Dennis Metzler presents Thomas C. Upham's case for pacifism:
Metzler has followed this up with videos on Pacifism among the Early Pentecostals, as well.
Dennis Metzler presents Thomas C. Upham's case for pacifism:
Metzler has followed this up with videos on Pacifism among the Early Pentecostals, as well.
It’s hardly necessary to say much more to highlight just how important the assurance of faith really is. Anyone who genuinely longs for holiness of heart will naturally place great value on assurance, because holiness — understood in the gospel sense — is simply perfect love. And perfect love grows out of a mature, confident faith. In other words, deep assurance and deep holiness rise together.
When we look carefully at what assurance of faith actually is, it seems to rest on two essential elements. First, there is a steady, unshakable confidence in God — his character, his ways, and his promises. Second, there is a confident belief that we ourselves are accepted by God through Christ. Assurance is not limited to this personal element alone, as some people assume. Personal confidence rests on a broader, settled trust in God as a whole. Without that foundation, personal assurance has no place to stand.
We have already touched briefly on this second principle before, but it deserves further attention here.
When we consecrate ourselves to God in the way described, we take a step that is absolutely essential from every possible angle. Yet simply offering everything is not enough. In the same spirit of reliance, we must also believe — without wavering — that God has accepted that offering.
This belief is nothing less than trust in God’s faithfulness to His word. It is the confidence that God will receive — and does now receive — all who place themselves without reservation on His altar. This faith, more than anything else, secures the presence of sanctifying power in the soul. On the other hand, someone may consecrate themselves sincerely and yet dishonor God’s truth by failing to believe that their offering is accepted. In doing so, they cut themselves off from the very power that faith alone can bring, leaving themselves exposed and defenseless against the adversary.
— Christ in the Soul (1872) LXXXIX.
From what has already been said, one thing should be clear: real growth in the life of faith is not likely without a settled, personal, and devout act of consecration. If a Christian is unwilling to make such a commitment — or is content merely to wish for it without actually carrying it out through a clear and decisive act — there is little reason to expect deep progress or the kind of inward spiritual experience that I will describe later.
This duty is so important, and so much depends on it, that it deserves careful and focused attention on its own.
In our previous post, we explored an important idea: the deepest and most meaningful expressions of spiritual life — those moments when the barriers between God and the human soul seem to fall away — are inseparably linked to holiness of heart. If that’s true, then the next natural question is an urgent one: How do we actually become holy?
How do we move from weak faith to confident faith, from inconsistent love to a love that is whole and mature? How do we experience what Scripture often calls entire sanctification?
In response, we suggest that three essential elements are involved—always in partnership with the work of the Holy Spirit. Without these, holiness will remain more of a theory than a lived reality.
There is a form of religious experience that can rightly be called The Hidden Life. When someone first becomes aware of their sin and, however imperfectly, puts their faith in Christ as a Savior, they truly begin a new life. Even if that faith feels weak or uncertain, it marks a real turning point.
But that new life is only a beginning. It carries within it the seed of something far greater — a restored and renewed existence that will, over time, grow into deeper understanding and stronger spiritual feeling. At first, though, it is still fragile. It struggles constantly with the old, natural way of living and often seems like little more than the faint light of dawn before the full day arrives.
— Christ in the Soul (1872) LXXXVIII.