The Living Sacrifice Presented 2
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III. But I proceed to what the Apostle enforces as to not being "conformed to this world, but to be transformed in the renewing of our mind." Now, why does this immediately follow? For this reason. Because, in proportion as we are conformed to the spirit of this world, our understanding becomes dull in the things of God, our affections cold and torpid, and our consciences less tender and sensitive. There is an eternal opposition between God and the world lying in wickedness. In order, then, that our spiritual experience of the truth of God should maintain its ground, it must not be dulled and deadened by conformity to the world. It is like the saber that the soldier carries into battle; it must not trail unsheathed upon the ground lest point and edge be dulled; both must be kept keen and sharp, that execution may be done upon the foe.
So it is with our enlightened understanding, with our tender conscience, and our heavenly affections. If we let them fall upon the world, it is like a soldier trailing his saber upon the pavement; every step he takes dulls both edge and point. If we are conformed to this world, we lose the sweet understanding that we had before of the precious truth of God; we lose that tender sensitiveness of conscience, whereby sin—any sin—becomes a grief and a burden to the soul. A Christian should be what was said of an ancient knight, "without fear and without reproach." The least suspicion of either would have been a blot upon the noble knight's escutcheon. So the Christian's shield should be without a stain, his reputation without a blot. His character should not only be free from blemish, but even from suspicion—as untarnished as the modesty of a woman, or the honor and bravery of a man.
Now, we often get into this worldly conformity, and run the risk of dulling the sword and sullying the shield, by degrees. We give way in this and that thing. We are hedged in, it is true, by the precepts of the gospel, the alarms of a tender conscience, and many powerful restraints—so many banks and dykes to keep out the sea of the world. But, as in Holland, if one breach be made in the dyke, the sea at once rushes in, so, if one gap be made in the conscience, then the sea of worldliness rushes through the breach, and but for God's grace would soon deluge the soul. But even apart from having any peculiar temptation to make a wide breach like this, our social ties, our daily occupation, the friends and relations whom we love in the flesh, all, through their power over our natural affections, draw us aside from time to time into this worldly conformity.
Here, then, is the point where we have to make our chief stand; for if we are conformed to the maxims, the principles, the customs, and the spirit of the world, we so far lose that spiritual position which is a believer's highest blessing and privilege. We descend from the mount of communion with the Lord, and fall into a cold, miserable spot, where the life of God, though not extinct, is reduced to its lowest ebb. The Apostle therefore says, "Be not conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind."
As worldly conformity is subdued and departed from, there is the transforming process of which the Apostle here speaks, whereby we become renewed in the spirit of our mind. In other words, the Holy Spirit, by His work upon the soul, renews the life of God, revives faith, hope, love, prayer, praise, spirituality of mind, with every tender feeling and every godly sensation that stirs and moves in a living heart. As, then, the Spirit of God renews His work upon the heart, He brings us out of this worldly conformity. He discovers to us the evil of it; He makes and keeps the conscience tender and sensitive; He shows us that if we get conformed to the world we lose our evidences; that they become dulled and obscured; that we are soon deprived of communion with God, of comfortable access to our best, our heavenly Friend; that our taste and appetite for spiritual things get palled—and that our very profession itself becomes a burden.
As the conscience then gets more and more awakened to see and feel these things, we become convinced that we do but reap what we have sown; and the Spirit of God, by pressing the charge more closely home, shows us, and sometimes by painful experience, such as long days of darkness and heavy, dragging nights of desertion, the evil of worldly conformity. Now, as He thus brings us out of worldly conformity, by showing us the evil of it—and that by this miserable cleaving to earth we rob ourselves of our happiest hours, our sweetest hopes, and our dearest enjoyments—He draws the soul nearer to Christ. And as He keeps renewing us in the spirit of our mind, by dropping one precious truth after another into the heart, He revives faith, renews hope, communicates love, draws forth prayer, bestows spirituality of mind and affection; and by these means a transforming process takes place, whereby the soul is brought out of worldly conformity, and is transformed into the likeness of a suffering Jesus.
