Garland, Texas - Complete Commitment by J. Edwin Orr

For those who are here for the first time, I mention again that this has been a series of meetings, one message following on another. It's not like an evangelistic campaign where you can bring someone along and hear a gospel message, a way of salvation made clear. I love to preach the gospel, by the way. If you have unconverted friends and neighbors, I intend to present the gospel news of salvation to them on Sunday morning, so bring them along. But the ministry the Lord has given me has been one of a message to believers in the churches. That's what I propose to do tonight: to speak to believers.

You may remember I spoke on repentance; it means a change of attitude. I spoke on conscience and conviction and confession. Last night, I spoke on hindrances, and now I want to speak on commitment. There was a Hopi Red Indian giving testimony in Arizona. He said, "Before I get converted, I go to town on Saturday night, get drunk, my big black dog bite everybody. Then," said he, "Jesus Christ come into my life. He give me a great big white dog. White dog love everybody." But he said, "Now I have two dogs, and they fight." A chief on the front seat said, "Which dog winning?" The brave hesitated for a moment, then he said, "Whichever one I say sick to." When I heard that story, I thought how true it is.

When I was a teenage Christian, sometimes I got so pious. Not only did I go to church twice on Sunday without being told to go, I went to Bible class, to Sunday school. I went to the midweek service, I went to missionary meetings, gave out hymn books. I even did my social service. I went to a bakery and bought pastries slightly damaged at half price and distributed them to the poor in the slums. I was feeding the big white dog. But sometimes I backslid somewhat, ran around with a gang of boys on Saturday night, kept bad company. I didn't curse and swear and get drunk, that sort of thing, but I certainly compromised my testimony. I was feeding the black dog.

Now, isn't that really the problem of the Christian life? Our Nazarene friends teach that you can shoot the old black dog dead, but they admit that you can start with another black pup. So we're not worried about the age of the dog. What is your greatest enemy in living the Christian life? The Communist Party? No, not at all. It's yourself. That's what I want to talk about.

I remember coming to Texas in 1950. Billy Graham asked me to come. It was his first campaign, and the editor of the Baptist Standard had made a strong attack on Billy, calling him a unionist, an Arminian, and several other names. Billy said, "I wish you'd go to Texas and explain to the good folks there that when God blesses his people, He blesses them all." So I drove all the way to Lubbock. I was so broke I slept in the car the first night. But the next day, I went to the BSU there. I met a BSU worker; her name was Ardell Hock, daughter of Preacher Hock of Norman, Oklahoma. She said, "There's a young evangelist in town from New Orleans Baptist Seminary. His name is Buckner Fanning." So I went along to see him. He wanted to talk about what is the doctrine of commitment. He said, "You know, some say that what's wrong with us Baptists is we dip them and drop them." I said, "That's not fair. You don't dip them and drop them. You dip them and then get them into the program. That's the answer: get them into the program, the program of the church."

And what a variety of programs we have now. Supposing a converted man has a rotten bad temper, what does the program do for his bad temper? What does his bad temper do for the program? Now, I find the average Baptist can explain the steps of salvation, telling people to repent of their sins and put their trust in the Lord Jesus Christ, and so on and so on. But if you say, "Now, what about the problem of the Christian life?" Well, come to the church and get in the program. They don't have a clear theology at this point. So I want to speak about the doctrine of commitment, and I'd like to point out that practically everyone that I know that's been greatly used of God has had a crisis of commitment.

I have one of my old books here, and in the little summary at the end, I mentioned the wonderful touch of revival we had at the Forest Home Conference Grounds in the San Bernardino Mountains in California, 1949. One of the other speakers was a young friend of mine. He wanted to talk about revival, and he wanted to talk about commitment. One night, we saw such a moving of God's spirit that we had 17 after-meetings going on simultaneously. He came to me after midnight at my cabin and said, "I've never been closer to God in my life." But then he said, "Why did you say that I wasn't totally surrendered to the Lord?" I said, "I didn't say a word about you." "Well," he said, "it must have been the Lord speaking to me."

I've said here, I think the climax was reached after midnight one Wednesday night when he opened his heart and told me of his desire for a renewal of his consecration and anointing of the Holy Spirit. We talked about that for an hour, then he went out into the woods to pray. I think you'll find an account of this in the first issue of Christianity Today in 1956. At 2:00 in the morning, he came back to my cabin to tell me that he had not only received an infilling of the Holy Spirit but an assurance that he was going to see revival in Los Angeles. When I put those talks that I gave together in a book, he wrote the preface, and he said the messages were of tremendous blessing in my own life. The logical development of the whole subject of commitment and the outpouring of the spirit stirred the whole conference. Well, you can guess who that was: Billy Graham. But the man was already an evangelist working for Youth for Christ. But that night, without reservation, he committed his mind and will and emotions anew to God, came into an experience of what Andrew Murray calls absolute surrender.

