When I used to travel extensively, I always packed my Bible reading plan. That way, even if I were thousands of miles from home, my husband, Ken, and I would be in sync on our daily readings. More than twenty years later, I can no longer travel, but Ken and I still make our annual journey from Genesis to Revelation.

Reading through the Bible multiple times expands and exalts our view of God. We have always seen him as sovereign and majestic, but nowadays, we step away from our Bibles, marveling at the dazzling glory of Almighty God.

He does what he decrees — he forms thoughts in the minds of monarchs, splits open the earth to swallow rebels, aims stray arrows to fulfill his battle plan, and overrules a witch by calling forth a dead prophet to confront a king. It’s the same in the New Testament: God aborts devilish schemes to turn the world’s worst murder into the world’s only salvation. When you meditate on these things — as Ken and I often do — you walk away with a skyscraping view of the sovereignty of God.

That, to me, is comforting. Yet here I am, afflicted with sores and scars, increasing pain, quadriplegia, and the constant threat of deadly pneumonia. How is it, then, that I am consoled by the doctrine of God’s absolute dominion over every moment of my pain and paralysis? Why would I even encourage Christians to view God’s providence as the ultimate source of great comfort?

The answers are found in the doctrines of grace, those treasured canons of our faith that extol God’s sovereignty in our salvation past, present, and future.

1. Total Depravity

I cleave to Romans 5:6: “While we were still weak, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly.” When I was a teenager and a new believer, however, I considered myself slightly weak and only a little ungodly. I thought I had done Jesus a big favor by accepting him as my Savior.

Then I broke my neck. With a jolt, I learned how spiritually enfeebled I was. God could no longer fit into the back pocket of my jeans. So, for two years, I lay helpless at the bottom of a mortar until God had mercifully crushed my pride with his pestle.

Nearly six decades later, suffering still exposes my sin and lowers my estimation of myself. Afflictions humble me under God’s firm but loving hand, revealing how utterly weak my weakness is. Just as I cannot physically do a thing for myself, I could never contribute even a micrometer of moral worthiness to my salvation.

That teenager? She was blind to her pride and depravity. God nevertheless granted her saving faith and a spirit of repentance. She still doesn’t understand why a holy God would shine his kindness on her, but that is the beauty of finding Christ in your total depravity — it makes God’s glory all the more glorious.

2. Unconditional Election

Ephesians 1:4–5 is a feather-soft comfort: “He chose us in him before the foundation of the world, that we should be holy and blameless before him. In love he predestined us for adoption to himself as sons through Jesus Christ, according to the purpose of his will.” God had his eye on me long before the universe was created — in love, he called me before my suffering even began. Even if my afflictions get worse, nothing can take away my eternal deliverance.

When I blow a fuse because of my limitations, God does not rethink his choice to save me. Nothing I do can undo his decision to include me in his flock. And although there are times when I am anything but a good ambassador for Christ in my wheelchair, my loving God sends his Spirit to correct and strengthen me.

I can rejoice in my suffering because my salvation rests on God’s eternal love, not on my ability to keep a clean slate. To paraphrase Romans 8:38–39, “I am sure that neither death nor life” — nor pneumonia nor intractable pain nor total paralysis nor cancer — “nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate [me] from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

I may live in a wheelchair, but I live to the praise of his glorious grace!

3. Definite Atonement

When Ken and I open our Bibles to the daily reading for July 20, a certain verse makes me tremble. Hosea 1:9 says, “The Lord said, ‘Call his name Not My People, for you are not my people, and I am not your God.’” The idea of God saying, “You are not mine, Joni,” strikes terror in my heart.

Thankfully, Jesus did not die to offer me the possibility of salvation. He died to save me specifically — with all my dog-nasty, specific sins paid for at the cross. It is comforting to know that Jesus was thinking of me that day at Golgotha.

