Lord sanctify us. Oh! That Thy spirit might come and saturate

The words of Charles Spurgeon, the “Prince of Preachers,” echo across the centuries like the toll of a solemn bell: “Lord sanctify us. Oh! That Thy spirit might come and saturate every faculty, subdue every passion, and use every power of our nature for obedience to God.” This cry is no idle wish, but the groaning of a soul that longs for the holy fire of heaven to consume all that is dross within. It is the voice of one who has seen the frailty of man and the glory of God, and who knows that nothing less than the Spirit’s sanctifying presence can fit us for true obedience.

To sanctify is to set apart, to make holy, to cleanse the vessel that it might be filled with divine purpose. Spurgeon’s prayer is not merely for pardon, but for transformation. He does not plead that sin might be excused, but that the very roots of rebellion be plucked up and burned. He would have the Spirit saturate every faculty, like water soaking deep into parched earth, so that no thought, no desire, no secret chamber of the heart remains untouched by God’s refining grace. This is no half measure—this is the total conquest of self by the Spirit of the Living God.

The ancients understood this battle well. Augustine confessed, “Our hearts are restless until they find rest in Thee.” He wrestled with the passions of youth, knowing that until every power of his nature was subdued, he was a divided man. And when he surrendered, when grace triumphed, his restless heart became a vessel of flame, igniting the ages with the truth of God. Such is the meaning of subdued passion—not the killing of fire, but its redirection, that zeal might be bent toward righteousness and strength made captive to love.

Consider the tale of John Newton, once a blasphemer and a slave trader, whose passions were chained to cruelty and greed. Yet the Spirit broke him, remade him, and used every power of his nature for the obedience of God. The very tongue that once cursed became the tongue that wrote Amazing Grace. His intellect, once consumed with profit and vice, became a wellspring of sermons and hymns. Here is Spurgeon’s prayer answered in flesh and blood: a man sanctified, passions subdued, faculties consecrated, a life wholly yielded.

And so, brethren, the prayer is not for monks alone, nor preachers, nor saints already enthroned. It is the call for every soul who longs to live unshackled from the tyranny of self. For if one faculty is left unsanctified, it becomes a fortress for the enemy. A single unchecked passion may undo a lifetime of virtue. Spurgeon saw this clearly: that to belong to God is not to offer Him fragments, but the whole temple of the soul, swept clean and burning with holy fire.

Let us then take this lesson as our inheritance: that obedience is not drudgery, but freedom; not slavery, but sonship. The Spirit sanctifies not to bind us, but to loose us from the snares of corruption. He saturates us that joy may flow unhindered, He subdues us that peace may reign, He uses us that love may triumph in the world. The call is great, but the grace is greater.

What then shall we do? First, pray as Spurgeon prayed—daily, earnestly, with a heart that will not be satisfied with partial holiness. Second, examine thy faculties: thy mind, thy will, thy tongue, thy strength. Ask: are these yielded to God? Third, take courage from the saints who have walked before, knowing that no passion is too wild, no power too dark, that the Spirit cannot conquer and sanctify it for glory.

Thus the quote is no relic of a preacher’s sigh, but a living command to our souls. It is the voice of eternity whispering to the present: “Yield, surrender, be sanctified.” And if we obey, we too shall become instruments fit for the Master’s hand, our every faculty alive with the fire of heaven, our every passion subdued into harmony, our every power lifted into holy service. Then, and only then, will we know what it means to be truly free.