Well, now, a lot of good Baptists are in favor of commitment like that, but they don't know the theology of it. So I want to talk to you tonight about total commitment, but I'm going to have to explain two terms first of all: first of all, justification, and second, sanctification.

I was speaking in a Baptist church in San Diego. My wife was in the audience. When I announced I was going to speak on sanctification, one Baptist lady turned to another and said, "That's a Methodist doctrine." No, it's a New Testament doctrine. The word sanctification is all through the New Testament. But you see, so many people are a little shy of the subject. They think it's a denominational distinctive of the Methodists. They forget that sanctification is something very important in the life of the believer.

Now, what do we mean by justification? Would anyone like to suggest what does it mean to be justified? Would you raise your hand and make a suggestion? Don't be afraid; it'll add to the discussion. Being right with God? Yes, being right with God. Anyone else make any other suggestion? That's right, to be acquitted of guilt, to be counted blameless. I'm surprised that no one has given me the usual answer that I get: justified means that when God looks at me in Christ, he sees me just-if-I'd never sinned. That's a pun rather than a definition, but I don't mind an occasional pun. I remember asking my Sunday school teacher, "Who were the Sadducees?" He said, "The Sadducees were a Jewish sect. They didn't believe in the resurrection of the body or the coming of the Lord, and that's why they were sad, you see." I've never forgotten that. So if you want to remember it that way, to be justified is to be counted righteous. But how can God count me righteous if I'm not righteous? Well, you see, that's through the atonement. Christ died for me. But justification is the work of God whereby we are accounted righteous.

I spoke last night on forgiveness. It's more than forgiveness. Way back in 1949, I suppose, I was driving along California Boulevard in Pasadena, California. I came to a stop sign at the corner of Allen Boulevard. I stopped, and I drove north. Now, in those days, there used to be a motorcycle policeman hiding under the pepper trees there. And as I drove north on Allen Boulevard, I noticed in the reflection of my mirror the motorcycle policeman coming rapidly in my direction. I said to the Reverend Armand Guine, who was riding with me, "Who's he chasing?" He looked back—I had to attend to the steering wheel—he looked back and he said, "You're the only one on the street." And sure enough, the man was after me. But I hadn't done anything wrong. Now, it's true I was driving a car with an Illinois license plate. I had just moved from Glen Ellyn in Illinois, but that's not an offense. They always give you a few months to change your license plate.

The motorcycle policeman pulled alongside of me. He said, "Pull over there, bud." I pulled over. He parked his cycle, he walked back, he laid his elbow ever so nonchalantly on my window frame. You have to agree, traffic cops have poise. He seemed to be very confident of himself. He said, "Mister, do you have stop signs back in Illinois?" I thought, what a dumb question, but I decided against saying that to him. I said, "Yes, mister." "When you see a stop sign in Illinois, do you stop?" I thought, there's another dumb question. I said, "Of course." Then he said, "Why didn't you stop back there?" I said, "I did. I mean, I think I did. I mean, I hope I did. I mean, did I?" He said, "You put your foot on the brake, but you didn't stop rolling. Show me your driver's license." Mercifully, it was issued in Chicago. Well, he said, "I see you are a visitor to our fair state. We'll forgive you this time. You can drive on." I drove on. I was glad I didn't get a ticket. I was forgiven. I was forgiven, but I wasn't justified because I stopped at the next sign at San Pasqual and let him see me stop. If I had gone through that sign, he would have given me a ticket. I was only on probation.

Now, that's the blessing of justification. God not only forgives us, but he treats us as if we never sinned in the first place. That's what it means to be justified. Not only that, he adopts us into his family. Could you imagine going home tonight and finding the neighbors out on the sidewalk saying, "Oh, your house has been burgled." You say, "Oh no." "Yes, but we think the burglar is still there. Be very careful." So you go very gingerly. There are signs of burglary, but you don't see the burglar. Then you find he's locked himself in the bathroom and he can't get the lock undone. He's trapped. You've been meaning to fix that lock, but generally, you don't use it. But there he is. Then you find he's only a teenager. You feel sorry for him, transient. So he says, "I haven't eaten all day." You say, "Well, we'll make you a little bit of supper. Where are you sleeping tonight?" He doesn't have a place to sleep, so you put him up in the guest room. On Monday, you take him downtown, find him a job. He's so grateful he comes for Sunday dinner every week and finally marries your sister. What treatment for a burglar! Well, that's exactly what God does for us. He not only forgives us, he justifies us, treats us as if we never sinned in the first place, and then adopts us into the family. That's the wonderful salvation we have.

