PRIDE

In the Christian tradition, many have considered pride to be the root of all other sins, going all the way back to the Garden of Eden. It has been argued that pride is the first and fundamental distortion of human existence: putting self over God. Wasn’t this Adam and Eve’s fundamental misstep—to believe they knew better than God? Wasn’t this the folly at the Tower of Babel—the idea that by our show of strength we can raise ourselves to God’s level? At the root of so many of our destructive impulses is often the delusional belief that we can be for ourselves or grab for ourselves what only God can be or what only God can give.

Years ago, I worked for a man who proved to be the most egotistical person I’ve ever known. He constantly maneuvered conversations and social
settings to ensure that everyone knew he sat atop the food chain. He silenced and shamed people and was forever telling stories where he appeared as the hero. It was exhausting. While he seemed at the time to be a powerful person, I can see now how he was actually living out of a fearful compulsion, trying to construct a life where he felt important and secure—beloved. Though God could meet this good yearning of his heart, he was so busy trying to promote himself that he couldn’t receive the goodness God longed to give him.

To counter our destructive, prideful impulses, the first of the ten commandments insists that God remains without rival. “Have no Gods other than me,” the Scripture says (exodus 20:3, nlv). Perhaps this is why Jesus told us that the most essential commandment is to love the Lord our God with all our heart, soul and mind, followed next by the command to love our neighbor (see matthew 22:37–39). All love comes from God; if we’re not receiving the steady flow of God’s love ourselves, we’ll have none to give away. We’ll never be able to properly love our neighbors or properly love ourselves or properly love God’s good world. As Kathleen Norris, noted poet and essayist puts it, “idolatry makes love impossible.”

Pride holds particular seduction for those with power, wealth, knowledge, or notoriety. The more resources we have, the easier it can be to believe we can handle life on our own. An example of this in Scripture is King Uzziah. Uzziah oversaw monumental construction projects and amassed sprawling vineyards and enormous herds of cattle. Uzziah also built an impressive army, almost like an ancient version of the Green Berets, an army that made his enemies tremble. He became a great king with vast dominance. And the success went to his head. “After Uzziah became powerful,” Scripture says, “his pride led to his downfall” (2 chronicles 26:16). Pride whispers in our ear, telling us that we’r really something big, that we really don’t need God.

It’s not only the powerful, though, who struggle with pride. Those of us who are fixated on ourselves evidence pride in myriad ways, even when we seem to have little reason for bloated self-importance.

As with each of the seven sins, pride is the result of a good desire twisting in an unhealthy direction. A prideful person wants to be seen, to be noticed. And this is a good longing: we’re made to be seen, to be enjoyed, to experience another’s delight in us. However, our desire can only be met through God’s abundant gifts—his love, mercy, and acceptance in his family. Whenever we concoct a false image in order to grasp what we want, we push away the very love we so desperately crave.

Question: Where do you feel tempted to promote your false ego or place yourself above God? Or grab approval that only God can give?

Practice: Silence. Silence. As an antidote to pride, practice silence. Instead of speaking up every time you have an opinion or every time you could draw attention to yourself, choose strategic moments to stay quiet. Find an hour a week where you can be quiet, tuning your ear to no one’s voice other than God’s. Listen for God’s delight in you.

ENVY

Like pride, envy is a good desire gone rogue. All of us long for goodness, for affirmation, for blessing and joy. And we should—God intends for us to experience all these things. However, envy grows whenever we think our happiness depends on securing what another person possesses. When we are envious, we fixate on whatever we think we must have, like Gollum in the Lord of the Rings clutching that cursed ring. When we’re envious we think we know what we really need. But often, we’re mistaken and confused; and as we wander further away from truth and love (from God), we lose our perspective. We lose ourselves.

An envious person feels a constant internal void and grasps after what others enjoy (their abilities, beauty, strength, relationships, accomplishments) in an attempt to fill that emptiness. An envious person constantly compares themselves with others and judges their own shortcomings. Though it’s hard to recognize at times, an envious person is savagely selfcritical. Unable to see ourselves as God’s beloved, we despise who we are, and then turn our envious gaze toward others to make up for our lack. Tragically, this lethal combination of envy and self-hatred devours us from the inside. “Envy,” the Proverb says, “rots the bones” (proverbs 14:30).