To produce this conformity is the work of the blessed Spirit, whose office it is to take of the things of Christ and reveal them to the heart. Thus He takes of His blood, His righteousness, His holy life, His agonizing death—brings us to the garden of Gethsemane, carries us to the cross at Calvary—and by opening up the sorrows and sufferings of "Immanuel, God with us," conforms the soul to His marred image. In proportion, then, as the blessed Spirit brings us out of worldly conformity, He renews us in the spirit of our mind, and transforms us into the image of Christ. The understanding now becomes more enlightened, the conscience more sensitive, the affections more fixed on heavenly things; there is more peace in believing, and the soul rejoices more "in hope of the glory of God."
But take the converse. As we get into the world, we become gradually conformed to it, and soon lose that spirituality of mind, that tenderness of conscience, those heavenly affections that formerly prevailed. We get cold, stupid, lifeless, sink into a barren spot, where we are of little comfort to ourselves, and of little use to the Church of God. How we need, then, the blessed Spirit of God to be renewing us daily in the spirit of our minds, and thus transforming us into the suffering image of the sorrowing Son of God. For there is no medium between spirituality and carnality—between the image of Christ and conformity to the world. As there is no middle path between the strait road and the broad one—so there is no middle way between fruitfulness and barrenness—prayerfulness and prayerlessness—watchfulness and carelessness—repentance and hardness—faith and unbelief—the life of a Christian and the life of a worldling.
IV. I now proceed to show you the connection of this being renewed in the spirit of our mind with "proving what is that good, and perfect, and acceptable will of God." The will of God is "good, perfect, and acceptable." How are we to prove personally and experimentally that it is all this? That good and perfect will runs counter, over and over again, to my natural inclinations—sets itself firmly against my fleshly desires. God's will calls for self-denial, but I want self-gratification; it requires obedience, but my carnal mind is the essence of disobedience; it demands many sacrifices, but my coward flesh revolts from them; it bids me walk in the path of suffering, sorrow, and tribulation, but my fleshly mind shrinks back, and says, "No, I cannot tread in that path!"
As long, then, as I am conformed to the world, I cannot see the path, for this worldly conformity has thrown a veil over my eyes—or if I do dimly and faintly see it, I am not willing or able to walk in it, because my carnal mind rebels against all trouble or self-denial, or anything connected with the cross of Christ. But, on the other hand, if by any gracious operations of the Spirit on my heart I am drawn out of this worldly conformity, am renewed in the spirit of my mind, and transformed into the likeness of the suffering Son of God, then "that good, and perfect, and acceptable will of God," becomes commended to my conscience.
1. First, I see how "good" that will is. It may be, no, it is very contrary to my will—it points out a very rough and rugged path, in which it bids me walk—it calls for crucifixion of the flesh in every direction—it overturns scheme after scheme, destroys castle after castle, pulls down all lofty buildings and fond imaginations with a long succession of fairy paradises, and loved, almost idolized plans and dreams of earthly happiness! But still, it is a "good" will, as issuing and emanating from Him who is supreme in goodness and mercy, yes, goodness itself.
But we only see, acknowledge, and submit to it as a good will when we are renewed in the spirit of our mind, cast into the mold of the gospel, and conformed to the suffering image of Jesus. What did the suffering, agonizing Lord in Gethsemane's gloomy garden say? "Father, let this cup pass from Me!" But how at once His holy soul, in the midst of agony and suffering, resolved itself into obedience! "Nevertheless, not as I will, but as You will." There we see how the suffering Son of God accepted His Father's will as a "good" will—though that will led Him through agonies unutterable.
2. Again, it is a "perfect" will. There is no spot, stain, or shadow of weakness, error, or instability in it. It is and indeed must be necessarily as perfect as God Himself; for it emanates from Him who is all perfection—a discovery of His mind and character. But when this will sets itself against our flesh, thwarts our dearest hopes, and overturns our fondest schemes—we cannot see that it is a perfect will—but are much disposed to fret, murmur, and rebel against it. That "perfect" will may snatch a child from your bosom; may strike down a dear husband, or tear from your arms a beloved wife; may strip you of all your worldly goods; may put your feet into a path of suffering, and lay you upon a bed of pain and languishing; cast you into hot furnaces or overwhelming floods, and make your life almost a burden to yourself.
How then, under circumstances so trying and distressing as these, can you say, "It is a perfect will. I acknowledge and submit to it as such. Let His will be my will, and reign and rule in my heart without a murmur of resistance to it"? It is certainly impossible to do so as long as the world is conformed to, for the very spirit of that is opposition to the perfect will of God. Until, therefore, the soul is brought out of worldly conformity to view things, not with carnal but with spiritual eyes, it cannot be reconciled to it, acknowledge it as a "perfect" will, and as such submit to it.
