The pictures quickly made their way around the world—pictures of an aircraft lying upside down in the snow just beyond runway 23 at Toronto’s Pearson International Airport. On February 17, Delta flight 4819 landed hard, shearing off the right wing and flipping over before finally sliding to a stop. Remarkably, despite the crash and subsequent fire, all of the passengers and crew escaped. Equally remarkably, few received significant injuries.

Canada’s Transportation Safety Board recently released their preliminary report on the accident and there was one detail that struck me as especially significant and thought-provoking—a detail that teaches an important spiritual lesson.

As far as I can tell, everything that went wrong with flight 4819 went wrong in the last 14 seconds. The details are technical and I needed a pilot friend to explain them to me, but essentially the first officer reduced the engine’s thrust too much and too early—at 153 feet above the runway instead of just a few and at 14 seconds before landing instead of just one or two. The plane responded by slowing to such a degree that it began to descend too quickly and could no longer respond to the pilot’s controls. Thus, what should have been a gentle touchdown was instead slamming a 73,000-pound machine into the ground.

Here is what stood out to me: The flight lasted some 8000 seconds and all was well until 7986 of them had passed. The pilots delivered on well over 99% of their job and to that point they had done everything well. But then they monumentally messed up and a poor decision led to terrible consequences and very nearly to a deadly catastrophe. So even though you could make the argument that the pilots were 99% successful, I say they failed completely. Why? Because their job was not to get their passengers to within 150 feet of the runway and within 14 seconds of a safe touchdown. Their job was to get them gently to the ground and safely to the gate. To fail so catastrophically at 99% of the way through the flight was to fail to such a degree that it would have been better if they had not set out at all.

I am allowing this situation to be a reminder to me that when it comes to my life and ministry, I am capable of making a shipwreck of it (or a plane crash, if you prefer) before the end. Even though I may have set out well and be doing okay today, this does not necessarily mean I will finish strong. In fact, I could even blow it after 99% or 99.9% of my time is complete. It is as possible to crash and burn with 14 seconds left as with hundreds, thousands, or millions.

Hence, I know I need to pray all the more that God will keep me to the very end, not to almost the end. I need to continue to examine myself until I see his face, not until I am content with my own progress. I need to continue to love, meditate upon, and apply the gospel until I’ve touched down safely in that land where I will finally be far beyond all peril.

Joseph was the victim of a grave injustice. Though he was a righteous man, he was being treated like an unrighteous one. Though he was pure, he was being treated like a convict. Though he was blameless, he was being treated like he was guilty. And there was no court of appeal, no opportunity to re-examine the evidence or cross-examine his accuser.

Joseph must have suffered deeply during his time in prison. There were no easy prisons in Egypt, no light sentences, and no weekend passes. Though he soon became the favorite of the jailer and received preferential treatment, he was still confined to prison and still counted a victimizer, a betrayer, and an attempted rapist. His reputation had still been unfairly tarnished.

But as bad as it was for Joseph, it could have been far worse. It could have been far worse because Joseph could have been in prison for a sin he had actually committed. He could have been thrown in prison for pursuing the woman who accused him or for succumbing to her advances. He could have been truly and credibly accused of an act of great immorality and made to suffer the consequences.

Yet none of this was true of Joseph, for he was an innocent man. And because he was an innocent man, he had the privilege of suffering as one. Though his body was confined to prison, his soul was free of guilt. Though he suffered many indignities, he did not need to suffer remorse. Though he may have been robbed of his freedom, no one could rob him of his clear conscience.

Many years later Peter would insist it is “a gracious thing, when, mindful of God, one endures sorrows while suffering unjustly” and would then add “if when you do good and suffer for it you endure, this is a gracious thing in the sight of God” (1 Peter 2:18-20). Joseph sweetly and patiently endured his sorrows while suffering unjustly and this was a gracious thing in God’s sight—an act that proved the existence of God’s grace in his life and that earned God’s approval.

Like Joseph, we often face temptations to succumb to the flesh and to grab hold of those things we long for but have not been given. Like Joseph, we can resist those temptations because of the presence and power of God. Like Joseph, we may still be accused and may still suffer consequences that are as painful as they are unjust. Yet also like Joseph, we can suffer with a conscience that is clear, confidently entrusting ourselves to the God who judges justly. For though that suffering may be painful, it is far better to suffer as an innocent man than a guilty one, as one who is satisfied in innocence rather than plagued by guilt.

(Please don’t think that this article, which I wrote and scheduled weeks ago, pertains to any particular situation other than Joseph’s.)

It sometimes happens to all of us that our memories reach back to glimpse some sin or some blunder we committed in the past. And as that memory flashes into our minds, we cringe, we blush, we feel the shame of it wash over us again. This rarely happens with the sins we consider minor—the little ones pass quickly from our memories and are forgotten. Rather, it happens to the sins we consider major. These are the ones that plague our souls, that hurt our hearts, that keep us sleepless through the night. These are the ones that make us wonder whether we have truly been forgiven and whether we truly can be forgiven.

It always amazes me how prone I am to treat God as if he is like me, only bigger. It surprises me how often I think of God as if he is a man, only more so. As men, we see in categories of big and small—rocks that are light enough to lift and rocks that are too heavy, problems simple enough to solve and problems that are intractable, bills cheap enough to pay and bills that are beyond our means.

But we radically misunderstand the very nature of God if we think of him in such terms. God exists outside these categories of capacity and capability. He is neither big nor small, neither heavy nor light, neither impossible nor solvable. In his eyes, no sin is truly big or small. Some may have greater implications or ramifications, some may have more dire consequences and cause much wider ripples. But it is no harder for God to deal with one sin than another, to forgive murder than hatred, to forgive blasphemy than grumbling. It is no harder for him to forgive a sin of omission than commission, a sin of impulse than a sin that was carefully planned and deliberately executed.

Once God has forgiven our sinfulness, it is no struggle for him to forgive our sins. Once he has dealt with our waywardness, our rebellion, our dead and wretched hearts, he does not need to battle to find the will or the strength to forgive our individual transgressions. No sin is bigger than sinfulness, no act of depravity greater than a deadly-depraved heart.

If you think one sin is harder for God to forgive than another, you degrade him. If you think a certain sin is too enormous for God to forgive, you diminish him. If you think you have the ability to do something so serious that God cannot deal with it, you have made yourself too big and God too small. You have reduced him to the image of a man.

So any time you find yourself tempted to look back to those sins you consider major, to wonder if God could possibly fully forgive such transgressions, you would do well to look back a little farther—all the way to the cross. Look back to see the Son of God spanning the gap between earth and heaven, between you and the Father. See him bearing not only the weight of your sins, but the weight of your sinfulness, not just your acts of rebellion but your rebellious heart, your rebellious will, your depraved and fallen nature. Look back to see him forgiving not just what you’ve done but who you are, not just the evil fruit but the rotten root. Look back and see, look back and worship, look back and believe.