Often, envy is our response to an acute wounding (a painful rejection, a sense of inadequacy, a fear of failure, etc.) and seems to point us toward quick relief in our exhausting quest to find validation, recognition, and love. However, envy can never deliver what it promises. Even if we were able to snatch whatever we’re fixated on from another person, it would never satisfy. Proverbs 14:30 tells us that envy not only rots the bones, it also never produces a “heart at peace.” Envy always leads to more disaffection, more isolation, more anger and resentment.

Envy rots us from the inside, like cancer. The only power potent enough to heal envy is love. As Paul says: “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy” (1 corinthians 13:4). God, we know, is love, so to find freedom from envy, we must abandon ourselves to God’s enduring love. As we bask in God’s love, we discover that we do not need to possess anything or perform anything or accomplish anything. We are simply loved and delighted in by the God who has already moved heaven and earth to call us his beloved children.

When our oldest son was five, he saw me lifting a mammoth-sized box that must have seemed about the size of a Mini Cooper to him. His jaw dropped. In admiration, he exclaimed, “There only two people as strong as daddy: Superman and Hulk!” You can imagine how my chest swelled. Years later, however, my son is now four inches taller than me and loves to come behind me, wrap his arms around me and lift me off the ground with a guttural growl. He’s no longer impressed with my strength. And he now has men in his life besides me whom he admires and respects. Some of these other men are stronger than me, smarter than me, and more accomplished than me. That’s intimidating, and I’m tempted to feel threatened and grow envious, fearful that I don’t measure up. However, when I’m resting in love (God’s love for me and my love for my son), I don’t have to reduce these other men for me to trust my own unique (and irreplaceable) relationship with my son. There’s no need to envy. I am free to be myself and free to let my son be himself. We are all free.

Question: Who provokes your envy? What is at the root of this envy?

Practice: Kindness. Paul tells us that love and kindness oppose envy. This week, find a way to offer kindness to whoever stirs your envy. As you practice kindness, notice what opens up in your heart toward them. And then, find a way to offer kindness to yourself.

SLOTH

When we consider deadly sins that give birth to all kinds of ruin, we probably don’t think of sloth as a vice serious enough to make the cut. Today, sloth evokes images of someone decked out in PJs, glued to the couch, popping M&Ms with pizza boxes scattered across the room while binging Netflix for days on end. An unhealthy lifestyle to be sure, but a deadly sin?

But in the Christian tradition, sloth refers to something far more treacherous than mere laziness. Sloth describes the numerous ways we shrink from the fullness of life God has called us toward. We shrink from our relationships. We shrink from the God who loves us and from this marvelous—yet often demanding and perplexing—life God has placed before us. When we surrender to sloth, we lose our fire, our boldness.

When we are in sloth’s grip, we withdraw from God and God’s world, and from our God-given confidence. And when we withdraw, our vision narrows. “The path of the slothful is a hedge of thorns,” Proverbs says, “but the path of the upright is an open highway” (15:19, author’s translation). Sloth drains our energy and hems us in. But when we courageously cast off sloth’s malaise and turn in trust to God, something shifts. Hope returns, and renewed vigor begins to seep in. God prods us toward a wide-open future.

When sloth does manifest as laziness, it is a symptom of our increasingly wilting soul. Trapped in the quagmire of idleness, we feel helpless to embrace our life, act upon any deep truth, or pursue God with any conviction or fervor. And yet laziness, we discover, is only one way we shrink from our life. Some ancient believers used the word acedia rather than sloth. The word acedia was used to describe the multitude of ways we allow God’s energy to drain from us, the ways we become numb to God and stop being attentive to the invitation to live out of the energy of God’s flaming love. As Rebecca DeYoung put it, “Sloth has more to do with being lazy about love than being lazy about work.”

