'For the fashion of this world passeth away.'
"For the fashion of this world passes away."
This is the second reason. The word schema—that is, the outward form or appearance of this world, its visible show, its external appearance and coloring—passes away. The term used in the original language is notably diminishing, as if the world were not a true substance, but merely a fashion, a form without enduring essence.
Just as in natural philosophy, there are appearances in the air that have no true substance—such as visions of flying horses or battling soldiers in the sky—these are not real things, but only appearances.
They are phasis, illusions or shapes. The substance and true reality lie elsewhere.
So it is with everything in this world—it is but an appearance. When the devil showed Christ all the kingdoms of the world, he showed
Him only an image, a mere appearance, a show of things. Even the word "show" is itself a diminishing term.
And again, in the phrase "passes away,"
"The fashion of this world passes away." Or, as some translate it, "deceives and leads us astray." And indeed it does turn us from better things. "The fashion of this world passes away"—that rendering is fitting enough. It passes away. Shall we then become immoderately attached to that which is transient? It is only a show, a spectacle, a pageant. The word itself suggests a passing spectacle, a display that resembles various things but possesses no substance.
There is no enduring reality in a pageant.
Use 1. Let us learn to think rightly of the things of this life—that there is no enduring reality in them. They have a kind of reality, it is
true. Riches are, in a sense, riches; beauty is, in a sense, beauty; nobility is, in a sense, nobility; possessions are, in a sense, possessions. But all this is as in a pageant. It is as if a man plays the part of a king or a beggar in a theatrical performance. He is, for a time, a king or a beggar, but we do not evaluate him based on his costume or role, but rather by who he truly is once he is off the stage.
And so it is with life in this world. While we live here, we act a part— some play the role of rich men, others of noblemen, others of poor men or beggars. All is but a part in a fleeting drama. And the gap between this life and eternity is even greater than the difference between the role an actor plays and the man himself. All of life is but a scene in a passing pageant. In the grave, no one is rich more than another. The king is as poor in death as the lowliest peasant. His riches do not follow him. The worm and the grave recognize no distinctions. When we enter the house of the dead, all roles and differences come to an end.
Therefore, since this world is but an appearance, a fleeting performance, why should we esteem ourselves more highly because of anything in it? Does the actor who plays the part of a nobleman consider himself better than the one who plays a beggar? No. He knows that soon the play will end, and he will return to what he truly is. Why are we not as wise in greater matters? It is not the one who plays the grandest part, but the one who plays any part best, who is most to be commended.
A man who faithfully serves God in a humble condition is far better than one who, possessing great power, turns his authority into a tool of injustice—living as if the world were created for his indulgence and to make others bow before him. Such a man is wretched, and will be seen to be so when he exits the stage of this life. It does not matter
how long he has lived or how great a part he has played, but only how well.
We do not honor actors for the parts they play, but for how skillfully they perform them. If they were wicked before, they are still wicked after. But if they act well, they are praised. Likewise, it matters not what role a person plays in this world. If he performs it well, he is blessed forever. If he plays it poorly, he is miserable forever. All is but a passing spectacle.
If we speak of what is real, we must speak of the things of religion. If we speak of true nobility, it is to be a child of God. If we speak of true riches, they are those which we carry to our deathbed—those which we take to heaven—those which comfort the soul and enrich it with grace, peace, and spiritual blessing. That is true wealth.
If we speak of true beauty, it is to have the image of God imprinted upon the soul, to be conformed to Christ, to be a new creature. If we speak of true strength, it is to stand firm in temptation, to serve God faithfully, to pass through this world without defiling the soul, to bear the cross with endurance. That is what is truly real. All else is shadow and illusion.
The greatest man in the world will confess this on his deathbed. As that mighty emperor once said, "I have passed through all things, and now nothing benefits me." The reality had departed, and only the appearance remained—an appearance that could no longer sustain or satisfy him.
Go to the man who lies gasping for breath, and ask him: "Do honors profit you now? Do riches aid you now? Do possessions comfort you now?"
Solomon—wise by the Spirit of God, wise by experience as a king, wise by a special endowment from heaven—he who had tasted the full variety of earthly blessings, what was his verdict? "Vanity of vanities." He could not express it fully. "Vanity of vanities," said the wise, holy, experienced Solomon. He alone could say it with true authority. And worse still, he declared it to be "vexation of spirit," unless a man has special grace to use these things rightly.
Therefore, I beseech you, "brethren," let us view the things of this life according to the truth here revealed—they are but appearances, but pageants. When we go to purchase something in this world, we examine it closely, removing any adornment or disguise, lest we be deceived. Likewise, if we would judge rightly of this world's offerings, let us strip away the trappings.
What lies beneath riches? Is it not full of anxiety? What lies beneath worldly power and rule? What lies within these earthly things? On the outside, they offer a fine show, a pleasing appearance. But what lies beneath? Strip away the mask, and you will see the truth.