I still remember, and may never forget, the first time I stopped to consider envy. I was reading a book by Os Guinness and was blindsided by a section on that particular sin. I immediately understood that it was prominent in my life and immediately began to take steps to address it. The process took some time and the sin still lingers, but its power has been broken and its grip diminished. I am still prone to occasional bouts of envy, but, by grace, I have learned to identify it and counter it.

Because I know I am prone to the sin of envy, I find value in pausing to consider it from time to time. Most recently this took the form of Mike Fabarez’s new book Envy: A Big Problem You Didn’t Know You Had. That one little word envy, he says, “represents an injurious threat to your sanctification. It has probably already racked up a multitude of hits in your life. And much of the pain it has caused has been lamented and grieved. But I find we all too often fail to connect the dots.” It is, after all, a sin that has a way of flying under the radar. We identify its consequences and lament them, but rarely identify the sin, admit its presence, and put it to death.

Every book on envy makes it clear that envy is a particularly insidious sin. They all make it clear that it has long been considered among the worst when it comes to the evil it works within our hearts and lives. They all make it clear that Christians of bygone eras were far more concerned about it than we are today and far more dedicated to dealing with it. It’s for good reason that it appears on the list of the “seven deadly sins” and that it is the father of many other transgressions.

Fabarez’s purpose is to provide some biblically guided exposure to this sin—to show where it may exist in our lives, how it may be manifesting itself, and where it may be reaping evil consequences. For it is only when we are familiar with the sin that we can identify it and put it to death.

What is envy? Envy is begrudging another person their joy or success. It is being resentful and frustrated at what another person has received, has earned, or has been blessed with. It is not merely wanting what another person has, but wanting that other person not to have it. It is feeling low, diminished, and hard done by when another person receives some good. And it always expresses itself in other forms of sin—hatred, gossip, ingratitude, and even murder.

Fabarez begins his book by showing where and how envy exists in the Bible, beginning in the opening pages of the Old Testament and continuing well into the New. He considers how it exacts a heavy internal cost to those who allow it to put down deep roots, then how it exacts a relational cost and even a societal cost. It turns out that much of the sin that mars the church and much of the sin that causes conflict in the world can be traced back to envy.

Having shown the ugly consequences of the sin, Fabarez provides instruction on countering it. He calls Christians to diligently examine themselves to see if and how this sin is present in their lives. Then he calls them to combat the sin with love and rejoicing—to love other people and to rejoice in their happiness, joys, and successes.

This is a short book, but one that packs a punch. It is a helpful examination of a particularly deceptive and odious sin and it offers a biblical solution to it. Those who read Envy may just find themselves grappling with a big problem they didn’t know they had. Even better, those who read it will be equipped to repent of that problem and to put to death that sin.

There are a few little phrases I think about and repeat to myself on a regular basis. One of the simplest but most frequent is this: You will never regret the sins you do not commit. It’s basic. It’s easy. It’s obvious. But I need to hear it again and again.

Like you, I know that dreadful sick-to-my-stomach feeling that follows a sin, and especially one of those sins I am particularly committed to battling and overcoming. Though I had promised myself that I would never again commit that sin, though I had prayed for the Lord’s help, and though I had addressed the pattern of temptation and attempted to nip it in the bud, still I had caved and blundered into it once again. And I understood: I failed to take hold of the grace the Holy Spirit offered in that very moment of temptation. I sinned only because I chose to sin, only because I wanted to sin, only because sin was more attractive to me in that moment than righteousness.

And so I know the flush of heat that creeps up my neck and over my face, the sweat that beads on my forehead when I acknowledge that, yes, I did it again.

I know the deep feeling of failure and am familiar with having to go before the Lord to confess it again and to admit that I’m far more of a spiritual infant than I care to admit.

I know the sense of disappointment in myself and the necessary hardship of having to tell a friend or tell my wife that I messed up.

Like you, I know what it is to regret a sin and to wish that I hadn’t committed it. Hence, I often repeat to myself that little phrase: You will never regret the sins you do not commit. It reminds me of the obvious fact that regret comes when I succumb to temptation and joy comes when I resist. I’ve never once regretted resisting a temptation, never once mourned turning away from a sin, never once felt guilty for obeying God’s Word. To the contrary, I’ve felt such satisfaction when temptation has given way to righteousness, when I’ve slammed the door instead of opening it, when I’ve fled the devil instead of welcoming him in. Regret and sin are close neighbors, but regret and righteousness exist a world apart.

And so in the moments when sin seems attractive and righteousness seems burdensome, in the moments when doing what God forbids feels like it will deliver joy and doing what he commands feels like it will make me miserable, I stop, I consider, and I repeat this little phrase: You will never regret the sins you do not commit.

Though we would never wish for a scandal to take place and make its way into the headlines, and while we should always regret the circumstances that bring one about, a scandal does offer the opportunity for personal introspection. A wise man will heed its lessons, for it inevitably provides the context to consider whether sin is sneaking up on us as it has on someone else, to practice the biblical admonition “let anyone who thinks that he stands take heed lest he fall” (1 Corinthians 10:12).

In recent months the news around these parts has carried stories of a number of highly-publicized scandals, some of which involve professed Christians and some of which do not. And while none overlap my life or social circles in any significant way, I’ve still found myself pondering the public facts to consider what lessons I can draw from them.

The lesson that is most prominent in my mind is that you’re never too old to destroy your legacy—which is to say that you’re never beyond the temptation to sin. Some of these people had enjoyed many years of service in the public eye and had earned an upright reputation. And then, in the blink of an eye, they had to resign in disgrace. Some tried to express the hope that, because they had done so much good for so long a time, their legacy would not be entirely undermined. Yet, while they may have done much good, they will never outrun the context in which their careers came to so sudden a halt. The lesson is that we can never coast, we can never relax our vigilance against sin until we have safely landed in heaven.

Just behind that lesson is this: sin will often bring the most pain and harm to those we love the most (or are meant to love the most). It is almost unbearable to consider the cost to a wife in shame as news of her husband’s affair crisscrosses the world (and, of course, to a woman’s husband if the wife is the one who has transgressed). Every story will tell of a marriage that must now be in peril because of one spouse’s thoughtlessness, one person’s transgressions. That husband may have enjoyed his sin while it was taking place but his wife and family will know only pain, shame, and confusion. That pastor may have gained some enjoyment while committing his sinful deeds, but now he has resigned and his church is left rocked and hurting. So often the cost of our sin is disproportionately paid by the very people we are charged to love, protect, and care for.

