Romans 12:1 invites us into something far deeper than a spiritual “tune-up.” Paul looks at the massive mercy of God in the gospel—Jesus’ sinless life, sacrificial death, and victorious resurrection—and then turns to us with a loving, urgent appeal. In light of all God has done, he says, there is only one response that truly fits: our whole selves, placed willingly in His hands. Not a part of us, not just our Sundays, not only our “spiritual” side, but our bodies, our plans, our desires—offered up for His pleasure and His glory. This is not a cold command; it is a warm, reasonable call flowing from grace. When we really see what we deserved and what we received instead, the idea of staying in control of our own lives begins to look small and silly. God is not asking for a spectacular performance; He is inviting us into a life of worship that touches everything we are and everything we do.

Seeing Mercy Clearly

Paul begins, “Therefore I urge you, brothers, on account of God's mercy…” He knows we will never climb on the altar willingly if we haven’t first stood still and stared at the cross. Before Romans 12 comes Romans 1–11: our guilt, Christ’s sacrifice, justification by faith, adoption, the gift of the Spirit, and the unbreakable love of God. When that mercy moves from theory to treasure in our hearts, surrender stops feeling like loss and starts feeling like the only sane response. Psalm 116:12 asks, “How can I repay the LORD for all His goodness to me?” We can never pay Him back, but we can gladly give Him ourselves.

The enemy loves to blur our view of mercy. He wants us to focus on what obedience might cost instead of what grace has already given. That’s why we must keep preaching the gospel to ourselves. Galatians 2:20 says, “I have been crucified with Christ, and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself up for me.” When “He loved me and gave Himself up for me” is burning in our hearts, “Lord, here I am—take all of me” becomes the natural overflow.

A Living Sacrifice in an Everyday World

Paul calls us to “offer your bodies as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing to God, which is your spiritual service of worship.” Under the old covenant, sacrifices were slain and consumed. Under the new covenant, we live—yet we belong entirely to Another. A “living sacrifice” means my body, my schedule, my habits, and even my comforts are on the altar. It means asking, in the ordinary moments of the day, “Lord, what would please You here?” This is not reserved for missionaries and pastors; this is basic Christianity for every believer.

It also means that our bodies matter spiritually. “Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore glorify God with your body” (1 Corinthians 6:19–20). How we eat, work, rest, speak, and express our sexuality is no longer about self-rule but about worship. Every choice becomes an opportunity to climb back on the altar instead of slipping off into comfort or compromise. This is costly, but it is also deeply joyful, because we were created to belong to Him.

Worship That Looks Like Obedience

Paul calls this surrendered life our “spiritual service of worship.” Real worship is more than music and emotion; it is a life aligned with the will of God. Colossians 3:17 puts it this way: “And whatever you do, in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through Him.” Folding laundry, sitting in traffic, making decisions at work—these become sacred when done consciously “in the name of the Lord Jesus.” The question shifts from “What do I want?” to “What would honor Christ?” That is worship.

Jesus Himself set the pattern: “Then Jesus said to all of them, ‘If anyone wants to come after Me, he must deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow Me’” (Luke 9:23). Daily cross-bearing is daily altar-climbing. It is not one dramatic moment, but thousands of small yeses to Jesus. We deny the old self, not because God is a killjoy, but because we trust that His will is good and His ways are better than our own. As we obey, we discover that the altar is not a place of misery; it is the place where we meet God, experience His power, and taste true freedom.

Lord, thank You for Your great mercy in Christ and for the privilege of belonging to You. Today, help me to offer myself as a living sacrifice—body, mind, and will—for Your pleasure and Your glory.

If Christianity is to receive a rejuvenation, it must be by other means than any now being used. If the Church in the second half of this century is to recover from the injuries she suffered in the first half, there must appear a new type of preacher. The proper, ruler-of-the-synagogue type will never do. Neither will the priestly type of man who carries out his duties, takes his pay and asks no questions, nor the smooth-talking pastoral type who knows how to make the Christian religion acceptable to everyone. All these have been tried and found wanting.

Another kind of religious leader must arise among us. He must be of the old prophet type, a man who has seen visions of God and has heard a voice from the Throne. When he comes (and I pray God there will be not one but many), he will stand in flat contradiction to everything our smirking, smooth civilization holds dear. He will contradict, denounce and protest in the name of God and will earn the hatred and opposition of a large segment of Christendom. Such a man is likely to be lean, rugged, blunt-spoken and a little bit angry with the world. He will love Christ and the souls of men to the point of willingness to die for the glory of the One and the salvation of the other. But he will fear nothing that breathes with mortal breath.

This is only to say that we need to have the gifts of the Spirit restored again to the Church. And it is my belief that the one gift we need most now is the gift of prophecy.

For in that He Himself hath suffered being tempted, He is able to succor them that are tempted. - Hebrews 2:18

This issue of our Lord’s life He had to keep before Himself by a constant effort. He trod the same path which others have to tread. He, too, like Abraham and Moses, and the others of the host of the faithful, had to keep His conviction of an unseen good, bright and powerful, by an effort of will, while surrounded by the illusions of time and sense. His faith grasped the unseen, and in the strength of that conviction impelled Him to do and suffer.

We have the same path to tread. We, too, if we are to do anything in this world befitting or like our Master, must rule our lives in the same fashion as our Master ruled His. That is to say, we must subordinate rigidly the present, and all its temptations, fascinations, cares, joys, and sorrows, to that far-off issue discerned by faith and by faith alone, but by faith clearly ascertained to be the one real substance, the one thing for which it is worth while to live and blessed to die. A life of faith, a life of effort to keep ever before us the unseen crown, will be a life noble and lofty. We are ever tempted to forget it. The "Man with the Muckrake," in John Bunyan’s homely parable, was so occupied with the foul smelling dung-heap that he thought a treasure, that he had no eyes for the crown, hanging a hair’s breadth over his head. A hair’s breadth? Yes! And yet the distance was as great as if the universe had lain between.

Every man’s life is ennobled in the measure in which he lives for a future. Even if it be a shabby and near future, in so far as it is future, such a life is better than a life that is lived for the present. A man that gets his wages once in a twelve-month will generally be, in certain respects, a higher type of man than he who gets them once a week. To take far-off views is, pro tanto, as far as it goes - an elevation of humanity. To be absorbed in the present moment is to be degraded to the level of the beasts.

The Christian "prize," which faith makes clear to us, has this great advantage over all other objects of pursuit - that it is too far off ever to be reached and left behind. Men in this world win their objects or lose them; but in either case they pass them and leave them in the rear. Whether is it better to creep, like the old mariners, from headland to headland, altering your course every day or two, or strike boldly out into the great deep, steering for an unseen port on the other side of the world that you never beheld, though you know it is there? Which will be the nobler voyage?

If one looks at the lives of most professing Christians, it looks as if we had but a very dim vision of this glory. And surely, if there is one thing that needs to be rung into our ears, compassed about as we are by the fascinations, temptations, and occupations of this life, it is that old exhortation, never more needed than by the worldly-minded Christians of this day, " Set your affections on things above, not on things on the earth." Take Christ for your example, and live, " having respect unto the recompense of the reward."