Even in the beginning, when quadriplegia made me think twice about the Christian faith, Christ had already secured my salvation. So, come hell or high water, I have comfort that Jesus purchased my salvation completely.

I may squirm under the weight of various afflictions, but I need not worry if I’ll make it to heaven. Christ’s atonement was definite, not uncertain. My passage to heaven is completely paid for, just as Hebrews 9:12 promises: “He entered once for all into the holy places . . . by means of his own blood, thus securing an eternal redemption.”

If you suffer, learn to love the word redemption. Christ’s secure atonement will redeem our broken bodies riddled with sin and pain. And we shall ascribe him glory forever and ever.

4. Irresistible Grace

Ken Tada is an amazing caregiver, but my disability can overwhelm him. He can feel trapped by my never-ending physical needs — wiping my nose, nebulizing my lungs, maintaining my wheelchair, doing toileting routines, taking inventory of meds, and on and on. No wonder he occasionally feels trapped, depressed, and just plain tired.

When that happens, Ken occasionally gives me the silent treatment. But his cold shoulder is my cue to pray for him. I ask God to bear his burdens (Psalm 68:19), open his heart (Ephesians 1:18), draw him to Jesus (John 6:44), and give him the grace he needs to endure in the way of James 1:12: “Blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial, for when he has stood the test he will receive the crown of life, which God has promised to those who love him.”

When I pray this way, using Scripture, my husband always responds to the grace God gives. Before the day is out, Ken will lay aside the weight of my needs, take a deep breath, and keep “[running] with endurance the race that is set before [him]” (Hebrews 12:1).

By his grace, God not only saved his people in the past but goes on saving them day after day. Irresistible grace is a true comfort for any weary caregiver.

5. Perseverance of the Saints

My friend Kara lives with terrible pain. Together, we have cried, “O God, our afflictions are hard. We are slipping. Please help us, give grace, and make effective our prayers for each other!”

We know that Jesus also prays for us. As he said to his weak and faltering disciple, “I have prayed for you that your faith may not fail” (Luke 22:32). Like Peter, our faith may be shaken to the core by great affliction, but it will not be extinguished. The truly saved will be preserved.

To help Kara and me endure, we have memorized Jude 24–25: “Now to him who is able to keep you from stumbling and to present you blameless before the presence of his glory with great joy, to the only God, our Savior, through Jesus Christ our Lord, be glory, majesty, dominion, and authority, before all time and now and forever. Amen.”

Jude’s doxology is God’s promise to keep us to the end. He will preserve our souls and enable us to run the race set before us. We will persevere all the way through our sanctification until God calls us home to our glorification. We will say with the aging apostle Paul, “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith” (2 Timothy 4:7).

The Hand of Providence

When Ken and I read through the Bible every year, we can easily trace the hand of God’s providence in nearly every chapter. God keeps opening our eyes to the beautiful doctrines of grace in our hardships. He uses our suffering to refine our faith (Hebrews 2:10), stretch our hope (Job 13:14–15), purge sin from our hearts (Psalm 107:17), build our character (Romans 5:2–5), and increase our eternal reward (2 Timothy 2:12).

The doctrines of grace show themselves most precious in seasons of suffering, weakness, or failure. When life strips away human confidence, these doctrines assure us that salvation past, present, and future rests entirely on our wise and loving God.

Why do some hear Scripture and dismiss it as nonsense? John Piper shows from 1 Corinthians 2:14–16 that the natural heart cannot discern the worth of spiritual truth.

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I know of a Christian leader who was well respected by those close to him. He was bright, gifted, seemingly a man for young men to follow.

But he had a secret. And secrets, like wildfires, are hard to control.

A participant in his sin told a relative. That relative told it to my relative. He was living a double life. His was an ongoing kind of sin, a big-deal kind of sin, a career-ending kind of sin, a hell-threatening kind of sin.