The more you investigate them, and the better you understand them, the less you will value them. Beneath them lies emptiness—and not only emptiness, but vexation. Yet the things of heaven are altogether different. The closer you draw to them, the more you will love them and be in awe of them. The more a man knows of God, the more he desires to know. The more he knows Christ, and loves Christ, the more he longs to love Him still.
In the love of God in Christ, and in the joy of heaven, there is height, depth, breadth, and length—dimensions beyond measure. The blessings we have in Christ exceed the capacity of the soul itself; they are unsearchable, uncontainable.
Nothing in this world can match them. Everything here lies beneath our understanding and affections. Our hearts and minds are greater than all earthly things. But the blessings of the life to come are greater than our hearts and minds combined.
Shall we then be captivated by appearances—by things that the more we know them, the more we despise them?
"And the fashion of this world passes away."
It is a fashion—merely a fashion—and then it passes away. Indeed, it truly does pass away, as experience shows. It passes even as a river flows: the water moves on and on, but never returns. So it is with the things of this world; they pass away, and they do not come again.
They vanish, and we vanish with them. Just as passengers in a ship— whether they eat, or drink, or sleep, or walk—the ship moves forward, and they with it. So it is with this life: whether we eat, or drink, or sleep, we are continually moving toward death. Every day takes some portion of our life from us. With each day we live, we live one day less. It is gone, and never returns—like water once poured out. Whether we are walking or engaged in any activity, time passes.
Even as you hear, and as I speak, time passes, never to return. So then, "the fashion of this world passes away." All things here are in motion.
We call some things "moveables," but in truth, even those we call "immoveables" are moving. All things pass. Even the heavens and the earth shall pass away, and a new heaven and new earth shall come (Revelation 21:1). Kingdoms pass away, kings pass away, nations and empires pass away. What has become of Rome? What of Jerusalem? What of Babylon and all those splendid cities? All have passed away—they are gone. This, experience affirms as clearly as theology.
Reason 1. The underlying cause of this is not only the nature of created things. All things that exist were made from nothing, and are therefore subject to return to nothing. That is the fundamental reason for their mutability and capacity to pass away. Yet this alone does not determine that they must pass. God, if He pleased, could have suspended the mutability of created things—as He has done with the angels in heaven, who are mutable by nature, but whom
God has preserved in their integrity forever. So it is not enough to say that because all things are made from nothing, they must necessarily perish. It shows they are capable of perishing, but does not make it certain.
Reason 2. But here is a more pressing reason: since the fall of man, there lies a curse upon all creation. A sentence of mutability and change has been pronounced upon everything. All things that have a beginning must have an end. This present world is a stage of continual change. There is a sentence of vanity upon the creature:
"The creature was made subject to vanity—not willingly, but by reason of Him who subjected it" (Romans 8:20). Man committed treason, and the creatures, being his servants, suffer along with him.
They mourn, as it were, in black. All created things are subject to vanity and change. The world groans beneath this burden. And we must blame ourselves—we are the traitors who brought this ruin upon creation.
This is the true reason why all things pass away—and why we too are under the sentence of death. We pass away, and the things we use pass away with us. This is the root: the sentence of change and vanity which God has imposed.
Use 2. If this is so, beloved, let us not esteem too highly the things that must pass away. Let us not cling to them, but rather learn to
follow the earlier exhortations. "The fashion of this world passes away." Shall we grieve excessively for the loss of what we cannot retain? If a glass cup breaks, do we rage? We say, "It is fragile, and nothing in this life endures." If a friend dies, shall we become angry or despair? "The fashion of this world passes away." God has decreed it so. Shall I be disturbed by that which God has determined—that one generation shall come and another go, as water flows in a stream? Shall I oppose God's sentence? God has made all things frail; this is the common condition of all since the fall.
Use 3. This truth ought also to yield comfort and contentment in every condition. Whether we have place, riches, or honor—we must leave them, and we do not know how soon. This thought will breed a disposition of contentment. It is enough to consider that we must soon leave all. Whether we have much or little, all must be left. This is sufficient to temper desire. Let worldly things be for worldly men.
Let vain things be for vain minds. Shall I build a lasting hope upon that which is vain? No—let it never be.
Use 4. As this teaches us contentment, so also it should loosen us from worldly hopes, and from making false promises to ourselves about things for which we have no assurance. Who promised you that you would enjoy your wife for many years? Or your children? Or your possessions? Do you have any such promise from God? Do not the very natures of these things argue against such expectations? Are they not constantly changing? Have we not the evidence of time and Scripture to tell us that "all is vanity"? Why then do we promise ourselves what the Word of God does not promise, and what experience does not confirm?
Shall we expect a condition in life that is exempt from the universal law of decay? The reality of change and instability should teach us
moderation. It should restrain us from building false hopes. It should teach us wisdom, so that we do not presume upon anything in this world.
Use 5. This truth should stir us to seek those things that are stable and certain amid the uncertainties of life. Let us fix our eyes upon something that will abide when all else is lost. Will all worldly things forsake me? Must I forsake them? Then how stands my soul for the life to come? Have I made provision for eternity?