Here’s another lesson: Some people stick around too long. They grow so accustomed to being in the public eye that they cannot tolerate the thought of obscurity, of being a former politician, a former athlete, or even a former pastor. Yet there comes a time when remaining in the public eye (or the pulpit or the conference circuit or …) may reflect idolatry more than necessity or service. That public prominence may have become a matter of identity so that the individual doesn’t know who he would be without the position and the acclaim that comes with it. And there is grave danger that comes to those who are in the public eye to work out their own identity rather than to serve others. Sometimes what’s best for a person, his family, and the people he has served is to step aside—to quit while he is ahead. (The people who most need to quit are probably the very ones who find the thought most unbearable!)

And then this: We are particularly vulnerable to temptation in the area in which we build our “brand.” One of the individuals caught up in a recent scandal branded himself as the consummate family man who loved and valued his wife and family. Yet he now leaves the public eye just hoping he will be able to regain their trust and confidence and salvage something of a relationship with them. Another was an advocate for justice who was found to have committed acts of great injustice. The area in which both of these people wished to present themselves as particularly strong was the very area in which they were particularly vulnerable (or even eager, perhaps) to temptation. And this makes me think of how many Christian “experts” in areas like marriage and family have eventually been unmasked as hypocrites in much the same way and how many advocates of the vulnerable have actually trodden so many underfoot. We easily deceive others and ourselves.

I also see how Satan may send counsellors to try to persuade those who have sinned that they should not allow that sin to drive them from the public eye—that they are so good at what they do or so crucial to their church or organization that they should fight to maintain their position. Sometimes a disgraced individual will initially follow conscience and attempt to do the right thing, only to heed poor counsel and withdraw an earlier resignation. Just when a person seems willing to make much of his sin, he may be encouraged to make little of it. Bad sin so often seems to be followed by bad counsel.

It is also worth reflecting on the fact that a man can be easily flattered. In a number of situations the person was caught up in a sexual scandal with someone quite a bit younger—sometimes in a context that was abusive and sometimes in a context that was consensual. I believe many older men would be able to testify that there can be something very validating about the attention of a younger woman, something very affirming about thinking he’s still got what it takes to attract and woo someone who is much his junior. Aging can certainly be humbling and discouraging, so a man who is wise will consider how he can face and endure it with grace—and not seek out or succumb to flattery.

The final lesson is that your sin will find you out. An old Puritan warned that Satan likes to dangle the bait while hiding the hook. Satan’s greatest trick is to let us think we can enjoy the pleasures of sin without paying its cost. And while we so often get away with it for a while, eventually the hook grabs hold and our sin gets exposed. And while we see this happen time and time again, we seldom seem to learn the lesson. When confronted by the opportunity to sin, we need to consider the cost to ourselves, our family, our church, our testimony, and our Savior. We need to assume that Satan does not just wish for us to sin, but to eventually make that sin every bit as public as was the case for those people we see in the headlines.

I will close out with J.I. Packer’s challenging, sobering words, penned when he was already old and already grappling with the challenges of aging: “Racers always try to keep something in reserve for a final sprint … My contention is that so far as our bodily health allows, we should aim to be found running the last lap of our Christian life, as we would say, flat out. The final sprint, so I urge, should be a sprint indeed.” Those who are in that final stretch must make it a sprint indeed—a sprint in which their godly character carries them safely and victoriously over the finish line. Meanwhile, those of us who are still approaching that final stretch must already be laying “aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely” so we can “run with endurance the race that is set before us”—and run to the very end without stumbling, without falling, without bringing disgrace to our name or reproach to the name of Christ.

Do you ever find yourself wondering just how much the Lord loves us? Do you ever find yourself wondering just how good his purposes can be and just how glorious his plans? Do you ever find yourself wondering if God really cares?

I found myself pondering these matters the other day after a friend sent me an article about the precipitous rise of euthanasia in Canada. What politicians insisted would be nothing more than a means to hasten death for those who are terminally ill has actually become a means to prey upon the vulnerable.

While many request euthanasia to avoid pain in their final days, some are now using it simply because they are downcast or impoverished. Veterans who seek help for emotional turmoil are being offered the option of suicide. Those who can’t afford to live are being allowed to die. As the article says, “Since Canada legalized euthanasia in 2016, there has been a strange balancing act at the heart of its medical system. There is a national suicide prevention hotline you can call 24/7, where sympathetic operators will try to talk you out of killing yourself. But today there are also euthanasia hotlines, where operators will give you the resources you need to carry out your wish. Doctors and nurse practitioners are now in the business of saving the lives of some patients while providing death to others.” And all this is taking place before the rules grow even more permissive in the months ahead.

This is just one of many moral abominations that has taken root in the modern Western imagination—a context in which aborting babies is understood to be as inalienable a right as voting, in which even questioning the goodness of assisting children in transitioning from one gender to another (as if such a thing were even possible) is considered contemptible, in which the basic family structure that holds society together is being disparaged and undermined. “Though they know God’s righteous decree that those who practice such things deserve to die, they not only do them but give approval to those who practice them.”

If we were to list all of society’s ills we would be here all day and all night. And it brings to mind one of the Bible’s most sobering woes—one of its most terrifying warnings to those who turn from God’s ways. “Woe to those who call evil good and good evil, who put darkness for light and light for darkness, who put bitter for sweet and sweet for bitter!” We see all of this before us each and every day.

Yet my purpose here is not to recount the ways in which society curses God, but to consider God’s love for his people. There is a connection between the two. For as I have pondered society’s full-out rebellion against God, I also found myself marveling that he does not just strike this whole world and everyone in it with his hand of judgment. Why does he allow all this evil to continue? Why does he permit people to carry on and even deepen their rebellion against him?

Surely the answer is not apathy. Surely it is not inability or disinterest. There must be some other very good reasons. And the best I can figure is that those reasons must relate to God’s love and purposes.

God loves his people—the people he chose to be his own even before he created this world. Yet clearly not all of his people have yet been saved—nor probably even been born. God’s love for his people is so great that he will continue to tolerate all of this sin and rebellion, all of this hatred toward him, until the last of his chosen and beloved children has been born, has heard the gospel, and has been saved.

And then God has purposes he means to accomplish in this world, the foremost among them being glorifying himself. His purposes in this world must be so good and must bring such glory to his name that he permits evil to continue. For God freely makes use of the evil actions of men to bring about the best of his plans and accomplish the best of his purposes—purposes like the preservation of his people through famine and the salvation of his people through Christ’s crucifixion. Even the greatest evil is God’s servant to accomplish great good.

So the next time you are faced with the sheer depravity of this world, allow it to point you beyond the evil of man to consider the purposes of God. The next time you are forced to consider the rebellion that exists in the hearts of men, consider also the love that flows from the heart of God. You will see that his purposes are so good and his heart so tender that he will continue to allow mankind to rage against him and commit abhorrent acts so that he might welcome in all of his people and further the glory of his great name.