Hearing it, I went from disbelief to sadness to anger to fear. I trembled — how creative was the Lord in exposing his sin. The sin crossed river and road until, like Bilbo with the ring of power, “It was picked up by the most unlikely creature imaginable” — one who knew just whom to contact next to follow up with whether the scandal was true.

That’s when a phrase leaped into my mind: “Be sure your sin will find you out” (Numbers 32:23).

Reader, are you living in secret sin, big sin, ongoing sin, hell-threatening sin? Are you tempted to? Or perhaps you’re harboring “smaller sins,” pet sins, lazy sins. Either way, this one verse unmasks the true nature of sin: that it will always be found out and find you out.

The Sin of Sitting

“Be sure your sin will find you out.” What was the sin?

We pick up our story with Israel on the border of the promised land.

Israel, fresh off two victories in the wilderness, prepares to follow Joshua across the river Jordan and war with the Canaanites for the land promised to their fathers. But on the eve of this holy war, two of the twelve tribes of Israel — the tribes of Reuben and Gad — look around at the land they have just conquered and say to themselves, “This land isn’t too bad. It rather fits our needs!”

These two tribes have cattle and sheep, and this land is perfect for cattle and sheep (Numbers 32:1). They decide they don’t need the land flowing with milk and honey. They go to the elders and Moses with a request: “If we have found favor in your sight, let this land be given to your servants for a possession. Do not take us across the Jordan” (verse 5).

Sounds reasonable. They say it politely. Look at the response: “But Moses said to the people of Gad and to the people of Reuben, ‘Shall your brothers go to the war while you sit here?’” (verse 6).

What sin would Moses soon warn would find them out? Idolatry? Had they stashed another golden calf away somewhere? No. It was the sin of just sitting there. Sitting there — while their brothers went off to war. Sitting there — building houses, raising families, herding cattle. But for all of that, just sitting there, deserting God’s people and abandoning God’s mission.

Brother’s Keeper

What would be the result of their sin? First, it would harm the other tribes.

“Why will you discourage the heart of the people of Israel from going over into the land that the Lord has given them?” (verse 7). Gad and Reuben’s inactivity, their self-focus, their worrying about their cattle more than their brothers, would dishearten the other tribes, just as the fearful spies dispirited their fathers from entering the land the first time. And the same disaster would ensue, as their sitting there would invite a repeat of God’s judgment. “You will destroy all this people,” Moses says (verse 15).

And notice that if they do not go forward, if they leave the other ten tribes to fend for themselves, if they retreat, halt, break their word and forsake the mission, behold, they have not ultimately sinned against Judah, Benjamin, Levi, and the other tribes; they have sinned against the Lord. “But if you will not do so, behold, you have sinned against the Lord” (verse 23).

Do you take sins of inaction seriously? We tend to think that real sins are doing something evil, while failing to do the good that we ought to do appears almost negligible. Failure to evangelize, pray, serve the church, or go forth in God’s mission — these seem like relatively small oversights. We think of these sins like recycling — you know you probably should do it, but it isn’t the end of the world if you don’t.

Why do moralistic people think they deserve heaven because they have not committed adultery or abused children? Because they know nothing of sins of omission — they believe refusing to love God, trust in Christ, and care for his people are inconsequential. How startled many will be (outside and inside the church) when on judgment day the Lord separates the sheep and the goats based upon their failure to feed him, to clothe him, to visit him in prison — that is, by not doing so to the least of his saints (Matthew 25:41–46).

And why does the church have only a marginal impact upon America today? Partly because we take sins of inaction lightly. We too can be caught just sitting here. In a lush and comfortable land, we also excuse ourselves from God’s Great Commission. We build homes, but not the church; make money, but not disciples; win luxuries for earth, but not souls for heaven. How many of our backyards have little bumps where we have buried our talents and opportunities? May none of us be barren fig trees who spend our lives dismissing ourselves from what was our greatest privilege — serving the Lord Jesus in his war effort, riding with him into the conflict alongside those who love him.