3. And "acceptable," too—not, indeed, to our natural reason or to our carnal heart, which see no glory in anything heavenly or divine—not to our earthly affections, which it continually thwarts and crosses—but acceptable to our renewed mind, to our enlightened understanding, to our spiritual will, as they are melted and molded into conformity with God's will. This good, and acceptable, and perfect will is far, far out of the sight of the carnal eye, out of the sound of the worldly ear, out of the touch of the worldly hand—but is made manifest to the spiritual eye, listened to by the spiritual ear, and laid hold of by the spiritual hand. To realize this for ourselves, we shall find it good sometimes to look back and see how that divine will has, in previous instances, proved itself acceptable to our renewed mind. We can see too how supremely that will has reigned, and yet how supreme in all points for our good. It has ordered or overruled all circumstances and all events, amid a complication of difficulties in providence and grace. Nothing has happened to our injury, but all things, according to the promise, have worked together for our good. Whatever we have lost, it was better for us that it was taken away; whatever property, or comfort, or friends, or health, or earthly happiness we have been deprived of, it was better for us to lose than to retain them.
Was your dear child taken away? It might be to be safely housed, or to teach you resignation to God's sacred will. Has a dear partner been snatched from your embrace? It was that God might be your better Partner and undying Friend. Was any portion of your worldly substance taken away? It was that you might be taught to live a life of faith, not only on the grace, but on the providence of God. Have your fondest schemes been marred, your youthful hopes blighted, and you pierced in the warmest affections of your heart? It was to remove an idol, to dethrone a rival of Christ, to crucify the object of earthly love, that a purer, holier, and more enduring affection might be enshrined in its stead. All this we can now see, looking back on the past; but the present is dark and obscure. How shall we find the will of God acceptable now? Only as we are renewed in the spirit of our mind, and are transformed and conformed to the suffering image of the sorrowing Son of God. How fearful, then, how dangerous, and yet how ensnaring, is that worldly conformity which sets us in deadly opposition to that good and perfect will of God which was, and is "acceptable" to His dear Son, to all the holy angels round the throne, to the spirits of just men made perfect, to His spiritually-minded people upon earth, and hateful to none but devils and carnal, ungodly men.
And how truly blessed to be brought out of the power and prevailing influence of this worldly spirit, and to be cast into the gospel mold, where, being renewed in the spirit of our mind, we prove that the will of God is not only "good," pure goodness, and "perfect," worthy of all His glorious perfections, but "acceptable" to our heart and affections, which therefore tenderly embrace it, and thus, as it were, incorporate it into our will, making the two wills one. To bring us to this point is the grand object of all gospel discipline; and one may say that the ultimatum of gospel obedience is "to lie passive in His hand, and know no will but His."
Here alone can we fully enter into the beauty and blessedness of gospel truth—here alone can we submit to the weight of a daily cross, glory in tribulation, patiently endure afflictions, feel the sweetness of the promises, walk in obedience to the precepts, and tread the path that leads to endless glory. Here alone is our rebellious will silenced—our carnal affections restrained—the raging strength of sin curbed—and the heart softened and melted into an obedient acquiescence with the will and word of God.
Now view the contrast. If we begin by degrees to drink into the spirit of the world; if the things of time and sense engross all our thoughts, cares, and affections, and if we gradually drift into a course of carnality and slothfulness, carried away by a flood of earthly pursuits and cares—how rugged, steep, and up-hill the path of obedience becomes. Prayer and supplication, reading and meditation, converse with the exercised people of God, the very house of prayer itself, and the hearing of the gospel, those blessed privileges so dear to a child of God in a spiritual frame, become a weariness—when the heart is in the world.
But one thing we must deeply bear in mind, that as we cannot deliver ourselves from worldly conformity—so we cannot renew ourselves in the spirit of our mind. The blessed Spirit must do both for us, and work in us to will and to do of His good pleasure. But as we are led to feel the misery of the one state, and the blessedness of the other—we shall seek after these gracious operations and divine influences. And as the blessed Spirit from time to time brings the soul out of this worldly conformity any transforms it into the suffering image of Christ, it sees more and more the beauty and blessedness of walking in this path—and cleaving to Christ and His cross with its tenderest affections, proves for itself—the goodness, acceptability, and perfection of the will of God.
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