rebellion

Darkness, Light, and Subjective Morality

~ Heather Davis ~ 2 Comments

As our 8:45 p.m. flight took off, I watched the ground fall away through the airplane window. The ambient brightness of the city at ground level faded quickly. Night encroached. In my bird’s-eye view, large pools of light pushed back the darkness as we gained altitude, soaring over stadiums, shopping malls, office complexes, and street lights. The further from the city we journeyed, the more feeble the pools of light became and the more prominent the surrounding darkness grew. An apt visual metaphor for subjective morality.

We were heading home from a brief visit with family members who do not have (so far as I can tell) a thriving relationship with the living God. During the visit, I was told about the kids’ “religious classes,” and one of said kids informed me on Sunday, “We don’t have to go to church.” God’s name was invoked in the standard secular way along with a string of other words my husband and I have allowed the Holy Spirit to excise from our vocabularies.

But more telling was the fruit. The desperate striving to be a “good person” on a sliding scale of virtue. Anger when one has been hurt by the actions of another, but justifying similar actions in oneself.

I hate him because of what he did to me; when I did it, it was for a good reason. It was different.

Justice struggling to find footing on an unstable, convulsing foundation of right vs. wrong. A steady undercurrent of fear and uncertainty and thinly-veiled shame. Palpable darkness seeping in at the edges.

It’s a world I used to embrace, and the reminder left me both sorrowful and grateful.

I am deeply grieved for loved ones still imprisoned by the deceitfulness of sin. Yet I am grateful for the One who healed my spiritual blindness and shined the light of Yeshua (Jesus), opening my eyes to the singular Way of escape from my self-constructed cage of sin, guilt, and evil.

I glanced back out the window. Only pinpricks of light appeared below now, far-flung and lonely in the inky blackness of the night.

All our human effort to eradicate the darkness of sin – whether the poison within own rebellious hearts or the evil stalking us from without – are like those dwindling lights.

At ground-level in a large crowded city, all seems well. Our self-made righteousness blends in, and while we may be doing worse than some, at least we’re faring better than others. One can think of the darkness as somewhere out there, far away. OK, maybe I’ve been around the block more than once, but at least I’m not a murderer.

In the throng, it’s easy to fit in. Easy to hide.

But when we’re alone, the darkness looms and our good works flicker like a lit match in a drafty room. There’s no real warmth, little light to see by, and nowhere to run when the light is snuffed.

We can try to push back the darkness on our own, but we’ll never get far. A centimeter, a meter, maybe a little more, but our little circle of good works quivers as hungry shadows press in from all sides, waiting. Unrelenting. Inexorable.

No matter how good we try to be, we can never do enough good to erase the evil we’ve done. Instead, our good deeds only serve to highlight the murkiness of our motives and the taint upon our souls. The dim light we produce is shot through with shades of inadequacy.

On our own, we’re caught in a losing battle of push-and-shove against our very nature. We cannot rescue ourselves from this losing battle; we can only prolong the inevitable moment when the darkness forever swallows our faint gleam.

But there is hope. There is a true and effulgent Light of the World powerful enough to banish darkness; a Light that heals and cleanses and restores and renews. And He has a name.

Walk as children of light (for the fruit of light is found in all that is good and right and true), and try to discern what is pleasing to the Lord. Take no part in the unfruitful works of darkness, but instead expose them. . . (Ephesians 5:7-11).

Friend, if you’re caught in the flickering and uncertain light of subjective morality, this is an invitation to you. There is a real Light, a true and powerful Light unconquerable by the darkness. His Name is Yeshua, commonly called Jesus in English. He is the Way, the Truth, and the Life, and the light of truth He brings is strong enough to scour the deepest and oldest stains from your very soul if you will turn your back on your sin and run into the light of His love and grace.

His morality is true Light, and while He knows we can never measure up to God’s standard of perfect holiness, He offers Himself as a bridge. Through His torn body, we can cross over from darkness to light, from death to life.

There, in the powerful Light of Truth from whence the Glory of God shines, the stains of our rebellion are scoured away. He’s given us the Word of Truth, and by its light we see Light. All our horrible secrets are laid bare, but in that pure light, they are exposed to be excised by the Healer of our souls.

But when anything is exposed by the light, it becomes visible, for anything that becomes visible is light. Therefore it says, “Awake, O sleeper, and arise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you” (Ephesians 5:13-14).

In Yeshua, we are restored to what we ought to be and have no more need of fallible, artificial lights of our own making. In Him and through Him, the full radiance of righteousness shines.

He is the only way; humanity’s only hope. But we must make a choice. We must choose Him; His way of sacrifice, letting go what we once were to become what He created us to be.

Step into the Light, let Christ shine on you, and find joy and peace, healing and wholeness, and rest for your soul.

“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son,
that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life.  
For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, 
but in order that the world might be saved through him.  
Whoever believes in him is not condemned, 
but whoever does not believe is condemned already, 
because he has not believed in the name of the only Son of God. 
And this is the judgment: the light has come into the world, 
and people loved the darkness rather than the light because their works were evil. 
For everyone who does wicked things hates the light and does not come to the light, lest his works should be exposed.
 But whoever does what is true comes to the light, so that it may be clearly seen that his works have been carried out in God" (John 3:16–21).

Let’s Talk About S–

~ Heather Davis ~ 2 Comments

Sin. I want to talk about sin. Get your mind out of the gutter, ya perv.

Seriously, though, we really don’t talk much about sin anymore, and I think I know why.

As humans, we have an innate understanding of right and wrong. Over time, this understanding becomes twisted by our pride, distorted by repeated suppression, and is subject to a myriad of other deformations. Yet somewhere deep inside, we all know certain things are wrong – even if we only recognize them as a wrong when done to us.

