When God Asks A Question

When my kids were young, they asked lots of questions. How does the car engine run? What does that street sign mean? Why do I have to use good manners? And the one I heard more often than any other: When will we get home?

Questions are an important part of communication and of learning. If we don’t ask, we don’t learn. Many a teacher has said, “there are no dumb questions.” We ask questions to learn more about something—to acquire necessary information. We even ask questions to show another person that we are interested in learning who they are and what is happening in their life.

A question implies that we lack knowledge in some area. We need directions to a location. We need to understand the correct method or steps to accomplish a task. We need data or facts about a situation. We need wisdom and understanding. We ask so that we can know.

Questions God Asks

This leads me to a question: why does God ask questions in the Bible? Consider when Adam and Eve sinned in Genesis 3. They ran and hid from God and the Bible says, “the LORD God called to the man and said to him, ‘Where are you?’ (v.9). Did he really not know where they were? Did he need directions to find their location? Of course not. God doesn’t need to learn anything; there’s no knowledge he needs to acquire. There’s nothing that he lacks. He sees all things, knows all things, and rules over all things (Ps. 33:13; Lam. 3:37-39; Is. 40:28; Heb. 4:13). He even knows what we are thinking and feeling before we do (Ps. 139:1-3). One commentary suggests God asks them this question, not about their physical location, but their spiritual location. They are no longer united to him as they once were. There is now a barrier between them. A sin barrier. He wants them to confess their sin, to realize the full significance of what has happened. But God does so with grace. He doesn’t seem to appear immediately after they sin, for they have time to create coverings for themselves. They likely hide out all night in the cover of the trees until morning. God doesn’t come stomping his way to them. He simply walks in the garden as he always did with them each morning. They then receive the due punishment for their sin—but grace upon grace!— they learn of a promised Redeemer to come (Gen. 3:15). He covers them with a sacrificed animal skin and sends them out of the garden.

God asks another interesting question in 1 Kings 19. This is the story of what happened with Elijah after he killed the prophets of Baal in the previous chapter. Queen Jezebel learns of it and promises vengeance against him. He flees in fear into the wilderness and says, “It is enough; now, O LORD, take away my life, for I am no better than my fathers” (v. 4). An angel attends to him, feeds him, and he rests. Then he goes to meet with God on Mount Horeb. There God asks him a question, “What are you doing here, Elijah?” (v.9). Is God surprised that Elijah has shown up at the mountain to see him? No. God sent an angel to attend to him, to strengthen him so that he could journey to the mountain to speak to him. Elijah responds by recounting all that he had done as a prophet and how God’s people continue in their worship of false gods. God then reveals himself to Elijah and not in the way he expected. He reveals himself not in wind, earthquake, or fire (ways in which he showed himself to Moses and the people on Mt. Sinai) but instead, in a gentle whisper—in silence (vv.11-12). God then asks him again, “What are you doing here, Elijah?” (v. 13).

God asks so that Elijah would see what brought him to this place—his fear, not of God, but of Jezebel. Elijah believed he had failed in his job. He believed God’s people would never turn from their sins. He believed he was all alone. And he saw Jezebel as greater than the God who rules the wind, the earth, and fire. He forgot that he was never alone. God was merciful to Elijah even as he complained and despaired and forgot the truth. Even before Elijah made it to the mountain, God met Elijah in his exhaustion with food and rest. He then told Elijah his plan to destroy the house of Ahab, save a faithful remnant, and provide a prophet to replace him. Even more, Elijah had feared death by the hand of Jezebel; God made a way for him to never face death (2 Kings 2:11).

