sexual immorality, theft, murder, adultery, coveting, wickedness, deceit, sensuality, envy, slander, pride, foolishness. All these evil things come from within, and they defile a person. (Mark 7:21-23)
Flavel’s book introduces the seasons of life where we must diligently guard our hearts. Although it feels like cheating, I’ll allow Flavel to introduce today’s topic since his writing is so beautifully expressed.
Here’s his introduction:
[Another] season that requires us to diligently search our hearts and keep them with the greatest care is a time of sickness.
When a child of God draws close to eternity—when there are only a few grains of sand left to fall from the upper part of the hourglass—then Satan busily engages himself. You may say of Satan what is said of the natural serpent: he is never seen at his full length until dying. And since he cannot win the soul from God, his great design now is to discourage the soul and make it unwilling to go to God. But the gracious soul with Jacob should then rouse itself upon its deathbed and rejoice that the marriage day of the Lamb is almost here. You should say with dying Austen, “I despise life to be with Christ.” Or consider Milius who, when asked if he were willing to die, replied, “Oh! The one who is unwilling to die is the one who is unwilling to go to Christ.”
And yet, how often—indeed, too often—do we see the people of God shrinking from death and reluctant to depart? How loath are some to take death by the cold hand? If we were indulged with the freedom to not be dissolved until we dissolved ourselves, when would we say with Paul, “My desire is to depart and be with Christ” (Phil 1:23)?
Therefore, the last question is: in times of sickness, how can we get our hearts freed from all earthly engagements and persuade them into a willingness to die? And at such a time as this, there are seven arguments that I will urge upon the people of God to make them cheerfully entertain the messengers of death—to die as well as live like Saints.
Before we examine those seven arguments, it’s clear that Flavel’s primary focus here is sickness leading to death. He discusses the decline of our physical strength, when pain persists, and there is nothing more doctors can do—nothing left for anyone to do. All that remains is waiting to die.
This is a challenging time for many reasons. We are stripped of almost everything, and our hearts are laid bare. Suffering and the looming prospect of death reveal our deepest fears. Regret surfaces, and as Flavel points out, this is an ideal moment for Satan to strike. He observed, “When a child of God draws close to eternity—when only a few grains of sand remain in the hourglass—Satan eagerly engages.”
Satan doesn’t fight fair. He preys on our weakness, waiting until our minds are clouded by medicine or anxiety, until we can’t sleep and can barely tolerate the pain. That’s when he whispers lies into our souls and stirs our fears. What does he say? Oh, this is the end. Do you realize how final it is? Perhaps, There’s nothing more after this. Or to the believer, Are you sure you’ll make it to heaven?
Ultimately, he aims to terrify us into clinging to this world. Why? Jesus said of his disciples, “I give them eternal life, and they will never perish, and no one will snatch them out of my hand” (Jn 10:28). The devil knows he can’t take us from God the Father and Christ the Son, but he can make us fear going home.
I know this sounds absurd: why would a Christian fear heaven? It’s hard to see heaven while facing death. John Bunyan’s illustration in The Pilgrim’s Progress resonates here. When Christian attempts to cross the River of Death, the Celestial City is so close, just on the other side. Yet, he experiences a moment similar to Peter’s. When Peter walked on water, his fear stemmed from being distracted by the waves. In Pilgrim’s Progress, Bunyan writes:
Then Christian looked over his shoulder, and the river seemed to be very narrow at the top, but as he was carried further down, the sides appeared to be very broad and the bottom very deep; and the water ran cold into his knees, then into his waist, and then he went down and down until he was beneath the surface of the water.
But as he was sinking, one called to him: “Courage, dear Christian, you shall have light and peace and life at the end of the journey.” In that moment, he felt a ray of light upon his face, and his feet began to move. So, with much ado, he gained the opposite bank.
We must guard our hearts in sickness. Death distracts us, and a distracted Christian sinks.
Before we explore Flavel’s seven arguments, let’s acknowledge that many of us aren’t facing death right now. Some may wonder about the relevance of this subject. I argue it is crucial. Whether you’re ill, caring for someone who is, or preparing for future afflictions, you can equip yourself now. We need these lessons not just for dying well but for living well until that day.
Now, let’s delve into Flavel’s seven arguments—biblical lessons that will help us guard our hearts in sickness and in dying.
1. Death is harmless.
We need clarity on a few points. First, when I say death is harmless, I don’t mean it is good or natural. Death is a consequence of sin. God told Adam, “For in the day that you eat of the forbidden fruit you shall surely die” (Ge 2:17). Romans 5:12 states: “Just as sin entered the world through one man, and death through sin, so death spread to all men because all sinned.”
