REFINED, BUT NOT WITH SILVER – Charles Spurgeon
REFINED, BUT NOT WITH SILVER
“Behold, I have refined you, but not with silver; I have chosen you in the furnace of affliction.” Isaiah 48:10.
The Lord refines His people, but He exercises great discrimination in the means by which He does so. A silver furnace is one of the very best for the removal of dross and would seem well-suited for refining the most precious things. However, it is not sufficient for the Lord’s purpose with His people. It is carefully prepared and possesses great separating power, but the purging away of sin requires more care and cleansing energy than a silver refinery can provide. The greatest delicacy of skill is exhibited by the refiner, who oversees the process, regulating the degree of heat and the length of time the precious metal remains in the crucible.
This, then, could serve as a figure for the best mode of sanctification, but clearly, the figure falls short in its delicacy. While silver refining is one of the best-organized and most skillfully conducted human processes, when the Lord sits as a refiner, He executes His work with greater wisdom and artistry. Silver refining is rough work compared to the Lord’s purification of His people. Therefore, He says, “I have refined you, but not with silver.”
The Lord has a furnace of His own, as written, “His furnace is in Jerusalem,” and in this special furnace, He purifies His people through secret processes known only to Himself. He has a fire of His own kindling in Zion, compared with which all other flames are strange fire. Only in this peculiar fire will He consume His people’s dross and tin. His saints are more precious than silver or gold. While one passage says, “You have tried us as silver is tried,” another declares that He refines us in a more divine manner, “but not with silver.”
No one would think of refining silver using the same rough means as those for smelting iron. Likewise, the Lord does not purify His precious ones, who are far more valuable than silver, by anything but the choicest methods. More subtle, more searching, more spiritual, yet more true; more gentle, yet more effectual are the purifying processes of heaven. There is no refiner like our refiner, and no purity like that which the Spirit works in us.
Distinguishing and discriminating grace operates even in the trials of the elect. The Lord says, “I have chosen you in the furnace,” not in the best furnace man could make, but in a furnace of His own, reserved for His peculiar treasures. Every person experiences trials, for “we are born to trouble as the sparks fly upward.” However, there is a distinction between the sorrows of the wicked and the trials of the righteous—a grave distinction between the punishments of the ungodly and the chastisements of those who fear God.
There is a furnace for each metal, but the more precious the ore, the more special the refining. A furnace exists for all men—for kings on their thrones, to whom sickness and bereavement come as freely as to the poor, for the rich in the midst of their wealth, from whom their substance or ability to enjoy what they have may depart. But there is a special fire, a reserved furnace, into which neither the great nor the wealthy shall be placed. It is kept for more precious material than the unregenerate children of men.
God’s furnace in Zion is meant especially for His own people. To each of His royal jewels, He says, “I have refined you, not with the precious things of earth—the kings and princes, the silver ones among mortals—but I have refined you differently, making My election visible, even in the furnace in which I refine My treasures.”
I will push this thought further and remark that the Lord has special dealings with each of His saints, refining each by a process peculiar to the individual. He does not throw all His precious metals into one silver furnace but refines each metal separately. You do not know my trials, and I am glad you do not, and I do not know yours. I do not wish to bear what you may suffer. There is common sympathy, for we all enter the furnace, but the nature of each trial is distinct. Some tender hearts would be utterly crushed if they were afflicted as others are. Does not the farmer teach us this? He does not beat out the tender cumin and fennel with the cartwheel he uses on the heavier grain. No, he has different methods for each seed. All must be thrashed, but not in the same way.
You, brother, may be like a sheaf of the best corn. Be grateful, but remember, you will feel the sharp thrashing instrument with teeth. And you, my brother, may be one of the tender seeds, the minor seeds of the Master’s granary. Be grateful, for you will feel a lighter flail, but do not compliment yourself on it, for it indicates that you are of lighter stuff, though still true grain, of the Master’s sowing.