The Bible warns about the danger of a hard heart. It warns that a heart can be so hardened that it becomes resistant even to the words of God. It warns that a hard heart is an impenitent heart and that an impenitent heart is a heart that falls under God’s just judgment. In this brief exhortation, F.B. Meyer reminds us of the sobering truth that hearts grow hard slowly and over time, first through small acts of defiance and only later through more serious ones. So “guard especially against heart-hardening,” he warns.

Guard especially against heart-hardening. Hard hearts are unbelieving ones; therefore beware of ossification of the heart. The hardest hearts were soft once, and the softest may get hard.

The chalk which now holds the fossil shells was once moist ooze.

The calloused hand of toil was once full of soft dimples.

The murderer once shuddered when, as a boy, he crushed a worm.

Judas must have been once a tender and impressionable lad.

But hearts harden gradually, like the freezing of a pond on a frosty night. At first the process can be detected by none but a practiced eye. Then there is a thin film of ice, so slender that a pin or needle would fall through. At length it will sustain a pebble, and, if winter still hold its unbroken sway, a child, a man, a crowd, a cart will follow. We get hard through the steps of an unperceived process.

We are all prone to idolatry. We may consider ourselves far too advanced to bow before an idol of wood or stone, to bend the knee to the image of an animal or man. But none of us is immune from bowing before the idols of our dreams and desires, before the idols of our wandering hearts. None of us can forever resist the allure of our illicit longings, of finding hope in mere riches, of finding meaning in mere accolades. In one way or another we are all prone to idolatry. And idolatry is futility.

In the prophecies of Isaiah we hear the voice of God as he rebukes the nation of Israel for its commitment to idols. He challenges the people to consider the cost of turning away from the God who called them, the God who saved them, the God who loves them. “When you cry out,” he says, “let your collection of idols deliver you!”

He knows the day will come when his people will face a great calamity. He knows the day will come when his people will understand that they cannot save themselves. And in that time, he tells them, they ought to be consistent and cry out to their idols for help, for deliverance, for satisfaction. Cry out to those pieces of wood, cry out to those blocks of stone, and let them come to your rescue!

And what will happen? “The wind will carry them all off, a breath will take them away.” In that day when they, in desperation, cry out for deliverance, they will see the futility of their idolatry, for their gods will be unable to stand before the smallest breeze, the merest breath, the tiniest puff of wind.

We may roll our eyes at the Israelites for being so easily swayed by Baal and Asherah and Molech. We may regard them with mockery for thinking these imaginary gods could ever have interceded on their behalf, could ever have come to their rescue, could ever have been worthy of their worship. But with a moment’s honesty we need to admit that we are just as easily swayed. With a moment’s introspection we need to consider the cost of our own idolatry.

“When you cry out, let your collection of idols deliver you!” he said to Israel. And perhaps to us he says:

When you encounter times of deep grief and sore loss and long to be comforted, let the women of your pornography rush to your side. Let them minister to your sorrows.

When you are old and infirm and need someone to care for you or simply care about you, let your career come to your side and nurse you. Let it bring you comfort as you prepare to face eternity.

When you have sinned and transgressed and long for someone to love you and walk with you through repentance and restoration, let the characters in the books or movies or games that so consumed your time be with you. Let them be the friend who sticks closer than a brother.

When you have been treated unjustly, forsaken by those who ought to love you and care for you, let your money hasten to your side. Since you have prioritized wealth ahead of relationships, let your bank account and cars and holiday homes rush your cause and come to your rescue.

But God does not leave his people without hope. There is hope even for the idolater if only he is willing to repent, if only he is willing to turn to the God who saves. “But he who takes refuge in me,” says God, “shall possess the land and shall inherit my holy mountain.” It is never too late to turn to God, never too late to cry out to him for help and deliverance, never too late to flee to the one who is—and will always be—our refuge.

Sometimes I find myself on a reading kick in which I follow a common theme through a number of books. Over the past few weeks I have been fascinated with businesses that have the appearance of being legitimate while they are actually over-hyped at best and fraudulent at worst.

Elizabeth Holmes’ Theranos claimed to have created technology that could run hundreds of tests on a single drop of blood when, in reality, she was lying to her investors and running the great majority of the tests on industry-standard machines. Adam Neumann’s WeWork was claiming to be a groundbreaking technology company when really it was a mere real estate company that was using fast growth to cover up its financial hemorrhaging. Ken Lay’s Enron was using false and fraudulent accounting to deceive its shareholders and give the appearance of profitability.

As I read of the crimes and misdeeds of the founders or leaders of these businesses, as I read of the ways they take advantage of others, as I learn how they enrich themselves at the cost of their investors, my heart begins to long for justice. As I come to the final chapters, I long to read the author’s explanation of how each of the culprits was caught, charged, sentenced, and confined to prison. I long to hear how their mansions were seized, their cars repossessed, their fortunes returned. This rarely all happens, of course, since those with billions of dollars to their names can usually hire the kind of defense teams that can help them get away with the most minimal sentences. Still, I find myself rejoicing at their downfall and satisfied when I see that their reputations have been forever shattered—and rightly so.

Yet I also realize that in these times I need to step back and consider myself. When I honestly assess myself, I have to admit that my longing for justice is not universal. I want justice for other people’s sins, but not for my own. I want their misdeeds to be met with justice but mine to be met with mercy. Is this not the very height of hypocrisy?

There are two ways I can deal with this contradiction. The first is to draw the line of what kind of sin demands punishment so that it falls just beyond my own. Now I can satisfy myself that what those people did merits harsh measures while what I did merits the most gentle. The other is to admit that both kinds of sin are bad, but then to determine that the nature of their sins demands punishment while the nature of mine merits grace.

But the reality, of course, is that if I long for justice for them I must also long for justice for me. The heart that is satisfied with Holmes’ downfall and Neumann’s ouster should also only be satisfied when I, too, face the consequences of my own sin. I can’t have it both ways. I can’t rightly conjure up a world in which I become the standard, the dividing line between justice and mercy. I can’t be satisfied with a world in which some receive justice while others do not.

And yet I don’t need to because I can have confidence that my sins have been met with justice. At the cross Jesus Christ took my sins upon himself and settled their sentence. That’s not to say I will or should escape all temporal consequences for my sins, but it is to say that the ultimate longing for justice has been met. And, therefore, I can long for justice even when it comes to the things I have done, the sins I have committed. In fact, I should long for justice even when it comes to the things I have done, the sins I have committed. And I can be satisfied that there has been and will be justice for me, not just for thee.

(Books I read: The Cult of We; Billion Dollar Loser; Bad Blood; The Smartest Guys in the Room.)

A technician for an airline neglected to check the logs from previous flights and therefore failed to take action on a control problem that had recurred multiple times over the past days. His carelessness was one of the factors that led to the plane crashing on a subsequent flight.

An engineer failed to set the brakes on parked tanker cars which soon begin to roll of their own accord until, out of control, they skipped the tracks and exploded. His carelessness led to widespread death and destruction.