When sloth appears as acedia, it can take the shape of lethargy, a listless sadness. We no longer see the joy in God, in our good life, in those we love, in this marvelous world. One shouldn’t confuse sloth with biological depression. While there is much overlap in the symptoms, and each may have both physical and spiritual components, they are not identical and we need to be wise about when to seek help—when we need to talk to a doctor or therapist. However, if what we’re dealing with is sloth, then it means we’re surrendering ourselves to hopelessness and futility rather than to “the God of hope” who infuses us “with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.” (romans 15:13) Sloth robs us of hope; but God gives hope by the bucketful.

Ironically, sloth’s modern guise is often the exact opposite of laziness. Sloth can be seen in distraction and busyness that make us unable to be fully present to our life and to pay attention to the many gifts God has placed right in front of us. When acedia reveals itself in restlessness or boredom, we may shrink from our life—not with lethargy but with excessive activity. In my experience, I’ve learned that when I spend an inordinate amount of time on social media or let go of boundaries between family time and work time, it’s a signal that something’s amiss. Usually, I’m clicking the TV remote or working too late in my office because I’m actually avoiding something, or trying to drum up excitement to overcome my sense of emptiness or lethargy.

Sloth makes us dissatisfied with the people God has placed in our life and tired of the tasks and responsibilities God has put before us. Frustrated and bored, we are always on the prowl for something new—a new place, a new relationship, a new job, a new diversion. In contrast to this frenetic wanderlust, God always pulls us more deeply into the life right in front of us.

Unfortunately, when we recognize we’re bogged down in lethargy and despair, we’re prone to heap shame upon ourselves, which is a tragedy because what these temptations to sloth actually reveal are opportunities for healing. Our sloth points us to specific, immediate places where we are desperate to be touched by God’s love. I once endured a long season (over a year) of melancholy that drained my vitality and my hope. I felt useless to my family, to God, to my work. I was also restless, obsessively grasping for distractions. I could not pull myself together; and I despised myself for that.

Though it came slowly, healing occurred when I simply became curious about why I felt so empty or so desperate, why I felt so disconnected to God’s kindness and mercy. I began to recognize how hungry I was for God’s love to touch me and in time this love renewed my hungry heart.

Question: Where are you experiencing laziness or lethargy or an unhealthy restlessness? Do you sense God inviting you more deeply into your life in any of these places?

Practice: Engagement. If sloth means shrinking from our life, then to counter sloth, we want to step more boldly into our life. Identify one person, pursuit, or skill that you believe God has placed in your path—but you’ve been tempted to ignore. For an extended season, give yourself to nurturing that relationship or pursuing that passion. Don’t worry about results. Simply be faithful, and watch for God’s joy to meet you in the midst of your effort.

GREED

Once, while Jesus was speaking to a crowd gathered around him, a young man spoke up, attempting to get Jesus to take his side in an ongoing feud with his brother over their inheritance. Whether or not the man’s grievance was justified, this young man’s heart was focused on the wrong things. Recognizing this, Jesus turned to the crowd. “Watch out!” he warned. “Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; life does not consist in an abundance of possessions” (luke 12:15).

Today, just as much as in the first century (perhaps even more so), greed’s seductive allure requires our diligent resistance. Greed assaults us constantly. Advertisements bombard us with messages reminding us of all we don’t have. Our economic system pounds into our head that making piles of money and buying piles of trinkets secures happiness. Even the label we’re given (“consumers”) prods us to grab more, use more, want more. More. More. More.

Like each of these seven vices, greed distorts reality and degrades humanity, goading us to follow our insatiable appetites without ever thinking critically about what is good, what is true, what is healthy and beautiful (see philippians 4:8). Worse, greed distorts our vision of God, fueling the deluded notion that our cravings can be satisfied apart from the One who created us, the One who knows our deepest longings even better than we do.