Beloved, I would venture to say that the lines of trial have not fallen to any two men in precisely the same way. We rejoice as we read the life of David, for he seems to represent us all. David is to the church of God what Shakespeare is to the world—“A man so various that he seems to be not one, but all mankind’s epitome.” Yet David is distinct from all other saints. There are not, and could not be, two Davids. So, while you and I may travel in parallel lines and know each other’s griefs, there is a turning in my life you have never reached, and a dark corner in yours that I have never seen. The skeleton in anyone’s house is different from the one in another’s. No man is the exact replica of another.
In all this, divine sovereignty operates in connection with divine love and wisdom, purifying all the sons of Levi and giving each one his own separate purification according to his need. “I have refined thee, but not with silver. I have chosen thee”—mark, not “you,” but “thee.” A distinct personal word is used, addressed to each separate saint. “I have refined thee, but not with silver. I have chosen thee in the furnace of affliction.”
Having shown that distinguishing grace is evident in the trials of the chosen, let us turn to the connection between God’s election and the furnace. I will keep my remarks brief, asking you to reflect on them later.
I. The first connection is that the furnace was the first meeting place between electing love and our souls. God did not choose His people in the furnace in the sense that He had not chosen them before; He chose them before the foundation of the world. But the first manifestation of His electing love to any of us was in the furnace. Abraham knew little of God’s love until the voice called him, “Get you out of your country… unto a land I will show you.” This was a grievous trial for him. The breaking of family ties was a furnace, and then he knew that God had chosen him.
Isaac did not understand God’s choice until he went up the mountain and realized the burnt sacrifice was to be himself. Likewise, Jacob learned about electing love as he lay down one night with stones for his pillow, an exile from home. And Israel, as a nation, did not understand God’s election until they were in Egypt.
When Goshen became a land of brick-making and sorrow, the people cried unto God and began to understand, “I have called My son out of Egypt.” It was then they knew God had set a difference between Israel and Egypt. The more they were oppressed, the more they multiplied. The furnace became the place where they met with God, the place of election.
II. The furnace of affliction does not change the election of God. If He chose us in it, His choice stands, whether we are in it or out. If we first knew His electing love in the depths of despair, then we can never be worse off than we were then. His love, shown at our worst, continues unchanged. The furnace may alter our circumstances but not our acceptance with God.
If your outward situation changes—if you once had a large house and fine health, but now you have little and suffer—God’s love remains constant. He loved you for reasons known only to His heart, and His love does not fluctuate with your circumstances. The furnace may bring tears, but God’s love never changes.
III. The furnace is the very emblem of election. In the old covenant, when God made a covenant with Abraham, a smoking furnace and a burning lamp passed before him, marking the people of God. The furnace is the sign of God’s people. The child of God must feel the smarting rod. “In the world you shall have tribulation,” said Jesus. If you belong to Him, you will experience trials.
IV. The furnace is the workshop of electing love. Affliction helps remove our dross, making us more like Christ. The Lord uses the furnace to take away self-conceit, to humble us, and to teach us to walk more carefully. The furnace prepares us for holiness and helps us grow spiritually by making us less in our own esteem. Affliction loosens us from this world, making us more focused on the world to come.
In conclusion, God refines us in the furnace of affliction because He values us. The trials we endure serve to shape us into His likeness, preparing us for the inheritance He has prepared for us in the world to come.
The Furnace and Election
My time flies so rapidly that I cannot stay long on any one branch of this very fruitful topic. There is no doubt that electing love uses the furnace as its workshop, and that here the vessels of mercy are shaped, receiving many lines of beauty and marks of grace.
V. The Furnace as a School to Learn of Election
Now, fifthly, the furnace is a great school in which we learn about election itself. First, in the furnace, we learn the graciousness of election. When a child of God, in the time of trouble, sees the corruption of his heart—the little hell, the perfect Sodom that reeks within his nature—he begins to ask, “How can the Lord ever love me? If He has loved me, His affection must be traced to grace, free grace, sovereign grace, boundless grace, and nothing but grace.” Now, that is a great thing to learn.
Then, too, we learn the holiness of election. While we lie suffering, a voice says, “God will not spare you because there is still sin in you. He will cleanse you from every false way.” Then we see what a holy thing God’s election is. How clean they must be who are to stand in His presence! How He would have His favorites loathe every sin. How God sees it better that His children should always smart than that they should sometimes sin. He will sooner make them bleed at every pore than allow their hearts to go after their idols. What a holy thing election is when it involves rebukes and chastisements in order to our perfecting.