They show that the work of the law is written on their hearts, while their conscience also bears witness, and their conflicting thoughts accuse or even excuse them

Romans 2:15

The general term for this understanding is conscience. And like any other human part, it can become scarred-over and calloused until there’s no feeling left.

Which brings us to today.

Instead of sin, we talk about things like lifestyle, my truth, or even illness. Much air is expended discussing our battles or our challenges. When confronted with wrongdoing, Christian influencers may confess their struggles. . . but not their sin.

It’s true we do go to battle against our sinful inclinations; we must struggle against temptation to sin. And yet, more often than not, the words are not used in this way but rather as a clever dodge to avoid responsibility. A struggle or a lifestyle is much more palatable than a willful crime.

What we’re missing in this subtle semantic waltz is the gravity of sin.

Sin is a killer. Period.

Sin is ugly. It is rebellion against the Maker; treason against the King; a refusal of the creation to perform its function as it was designed.

Sin lies. It cheats us of true life. It steals joy and covers it up in an endless, wretched pursuit of meager happiness and fleeting pleasure.

And no matter what name we give to make it sweeter to say, sin leads to death. In fact, death is what the sinner earns – as surely as you earn your paycheck from your employer.

For the wages of sin is death. . .

“But I’m not dead,” you may say, and perhaps you’re right. I wonder, though: can you honestly tell me you have a single relationship that hasn’t suffered a kind of death? Was any type of harm ever done to you by another person? Have you ever harmed another, even mildly?

Death of trust, death of respect, death of joy, of reputation, commitment, communication. Death everywhere we look, if we look with honesty. Even the cooling of affections is a kind of death.

Friends, this horror covers only one kind of death. The rot of sin goes far deeper than this.

. . . but the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.

(Romans 6:23)

The good news is, we don’t have to accept death. We can talk about our sin; confess it, repent of it, and be set free in Christ. Expose the canker of sin to the fresh air of truth.

It may hurt, it may be embarrassing, but I can tell you from experience there is no cleaner pain. Like debriding an infected wound, the momentary torment is nothing compared to the relief of healing.

Let’s confess our sin to God our Healer and turn away in true repentance, trusting in the work of the Son of God to break the chains of sin and make us really free.

But now that you have been set free from sin and have become slaves of God, the fruit you get leads to sanctification and its end, eternal life.

Romans 6:22

A Thorny Problem

~ Heather Davis ~ 4 Comments
And to Adam he said, “Because you have listened to the voice of your wife and have eaten of the tree of which I commanded you, ‘You shall not eat of it,’ cursed is the ground because of you; in pain you shall eat of it all the days of your life; thorns and thistles it shall bring forth for you; and you shall eat the plants of the field.
(Genesis 3:17-18)

Let’s face it, Church. As a body, we have become far too flippant about the horrors of sin.

Oh, we see the evil of the world out there and shake our heads. We scan headlines filled with riots and shootings and stabbings and mutter clichés about hell and handbaskets. We think of the Mansons and the Dahmers and keep that odd character in our peripherals while we shop. It’s no trouble for us to recognize the myriad ways our society is sliding faster than every on its downward spiral.

What does seem to trouble us is recognizing our participation in the descent.

The longer I’ve walked with the Lord, the more I’ve realized how great the gulf between His holiness and my depravity truly is. Early in my walk, I came to Him fully armed with a compliment of justification for my crimes:

  • This isn’t gossip; it’s venting. Or a prayer request. Or concern for the subject of the discussion.
  • What I think about doesn’t really matter, only what I act on.
  • My actions aren’t holy because it’s impossible to act holy all the time. After all, I’m only human.
  • My words don’t honor God because the pain wrenched something odd out of me, or I was startled, or I was careless…

But the truth is, all this and more is mere flimsy fakery.

  • Gossip is gossip, no matter how much you try to fancy it up.
  • My thoughts are a reflection of me, and every action has roots in the thought life.
  • With man, it is impossible to act holy all of the time, but all things are possible with God – and I have been set apart by Him and for Him.
  • My words are a reflection of my heart. Circumstances don’t cause, they reveal.

Et cetera.

Once my eyes were open, a flood of realization threatened to drown me. My crimes against my Creator infested every facet of life. The evil in the world made sense as I realized how much evil each one of us harbors inside.

How much evil I harbor inside.

For my iniquities have gone over my head; like a heavy burden, they are too heavy for me...

I confess my iniquity; I am sorry for my sin.

Psalm 38:4, 18

Too much for me, but not too much for my God. Though I cannot even stand up beneath the weight of my own crimes, my Lord and King bore not only mine but everyone’s on His death march to the cross.

And He did it all crowned with the first symbol of the curse humans unleashed upon the earth when they chose to strike out on their own rather than living in accord with their Designer and the way they’d been designed.

And the soldiers twisted together a crown of thorns and put it on his head and arrayed him in a purple robe. They came up to him, saying, “Hail, King of the Jews!” and struck him with their hands.

John 19:2-3

I’ll never look at a thistle the same way.

Lord, so great is Your magnificence that even in the emblems of our rebellion, You crafted things of strange beauty. Please forgive us our crimes and our cruel and selfish hearts. Change us so we can appreciate Your grace and mercy and fully recognize our own sorry state. Please open our eyes to see how very far we are from what You created us to be. Thank You for sending Your Son to offer us a way back to You! I pray that each one who reads this and all the names I’ve lifted to You before this moment will submit to Your Way, love Your Son, repent, and follow Your Spirit as He leads into eternal life, amen.

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