I’ve been interested in financial investing since I was in high school. I even worked as a broker with Charles Schwab for several years when we lived in Denver. I enjoy working with numbers, and I enjoy having a retirement goal that I’m concretely working toward. I don’t believe there’s anything inherently wrong with that. But at times I find my attitude toward money slides into an unhealthy one. I find myself fretting over my investments and my future, as if I’ve begun to believe that my well-being requires growing my retirement account to the size experts say will be necessary. It’s tempting to believe that my well-being and life depends on my investments, but the truth is my life depends entirely on God. Left to our own devices, greed robs us of joy and a trusting reliance on the God who owns the world and everything in it (psalm 24:1).

While greed may be most easily spotted as we cravenly clamor for more money and more stuff, greed can take on a thousand shapes. Jesus said to be on guard against “all kinds of greed.” We can be greedy for power and prominence, greedy for security or comfort, greedy for relationships, greedy for knowledge, greedy to have others see us as the expert, greedy for our personal space or for intimacy. With each manifestation of greed, we’re tempted to believe that we must have more of something or someone in order for our life to be whole. So, as Eugene Peterson paraphrased Jesus’s words in The Message, it’s urgent to “protect yourself against the
least bit of greed. Life is not defined by what you have, even when you have a lot” (luke 12:15, msg).

But again, despite how serious greed’s effects are, it’s important to keep in mind that greed is merely the twisting of a good thing. God has created us to desire, to want. The words of the psalmist suggest that delight and desire is woven into our life with God and an essential part of an awakened heart (psalm 37:4). Jesus does not tell us to squelch desire, but to pay attention to truer desires. The problem with greed is not that it reveals our wants, but that it tempts us to settle for things that are immature, flimsy, and ultimately destructive. God wants so much more for us than this.

Question: Here are several questions that help to reveal our greed: Do you feel animosity toward those who have more than you do? Is it hard to share what you have? Do you find that you don’t really savor and enjoy much of anything God has given you?

Practice: Generosity. For the next month, practice faithful, reckless generosity. Set aside a portion of your income (ideally more than you think you can easily afford) and give it away. Give to your church. Give to those facing hardship. Give to those under the weight of poverty. Watch for what happens in your heart during this adventure.

ANGER

Often, destructive anger is how our pain and fears manifest. When we’re afraid that someone else will step ahead of us or take the limelight away from us, we get angry. When we experience deep wounds or disappointments, we get angry. Anger often reveals that we’re operating out of a wounded ego, that we believe someone has wronged us or failed us in a way that seems to threaten our sense of identity. And so, rather than peering into our own darkness, extending mercy, turning to faithful friends, and turning to God, we lash out in fury.

Still, as destructive as anger can be in our lives, when we consider how Scripture portrays anger, we see a portrait that is more complex than anger being merely a vice. While Scripture repeatedly views anger as a destructive force, a power that overwhelms us and subverts clear thinking and harms everyone it touches (see james 1:19–20), there is also in Scripture a counter theme: sometimes, anger is just. Paul suggests there is a kind of anger that actually aids our efforts to resiss sin (ephesians 4:26). In fact, Jesus at times grew angry. Whenever religious powers oppressed the weak or used God as a pretext for their greed or power plays, Jesus’s anger burned (matthew 21:12–17, mark 3:1–6). If sin and injustice are really destructive, then it’s right to feel a fire in our bones whenever evil expands its sinister reach. In his book The Enigma of Anger, Garret Keizer said, “I am unable to commit to any Messiah who does not knock over some tables.” Thankfully, Jesus knows when to knock over some tables.

Remembering that each vice distorts something good, we can learn to discern the difference between a righteous anger defending the vulnerable or seeking justice and a caustic anger that can obliterate everything and everyone it touches. A righteous anger fights to protect others and to safeguard love. An unrighteous anger leaves behind a trail of wounded relationships without considering the casualties.

In 2017, the KKK and a number of white nationalist groups descended on our hometown of Charlottesville, Virginia, to promote their evil, racist ideology. In response, thousands of my neighbors showed up to counteract this hateful message, carrying with them an appropriate level of righteous resistance. It was right to be angry at oppression and to be tenaciously on the side of our African American brothers and sisters forced to endure the onslaught of these violent philosophies. But we also saw on display the destructive anger Scripture warns against when a number of the counter-protesters merely reversed the hatred, spewing dehumanizing and vile words back at the white supremacists. Anger and rage, unhinged from Jesus’s transformative love, always does harm, no matter how noble the intent might seem.