Then, too, in the furnace, we see what a loving thing election is. For never is God so loving to His people as when they are in the flames of trouble. How tenderly He presses them to His bosom in their hour of grief! The mother always loves her child, but let that child be ill, let it pine away, let it become weaker and weaker, and you will see the mother’s heart. She loves that child better than the others because it needs more love. And when the Lord allows His dear children to grow poor, or to become distressed in mind or body, then He lets out His heart to them. At such times, He shows them His love in such choice and delicate ways as perhaps they never knew before.
It is at such times that God’s people know the power of electing love. “Ah,” cries the instructed believer, “I can now see how the decrees of God preserve my soul alive. I am in the furnace, and if He had not kept me, the vehement heat would long ago have utterly consumed me.” If you want to see what the power of God can do for a believer, you must stand where Nebuchadnezzar stood and look into the red mouth of the furnace.
Those who threw the holy children into the furnace themselves perished because of the intensity of the flames, so that there was no question about the fire—it was a real and killing flame. Look steadily in—your eyes can bear the gaze. You see three men walking. They were cast in bound, but now they walk loose. Three, did I say? There are four. A mystic Stranger is with them—one who wears a crown brighter than all the crowns of earth—but who is He? “The fourth is like unto the Son of God.” Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego had never seen the Son of God so near them as when they trod the glowing coals. Is it not written, “I have chosen you in the furnace of affliction”? When you go through the fire, you shall not be burned. The Lord’s choice of you shall be shown by His bearing you company.
Yes, beloved, and it is at such times that the sweetness of God’s electing love comes home to the Christian heart. He joys and rejoices in his tribulation while he is conscious of the love of God. I would not change my estate—no, not in the furnace—with the bravest worldling that lives. When everything else is gone, if electing love remains, I am rich to all the intents of bliss. Let me be sure of almighty love, and all the rest is not worth a thought.
So, beloved, you learn election in the furnace. And although I do not desire the slightest harm for any believer, but wish him every blessing, yet I would to God that some of my Christian brethren, who never go very deep into the things of God and are cloudy about the doctrines of grace, could experience the furnace for their eternal good. A scorch or two might do them good, and they might be better able to speak to the praise of the glory of that infinite, eternal grace which chose the saints of old and will never cast them away.
VI. The Higher Ends of Election Revealed in the Furnace
Lastly, by the furnace, some of the higher ends of a yet more special election are often revealed. For there is not only an election of grace, but an election from among the elect to the highest position and noblest service. Jesus Christ had many choice disciples, but it is written, “I have chosen you twelve.” Out of the twelve, there were three—you know their names—and out of the three, there was one, elect out of the elect—that loving, tender John, who leaned upon his Master’s bosom.
The furnace has much to do with this, as it usually attends and promotes the higher states of grace and the wider ranges of usefulness. First, with the preacher, this truth is seen. Affliction makes him eminent. I do not think that a preacher will long feed God’s saints if he does not read in that volume which Luther said was one of the three best books in his library, namely, affliction. That book is printed in black letters, but it has some wonderful illuminations, and he who would teach the people must often weep over its chapters. Men never bake bread as well as when the oven is well heated, nor do we prepare sermons so well as when the fire burns around us.
When we have been in heaviness, ourselves, we are able to speak experientially to the tried children of God. When the Lord intends to train one of His servants for eminent usefulness in building up His people, He passes them through the fire. Edification comes from tribulation. So it is with the Christian hero—he could never lead the host if he had not been chastened of the Lord in secret places. Men who have stood in the front of the armies of God have been trained by adversity.
Martin Luther—grand, brave man—have you ever read his private biography? He was so tempted, so tried, and so frequently the victim of depression of spirits and dire despondency that he was often ready to die in despair. There were times when he did not know whether he had any part or lot in the glad tidings he loved so well. Though he went on thundering out the gospel for others, he sometimes found no comfort for himself. Those awful conflicts with the devil confirmed his spirit in his public controversies. How could he fear the Pope, when he had faced the devil himself? He could not fear to go to Worms because of the devils on the rooftops of which he spoke, for he had faced all the infernal legions in his own house and had overcome them.
