The day started like any other. Sipped my coffee. Pondered what to write in my journal. Pecked at it. Sipped again. Pecked away again, regardless of how tenuous. Read a portion of Scripture. Sipped again. Empty now. All the while trying to ignore the draining blather of updates and messages.
But there was one I couldn’t get away from.
I couldn’t believe it…
I knew this family well. They impacted my life even at a young age. They spoke at our church many times. Our church partnered with them for many years. They blessed my family with a generous gift before we left for the field. They were an example of faithfulness and God’s grace.
But now…
All of that…
Gone.
Regardless of the circumstances leading up to this, what should have been a life worth celebrating of faithful devotion to the Lord and His work was now a tragic and lamentable way to enter into eternal rest. They’d spent an entire life pointing others to the grace of God. In their hour of desperate need, that was sadly not sufficient in their lives.
I mourned the tragedy. I grieved the loss. I privately wondered: How could things have gotten to this point?
But such a demise demands a deeper introspection: what sin is a child of God truly capable of? Even those esteemed as experienced? Faithful? Fruitful? Worthy of honor?
In short, we are capable of anything. Yes, we are sealed and saved forever by the power of the Holy Ghost. Yes, we are saved by His grace and certainly can do nothing to lose it. But, we cannot for one instant discount our flesh’s ability to wreak havoc on a life that has been subject to careful obedience—even if for decades—to His Spirit and Word.
In reckoning with his flesh’s capabilities in Romans 7, the Apostle Paul pulls back the curtain on his most personal struggle: even those in Christ are not exempt from the insidious effects of the flesh. The precious doctrine of eternal security does not negate the subversive nature of my flesh: “when I would do good, evil is present with me”. We must still combat the reality of our flesh.
This can be especially confounding to those serving in the local church. We see lust’s awful potential and terrible consequences daily. We counsel and weep with those who have been ravaged by its corruption and caprice. We grieve with those who have been the collateral damage of adultery, fornication, idolatry, bitterness, anger—the never-ending list of Satan’s devices. But it’s always out there. In the pew. But we never think that our sin could vanquish our heart or decimate the life, marriage, family, or ministry God has graciously stewarded to us. We’re too experienced, mature, or knowledgeable. We’re exempt. But we fail to see just how vulnerable we are to the temptations of the flesh. Our years of Christian experience are impotent. Our theological formation is useless. Our position or title in the church doesn’t matter. If Paul struggled with it, so will we.
Satan is still the roaring lion seeking whom he may devour. He still only has one trick. It started with a lie to himself, and he’s been honing his skill for millennia. The art of the lie is the only true scheme he employs. He cares little for the mechanics of it all. Fornication. Alcohol. Pride. Pornography. Greed. It’s all just a means to debilitate and destroy. We’re disposable. He’ll play the long game. Indeed, the longer and greater we confide in our own ability or experience, the graver the danger to succumb to his craft—only for him to move on and ply his impish trade in the heart and life of another. All that matters is a reproach to the name of Christ.
Aren’t you tired of seeing Satan win in the minds and lives of those you lead? I know I am. But he’s not just after them. He’s after us, too. We must declare with Paul, “O wretched man that I am! who shall deliver me from the body of this death?”. We must find Christ all sufficient to meet our need. Only then can we understand our weakness and our great need for His enabling power.