Sinners in the Crosshairs

Now, what will the second result of their sin be? This time the harm will fall on themselves. “Be sure your sin will find you out.” What does this mean?

It means they won’t get away with it. It means that sin — even sins of omission — will not go unnoticed, unaccounted for, or unvisited. If they ascend to the clouds, their sin shall follow them there; if they descend into the grave, it will be waiting; if they take the wings of the morning and fly to the uttermost parts of the sea — even there their sin will find them out. The title over every sin is never abridged; it is always “Crime and Punishment.”

Imagine aircraft combat. One plane is in pursuit of another and fires a heat-seeking missile; the other aircraft swerves to escape but cannot. Every sin fires a sinner-seeking missile. Lust after a woman — one is deployed. Lie to a friend — another. Give in to sloth and gluttony — two more. Every sinner has a sky full of missiles behind him! A few might find you in this life, but God has fixed a day in the next life when every single one shall catch you.

Your good works will not deflect them. A priest’s absolutions can’t slow even one down. Forgetting they are there, overlooking them, or ignoring them shall not stop them from finding you. “Be sure your sin will find you out.” And not because karma will boomerang them back to you, but because God will repay you to your face. Another way to put it is, “Be sure the Lord will find you out.”

From the beginning, we have failed to take such warnings seriously. Though God says clearly, “On the day you eat of it, you will die,” we are too prone to be persuaded by, “Did God really say? On the day you eat of it, you will not surely die.” God says sin will be found out and hated; sin says God can neither find us out nor hate us in our sin (Psalm 36:1–2).

And the lie seems plausible because God’s patience — which is meant to lead to repentance — delays his judgments.

The pattern began in the garden but didn’t stop there. The world of Noah’s day was sure their sin would not be found out. They ignored Noah’s preaching — until the door shut, and the rain began. The proud and lustful inhabitants of Sodom and Gomorrah never dreamed God would visit them. Until fireballs fell from heaven. The Egyptians believed the Hebrew God to be only a shadow and mist. “Who is the Lord, that I should obey his voice?” (Exodus 5:2). Until water turned to blood, firstborn sons died, and the Red Sea fell. The Jews of Jesus’s day thought no penalty would arrive for killing God’s Messiah. Until Rome surrounded them, and not one stone of the temple was left upon another.

Time fails to tell of Achan, Saul, Judas, Ananias and Sapphira, the host of fallen angels, or all the unrepentant sinners at judgment day. The signpost beside the lake of fire reads, “Be sure your sin will find you out.”

A Divine Target

Finally, consider what God does to sin.

He punishes sin. What ought to be clear by now is that God sees sin, hates it, and ensures that it will find the sinner out. But he does more! Can I boast about what he has done for me?

My sin — oh, the bliss of this glorious thought —
My sin, not in part, but the whole,
Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more;
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!

He pays for sin. “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world” (John 1:29). His very name is called Jesus, “for he will save his people from their sins” (Matthew 1:21). “He was pierced for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with his wounds we are healed” (Isaiah 53:5).

Jesus shut the door to Noah’s ark from the outside and sank under the floods, that you might be safe inside. He stayed behind, buried with Sodom and Gomorrah in your place, that you might escape with your life. The sky full of homing missiles — where did they go? Each suddenly redirected, falling downward, and every sin of each of his people detonated upon him at the cross — not one was missing.

He finds sin out. Sin did not find him; he found sin. He hunted what hunted his people, thus it is written: “He condemned sin in the flesh” (Romans 8:3). God sat in the judgment seat, your sin stood before him in the flesh of Jesus, and he condemned that sin on the cross.

Thus, to all who repent and believe, he forgives it — all of it.

Have you not yet trusted in Christ? Come quickly. Why do you wait?