Look at Calvin, that mightiest master in Israel, clear, upright, and profound. He suffered daily from a list of diseases, any of which would have made a constant invalid of a less courageous man. Yet, despite always bearing his body’s anguish, he continued his famous expositions early each morning at the cathedral, enriching the Church of God.
Nor could England have found a Wycliffe, nor Scotland a Knox, nor Switzerland a Zwingli, except where the refiner sits at the furnace door. It must be so. No sword is fit for the Lord’s handling until it has been annealed many times.
As it is with the preachers and heroes, so it will be with us if we would rise. I would have you greatly aspire in holy things. Labor after a perfectly consecrated life. Renounce all selfishness and live for the salvation of souls and the glory of God. But remember, you will not reach this except by many trials.
Do you aspire to be Christlike? I trust you do. But you never will be like Jesus if you never bear a cross. If your life is one of ease, can you be like He who had no place to lay His head? If you never know self-denial, if no reproach is heaped upon you, if no one ever calls you devil or mad, if everything goes swimmingly with you, how can you know fellowship with the despised and rejected of men? God’s true people are opposed by the current of the times, even as their Master was.
Oh yes, it will cost you many sorrows and tears if you are to fully follow your Master. But do not hesitate. Do you want to be heavenly? I know some who already, in a measure, are. I could indicate some members of this church whose speech is savored with eternity and glory. They cannot speak half a dozen sentences without revealing that they have been with Jesus.
Mark this—these are tried people. They are mostly sick people, but I dare to say that they are heavenly. We ought all to be so. But oh, my brethren, we are little what we should be until we are put upon the anvil, and the Lord uses the hammer upon us. If He is doing that with any of you and you have crosses to bear, do not fret, but let the soft whisper of the text sustain you: “I have chosen you in the furnace of affliction.”
There are tokens of consumption in you, dear sister. I see that hectic flush, but do not dread the future, for the Lord says, “I have chosen you in the furnace of affliction.”
You have struggled, my brother, to rise out of your situation, but as often as you have strived, you have fallen back again. Do not be despondent but abide in your calling with contentment, for the Lord says, “I have chosen you in the furnace of affliction.”
Young man, you have been to college, and you were near taking your degree, but your health is failing, and you will never become the scholar you hoped to be. Do not distress yourself because your part will be passive rather than active, for the Lord says, “I have chosen you in the furnace of affliction.”
Merchant, your firm is going to pieces, and you will be poor, but have faith in God. It is His will that you struggle through the rest of your life, but He says, “I have chosen you in the furnace of affliction.”
Mother, you have lost three or four little ones, and there is another sickening, and you say, “I cannot bear it.” Yes, you will bear it, for the Lord says, “I have chosen you in the furnace of affliction.”
And are you here, Hannah? Are you here, tonight, you woman of a sorrowful spirit? Is your adversary bitter toward you? Weep no more, for the Lord loves you when no one else does, and He says, “I have chosen you in the furnace of affliction.”
Some of you are like ferns. You never flourish except in the damp and shade. Too much sunlight would not be good for you. Perhaps your Master knows that if He puts you where you would like to be, it would be deadly for you. Therefore, He writes, “I have chosen you in the furnace of affliction.”
Now, I take my leave with a morsel of personal experience. My Lord met me tonight and said, “I have chosen thee in the furnace of affliction,” and I replied, “My Lord, inasmuch as You graciously say, ‘I have chosen thee,’ I leave the rest to Your will, and ask not whether it is in the furnace or out. Choose me, and then choose everything for me. If You choose the furnace, I would choose the furnace too.”
Remember the good woman who, when asked whether she would rather live or die, replied, “I would rather God’s will were done.” “But if God would let it be just as you wish, which should it be?” they asked. She replied, “If the Lord were to leave it to my will, I would beg Him to be so good as to let it be His will and not mine.”
O beloved, pray “Not as I will.” Grief is almost ended when self is slain. Sorrow ceases to be sorrow when you take the sting of self out of it.
The Lord be with you, for Christ’s sake. Amen.