The Bible often describes death as an enemy, specifically, an enemy of God. Paul emphasizes this in 1 Corinthians 15, the great resurrection chapter, stating, “The last enemy to be destroyed is death” (1Co 15:26).
I mention this because I often hear Christians dismiss death. They claim it’s no big deal. I’ve listened to ministers at funerals tell grieving families, “You shouldn’t weep. Death is nothing to the believer.”
Death presents a duality. For believers, it is ultimately harmless; we will explore this. Yet, death also carries tragedy—it stems from sin, embodies God’s judgment, and tears families apart. Death is an enemy that Christ came to conquer. Jesus wept at Lazarus’s funeral, illustrating that the Bible does not dismiss grief. Instead, it encourages us to grieve with hope.
When I say death is harmless, I specifically mean for believers. This does not apply universally. For unbelievers separated from Christ, death should evoke terror: “It is appointed for man to die once, and after that comes judgment” (Heb 9:27). However, for believers, the continuation of that verse provides hope: “So Christ, having been offered once to bear the sins of many, will appear a second time, not to deal with sin but to save those who are eagerly waiting for him” (Heb 9:28).
Thus, for believers, death is harmless. Here’s what Flavel states:
Though [death] keeps its dart, it has lost its sting. A saint may “play over the hole of the cobra and … put his hand on the adder’s den” (Isa 11:8). Death is the adder or cobra, and grace is his hole or den; saints do not need to fear to put their hand boldly into it. It has left and lost its sting in the side of Christ: “O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?” (1 Cor 15:55).
I love the verse from 1 Corinthians 15. Citing Hosea 13:14, Paul taunts death. That’s bold. Death looms as an inevitable force that makes us feel helpless and powerless. It feels final; there’s no going back. Yet, here’s Paul, daringly challenging it: “O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?” (1Co 15:55). Death, do what you will with my body, but you will not defeat me. Your sting holds no power over me.
Imagine facing a wild animal that could rip you apart. What would you do? You wouldn’t taunt it unless you felt safe. If it were locked in a cage, then taunting would be possible.
Paul understands death through the believer’s lens: if it were a snake, it can still bite, but its sting is gone—the venom drained. As Paul states, “The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ” (1Co 15:56-57).
I appreciate Flavel’s reference to Isaiah 11. After Isaiah prophesies Christ’s coming, he describes the victory of Christ at the end, saying:
The wolf shall dwell with the lamb,
and the leopard shall lie down with the young goat,
and the calf and the lion and the fattened calf together;
and a little child shall lead them.
The cow and the bear shall graze;
their young shall lie down together;
and the lion shall eat straw like the ox.
The nursing child shall play over the hole of the cobra,
and the weaned child shall put his hand on the adder’s den.
They shall not hurt or destroy
in all my holy mountain;
for the earth shall be full of the knowledge of the LORD
as the waters cover the sea. (Isaiah 11:6-9)
That’s perfect peace, possible only through the sinless life and atoning death of Jesus Christ our Lord.
More importantly, the Lord’s death removes the sting of death. We still die, but not in our sins. In 2 Thessalonians 1, Paul speaks of Christ’s coming judgment:
[He will inflict] vengeance on those who do not know God and on those who do not obey the gospel of our Lord Jesus. They will suffer the punishment of eternal destruction, away from the presence of the Lord and from the glory of his might. (2 Thessalonians 1:8-9)
Jesus told the story of a rich man who, upon dying, found himself in “Hades, being in torment” (Lk 16:23).
Yes, believers still die and endure the pains of our frail bodies, but Christ has removed the real dangers. The Bible refers to a believer’s death as merely falling asleep—there’s no punishment, no loss. Paul states:
I will not be at all ashamed, but that with full courage now as always Christ will be honored in my body, whether by life or by death. For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain. (Philippians 1:20-21)
Thanks to Christ, the dangers of death are removed, making death an advantage for believers. We gain by dying; thus, death is ultimately harmless.
2. Death is necessary.
Flavel writes:
To keep your heart from shrinking back at such a time as this, consider the necessity of death for the full fruition of God’s plan. Whether you are willing to die or not, I assure you that there is no other way to obtain the full satisfaction of your soul or to complete its happiness. Until the hand of death does you the kind favor of drawing aside the curtain of the flesh, your soul cannot see God; this physical life stands between you and Him.
In short, we need to die.
Consider this: we live in a fallen, sinful world within flawed flesh. We are unworthy to experience the full presence of God. Something separates us from him. Paul states, “For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face” (1Co 13:12). In Paul’s time, a mirror was polished bronze; it reflected, but not clearly. He contrasts our current limitations with what awaits us.
