If you haven’t seen the M. Night Shyamalan movie, “The Village,” I’m about to spoil it for you.
During the opening scenes, we think we’re watching a movie set in the late nineteenth century. We take a quick tour through a small village populated with families wearing antiquated clothing and doing chores without the help of modern technology. Eventually, though, we learn that this village was settled away from society by people who met in a grief support group. They’ve sequestered themselves in a primitive, private community hidden from the wickedness of the world to escape the kind of grief they endured when they lost loved ones to violence in the real world. Their children don’t know anything true about the outside world—“the towns”—and the parents have guarded their society with imaginary monsters to keep the children tucked inside the safety of their village.
If they stay in the village, nothing bad can happen. After all, they’ve hidden themselves from the evil, scary world and all its dangers.
The problem is that bad things happen anywhere because the problem isn’t out there. The problem is in here, in the heart of every human. When jealousy leads to a violent crime within the village, the perception of violence out there and safety in here unravels. Though not a “Christian movie” in production or marketing, “The Village” illustrates what the apostle James said about the origin of sin and temptation: “But each person is tempted when he is lured and enticed by his own desire. Then desire when it has conceived gives birth to sin, and sin when it is fully grown brings forth death” (James 1:14-15).
When I was a young Christian, I thought obedience to God meant controlling my environment. If I was careful about the music, movies, and books I consumed, I would be less likely to sin. And there is wisdom in that. I’m much more conscientious about the kinds of media I utilize at forty-five that I was at twenty-five or fifteen. There are many things I’ve learned to say no to as I’ve grown in the faith because I’ve learned to recognize them as wide pathways to sin for me. Over time and through sanctification, those pathways became distasteful to me, but not because I rigidly refused to walk them. Rather, they became distasteful to me because Jesus became more beautiful to me. He was always so lovely, but in my years of walking with him, I gradually came to see him as such. Obedience became less about controlling my environment and more about treasuring Jesus more. When I realized there was more joy in Christ than in sin, the narrow road appeared more beautiful to me than the wide paths of fleeting, earthly enjoyment.
Saying no to sin is best done in saying yes to Christ.
But that’s not how we come at sin much of the time. Like the villagers in the movie, our approach to avoiding dangerous paths is to hide in a corner with our fingers in our ears, praying, “Help me not to sin, help me not to sin, help me not to sin.” But sin comes from our own evil desires, so no matter how tightly we guard our lives, the potential is always there because we cannot escape ourselves.
The man in Psalm 1 didn’t avoid the wicked, the sinners, and the scoffers only by giving them a wide berth (see Psalm 1:1-4). Rather, he delighted in God’s word, feasting on it day and night. He said no to sin by saying yes to the Lord; it was his delight to do so. And he flourished in that delight. The man who found the treasure in the field didn’t sell everything he owned simply because his possessions led him to sin (see Matthew 13:44). No, he sold them because they were inferior to the treasure! The treasure would far outweigh the passing pleasures of his life. Jesus is the treasure, the portion, the inheritance, the delight. When we think on our ways, our desires, and our pursuits, our hearts are pulled towards lesser glories. But when we think on his ways, his word, his attributes and character—the mist clears and we can finally really see: only he will satisfy.
It’s easier to say no to things that turn our hearts away from Christ when we say yes to him.
There are many easy no’s in my life. I know the paths that are dangerous for me. I don’t read these books, I don’t watch those movies, I don’t use those apps, I don’t say those words, I don’t have those conversations, I don’t entertain those thoughts. It is wisdom to guard your heart. We should do what we can to make it hard to sin. But, even with my guardrails firmly in place, I know where temptation comes from. And because God gives more grace, I know how to fight it. Not with more rules but with more love. Adoring Jesus makes it hard to sin against him. When I remember that he is my portion, my allotment, my inheritance, my joy, my delight, my safety, my endurance—oh, how I want to treasure him and keep his words.
I don’t open my Bible every day because I am afraid God will love me less if I don’t. I open my Bible every day because I love Jesus—because he loved me first. And his word reminds me every day how lovely he is. When I forget to delight in his word, I forget how insidious sin can be. When I live far from Scripture, I’ll trade a feast for a bowl of soup. But when I delight in his word, I remember why saying yes to him will always be the better choice. He is my safeguard from sin because he is my portion forever.
____
Heth
The LORD is my portion;
I promise to keep your words.
I entreat your favor with all my heart;
be gracious to me according to your promise.
When I think on my ways,
I turn my feet to your testimonies.
I hasten and do not delay
to keep your commandments.
Though the cords of the wicked ensnare me,
I do not forget your law.
At midnight I rise to praise you,
because of your righteous rules.
I am a companion of all who fear you,
of those who keep your precepts.
The earth, O LORD, is full of your steadfast love;
teach me your statues.
Psalm 119:57-64
Author’s note:
This is the eighth essay in a series of reflections on Psalm 119. Each article bears the title of the stanza of the psalm from which it draws inspiration. This is 8 of 22.