Seek the Lord while he may be found; call upon him while he is near; let the wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts; let him return to the Lord, that he may have compassion on him, and to our God, for he will abundantly pardon. (Isaiah 55:6–7)

And finally, he delivers from sin. “He himself bore our sins in his body on the tree, that we might die to sin and live to righteousness” (1 Peter 2:24). He saves us from hell and makes us holy as we behold him, trust him, walk with him by his Spirit.

Do not confuse atonement for sin with enablement to sin. “How can we who died to sin still live in it?” (Romans 6:2). The Lord’s wrath may not find you out, but sin is still unsafe. “Do not be deceived: God is not mocked, for whatever one sows, that will he also reap” (Galatians 6:7). Condemnation is gone for the Christian, but consequences remain. If he loves you, he will come after you, discipline you, which is always good for you, but always painful. Our text still stands.

So, confess known and secret sins. Turn back to God. Believe his gospel of grace. Live for his glory. Go to war alongside your brothers. Ride forth behind the Captain of your soul, Jesus Christ, until you cross the River Jordan and enter the promised land.

When Paul writes to the Corinthians, he writes as a man who once persecuted the church, who then encountered Christ, and who now writes the words of God.

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Be filled with the Spirit . . . giving thanks always and for everything to God the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ. (Ephesians 5:18–20)

I have a thought experiment for you (which I borrowed from G.K. Chesterton).

Imagine you are sailing across the ocean and a great storm wrecks your boat. Like Robinson Crusoe, you end up washed up on a deserted island. For days, you’re stranded there with nothing but the rags on your back. Just you, sand, salt, and the inescapable sun.

Then a barrel washes up on the beach. You open it to find water — sweet water. Imagine how grateful you’d be. Imagine the exuberant thanks you’d offer God for this liquid gift. He didn’t have to give it to you; it could have been lost forever at sea.

Next, you find a crate floating in the shallows, packed with food: bread and butter, cheese and dried fruit — and, oh, a slab of chocolate! You marvel at these delicacies fit for a king, shed a tear at how good everything tastes, savor God’s grace in each bite.

Over the following days, other things come ashore. A padded chair. Some clothing. A hammock. Two shoes. A waterlogged Bible. Each item you snatch from the sea seems like a peculiar treasure with God’s fingerprints on it. When one of your shipmates stumbles out of the waves, it’s almost too much to take in. What else could you say in that moment but thanks be to God?

This experiment reminds us how grateful, how shipwreck grateful, we ought to be for God’s good gifts. Like our castaway, you can earn nothing, you deserve nothing, and yet you receive so very much.

Thanks That Magnifies

Shipwreck grateful captures the spirit of Paul’s relentless call to relentless gratitude. It’s one of his favorite commands to give and to model. Consider just a few examples:

[Give] thanks always and for everything to God the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ. (Ephesians 5:18–20)

Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly . . . with thankfulness in your hearts to God. (Colossians 3:16)

Whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him. (Colossians 3:17)

Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you. (1 Thessalonians 5:16–18)

Why is gratitude so important to Paul? Because heartfelt gratitude glorifies God. Paul tells us God wants his grace to spread to more and more people so that “it may increase thanksgiving, to the glory of God” (2 Corinthians 4:15). Paul is following in the footsteps of the psalmist, who says, “I will magnify [God] with thanksgiving” (Psalm 69:30). And the psalmist is echoing God himself: “The one who offers thanksgiving as his sacrifice glorifies me” (Psalm 50:23).

The divine logic makes perfect sense. Gratitude is joy in the goodwill of a giver occasioned by a gift. And we know that joy in God glorifies God. We get a gift, joy blossoms in our hearts, and that aroma of delight rises from the gift to the Giver by thanksgiving. But more than that, God’s gifts are incomplete until thanksgiving tethers them to their Giver.