What about when God asks Jonah a question? Many are familiar of Jonah’s story where he fled from God rather than obey him. He didn’t want to bring God’s word to his enemies and see them repent and God spare their lives. So he took a ship going the opposite direction and ended up in the belly of a great fish. He eventually—and begrudgingly—went to the city of Nineveh and called them to repentance. They did repent and God did not destroy them. Jonah then responds in anger. He says, “O LORD, is not this what I said when I was yet in my country? That is why I made haste to flee to Tarshish; for I knew that you are a gracious God and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love, and relenting from disaster. Therefore now, O LORD, please take my life from me, for it is better for me to die than to live” (vv.2-3). And God responds with a question. “Do you do well to be angry?”

In many ways, this is rhetorical. As readers, we know Jonah’s anger is not righteous anger. God doesn’t ask it because he doesn’t know the answer. He doesn’t ask it because Jonah needs to explain himself or justify his response. He asks it so that Jonah would evaluate his heart and see the sin that resides there and repent. He’s offering him the same opportunity God gave to the Ninevites.

When God Asks Us a Question

These three accounts make me think that when God asks a question, it might be for our benefit rather than for his. He asks questions so that we might learn. It’s no coincidence that each of these stories show people on the run, hiding from what they fear. But they hide because their fears are disordered fears. They hide because they don’t fear God with a holy fear—he isn’t great in their eyes. Someone or something else has become greater. Adam and Eve desired to be like God and sinned against him by eating the fruit. They realized their nakedness and feared standing before God in their shame. Elijah feared Jezebel and saw only her wrath and power, forgetting that the LORD of hosts never left his side. Jonah feared the loss of what he held dear; he feared the Ninevites would receive the grace he believed belonged only to the nation of Israel.

In each of these circumstances, they turned their gaze from God. They yielded their heart to something else. They forgot who he was. They forgot who they were. So God asked a probing question—a question that gets at the heart of their problem.

What question might God be asking of you or me today? Where are we spiritually? What has brought us to this place? Is it right and good for us to think or feel the way we do? God knows the true state of our hearts. He knows where our allegiances lie. He knows the ways our hearts are tempted to seek life and hope apart from him. He knows the false loves we turn to. He knows how we worship what we fear and fear what we worship and far too often, it’s not him.

God knows. The question is, do we know?

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Whom Do You Trust?

I never realized how much the fear of man gripped my heart until I studied and researched for my books on idolatry and fear. In doing so, I saw how much caring about the thoughts of others influenced my choices, in everything from parenting to housework. I saw how I worshipped the praise and adoration of others and how I found purpose and meaning in how others responded to me. It opened my eyes to the true content of my heart and my need for God’s transforming grace.

Ultimately, I realized I placed my trust in all the wrong places.

The prophet Jeremiah prophesied to God’s people, to warn them of the consequences for their idolatry. If you are familiar with the book, you know he was not well received. That’s because he got to the heart of the matter. He revealed the depths of Israel’s depravity and how far they had wandered from God. In essence, he held up a mirror so they could see the true state of their condition and they didn’t like it. In chapter 17, it tells us that their sin had become so great it was “written with a pen of iron; with a point of diamond it is engraved on the tablet of their heart” (v.1).

In verses 5-10, Jeremiah then contrasts the one who trusts in man versus the one who trusts in the Lord. To trust here is to put hope and confidence in another. “Cursed is the man who trusts in man and makes flesh his strength, whose heart turns away from the LORD” (v.5). When we fear man, when we look to others for the rescue that only God can give—our hearts turn away from the One who made us and calls us his own. In Jeremiah’s day, Babylon threatened to conquer them and God’s people turned to political alliances for help and deliverance, rather than place their hope in God himself. One who trusts in man, rather than God, is “like a shrub in the desert, and shall not see any good come. He shall dwell in the parched places of the wilderness, in an uninhabited salt land” (v.6).

In the Bible, the wilderness is always a place of danger, of darkness, and of emptiness. Adam and Eve had to leave the Garden of Eden because of their sin and enter the wilderness outside the flaming sword, a place of spiritual barrenness where they would no longer commune with God. Israel wandered in the wilderness for forty years, a place filled with poisonous snakes and bitter water, and only survived because of the gracious provision of God through manna and water from the rock. Jesus was tempted by Satan in the wilderness for forty days, and unlike Israel, was faithful to God, sustained by the same word God had given to Israel in their wilderness wanderings.

