You have heard that our ancestors were told, “You must not murder. If you commit murder, you are subject to judgment.” But I say, if you are even angry with someone, you are subject to judgment! … You have heard the commandment that says, “You must not commit adultery.” But I say, anyone who even looks at a woman with lust has already committed adultery with her in his heart. [Matthew 5:21-22a,27-28 (NLT)]
We tend to think of fasting during Lent as abstaining from certain foods, drinks, or activities. Several years ago, however, I was asked, “What if you fasted regret? What if your friends fasted comparison? What would be the fruit of fasting stinginess?” Those questions proposed an entirely different kind of fast than refraining from sweets or social media. In truth, fasting from things like self-righteousness, discontent, and criticism is probably harder (and more meaningful) than giving up energy drinks or dining out.
Even though we have freedom of speech, we can’t shout “Fire!” in a crowded theatre or “Bomb!” in the security line at the airport. In the silence of our minds, however, we can shout anything at anyone, anywhere, whenever we want, with no one ever knowing! We can secretly call people unpleasant names and even wish ill upon them! We can be charming and polite to the ex-spouse who abandoned us while we wreak all sorts of revenge on them in our minds. We can be civil to the false friend who betrayed us or the contractor who deceived us while, in our imaginations, we’re hitting back to even the score. We appear to have “turned the other cheek” when, in our hearts, we haven’t.
Since our thoughts are far less easy to control than our actions, we’d like to think of them as less important. When we entertain wicked, vengeful, or hurtful thoughts, we think we’re not sinning because we’d never actually do the terrible things we’re picturing. Since we won’t burn down the house of the man who deceived us or climb in bed with the sexy hunk at work, we think we’re innocent of wrongdoing by thinking about them. But are we? Remember the words of Jimmy Carter that nearly cost him the 1976 election: “I’ve looked on a lot of women with lust. I’ve committed adultery in my heart many times.” Upon reading Jesus’ words in Matthew 5, Carter’s confession, while ill-advised politically, was true! While thoughts and actions can have vastly different results, our Lord made it quite clear that our thoughts are as important as our actions. Jesus knew the evil thoughts of the Scribes and he knows ours.
Fortunately for Jimmy Carter and the rest of us sinners, when Jesus told us to cut off our hands or gouge out our eyes if they cause us to lust, He was using hyperbole; otherwise, we all would be missing both hands and eyes. Nevertheless, Jesus was stressing the importance of avoiding sin. Sin is not a matter of the eyes and hands; it is a matter of the heart!
While we can’t control the temptations of this fallen world, we can control our evil thoughts. We can renounce every one of them and replace them with godly thoughts. Max Lucado describes it this way: ”You can be the air traffic controller of your mental airport. You occupy the control tower and can direct the mental traffic of your world.” Lucado explains that, when we keep the runway filled with godly thoughts, the bad ones circling around have no place to land. Our thoughts about other people are as much a part of love for them as are our actions.
Instead of fasting from caffeine or social media during Lent, what if we deliberately and prayerfully fasted from things like anger, lust, envy, animosity, conceit, disdain, spite, and impatience? How would our lives change if, instead of only forty days, we fasted from them all the time?
Every evening, a man went to the local pub and ordered three beers. When asked why three, he explained that he ordered the two extra beers in honor of his two dear brothers who lived far away. One evening, when the man ordered only two beers, the bartender assumed the worst and extended sympathy for the loss of a brother. Correcting the bartender, the man said his brothers were both fit as fiddles and the beers were for them. “It’s me that’s not drinking tonight,” he explained. “You see, I’ve given up beer for Lent!”
Mark tells of a time when a hungry Jesus cursed a fig tree and caused it to wither and die simply because it had no figs. As the only destructive miracle done by the Lord, His action is difficult to understand, especially since we’re told “it was too early in the season for fruit.” The same power that brought Lazarus back to life and turned water into wine easily could have given the tree ripe figs, so why did Jesus kill the fruitless tree?
While putting away our nativity, I looked at the figure of Joseph. For the man who played a pivotal role in the Christmas story, once Christmas is packed away, Mary’s husband rarely gets a second thought until the next December. Neither Mark nor John mention the man who served as step-father to Jesus and the author of Hebrews didn’t even list him in its “Hall of Faith.”
For those of us who attend liturgical churches, yesterday was the last Sunday of the liturgical (or church) year: Christ the King Sunday. A kind of liturgical “New Year’s Eve,” it is the climax and conclusion of the Church’s year.
Many years ago, my two boys were playing at their grandparents’ house. While Grandpa worked in the garden, the brothers climbed up into the apple tree and started to throw apples at him. A patient man, their grandfather told them to stop and, when more apples came whizzing at him, he offered a sterner warning. After briefly stopping their barrage, the rascals were unable to resist the temptation and chucked more apples at Grandpa. To their surprise, this gentle and loving man turned around, picked up some apples, and returned fire. Having played ball as a boy, Gramps had a strong throwing arm and excellent aim. He didn’t pull any punches as he pitched those apples back at his grandsons. The boys, unable to maneuver easily in the tree, quickly learned the meaning of “as easy as shooting fish in a rain barrel.” When they called, “Stop, Grandpa, it hurts!” he replied, “Yes, I know it does, but you needed to learn that!” It wasn’t until those hard apples hit their bodies that the youngsters understood how much their disobedience hurt their grandfather (both physically and emotionally).
Devotions of the Heart 