A truck driver became distracted by a problem with his trailer, failed to notice a stop sign, and sailed through an intersection at high speed, putting it immediately in the path of a fast-moving bus. His carelessness claimed the lives of many passengers and earned him a long sentence in prison.

Each of these people was called upon to account for his carelessness, for his neglect, and for all the devastation that came from it. And rightly so, for carelessness is no small matter. Carelessness is a moral issue that can have severe consequences.

Carelessness was on Jesus’ mind on a day when the religious authorities confronted him about his failure to keep their interpretation of the religious law. He remarked that their words were evil because their hearts were evil. “How can you speak good, when you are evil?” he asked. “For out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks.” And in that context he offered the most solemn of warnings. “I tell you, on the day of judgment people will give account for every careless word they speak.”

Words have immense power—power to do such good and power to do such harm. Words can strengthen the weak or crush them, comfort the sorrowful or grieve them, relieve the burdened or weigh them down all the more. Words can be a taste of life or a savor of death, a scent of heaven or a whiff of hell. They can do the work of God or of the devil, serve the cause of Christ or of his enemies. Words are so wonderful and so terrible, so beautiful and so horrible, so precious and so dreadful.

Little wonder, then, that the Bible addresses our words so often and with such solemnity. For our words put a choice before us every day and in every moment. Every time we open our mouths, every time we swipe our screens, every time we tap our keyboards, we take to ourselves the power of life and death.

What we may need to be reminded of is that we will be held to account for our words—for all our words. There will be a reckoning not only for the words we intentionally used poorly or that we deliberately used to hurt others, but also for the words we used carelessly. We will be responsible before God for not only what was fully malicious, but also for what was merely negligent, apathetic, irresponsible, reckless, or impetuous.

For just as carelessness is a moral issue when it comes to transportation, it is a moral issue when it comes to communication. As carelessness can be expressed in actions, so too in speech. And as it is right and just that there be an accounting for the careless performance of tasks, it is right and just that there be an accounting for the careless uttering of words. For words can bring harm every bit as much as deeds.

No visit to Edinburgh is complete until you’ve walked to the top of the Royal Mile to tour Edinburgh Castle. The castle has been remarkably well maintained and is as splendid now as it was in its heyday. You can stand on the battlements high above the city and see all the landmarks—the Firth of Forth, Arthur’s Seat, the Scott Monument. You can tour the beautiful Great Hall where Scotland’s royal family hosted lavish banquets. You can enter the Royal Palace and see the nation’s crown jewels. It’s a beautiful spot rich with history and all wonderfully preserved.

A few kilometers away, closer to the outskirts of the city, is another historic castle, and one that has fallen on hard times. Where Edinburgh Castle retains most of its splendor, Craigmillar Castle retains little. It may not quite be a ruin, but it’s not far from it. Though parts of the walls still stand, other parts have long since collapsed. Though you can take stairways to some of the battlements, others are tottering and in danger of collapsing. Though you can see the outlines of the different rooms and buildings, they are all in a sad state of disrepair. It’s a mere shell, a mere shadow, of its former self.

In these two castles I see an illustration of humanity. We were created by God to be perfect—unmarred by sin and all of its terrible effects. God’s law was written on our hearts so that we knew what he required and why he required it. God’s blessing was upon us so that we could do all that he required of us out of joyful obedience to him. We were like Edinburgh Castle—whole, complete, splendid, maintained.

Yet through our own obstinacy we fell into sin and thus into a state of decay. We rebelled against God and brought upon ourself the fearsome consequences—suffering and sorrow, warfare and weeping, death and eternal destruction. We were left little more than Craigmillar Castle, a shell of our former selves—broken, incomplete, marred, wrecked.

But what of the law that was written on our hearts? Was it blotted out? Was it destroyed? No, by God’s grace. It has now been distorted, to be certain. It is no longer clear and pristine. But it is still there even in the most rebellious of human beings so that like Craigmillar Castle we can still trace its shape, still fit together the pieces, still gain a distant glimpse of the beauty and the glory of its original design—the beauty and glory for which we were designed.

For as Sinclair Ferguson says,

Paul … says that even in societies where the Law of Moses has not been known, to a certain extent people may still sometimes do ‘by nature’—we might say ‘instinctively’—the things the law of God commands. They thus show that the requirements of the law are written on their hearts. The human heart retains a distorted copy, a smudged image of God’s original will. All of us retain some sense that we were created in God’s likeness, made to live for his glory, and hard-wired for obedience to him as it were—although now major distortions and malfunctions have affected our instincts. Were that hard-wiring totally destroyed we would cease to be distinctly human. But, in fact, relics of it remain in us, fragments of our lost destiny. Like a ruined castle it is still possible to discern the glory for which we were created.

And for that we ought to praise God!

This week I found myself pondering some powerful words from the pen of J.C. Ryle: “Satan knows well the power of true holiness and the immense injury which increased attention to it will do to his kingdom.”

We are called to God so we can become holy like God. He means for us to be as devoted to his purposes as he is and for that reason begins to transform us from the inside out—from the mind and heart to the hands and mouth.

Yet every Christian can attest that it is difficult to put sin to death and to come alive to righteousness. Every Christian can attest that we meet resistance on every side. Every Christian can attest that, when it comes to sanctification, this life is a long and difficult slog.

And little wonder, for Satan is the great enemy of God and, therefore, the great enemy of holiness. “We do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places” (Ephesians 6:12). Therefore, we must stand firm in the power God provides, always resisting the enemy of our souls. Satan knows that Christians living holy lives—living out God’s own holiness—would do damage to his cause in the world. Hence he battles hard to tempt us, to draw us away from God’s purposes and toward his own. And hence we, in turn, must resist him. For we, like him, know the power of true holiness.

A skillful poet once imagined Adam’s first evening in the Garden of Eden. He described the scene as Adam began to notice that the sun was sinking toward the horizon, that the shadows were growing long, that the light was getting dim. The first day was becoming the first night and Adam didn’t know what to expect—he had only ever known daylight. The poet imagined that as evening turned to dusk and as dusk faded into twilight, Adam might have assumed that darkness would pull a black veil across all the wonders of creation.

But Adam should not have been concerned. Here is what the poet says:

Yet ’neath a curtain of translucent dew,
Bathed in the rays of the great setting Flame,
Hesperus [Venus] with the Host of Heaven came,
And lo! Creation widened on Man’s view.

When the light faded and the skies went dark, Adam learned that darkness did not actually conceal his view of creation but revealed it all the more because it unveiled the beauty of the night sky. The same sun that had opened Adam’s eyes to the flowers and trees, the birds and fish, had blinded his eyes to the stars and planets, the galaxies and constellations. It had to be dark for Adam to truly see.