Jeremiah contrasts the one who trusts in man with one who trusts in the Lord: “Blessed is the man who trusts in the LORD, whose trust is the LORD. He is like a tree planted by water, that sends out its roots by the stream, and does not fear when heat comes, for its leaves remain green, and is not anxious in the year of drought, for it does not cease to bear fruit” (vv.7-8). The one who trusts in God finds refuge and security in him—that’s what the Hebrew refers to in “whose trust is the LORD.” He is compared to a tree planted by the water which roots run deep. No matter the heat or lack of rain, this tree always grows and bears fruit. The one who trusts in the Lord, who fears him rather than man, is one who is always spiritually nourished and satisfied. When the heat of circumstances come, when the year of drought arrives, he is not worried or anxious, nor does he turn to counterfeit saviors; he finds his refuge in God alone. As Jesus told the woman at the well, “whoever drinks of the water that I will give him will never be thirsty again. The water that I will give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life” (Jn.4:14). Author Ed Welch summarizes this Jeremiah 17 passage: “fear of man is a curse that leaves us feeling destitute or empty. The alternative, trust in God, is a blessing that leads to life and fullness.”[1]

Jeremiah then explains why we are drawn to the fear of man: “The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately sick; who can understand it? I the LORD search the heart and test the mind, to give every man according to his ways, according to the fruit of his deeds” (vv.9-10). The heart is the core of who we are. It is the center of our wills, desires, thoughts, emotions, and choices. It is what drives us. And it is so deceitful, we cannot understand it. We are filled with self-deception. We “follow our heart” into the wilderness where we cannot survive.

But God understands. He knows our heart. And because he knows, he made a way for us to have new hearts. Jeremiah 24:7 looks to that day, a day fulfilled in Christ: “I will give them a heart to know that I am the LORD, and they shall be my people and I will be their God, for they shall return to me with their whole heart.” Jesus came to this wilderness we call home, to live the life we could not live and die the death we deserved. In doing so, he brought us back into fellowship with God. The Spirit gives us new hearts that can now turn to him in trust. This means we don’t have to fear man. We don’t have to turn to others for hope and deliverance. We don’t have to look to counterfeit saviors to tell us we are worthy or to give our lives meaning. We don’t have to look for approval from other people. Because we are united to Christ by faith, we have the approval of the only One that matters. And when God looks at us, he says “With you I am well pleased.”

Whom do you trust? Do you fear man or God? “The friendship of the LORD is for those who fear him, and he makes known to them his covenant” (Ps. 25:14).

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

[1] Journal of Biblical Counseling, Fall 1994.

Remember the Wilderness

“And you shall remember the whole way that the LORD your God has led you these forty years in the wilderness, that he might humble you, testing you to know what was in your heart, whether you would keep his commandments or not” (Deut. 8:2).

Think back on a time in your life when you wandered in the wilderness. Perhaps you were without a job and as the months went by without a single job offer, you wondered if you’d ever find one. Or maybe you journeyed through the wilderness of physical pain. Your doctors ran test after test and you thought you’d never find an answer or relief. Maybe you journeyed through the wilds of grief, a journey that seemed unending. Whatever the journey, would you want to remember it? I don’t know about you, but such journeys I want to keep in the past. I want to forget they ever happened. But in Deuteronomy 8, Moses calls the people of Israel to remember their desert wanderings.

God’s people had wandered in the desert for forty years and they are about the enter the Promised Land. Moses describes their years of wandering as a time of testing and of discipline (vv. 2-3,5). During all those years, God provided for their needs. He fed them manna. He kept their clothes from wearing out. Their feet didn’t swell. They were never on their own; he led them by fire and a cloud. He brought them through the wilderness and to a land flowing with milk and honey.