Shall I not then lay hold of the comforts, graces, and heavenly inheritance that will endure when I am gone? What greater folly could there be than to neglect what is eternal for the sake of what is passing? Let us labor for a sanctified use of this transitory world, that we may be prepared for that which is unchanging.
The favor of God in Christ is everlasting. The graces of the Holy Spirit are everlasting. The inheritance of the children of God is everlasting. Why then should we pursue that which perishes, and neglect that which remains forever?
The Christian possesses what is real. He has a Husband who abides forever, joy that is everlasting, a possession that cannot be taken away. A new world is coming. All these present things are but shadows. The Christian has the substance—he holds what never
"passes away."
Therefore, since everything else shall be dissolved except what belongs to the Christian as a Christian, let every believer make the most of his heavenly calling. Let him value himself by his union with Christ. Let him value others according to the grace they possess, not according to riches, poverty, rank, or status.
"The fashion of this world passes away." Let us judge men by what they have of eternity within them. What grace is in them? What of the Spirit? What of the image of God? Are they born again? Are they truly noble as new creatures in Christ?
Let that be our standard of value. Let us labor to see this heavenly image stamped upon our children and our friends. Let us strive to enjoy our loved ones in such a way that our fellowship may continue in heaven. Let our friendships be formed and nurtured in Christ, so they may last eternally.
All earthly friendships, bonds, possessions—everything that men foolishly dote upon—shall pass away. "The fashion of this world passes away."
It is a strange and grievous thing, beloved, that a man—capable of noble and excellent thoughts—should expend the very marrow of his soul and the strength of his spirit on these fleeting things; that he should weary his soul, wound his conscience, and wear out his life for what he knows not how long he shall enjoy, while neglecting those things which endure forever. For any man, this is folly; but for brethren, as the apostle calls them—brethren who have an inheritance that is incorruptible and eternal—for them to be so easily cast down by every trouble, by every loss; for those who are the children of God and heirs of heaven to be so greatly moved by worldly joys or sorrows—what a shame this is! That Christians should be so overwhelmed with delight or distressed with grief over these things comes from several causes:
[1.] First, they do not consider these things as already passing. They do not look upon the world with the eye of faith, seeing that these things are fading. Instead, they observe them as if they were fixed, seeing no immediate change. But they ought to consider: what
sentence has God already pronounced upon them? They are as good as gone. They will vanish soon. View them, therefore, as already passed. We are dying; our friends are dying; and the world is passing away. Faith affirms this. But because we do not reflect upon this truth, we are swept along with these vanishing things. We look upon them in the moment, and observe no change. A man who looks at a shadow while it moves may not perceive it, but if he returns hours later, he sees that it is gone. So must we learn to look upon the things of this life as already past. Though they are not yet visibly removed, let faith perceive their end, and this will cause us to consider them rightly—as passing away.
[2.] Again, we are deceived by the passing nature of earthly things because we fail to compare them with eternity. We think it a great matter to enjoy something for twenty or forty years. But what is this brief span compared with eternity? Measure this short time—of health, strength, honor, position, or companionship—against that everlasting duration to come. What madness it is to forfeit eternity for a temporary pleasure! Compare these things with "world without end" (Ephesians 3:21), and it will keep us from being deceived by what is fleeting. Our great error lies in failing to weigh temporal things against the things which last forever.
[3.] And the third cause is this: we are forgetful. We do not keep in mind our better condition. We fail to make use of the knowledge that we possess.
When a Christian is overtaken by emotion—whether overwhelmed by joy, by fear, or by grief—what is his state at that moment? What thoughts has he of his eternal inheritance? What thoughts of the fading nature of all worldly things? He is forgetful and heedless.
Therefore, we must diligently labor to keep our souls in a heavenly frame of mind.
And to draw toward a conclusion: let us learn to esteem ourselves rightly. If we are Christians, as we profess to be, then let us value ourselves accordingly. It is a poverty of spirit for a Christian to be overjoyed or overly grieved by anything inferior to himself. And are not all things in this world beneath us, if we are truly in Christ?
If we are not Christians, then even toads and serpents are better than we—better than blasphemers and defilers, better than those who oppose God's ordinances. Such men are close to the devil himself.
The very earth they walk upon is better than they. But if a man has the grace of God in him, all the world is beneath him in value.
What weakness and shallowness of soul, then, is it to be undone with sorrow or inflated with joy over anything beneath us—over anything fading—when we have a condition in Christ that is eternal and unfading? Let us therefore often reflect on our dignity in Christ. Let us consider the apostle's address—brethren—and remember that title alongside the fading condition of this present world.
If we would wean our hearts from these earthly things, let us often consider the eternal state of a Christian, that our thoughts may dwell there. And let us meditate also upon the frailty and perishability of all things below, that our affections may be withdrawn from them.
For there are two things that mortify a person:
First, the detaching of his affections from what they are wrongly fixed upon; and second, the turning of his desires toward that which can fill and satisfy him entirely. If a man does this, he does what a mortified Christian ought to do—living in this world as one who is passing through it to a better.