On the other hand, Paul knows that when gratitude withers, God is not glorified, and idolatry is inevitable. That’s why he lists ingratitude as one of the two root sins that trigger God’s wrath against the unrighteous: “Although they knew God, they did not honor him as God” — catch this — “or give thanks to him” (Romans 1:21). Idolatry separates and elevates gifts over God, but gratitude relates and subordinates gifts to God. When a heart that loves God meets God, it gives honor; when that heart meets his gifts, it gives thanks. They are two sides of the same righteous coin.

Paul also knows that we are surrounded by God’s good gifts. Hedged in on every side. Constantly bumping into them. Need I remind you of James 1:17? “All generous giving and every perfect gift is from above, coming down” — right now, all around you — “from the Father of lights” (NET). Did we forget 1 Timothy 4:4? “Everything created by God is good . . . if it is received with thanksgiving.” Truly, God is not far from any of us.

Every good thing we encounter is a gift of God for our joy and his glory. It’s no wonder Paul is the apostle of gratitude. Giving thanks increases our joy, protects us from idolatry, and magnifies the Giver.

Inattentive, So Ungrateful

If all this is true, why are we not more grateful? How do we ever manage to stop saying, “Thanks be to God”? Why do I so often find myself grumpy?

If you’re like me, a main vice behind ingratitude is inattention. We don’t pay attention to God’s goodness all around us. Unlike Paul, we’re not shipwrecked enough, and familiarity breeds blindness. Like the smudges on your bathroom mirror, you see God’s gifts so often you don’t notice them anymore.

Think about it. When was the last time you thanked God for the breath in your lungs? Breath is his gift. “He himself gives to all mankind life and breath and everything” (Acts 17:25). Somewhere around a dozen times a minute, twenty thousand times a day, you intake this substance you cannot see; God gives it to you every time. And yet, how often do you thank him?

Or take sunlight. God hung a star in the sky so many miles away it would take you twenty years just to count that high. Like someone throwing confetti at a cosmic party, God sheds sunlight on the righteous and the wicked. He makes the sun rise each morning — every morning. When was the last time you thanked God for this marvel?

Time would fail to mention Scripture and salvation, trees and knees, chairs and caffeine, bikes and balls, indoor plumbing, glasses, your spouse’s smile, the smell of bacon, and, oh, colors — what an absolutely staggering gift colors are! Over time, if we are not attentive, omnivorously attentive, our senses lose their appetite, and our gratitude starves. Of this, we must confess and repent.

Saved from Shipwreck

The shipwreck thought experiment wakes us up; it gives our wonder a workout.

It’s good to look around you at people and stars and food and technology and imagine how happy you would be to have these things stranded on a desert island. Snatched from a shipwreck, every gift would appear almost as marvelous as it actually is. We’d remember that God did not have to give us anything; he owes us nothing, especially in our sin. None of it had to be this way. Nothing forced him to create any of it. It’s all gift, summoned from the sea of ex nihilo by God’s creative word, given to us as an act of gratuitous grace, and demanding our delighted thanks.

So, for the sake of your joy and God’s glory, labor, with your sanctified imagination, to be grateful, shipwreck grateful, for all the good gifts your Father bestows on you.

When David wrote a song about becoming king, he ascribed all his victories to the God who gave them. How do we join David in such God-besotted praise?

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Newly married and newly enrolled in seminary, I sat in the front row of my classes, trying to absorb everything I could. I knew I had so much to learn.

One day, a seasoned professor warned us how frequently affairs can happen in normal local churches. I didn’t believe him. In my youthful inexperience, I assumed the problem must say more about his ministry than about the church at large. My sheltered life, along with stories in the news about adultery among famous Christian leaders, had convinced me that adultery happens somewhere far away to people I don’t know personally.

But after twenty years of marriage and pastoral ministry, I believe my professor. And I think you should too. However strong a marriage may be, husbands and wives need to take Paul’s warning to heart: “Let anyone who thinks that he stands take heed lest he fall” (1 Corinthians 10:12).

Do You See the Danger?