Deuteronomy 8 is a warning for Israel as they exit the wilderness. It is a warning for them to remember who God is and what he has done. Because what happens when they forget? Pride and idolatry. “Beware lest you say in your heart, ‘My power and the might of my hand have gotten me this wealth.’ You shall remember the LORD your God, for it is he who gives you power to get wealth, that he may confirm his covenant that he swore to your fathers, as it is this day” (v. 17-18). When they forget who God is—the God who rescued them from slavery, who provided for them all their needs, the One upon whom they are dependent for all things—they exalt themselves. Such forgetfulness leads to arrogance, thinking they are the reason for their success.

Idolatry is second thing that happens when they forget the wilderness. “And if you forget the LORD your God and go after other gods and serve them and worship them, I solemnly warn you today that you shall surely perish” (v.19). Once they forget the God who delivered and sustained them, they then yield their hearts to false gods. It had already happened during their time in the wilderness. When Moses was on the mountain talking with God, the people had Aaron make them a golden calf to worship. As we know, they did not heed this warning for the Old Testament is filled with accounts of God’s people worshipping false gods. And as God promised in Deuteronomy 8, they experienced the punishment for it when they were taken into captivity.

On this side of redemption history, we too need to remember the wilderness. We need to remember how the Lord has carried us through past trials and temptations, through sufferings and hardships. We need to remember his provisions of grace. Not to wallow in it. Not to get stuck in the past. But so that our hearts won’t grow prideful. So that we won’t depend upon ourselves. So that we won’t turn to counterfeit gods and look to them for help and hope, deliverance and rescue. We need to remember the faithful love of our Father, who brings us through such wanderings in order that we would know him and depend upon him (see Heb. 12). He uses the wilderness to discipline and shape us—to transform us into the image of Christ. “Know then in your heart that, as a man disciplines his son, the LORD your God disciplines you. So you shall keep the commandments of the LORD your God by walking in his ways and by fearing him” (vv.5-6).

Moses wants the people to remember God’s grace for them. In the next chapter, Moses points out that it is entirely because of his grace and his covenantal love for them—not Israel’s righteousness—that he brought them through the wilderness and into the land he promised: “Know, therefore, that the LORD your God is not giving you this good land to possess because of your righteousness, for you are a stubborn people. Remember and do not forget how you provoked the LORD your God to wrath in the wilderness. From the day you came out of the land of Egypt until you came to this place, you have been rebellious against the LORD” (Deut. 9:6-7). So too, God brings us through the wilderness and into the land of his goodness, not because of anything we’ve done, but because of his grace for us in Christ. We too are stubborn. We too rebel against him. We too turn from God to do our own thing. Praise him for his steadfast love and faithful grace!

In Deuteronomy 9, Moses recounts to the people how he interceded for them when they sinned and worshipped the golden calf (vv.18-29). His intercession is a foreshadowing of Jesus Christ, the One who would come as our perfect mediator. He too wandered in the wilderness, but in his wandering he never sinned. He didn’t give in to the devil’s temptation to pride or idolatry (see Matt. 4). In fact, Jesus responded to the devil with a quote from Deuteronomy 8: “It is written, ‘Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God’” (Matt. 4:4). When we are forgetful—when we forget the wilderness and what God has done for us there—Jesus remembers for us. He stands before the Father on our behalf, interceding for us. And his righteousness covers us.

Let us remember our wilderness wanderings. Let us remember how God carries and provides and sustains by his grace. But above all, let us remember our Savior, whose own wilderness wanderings is credited to us.

When We Try To Shape God's Will to Our Own

Have you ever said, “I just want to know God’s will?”

It’s a question many believers ask in the face of a dilemma or a difficult decision. We may stand at a crossroads, looking at two different paths before us, and don’t know which way to go. We fear the unknown and want God to make it clear which path is better than the other. We just want to know what to do. There are times where we need wisdom in a complex situation and we desire God to provide that wisdom. We pray for God to help us make decisions that glorify him, that are in keeping with what he has called us to do.