He clarifies this further when he states:
We know that while we are at home in the body we are away from the Lord, for we walk by faith, not by sight. Yes, we are of good courage, and we would rather be away from the body and at home with the Lord. (2 Corinthians 5:6-7)
There is a necessary distance between sinners and our holy God, so we must cast off these sinful bodies to meet him. In other words, we must die first. As Flavel states, “Your body must be refined and molded anew; otherwise, the new wine of heavenly glory will break it.”
Flavel then quotes a portion of 2 Corinthians 12, where Paul describes a man, possibly himself, “caught up to the third heaven,” beyond the sky and space and into heaven (2Co 12:2). Interestingly, Paul is uncertain whether this man was in his body. He states twice, “Whether in the body or out of the body, I do not know, God knows.” This man returns from paradise, and Paul recounts, “He heard things that cannot be told, which man may not utter” (2Co 12:4).
Flavel suggests this man left his body. Upon returning, he cannot describe what he has witnessed; the glory revealed to him is beyond the reach of earthly language. The Lord offers us glimpses of that glory—sneak previews, if you will—but our earthly existence and flesh prevent us from experiencing it fully.
Psalm 16:11 states, “In your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore.” However, the only path to that fullness of joy is through death, which must draw aside the curtain of flesh. As Flavel notes, ”Your body must be refined and transformed; otherwise, the new wine of heavenly glory would burst it.”
Thus, death is essential.
3. The next life will be superior.
I’ve alluded to this already, but Paul states, “To die is gain” (Php 1:21). Two verses later, he writes, “My desire is to depart and be with Christ, for that is far better” (Php 1:23). He doesn’t say slightly better; he says far better. Elsewhere, he writes we can’t compare the two: “For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us” (Rom 8:18). “For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison” (2 Cor 4:17).
Here’s what Flavel says:
Another argument to persuade you to this willingness to die is the reality of an immediate succession of a more excellent and glorious life. It is only a wink, and you will see God. Your happiness will not be deferred until the resurrection; as soon as the body is dead, the gracious soul is swallowed up in life.
I appreciate the word he chose: immediate. “It’s just a wink until you see God.” In that moment, you’ll enter a life far beyond our current imagination. The two cannot be compared. We lack the words to describe heaven in its fullness; we can’t grasp its depth.
Flavel writes:
Oh, what a change a few moments will make upon your condition! Rouse up, dying saint. When your soul has come out a little farther, you will stand like Abraham at the door of your tent, and the angels of God will soon be with you. The souls of the elect are, in a sense, put out for the angels to nurse, and when they die, the angels carry them home again to their Father’s house. If an angel was caused to fly swiftly to bring a saint the answer of his prayer [referring to Daniel 9:21], how much more will the angels come quickly from heaven to receive and transfer the praying soul itself?
When we think of dying, we see it as an end. As Christians, we recognize it’s more than that. Death is not the end; it’s progress. It’s not a setback or pause; it moves us forward. For believers, it’s a gain, transitioning from our imperfect, groan-filled lives to a reality beyond anything we’ve known.
4. Death delivers us.
I’ve debated the best way to phrase this, but I think you’ll understand.
Typically, we view death as something to be endured or, at best, escaped. But for believers, death—this grim consequence of sin—becomes God’s instrument of deliverance. Revelation 14:13 states, “Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord from now on.” In Christ, this dreadful thing transforms into a blessing.
How so? Death not only leads us to a far better place but also saves us from a worse one.
I think the hardest funeral I preached was for a colleague’s two-year-old grandson killed in a car accident. At the service, I told his parents, “Consider everything you hoped for your son—safety, well-being, happiness. By God’s grace, he now has all of that and more, forever. As heartbroken as you are, you’ll never have to worry about his safety, well-being, or happiness again. The Lord has rescued him from everything wrong in this world.”
In other words, for Christians, death is a mercy. Flavel says:
Do you know what evil may be coming on the earth that you are so reluctant to leave? Your God removes you for your great advantage; you are disbanded by death and called off the field. Other poor saints must stand against it and endure a great fight of afflictions.
Death doesn’t expel us from life; it draws us from danger into a better existence.
5. Death is an advantage.
To save time and avoid redundancy, I’ll summarize: Flavel urges us to reflect on what we gain from death, stating, “Consider both your communion with God and your communion with saints.”
He continues:
Your soul will shortly stand before the face of God, whose glory will immediately shine and beam forth upon it. Here on Earth, your soul is more remote from God, and the beams of His glory strike it only obliquely and feebly. But soon it will be in a direct line, and there the sun will stand still as it did in Gibeon. There will be no cloud nor any diminishing of it.