In contrast to this, James insists that, “you must all be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to get angry. Human anger does not produce the righteousness God desires” (james 1:19–20, nlt). On its own, James tells us, our anger never yields the good life. Our anger never heals. Our anger never turns enemies into friends. Our anger never opens up new possibilities. Our anger only destroys. James–s words pierce us because of how easy it is for us to justify our anger: perhaps we really have been wronged, perhaps someone else truly does need us to come to their defense. However, our brand of anger, isolated from its rightful foundation in God’s love, simply cannot enact goodness. It’s like trying to put out a fire with a blowtorch; we only fuel the destruction.

Question: Where do you see both righteous and unrighteous anger manifesting in your heart? Where are the places you struggle with anger, and what (or who) triggers it?

Practice: Gentleness. The next time you are in the presence of someone who incites your anger, look that person in the eye. Be present to them, truly see them. Drop your shoulders, drop your guard and your defensiveness. Step toward them with gentleness, remembering you have nothing to protect or prove. Ask them some gentle question that emerges from a quiet place in your heart.

LUST

Our two boys love candy, lots and lots of candy. When they were younger, every Halloween they’d come home carrying pillow cases bulging with the stuff that makes dentists cringe. For weeks after, my wife Miska and I would vigilantly regulate their sugar intake. One year, Miska had an idea. We told the boys they could eat as much candy as they wanted (no restrictions whatsoever) for twenty-four hours, but then we’d throw whatever was left in the trash. The boys were elated. For an entire day, they were free to stuff their mouths with every gummy worm, every Reese’s, every Whopper and Skittle and Kit Kat—and we would not stop them. The boys ate themselves sick. When we dumped their remaining candy in the garbage, there wasn’t a single protest. It was weeks before they could think of candy without turning green. It was fantastic.

Our boys had been overcome by lust, an insatiable and unmoored desire. But after this lust had consumed and harmed them, they were sickened by the very thing that had seemed so scintillating.

Again, it’s worth emphasizing that it’s not a problem to have desire. To desire is to be human, to be alive. If we aren’t in touch with our desires, that reveals an entirely different problem. However, desire becomes a sickness when it owns us, when it becomes the thing we believe we must have if we are to be fulfilled. Lust is the distortion (and ultimately the squashing) of the good desires God wants us to enjoy.

Scripture tells us there is a system at work in the world constantly scheming and conniving to replace God. This false system worms its way into our hearts through a variety of seductions. “For the world offers only a craving for physical pleasure, a craving for everything we see, and pride in our achievements and possessions. These are not from the Father, but are from this world” (1 john 2:16, nlt). The lust of the flesh tempts us through runaway cravings for food, sex, and every sort of physical pleasure. The lust of the eyes tempts us through our unhinged desires to gorge all we can on the ravenous pursuit for prestige, power, and reputation. With either, however, lust only destroys.

The great tragedy of indulging in lust is the way it hinders us from enjoying real pleasure, from actually receiving God’s true joys. Lust blocks us from receiving true pleasure, because it turns us away from the God who provides it. Further, lust can cut us off from even the capacity to experience these pleasures God longs to give. Lust, in its selfish quest to conquer others and grab more for ourselves, makes it impossible to be present to the actual moment we’re in, to what’s actually happening in our soul, to the real person in our life, to the goodness surrounding us. We see this tragedy play out, for example, whenever lust overwhelms our sexuality. Whether through pornographic fantasies or sexual addictions or consuming, selfish behaviors in our sexual relationship with a spouse, lust disconnects us from genuine love because it disconnects us from a loving connection with the flesh-and-blood people in our lives. Lust severs the sacrificial, loving responsibilities we have toward one another. Lust cannot fuel love; it destroys love.