There are inevitably times in life when we search God’s word for wisdom and what we find clashes with our wants and desires. We read the Bible and find that our plans conflict with God’s revealed will—that what we desire is sinful and we are called to turn from it. In that moment, it is tempting to step back and say, “Did God really say…?” Or to attempt to bend what God says to conform to our own will. Or to deny his will altogether and do what we want to do anyway.

In the book of Jeremiah, we see God’s people desire to know God’s will, or at least that’s what they say they want. After the king of Babylon destroyed Jerusalem and took most of the people into captivity, he left behind a small remnant to tend to the fields. The king also placed a governor over them. But a man named Ishmael led a revolt and killed the governor (Jer. 41). The people were afraid of what the king would do to them. They thought they ought to flee to Egypt. So they asked the prophet Jeremiah to tell them what God wanted them to do. They asked for God’s will: “Let our plea for mercy come before you, and pray to the LORD your God for us, for all this remnant—because we are left with but a few, as your eyes see us—that the LORD your God may show us the way we should go, and the thing that we should do” (Jer. 42:2-3). They then promised to do whatever God said.

Jeremiah then brought them God’s response: "

“If you will remain in this land, then I will build you up and not pull you down; I will plant you, and not pluck you up; for I relent of the disaster that I did to you. Do not fear the king of Babylon, of whom you are afraid. Do not fear him, declares the LORD, for I am with you, to save you and to deliver you from his hand. I will grant you mercy, that he may have mercy on you and let you remain in your own land. But if you say, ‘We will not remain in this land,’ disobeying the voice of the LORD your God and saying, ‘No, we will go to the land of Egypt, where we shall not see war or hear the sound of the trumpet or be hungry for bread, and we will dwell there,’ then hear the word of the LORD, O remnant of Judah. Thus says the LORD of hosts, the God of Israel: If you set your faces to enter Egypt and go to live there, then the sword that you fear shall overtake you there in the land of Egypt, and the famine of which you are afraid shall follow close after you to Egypt, and there you shall die” (42:10-16).

God called them to stay in the land and not flee to Egypt. He tells them he will plant them there and they will be fruitful. He calls them to trust in him, to fear him and not the king of Babylon. He promises them mercy and deliverance. But if they disobey and leave for Egypt, he warns them of punishment.

As it turns out, they don’t like what God has to say. They decide Jeremiah must be lying to them. After all, he didn’t tell them what they wanted to hear. So they go to Egypt, where they wanted to go from the beginning (Jer. 43). They didn’t trust God and sought salvation apart from him.

Isn’t that what got them into trouble in the first place? Their relentless pursuit of idolatry brought Babylon to their gates. They turned from God to pursue false saviors and he punished them by sending Babylon to defeat them. The ink was barely dried on the their new passports when they once again turned their hearts from God, seeking salvation apart from him.

In terms of their encounter with the prophet, God’s people had already determined what they would do; they didn’t want to know God’s will, they wanted his will to conform to their plans. They wanted his will shaped to fit theirs. And when it didn’t, they did what they wanted to do anyway.

The truth is, it is always God’s will that we trust him alone for salvation. It is always God’s will that we cast aside all attempts at self-rescue or deliverance from a counterfeit god. And it is always God’s will that we do what his word tells us to do.

I can’t help but think of my own wayward heart as I read these chapters in Jeremiah—as I thought of the times I’ve done the same. The times when my own foolish desires resisted doing what I know God’s word says. When I tried to find ways to fit my will in and around God’s word, bending it to shape what I want. And in the end, it revealed that I truly did not want to know God’s will at all.

But praise the Lord for his mercy! God knew what was in the people’s hearts. He knew their intentions. He knew they would turn and make their way to Egypt. And he knows what is in my own heart—the false saviors I trust in, my sinful desires, and rebellious pursuits. That’s why he sent Jesus, the One who perfectly lived the will of God. The One who cried out, “Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me. Nevertheless, not my will, but yours, be done” (Luke 22: 42). The One who walked into God’s will, fulfilling the plan created in eternity past to bear the sins of his people.