Jesus once said something that sounds every bit as counter-intuitive: “Blessed are those who mourn.” He pronounced divine favor upon those whose souls have been saddened, God’s own approval upon those whose hearts have been broken. The path to joy does not avoid sorrow, according to Jesus, but leads directly through it. But not just any sorrow will do. Joy comes to those who experience a particular kind of sorrow—a deep remorse over their depraved hearts and defiled hands.

Such broken-hearted people stand in stark contrast to those who surround them. Each of us will some day be laid to rest in a cemetery, each of our lives encapsulated in the little dash that sits between the date of our birth and the date of our death. And so many are content to spend that brief threescore and ten mocking God and pursuing carnal pleasure, rejoicing in the things he hates and abhorring the things he loves. Nero sparked a fire that would consume his city, then laughed and played as he watched it all burn. And just so, the people of the kingdom of this world have set their lives ablaze and now watch with delight as they are consumed by it. “Eat, drink, and be merry, laugh and pursue every pleasure, for tomorrow we die.”

The blessings of this world are upon the mockers and laughers. “Blessed are those who are happy and who enjoy nothing but pleasure; blessed are those who are unfettered to pursue every desire of their hearts; blessed are those who are most authentically themselves and answer to no one else; blessed are those who laugh from the cradle to the grave.” Such is the benediction of the kingdom of this world.

But the blessing of the kingdom of heaven is upon those who have been deeply saddened. Blessed are those who mourn their sin, for they shall be comforted. Content are those who are aggrieved by their iniquity, for they shall be consoled. Happy are those who are sad that they are evil-doers, for their tears shall be dried. Joyful are those who are downcast over their rebellion, for they shall be raised up. The favor of God is upon those whose eyes are awash with tears, whose lives have been shattered, whose hearts have been broken—broken by their sin and sinfulness.

Just like the sun needed to set and the light needed to fade before Adam could see the glories of the heavens opened up before him, those who want to know spiritual light must first know spiritual darkness. To know the hand of comfort we need to know the pain of sorrow. To know the bright light of God’s blessing we must first know the dark shadow of our own depravity. For it is only when we admit who we truly are that God reveals what he truly loves to do, only when we admit ourselves to be lost that he reveals himself as the one who saves.

Inspired by In Green Pastures by J.R. Miller

The bridge was drawn, the gates were barred, the watchmen were posted to the walls. From their vantage point they observed the enemy armies draw close, they watched as the officers divided their force into ranks and regiments. They heard the great shout and looked on in trepidation as the enemy units surged forward. And now that the great battle was at hand, the order was shouted from on high and passed from man to man: “Post the strongest soldiers at the weakest gate!”

Though the new man has been brought to life within us, the old man has not yet been fully and finally put to death. Though we are clothed in Christ’s righteousness, we are still peeling away the soiled layers of our own unrighteousness. Though we are saints, we remain sinners—sinners prone to temptation, prone to sin, prone to taking steps along the wide road that leads only to destruction.

Each of us faces unique temptations, so that what is unthinkable to one man is desirable to another and what repulses one woman intrigues another. What one Christian is able to immediately put to death, another may have to strive against for a lifetime. Our predilections are as unique as we are, which should be no surprise when we acknowledge we have a mortal enemy who has made a long study of humanity and has become an expert in fitting the temptation to the man.

With such an enemy contending against us, self-assessment becomes a key aptitude for the maturing Christian. We must know ourselves well enough to understand what sins we are most prone to: sexual immorality, impurity, passion, evil desire, covetousness, anger, wrath, malice, slander—on and on the biblical lists go. None of us is immune to any sin, but none of us is equally swayed by all sins. Along with the skill of self-assessment we must also have self-awareness—we must know ourselves well enough to understand the particular forms temptation takes and the particular times it tends to manifest itself—whether in prosperity or adversity, whether in joy or sorrow, whether in morning or evening, whether alone or in a crowd.

And then we do well to heed the advice of one old preacher who often admonished his church with a simple phrase: Post the strongest soldiers at the weakest gate. When we know where the enemy is likely to attack, when we know where our defenses are weakest, we can prepare ourselves for the inevitable onslaught. For some, the weak gate is the eye and their temptation is to lust after a naked form or to envy what others have and they do not. For some, the weak gate is the imagination and their temptation is to allow their minds to dwell on what is false and dishonorable, on what is evil and worthy only of condemnation. For some, the weak gate is wealth for when they have it they put their trust in it and for others it is the affirmation of men, for when they lack it they feel abandoned by God.

No matter the weakness, the solution is the same: To make our most earnest efforts toward holiness in that very place. It is good to pray against all sin, but crucial to labor in prayer against that specific sin. It is wise to tell our friends about our weaknesses, but wiser still to confide in one trusted friend about the full strength of the attack and the pitiful flimsiness of the defense. It is right to discipline ourselves toward all godliness, but absolutely necessary to carefully customize our habits so they lead us away from that particular weakness, that particular sin, that particular temptation.

The strongest lifeguards are stationed where the riptides are most threatening, the most capable platoons at the point where the battle line is weakest, the most experienced firefighters at the spot where the inferno is mostly likely to burn out of control. And the greatest part of our striving for holiness should be right where the attack is strong and the defense is weak. In all our efforts to put sin to death and come alive to righteousness, we must be diligent in posting the strongest soldiers at the weakest gate.

A comedian jokes, rightly I’m sure, that it’s far too easy to buy a tiger. Buying a tiger “is not an all day thing,” he says, “it’s like an hour—I’ll be right back with our tiger.” We do hear about people who welcome big cats into their homes and we all have a pretty good idea of how such stories are likely to end. While we would be surprised to hear of a man being killed by his pet hamster or pet budgie, we are not at all surprised to hear of a man being mauled by his pet tiger. Why are we not surprised? Precisely because it’s a tiger!

There are a couple of problems with welcoming a tiger as a pet. The first is that people welcome them into their homes when they are just little cubs. They are tiny, helpless, dependent, adorable. Who hasn’t at one time or another had their heart-strings tugged by the pitiful mewing and playful pouncing of a baby tiger? The second is that tigers are undomesticated. They have not, over the course of many successive generations, been bred away from ferocity and toward docility. Though they may share ancestry with the common tabby, the family tree diverged far in the distant past. The best of them is just a few generations removed from the rain forests, from their natural setting where to survive they must be, in the words of the poet, “red in tooth and claw.”

Welcoming a tiger into the home serves as an apt metaphor for welcoming a sin into the life. The sins we permit to enter the doors of our lives are often very small. They are as far removed from sin in its full form as a day-old tiger is from its fully-grown father. Yet sins grow up just like tigers grow up. They gain size, they gain strength, they gain ferocity. Just as it does not take long for a 20-pound cub to grow into a 400-pound adult, it does not take long for a wandering eye to grow into adultery, for a grumbling heart to grow into theft, for an angry spirit to grow into murder. As a tiger cub is a ferocious predator in the making, what appears to be a mere peccadillo is, in seed form, a disqualifying, home-wrecking, life-altering act of depravity.