As for the enjoyment of the saints, we certainly have fellowship with them here of a lower form; but that fellowship is so affected by remaining corruptions that there is no satisfaction in it. … But when death has admitted you into that glorious assembly of the spirits of the righteous made perfect, you will have the desire of your heart. Here, you cannot fully connect with one another … Oh, what discord, arguing, and censuring are here? But what perfect, blessed harmony is there? In Heaven, each saint loves another as himself; they are altogether lovely.
6. Death is a comfort.
I know this sounds strange. Here, we seek comfort in death, and Flavel suggests that we view death itself as a comfort.
I don’t feel old, but I notice I’m aging. I get sore more easily, recovery takes longer, my hair is thinning, and my eyesight worsens with every optometrist visit. My body will continue to deteriorate. There may come a day when I can’t walk, hear, or see. The daily aches will surely increase. When I’m old and feeble, what then? Should I cling to this body that brings me discomfort?
The apostle Paul mentions God’s people groaning in this world, referring to their longing for freedom from these mortal bodies. He says:
For we know that if the tent that is our earthly home is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. For in this tent we groan, longing to put on our heavenly dwelling. (2 Corinthians 5:1-2)
In Romans 8, Paul writes, “We ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies” (Ro 8:23).
Our hope includes rescue from our fallen bodies. First, we escape in death—to “be away from the body and at home with the Lord” (2Co 5:8). Then, upon Christ’s return, he redeems our bodies, restoring them to their intended glory. Recall Paul’s lament in Romans 7: “Wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death?” (Ro 7:24).
Why would the Christian, after a lifetime of battling the flesh and enduring the pains and diseases of this broken world, cling to such a wretched body?
Flavel writes, “Justification has destroyed the power of sin; sanctification has defeated its reign; but glorification obliterates its very existence.”
He continues, “Here, we groan under temptation, but once free from the body, we are beyond temptation.” Later, he states, “Here we suffer various troubles, but there [in heaven], mourning ceases. God will wipe away all tears and dry our eyes. Oh, let us hurry to find our rest.”
In short, we have everything to gain. Recognizing this, death becomes a comfort, for it is the passage to escape our sinful, suffering bodies.
7. Our arguments to stay are groundless.
Flavel prompts us to consider why we resist death. Why do we fight against it? We may think we have justifiable reasons, but let’s scrutinize them. How valid are they?
For instance, we might worry about our family. The thought of leaving them behind is daunting. If you’re the breadwinner, you may fret over their financial security. Yet, recall what the Lord says in Jeremiah 49:11: “Leave your fatherless children; I will keep them alive; and let your widows trust in me.”
Martin Luther, in his last will, wrote, “Lord, you have given me wife and children; I have nothing to leave them but I commit them to You, Oh Father of the fatherless and judge of widows. Nourish, keep, and teach them.”
We needn’t cling to life for our family’s sake. Just as the Lord provided for them before, he will continue to provide when we’re gone. He understands their needs when he decides the time of our death.
Perhaps we assume we still have work to do in this world. But evidently not, if the Lord calls us home. He has other servants and laborers; the work will continue without us, as it never rested on us entirely.
Or maybe we argue that we’re not ready for heaven. We might think, I have more growing to do. I’m not sanctified enough for heaven. There’s some truth in that, but if God says it’s our time to depart, we are precisely where we need to be. Christ’s blood already justifies us through faith, and nothing can alter that.
Or perhaps we worry that we lack assurance of our salvation. I can’t die yet. I want to feel confident about my destination before I go.
Years ago, I talked to a woman who had recently battled breast cancer. She was terrified throughout the ordeal, scared to death of dying. But she told me, “I realized I didn’t have anything to worry about. I can’t be dying,” she said, “because I don’t have dying grace.”
She believed every Christian feels peace on their deathbed, but that isn’t always true. When Isaiah told King Hezekiah he was dying, how did Hezekiah respond? Isaiah 38 says he wept bitterly, not feeling perfectly at peace about his death.
Flavel says, “Consider that a hearty willingness to leave the world to be free from sin and be with God is the next step to desired assurance.”
In other words, you don’t need assurance; you need trust in God’s promises and a willingness to submit to his sovereign will. If you seek complete assurance, you’ll find it in God’s presence.
One more argument often heard is, “I’m not afraid of dying; I’m afraid of what might kill me.”
This seems reasonable, but consider this: as you reflect on aging—the frailty, aches, and pains, and the potential for disease—remember that every weakness, every ache, and every physical symptom brings you closer to realizing your hopes. Our dying bodies do not lead us to finality; they draw us nearer to heaven, “the dwelling place of God,” where “he will wipe away every tear from [our] eyes. Death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore” (Rev 21:3-4). Amen.