God is merciful when we are unfaithful.

Father, create in me a clean heart and renew a right spirit within me. Through your Spirit at work in me, help me to want what you want. Shape my desires and plans to align with yours. Thank you for Jesus, my savior and deliverer. He alone rescues me from my sin. Help me to turn from all counterfeit loves and serve you alone.

In Jesus’ name, amen.

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Vanity Under the Sun

“Vanity of vanities, says the Preacher, vanity of vanities! All is vanity” (Ecc. 1:2).

I’ve been reading Ecclesiastes in my quiet time. Every time I read through the book, it feels like someone turned on the light in the dark recesses of my life, pointing out things I hadn’t noticed before. It would be like if a gemologist were to look up close at my wedding ring and point out that it doesn’t really have diamonds in it after all. I’d then look at it with new eyes and notice its flaws. What once was shiny would quickly lose its luster. I’d realize that what I once thought was valuable, had no value at all. This is what the teacher does in Ecclesiastes; he shows us the vanity of life under the sun.

Throughout the book of Ecclesiastes, the teacher shares insight into his own life experiences. He has pursued everything there is to pursue in life. He’s tried it all. He’s accumulated it all. He’s witnessed it all. And he’s found little to write home about. He sums it up as meaningless or vanity. The Hebrew word used for “vanity” in Ecclesiastes 1:2 is hebel. It means vapor or breath. It’s a word that describes the transitory nature of things. It’s like a breath that is breathed out and immediately dissipates in the air. Hebel describes things that have no form or structure, they are empty; they cannot contain anything.

The teacher uses this word throughout the book to describe life “under the sun.” That is, life from our earthly, finite perspective. The teacher observes that people work hard, they pursue and enjoy the pleasures of this life, and then they die. All that they have worked for is then passed on to someone else who won’t appreciate it or will likely lose or waste it. All the pursuits and pleasures of life, once experienced, are gone. The things we put our time and energy into all too soon fade away. They lose their luster. They show themselves worthless.

Vapor. Breath. Meaningless.

I can’t help but think of the early church father, Augustine. He pursued the pleasures and vanities of this life. He looked for meaning and purpose in things, relationships, knowledge, and experience, but found them fleeting. He wrote in his work, Confessions, about his life, “For it was my sin, that not in Him, but in His creatures—myself and others—I sought for pleasures, sublimities, truths, and so fell headlong into sorrows, confusions, errors.” He even tried various religions and philosophies, thinking they would help him find what he was looking for, but he still felt restless and lost. It wasn’t until he read the Bible and was converted to Christ that his restlessness finally stilled. He wrote, “Thou madest us for Thyself, and our heart is restless, until it repose {rest} in Thee.” When Augustine found Christ, he found what his heart longed for all along.

It isn’t until we see things from a different perspective, from “above the sun” rather than “under the sun,” that things change. It’s when we see the world in light of eternity that we see what truly matters—what truly satisfies. Then we see that the pleasures we’ve labored so hard to achieve are really like playing in the mud when we could enjoy a trip to the sea. As C.S. Lewis describes, “It would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.” The truth is, the little joys of life exist to point us to the greatest Joy. We’ve wasted precious time dancing with shadows when we could have experienced Life itself.

Ecclesiastes reminds my heart how easily I confuse the shadows for the substance. It reminds me that when I focus my life and heart on things “under the sun” and forget about the One who rules “above the sun” I am only grasping at vapor, with what is fleeting and temporary. The teacher reminds me that life is meant for something greater, for Someone greater. That real life—real fulfilling, lasting, meaningful, glorious life—is found only in the One who created it.