And then there is the problem of domestication. The sins we permit into our lives appear to be harmless when we first usher them in and we are easily convinced that we can contain them. No one welcomes a tiger into their home thinking that it will someday devour them. No, they are certain they can subdue its strength, coddle it into forgoing its ferocity, love it into docility. And in much the same way, a sinful heart is convinced it can look at those not-quite-pornographic pictures without being drawn into the full thing, that it can be emotionally attached to another person without eventually committing adultery, that it can dabble in gambling without going all-in. The sinful heart, like the owner of the tiger, thinks it can contain the ferocity, that it can be the one who masters its strength, who subjugates its power, who persuades it to go only so far but no farther.

I wonder if the man who has welcomed a tiger into his home is truly surprised in that brief moment between seeing it pounce and feeling its teeth close around his neck. He brought it in, he raised it up, he saw it get big and strong and powerful. He saw its claws form and its teeth grow. He knew its craving for death, for blood, for meat. It should have been no surprise that one day it turned on him, for while he may have been its owner, he was certainly never its master. And just so, we are never the masters of any sin. We introduce them to our lives on their terms, not on ours. Once we have welcomed them in, it is just a matter of time before they grow big enough to turn on us, big enough to kill us, big enough to do what sins always do.

We serve a forgetful God. This forgetfulness reflects no fault in him, no weakness of his mind or memory. Rather, it reflects the strength of his mercy and grace, for he forgets only what would separate us from him, only what would alienate sinful humans from a holy God. It is our sinfulness that he puts out of his mind, our wickedness that he remembers no more. Though he has seen all the evil we have done and all the good we have left undone, still he has banished it all from his mind. He regards us as if we had never sinned, relates to us as if we had only ever been as righteous as Christ.

Such forgetfulness is intentional, not inadvertent, a decision, not a mistake. It is evidence of God’s character, a manifestation of his mercy. And it challenges us all with a question: Why should we remember what God forgets?

Why should we dwell upon the sins we have committed that God himself has forgotten? Why should we live in a shameful past that God has already put out of his faultless mind? No matter the object of our sin, no matter the gravity of our transgressions, each one has ultimately been directed at God. Against him, him only have we sinned and done what is evil in his sight, even when we’ve afflicted our own conscience or violated our fellow man. In each, God has stood as victim and as witness, but also as advocate and judge. In each, he has declared us not guilty, for he has counted those sins against Christ and counted Christ’s righteousness toward us. He has sunk those sins in the depths of the ocean, thrown them behind his back, put them away as far as east is from west. He has forgotten them all. And if we are to be holy as God is holy, then surely we ought to imitate our Father in his forgetfulness. Surely we ought to receive his forgiveness, to forget what we’ve done, to go forward in his mercy, and to sin no more.

And then why should we bring to mind the offenses others have committed against us when God has forgotten the offenses we have committed against him? He who has been forgiven much, loves much, and he who loves much, forgets much. If God keeps no record of wrongs, why should we? What right has a husband to keep an accounting of his wife’s sins and offenses, or a wife her husband’s flaws and failures, when God has gazed into the deepest depths of their hearts, when God has witnessed the hidden motives behind every one of their actions, and when he has forgotten all the depravity he has seen there? What benefit is there in a pastor storing up a list of a church member’s shortcomings when pastor and parishioner alike have sinned deeply and been forgiven freely? How could we who have received the sweet mercy of forgetfulness fail to grant it to another? Wouldn’t harboring the sins of another and counting them against him be asking God to remember our sins and count them against us? It is the glory of a man to overlook any offense because it is the glory of God to forget every trespass.

God demonstrates his love for us in that while we were still sinners Christ died for us. And God continues to demonstrate his love for us by matching our sinning with his forgetting. As we turn away from our sins, he forgets our sins. His forgetfulness is inseparable from his forgiveness, it is proof of his pardon. And if we are called to be imitators of God as dearly beloved children, then we must forget what lies behind—all the sins we’ve committed, all the offenses we’ve suffered—and strain forward always and only to what lies ahead. We must learn to forget just like God forgets.

If you have ever wanted a taste of Calvin’s Institutes but without committing to the whole thing, you may want to try reading A Little Book on the Christian Life. It is an excerpt of the larger work, and one focused largely on Christian living. Here’s an extract from a new edition translated by Aaron Denlinger and Burk Parsons.

In striving for either convenience or tranquility in this present life, Scripture calls us to resign our wills and everything that is ours to the Lord, and to turn the affections of our hearts over to Him to be tamed and bridled.

Our lust is furious and our greed limitless in pursuing wealth and honors, chasing after power, heaping up riches, and gathering all those vain things which seem to give us grandeur and glory. On the other hand, we greatly fear and hate poverty, obscurity, and humility, and so we avoid these realities in every way. Thus, we see that those who order their lives according to their own counsel have a restless disposition. We see how many tricks they try, how many pursuits they exhaust themselves with in order to secure the objects of their ambition or greed, while trying to avoid, on the other hand, poverty and humility.

Therefore, in order not to be entangled in such snares, godly men must hold this course: First of all, they must neither desire, nor aspire, nor expect to prosper for any other reason than the Lord’s blessing. Therefore, let them safely and confidently cast themselves on and rest in that blessing. The flesh might seem beautifully sufficient to itself while it strives by its own power, or ascends by its own zeal, or is assisted by the favor of men toward honors and wealth. However, it’s nevertheless certain that all these things will come to nothing and that we will accomplish nothing by our talents or efforts, except insofar as the Lord prospers both. But, on the contrary, His blessing by itself finds a way, in spite of every obstacle, to bring all things to a glad and prosperous end to us.

Second, we are admittedly able to secure for ourselves, entirely apart from His blessing, something of glory and riches, just as we often see great honors and wealth piled up by ungodly men. Yet whatever we obtain will turn to evil without His blessing, since those on whom God’s curse remains do not taste even the smallest amount of true happiness. We obviously shouldn’t desire what makes us more miserable.

Jerry Bridges gave many gifts to the church, not the least of which was his 2007 book Respectable Sins. In it he coined a term that describes a whole category of sins that might otherwise escape our attention. “Respectable sins” are behaviors Christians (sometimes individually and sometimes corporately) regard as acceptable even though the Bible describes them as sinful. They are subtle or refined in such a way that we may even dress them up to become a kind of virtue. Bridges offers many examples: anxiety and frustration; discontentment; unthankfulness; impatience and irritability; worldliness; and so on.

One tricky aspect of this list of respectable sins is that its contents can change over time. What was respectable in one era can be scandalous in another before once again fading back to respectability. Today I’d like to offer a few suggestions of sins we may consider respectable here in 2020, with a special focus on sins that are fostered and spread online.