Like a cancer, lust eats away at good, sensual pleasures—healthy pleasures like enjoying fine food and the soul intimacy of sex. Lust feeds off the lie that we must have this experience, that person, this relationship, that sensation—and we must have it now, or we will be forever unfulfilled. But with that grasping, insatiable posture, everything we touch gets devoured and ruined.

When we are in lust’s fever, we’re like a lost wanderer crawling across the scorched desert: all we can think about is getting to water. But the “water” lust promises is always a mirage. Lust stokes the lie that God is not really the source of true pleasure. Lust promises that whatever we crave will fulfill us, but it never does. Only God has that power.

Question: How, in your experience, does lust squelch true pleasure rather than fulfill it?

Practice: Friendship. Whether we are attempting to selfishly use others for physical pleasure or to build our power or reputation, the self-giving act of friendship counters this impulse. This week, focus on connecting deeply with a friend, without asking what you might get in return.

GLUTTONY

A glutton is a person who voraciously stuffs themselves with food, well past the point of being full. And while overeating can be frivolous or humorous (like the time when my high school teammate ate sixteen tacos in one sitting at the Mexican buffet), whenever gluttony becomes a pattern of life, it’s no laughing matter. Proverbs uses hyperbole to jolt us with how seriously we should take this temptation: “Put a knife to your throat if you are given to gluttony” (proverbs 23:2, niv).

At the root, though, the Bible tells us that gluttony is not really a matter of calories but of forgetfulness—a forgetfulness that can lead to rebellion and ruin. In the Garden of Eden, that first gluttonous bite happened when Eve and Adam forgot that God had given them everything they could possibly need and that nothing outside of their life with God would satisfy them. Similarly, when God led Israel out of Egypt and through the desert, the people forgot (and after only a few weeks!) what life had been like under Pharaoh and how astounding God’s rescue was. Still, God continued to lavish food on his people, spreading honey-wafers (mannah) on the ground and dropping quail for meat out of the sky. God did this so the people would remember—and never forget—their God. “At twilight, you will eat meat,” God said, “and in the morning you will be filled with bread. Then you will know that I am the Lord your God” (exodus 16:12).

But of course, Israel forgot. We all forget. The people had been told to only grab enough food for each day, and that God would provide what they needed every morning. However, predictably, many didn’t trust God. They thought they needed to stockpile more. So some grabbed and hoarded. Later, others decided that the mannah and the quail was not enough and began to “crave other foods”— translated literally, the text says they “craved a craving” (numbers 11:4). Their cravings ran away with them. They became gluttons.

We suffer the same temptations. We stuff ourselves with a glut of food, a glut of media, a glut of experiences and opportunities. We gluttonously pursue an image or another person’s acceptance or some achievement. Stuffing and hoarding, we no longer believe that God is who we most crave. I’ve struggled with my weight most of my life. I’m tempted to eat more than is healthy whenever I’m sad, tired, or lonely. I’m no psychologist, but, clearly, I use food to cope with (or hide from) other issues. As I’ve grown more aware of this temptation and worked toward a healthier lifestyle, I’ve noticed the same addictive tendencies pop up when I’m mindlessly scrolling Facebook or Instagram. I’m prone to stuff myself with gluttonous distractions—when what I really need is a fresh encounter with mercy.

What we all need most—far more than food or reputation or any other experience or person—is God. Our temptation to stuff ourselves signals to us a profound truth, a truth we should honor: we are indeed hungry . . . hungry to experience God and life in his kingdom. So we do not despise our hunger; rather we move deeper into it, into the deepest longings it points to. And as we go deeper, we discover good, good news: our kind and generous God longs to give us all we need. If we insist on gorging ourselves, we’ll never come with open hands ready to receive.

Question: Where are you tempted to replace God’s place in your life by stuffing yourself with distractions? What do you think this runaway craving tells you about your heart?

Practice: Fasting. Fasting is a rest from food or other pleasures. It’s the opportunity to quiet the demands for “more” so that we can connect to our deepest, God-given desires. You can fast from food (a meal, a particular kind of food) or from some other activity (social media, television). If you do any food fast, follow nutritional advice particular to your situation.