PAUL exhorts the Romans not to be conformed to this world, but to be transformed by the renewing of their minds. John says: "If any man love the world, the love of the Father is not in him." And James declares that whosoever will be the friend of the world is the enemy of God. These passages were understood in their most literal meaning by the primitive church. The world of which Nero was emperor was intensely hostile in its spirit and its institutions to Christianity. There could be no alliance, or truce even, between such radically different ideals of truth and life. But we are told that we live in a world that does not persecute Christianity, nay, that has accepted it as one of its noblest institutions. Surely, then, the earnest exhortation of Paul and the emphatic statements of James and John must be obsolete. To this we reply that the world here does not mean the Roman Empire, or heathenism, or the laws and customs of any one age, but the unregenerate human heart. There are but two classes of men now, as in all former ages—the godly and the ungodly. They are as unlike in their ideas and their aims as light is unlike darkness. There are two worlds that men live for, the carnal and the spiritual, the present and the future. These two classes—these two worlds—can meet, but never mingle. If they seem to mingle for a time it is not because human nature has changed radically, but only because it has accepted a result which it is powerless to prevent; and its enforced neutrality tempts Christians to a delusive confidence. Conformity to the world is as unchristian and as unwise to-day as it was eighteen centuries ago. No part of God's word becomes obsolete. Its teachings and warnings, as well as its promises, are for all time.147 But we are told again that the church is in the world to save it. It cannot, therefore, hold itself apart. Its members must mingle with their fellow-men, in order to reach and influence them. Even Paul said: "I am made all things to all men, that I might by all means save some." This is true. And it brings up the question, which is pressing upon the consciences of all earnest Christians to-day, How far shall we go in conciliating the world in order to save it? We must associate with our neighbors in business and in social life. Yet we cannot share in all their business enterprises and in all their amusements. Where shall we draw the line? My reply is that we cannot draw any line. The Bible does not tell us to. It teaches an easier and a better way. "Be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind." If our hearts are renewed after the image of God, we will be in sympathy with him. We will love the world as he loves it. We will have a spiritual instinct that will enable us to decide in all cases what is our duty. The trouble with many Christians is that they try to decide questions of duty with a cold heart. Get the heart all aglow with love, and it will choose intuitively what is pure and good. A consecrated heart will loathe whatever is frivolous or sensual, whatever tends to foster pride or vanity. Mr. Moody was wise in his reply to the lady in the inquiry-room who wanted to know whether she could go to the theater if she became a Christian: "Yes, if you want to, but when you are a Christian you won't want to. You will have something to interest you so much better than the drama that you will loathe its gilded pageantry." I found an illustration for this divine teaching as I walked beside a mountain stream the other day. It came from a living spring that God had opened. It was filled with water pure and sparkling. But that water had to flow in an earthly channel. It could not rise up into the air and mingle with the clouds. It must wind its way adown the narrow, crooked, and rocky ravine. Did the stream shrink from contact with the soil, the bowlders, and the jagged edges of the cliffs? Did it stop to dally with the pebbles and the sand? Did it form stagnant pools that it might enjoy ease and become rich in sediment?—No. The attraction of the far-off ocean seemed to be upon it, and it hastened on its way. When it met obstacles it murmured gently, then, passing around them, seemed to sing:— "Do not detain me, for I am going
To where the streamlets are ever flowing."
I watched that rivulet as it ran on watering the soil and yet keeping itself unsoiled, and thought what a picture it is of a true life. Such a life is a pilgrimage. It is in the world and yet not of the world. It conforms to all the providential requirements of its lot, but is not controlled by them. Its course is heavenward at all times. It pauses amid the interests and scenes of earth only long enough to be useful, not long enough to be engrossed by them. What we need in these days, when conformity to the world is the church's besetting sin, is more transforming power, a fuller experience of "that good and acceptable and perfect will of God." If a Christian realizes his responsibilities and his privileges as a new creature in Christ Jesus, he will never ask as to worldly things, "May I do this or that?" He will feel that he needs all the time he can get for the cultivation of the soul, and for laying up treasure in heaven. He will not be tempted to give more care and thought to the world than he must in order to live and to have the means for doing good. It is only when piety is low that men and women say, "What is the harm in dancing, or playing cards or billiards?" Suppose there is no harm, would it not be better to spend that time in studying the Bible, in visiting the sick and the poor, or in trying to interest somebody in the gospel? An old writer says: "The business of a skillful shipmaster is twofold—to keep his vessel in the water, and to keep the water out of his vessel." In other words, he must avoid running on a shoal, and, also, springing a leak. This is a good rule for the Christian. He is in the world as the ship is in the sea, but he must not let the world get into his heart. There is nothing so unwieldy as a water-logged vessel. But, alas! there are many such trying to sail through these stormy seas and reach the heavenly harbor. Some endeavor to keep afloat by throwing their cargoes overboard. May God teach them and help them, rather, to get the world out of their hearts.