Suspicion. This is a polarized age that is made worse by news outlets and social media that thrive on praising insiders while vilifying outsiders. The ideal of objectivity has been replaced by the vice of suspicion. While the Bible does praise wisdom and discernment, it rejects suspicion, especially toward our fellow believers. We have no right to doubt others by default or to have a cautious distrust of them, as if they are guilty until proven innocent. We cannot allow ourselves to be suspicious of the actions, motives, or salvation of brothers and sisters in the Lord. After all, love is shown not only in our actions, but also in our attitudes, for “love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things” (1 Corinthians 13:7). While we always need to be on guard against false teaching and false teachers within the church, we equally need to be on guard against suspicion within our hearts. There’s nothing respectable about it.

Gossip. Our ubiquitous digital devices and always-on social media have given us the ability to communicate with unparalleled speed and scope. But with this great power comes a sobering responsibility, for the Bible often warns about the power of our words and our tendency to use them poorly. Both life and death are in the power of the tongue (Proverbs 18:21). We are responsible to not only speak the truth about others, but also to turn away from those who do not. After all, it takes two to gossip and just as it is sin to speak ill of others, it is sin to listen undiscerningly. Yet the Christian world, and perhaps especially the Reformed Christian world, is absolutely chockablock with gossip. From the pulpit to the pew, from the conference green room to the conference livestream, gossip is rampant. It is whispered in the name of important information and blogged in the name of discernment—both ways of dressing it up in respectable apparel. But if it isn’t true and it isn’t edifying and it isn’t necessary, it is gossip. Truly, gossip may be the besetting sin of this movement and a major contributor to her current or coming collapse.

Slander. Closely connected to gossip is slander. When we slander another person we utter false statements meant to damage their reputation. The way we can make this sin respectable is to insist that we are warning others away from a false teacher and protecting naive and helpless sheep. We are only damaging that person’s reputation because we have such love and concern for others! What we tend to do, then, is pass on information we have heard through the channels of gossip, but have not verified or validated. And so we follow the lead of people who have fabricated information for the ugliest of motives and we spread it around as if it is true. Though our motives may be good (or, at least, not utterly depraved) our actions are still sinful. Be warned: “I tell you, on the day of judgment people will give account for every careless word they speak” (Matthew 12:36).

Meddling. Neil Postman once asked this question: “How often does it occur that information provided you on morning radio or television, or in the morning newspaper, causes you to alter your plans for the day, or to take some action you would not otherwise have taken, or provides insight into some problem you are required to solve?” In most cases the answer is “not very often.” The same might be asked of information we glean from social media or other sources of Christian news and information. How often do we actually do anything about it? And perhaps even better, how often is it really our responsibility to do something about it? Postman lamented the impotent cycle in which “the news elicits from you a variety of opinions about which you can do nothing except to offer them as more news, about which you can do nothing.” I’m convinced we experience something similar today where we receive news about which we can do nothing, so what we do is pass it on, broadcasting our opinion, our joy, our outrage. But passing it on is not a neutral act. It can, in fact, be an act of meddling, the action of a busybody. Broadcasting opinions about situations that have happened at a great distant from us, that do not concern us, about which we can do nothing, and about which we know very little, seems to match the very definition of meddling.

Idleness. Every new technology brings with it both benefits and drawbacks, and social media is no exception. People can use social media to be tremendously productive—to unleash their gifts, talents, time, energy, and enthusiasm for the good of others and the glory of God. But people can also use social media to be tremendously unproductive. Their use of social media can reflect idleness and indolence. We can dress up our use of social media as building platform or expressing discernment or offering encouragement. But if we are honest with ourselves, for many of us it is a means of escape from the real world and from our real lives. It is laziness, not productivity, and the Bible has repeated and sobering warnings about those who are lazy (e.g. Ecclesiastes 10:18, Proverbs 19:15, 1 Thessalonians 5:14). Ironically, the people who are most active on social media may also be the most idle.

Impugning. To impugn is to dispute the truth, validity, or honesty of another person’s motives. And closely connected to disputing another person’s motives is suggesting that you know the truth behind them. There is so much of this in the Christian world today, and it generates so little disapproval, that it must be classified as respectable. Yet a little biblically-guided introspection should tell us that we often don’t even know our own motives, and if we do not know our own, how could we possibly know anyone else’s? James 3:17–18 challenges us that “the wisdom from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, open to reason, full of mercy and good fruits, impartial and sincere.” 1 Corinthians 4:5 warns that we must “not pronounce judgment before the time, before the Lord comes, who will bring to light the things now hidden in darkness and will disclose the purposes of the heart.” If we are to assume anything about another person’s motives, we must assume the very best, not the very worst. When it comes to a brother or sister in Christ, it is sinful to assume bad motives; it is sinful to fail to assume good motives.

Each of us is a saint, yet each of us is still a sinner. As such, we remain attracted to certain sins and prone even to dress them up in respectable garb. It is a good and necessary discipline, then, to examine ourselves to consider not only the sins we consider ugliest, but also the ones we consider most beautiful. We do this knowing that even the most “respectable” of our sins is odious to God and, for that reason, ought to be equally odious to his people.

A recent book titled Piercing Heaven shares favorite prayers from the Puritans. Many of them are amazing. As an example, here is Philip Doddridge with the prayer of a convicted sinner.

Injured King and almighty Judge, what can I say to the charges against me? Should I pretend to be offended, and defend myself? I do not dare. You know my foolishness. None of my sins is hidden from you.

My conscience tells me that denying my crimes would only increase them, and add new fuel to the fire of wrath I deserve.

I am more guilty than I can say. My heart speaks more than any accuser. And you, Lord, are much greater than my heart. You know it all.

What has my life been but rebellion against you? It is not this or that particular sin alone. From start to finish, nothing has been right. My whole soul has been disordered.

All my thoughts and affections, my desires, my pursuits—everything has been alienated from you.

I have acted as if I hated you—you who are infinitely the loveliest of all beings. As if I had been trying to wear out your wonderful patience.

My actions have been evil, my words yet more so. And my heart, how much more corrupt than either!

What a fountain of sin and original corruption is my heart. It mingled its bitter streams with the days of early childhood, and flows on even to this day. And I have been growing worse and worse, provoking your patience more and more.

I am astonished that your patience continues. If the offense were against me, I could not have endured it as you have. Had I been a prince, I would long since have done justice on any rebel whose crimes even faintly resembled mine. Had I been a parent, I would have long since cast off such an ungrateful child.

Why then, Lord, am I not cast out from your presence? Why am I not sealed up under an irreversible sentence of destruction! I owe my life to your indulgence.

But if there is yet any way of deliverance, any hope for so guilty a creature, may it be opened to me by your gospel and grace.

If any more humiliation or terror is needed for my salvation, may I bear it all! Wound my heart, Lord, so you can afterward heal it. Break it in pieces, if you will bind it up in the end. Amen.