Now, every Baptist knows this, but what is your definition of sanctification? What does it mean to be sanctified? Someone make a suggestion. Anyone raise your hand before you speak. Yes, I'm glad I'm getting good, straight theological answers here. To be sanctified, one man said, that means to be made holy. I said, what does to be made holy mean? Well, to be sanctified. They both mean the same thing. One's Anglo-Saxon and the other's Latin, but it means to be set apart for God. Now, notice I said for God because the word sanctified can mean something else. The children of Israel did sanctify themselves to do evil. That means they set themselves out to do evil, just as we could say Hell's Angels set themselves out to wreck the time of festivity. It has that negative sense, but to be set apart for God.

Now, that's more than clean. We talked last night about if we confess our sins, he's faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness. My daughter is married and has three children. I think I told you one is 6'4" and he's shooting big game in Africa at the moment with a camera. But when she was a little girl of 11—I shouldn't say a little girl because she was as tall as her mother when she was 11—I came home late one night. My wife didn't know when to expect me. She had gone out shopping. I was too tired to cook for myself and too hungry to wait for her to come back. I asked my 11-year-old daughter, "How about making supper for your daddy?" Oh, she was pleased. It was the first time anyone had asked her officially to cook. Of course, I knew what I would get: meatballs. That was the first thing she learned in domestic economy, how to make Swedish meatballs. Well, I was ready for meatballs. I took the newspaper, began to read. She started to sing to herself. She was so pleased with herself. She put the pan on, she put a knife on the table, she put a fork on the table, and she put a plate on the table. I lowered my paper. I said, "Take that plate away." She said, "What's wrong with that plate, Daddy?" I said, "That's the cat's plate. I'm not going to eat off the cat's plate." She said, "But I washed it." I said, "I don't care if you washed it a hundred times. That plate was sanctified unto the cat. It was set apart for the cat's use."

I remember once I had a quartet of young men singing in my meetings. They stood in front of the communion table, a little nervous when they started, but they relaxed when they were singing their second number. And one fellow heaved himself up onto the communion table. "Let's get down, get down. That table is sanctified for the Lord's Supper, set apart. You don't use it for ping pong or anything like that, do you? No, never." So to be sanctified is to be set apart. Now, I don't mean to be out of this world. In Adelaide, in Australia, I stayed with a young couple who had just been converted. They thought they had a lot to learn about the Christian life, so they volunteered to put the evangelist up, offered hospitality. I noticed they were a little, shall we say, nervous. And after a few days, I said, "Are you disappointed having an evangelist?" "Well, we didn't know what to expect. We thought you'd come into the room and say, 'Peace be unto you,' or something like that." Now, to be sanctified doesn't mean to be out of this world. It means just to be usable for God, to be set apart for God. It does not mean that you cannot have fun. It doesn't mean you can't have entertainment. It doesn't mean you can't have sport. It doesn't mean you can't have recreation. But it means you must be set apart for God. Don't expect the Lord to bless you on the Lord's Day if the devil has the use of your life on Saturday night. That's what it really means to be set apart for God.

Now, this is all my preliminary explanation before we come to the meat of the message. But I'm going to say something further. Why is it that believers disagree so much about a subject like sanctification? For instance, there are some who teach that sanctification is a position. You might say, who teaches that? I don't know if you have ever heard of a theologian called John Nelson Darby, one of the founders of the Plymouth Brethren. You say that's a very small denomination. It has a wide influence, though. Dallas Theological Seminary is influenced by Darby's teaching. So is the whole of the dispensationalist movement. They emphasize that every believer is set apart for God. That was Darby's emphasis. Is it true? Oh yes. In the opening of the Epistle to the Corinthians, Paul, an apostle of Jesus Christ, and Sosthenes, our brother, to the church of God which is at Corinth, sanctified in Christ Jesus, called to be saints. Hold on a moment. The church at Corinth, where there was drunkenness at the Lord's table and immorality in the congregation and fanaticism in their meetings? Yes, but he called them saints. They were set apart for God. In one sense, the moment a man says, "I put my trust in Jesus Christ," he is set apart for God. You're not your own; you're bought with a price. Any danger to this? Any heresy? Oh yes. If you turn around to the negative side and say, "Then it doesn't matter what I do," then you've missed the whole point.

Now, another John, John Wesley, emphasized sanctification as a crisis of commitment. Any scripture for that? Oh yes, Romans 12:1: "Present your body a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable to God, which is your reasonable service." That's commitment. I remember speaking in the Queensland Bible Institute in Brisbane, and I said, "Anyone care to define sanctification for me?" A girl in the class stood up and said, "Sanctification is moment by moment, hour by hour, day by day, growth in grace." I said, "Thank you. Any other definition?" A young man, I suppose he was of Methodist extraction, he got up and he said, "Sanctification is the deeper blessing." Then another young man with a big Scofield Bible under his arm spoke, and he said, "Every believer is sanctified." And in one minute, I had heard what seemed to be three contradictory definitions