The teacher ends his book with this conclusion: “Fear God and keep his commandments, for this is the whole duty of man” (Ecc. 12:13). We don’t know much about what is above the sun other than that God rules over the universe. We don’t know much about eternity past, other than that God has always been there. We don’t know what will occur in eternity future, just that it is in God’s hands. In the span of time, we are but vapor; our lives are merely a breath. The conclusion then is this, to live our lives in the fear of the One who knows all things. To live for his glory and praise. To live for and pursue that which is lasting, that which is eternal, that which is of substance.

And that’s where real Joy resides, not in the shadow, but in the substance.

Three Ways Comparison Steals our Joy

I recognize the feeling the moment it happens. A friend announces a new opportunity in her life or talks about a recent experience or shows me a material blessing and my first thought is, “Why not me?” I look at my own life and find it lackluster in comparison. I want what she has. It all seems so unfair. I’ve worked just as hard as she has but have nothing to show for it. Any blessings I have received fail to measure up to what she has. I then find myself stuck in the mire of self-pity— feeling sorry for myself that I’m missing out on all that my friend has that I don’t.

Comparison. It’s a struggle we all know too well. Whether it’s hearing about the ministry success of a peer or touring a friend’s new house or watching another child shine on the ball field while yours sits on the bench, we know what it’s like to compare our lives and what we have to someone else. And to want their life instead.

Such comparison reveals the idols of the heart in a way nothing else can. At least it does for me. It shows me how much I live for success or affirmation. It shows me how much I want other people to notice what I can do or what I’ve achieved. It reveals how much I live for the things of this world, rather the things of heaven.

Comparison is sneaky. It creeps up when we’re not paying attention. Yet the more we get caught in its trap, the more it steals our joy. It creates tension in our relationships. It turns our focus inward rather than upward. It tells us that God’s plan for us has failed; we know better how our life ought to be. It causes us to envy rather than give thanks for all that God provides.

While there are many ways comparison steals our joy, here are three ways I see comparison impact my own life:

Comparison makes us unable to rejoice with those who rejoice: In Romans 12:15, Paul exhorts us to “rejoice with those who rejoice.” In verse 10 he writes, “Love one another with brotherly affection. Outdo one another in showing honor.” These admonitions are all rooted in our union with one another in Christ. We are all part of the same body (12:4). God blesses each member of the body in different ways, giving us different gifts and graces. Because we are a part of the same body, the good that God does in another brother or sister’s life is our good as well and we are to rejoice with them in it. When we compare ourselves to one another, it keeps us from rejoicing with them. Instead, we feel bitterness. We begrudge the blessings in the life of another. We want ourselves to be honored rather than honor another. We want to be celebrated rather than celebrate what God has done for someone else.

Comparison pulls us away from community: When we hear of good news in the life of another, not only do we fail to rejoice with them, comparison then pulls us away from one another. It threatens our unity as we strive to outdo one another in our successes and achievements. We compete against one another, forgetting we are on the same team. We stop praying for the Lord’s blessing in each other’s lives and focus our prayers on our own desires. Instead of working with the body, we work against it.

Comparison breeds discontentment: Comparison also births discontentment in our hearts. The more we compare ourselves and our lives to one another, the more we are dissatisfied, because there’s always something we don’t have. There’s always someone who has something more. Rather than finding our satisfaction in Christ and who he is for us (Phil. 4:11-13), we seek after some elusive desire that fades like the sun burning off the morning fog.

In all these ways and more, comparison steals our joy and leaves behind only bitterness, envy, and discontentment. When we find our hearts tempted to compare our lives to others, may we look to him who “emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross” (Phil. 2: 7-8). Paul tells us that this mind of Christ—this heart of humility, of counting others more significant—is “yours in Christ Jesus” (v.5). This means we don’t have to compare ourselves to others. Because we are one with Christ, we have all that we need to resist the temptation. He given us the “same mind, having the same love, being in full accord and of one mind” (v.2) so that we can “do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves” (v.3).

Let us be satisfied in Christ today and rejoice with those who rejoice.

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