The critical first step of “taking heed” is acknowledging that adultery does happen in our local churches to Christians we know and love. Some believers know this all too well, while others still need to learn it (like my younger self did).

Two decades after that seminary class, I can recall a dozen cases of adultery involving people I personally knew. That’s too many mothers and fathers and husbands and wives and friends and church members who caused more damage than they ever could have imagined.

Often, these men and women had not only a spouse but several children, and thus the combined blast radius encompasses perhaps one hundred people. This number does not include those one step removed, such as close relatives and Christian brothers and sisters who engaged with them in small-group Bible studies and served together in various ministries. The impact is staggering.

This is part of what Paul means when he warns us to be careful not to fall into sexual sin. We need to believe that it’s not just a remote possibility but a real danger for us.

Not an Accident

Is fall even the right word to describe adultery? Usually, when we talk about falling, we speak of an accident without moral culpability.

When the Bible speaks of a spiritual fall, however, it doesn’t imply mere accident. Jesus tells the church in Ephesus, “Remember . . . from where you have fallen; repent, and do the works you did at first” (Revelation 2:5). The author of Hebrews says, “Let us therefore strive to enter that rest, so that no one may fall by the same sort of disobedience” (Hebrews 4:11). Both verses, and others like them, imply that actions and inactions set believers up to either stand or fall — and therefore that we are responsible when we fall.

Think of it this way: If we trip and fall on steps covered with ice after a winter storm, the cause might be carelessness or clumsiness, but it’s not sinfulness. However, if I pour a cup of water on the steps every day and continue to do so when winter arrives, I am responsible for that layer of ice, and my fall won’t be as accidental.

This explains what the Bible means by a fall. When Adam and Eve fell, they didn’t just trip. And when Paul warns about taking heed lest we fall, he means we should adopt patterns of holiness and avoid patterns of sin, however insignificant the pattern might seem right now.

Can It Really Happen to Me?

You may still be thinking, Can it really happen to me? To us?

The Bible encourages us to answer this question from two angles. On the one hand, it’s unhealthy and hurtful to constantly worry that two mature believers, both married to others, might suddenly become enraptured with one another. Unfounded paranoia about ourselves and those we love does not reflect a healthy biblical anthropology. Believers don’t simply, out of nowhere, end up in someone else’s bed. We’re not supposed to believe Aaron when he tells Moses that a golden calf just happened to leap out of the fire (Exodus 32:24). The issue was less about the forty days without Moses than about the four hundred years that Israel was surrounded by the idolatry of Egypt.

But on the other hand, if we begin to forsake following the Lord in our hearts, if we reject daily repentance and instead start to feel entitled to “little” sins because we work so hard and have endured so much, then, yes, we can drift from Jesus and hurt others in ways that might currently feel impossible. Over time, a spiritual hole dug with a dinner spoon and not a backhoe can still become a crater.

War Against ‘Little’ Sins

Paul’s words just before 1 Corinthians 10:12 indicate that, like those in the Old Testament, our little sins can add up to big sins with big consequences. Consider how it happened with King David. When we read, “In the spring of the year, the time when kings go out to battle,” we see that David had apparently developed an abdicating pattern of sending people here and there, such that summoning Bathsheba to his bedroom and sending Uriah to the battlefield did not feel terribly wrong (see 2 Samuel 11, where the word sent is used ten times).

In marriage, frequent conflict without reconciliation and quiet disdain without repentance can become lethal — especially when coupled with a frenetic pace of life that leaves little room for rest with God and one another. Then compliments from another person, like “You’re such a good provider” or “How do you stay in such good shape with all you have going on?” can become explosively powerful. We must, for the sake of love, war against the sins that seem so little, the grudges that seem so small, and the coldness that seems so insignificant.

Indeed, this relational vigilance in marriage relates to what Paul says directly after his warning about falling into sin: “No temptation has overtaken you that is not common to man” (1 Corinthians 10:13). Even healthy marriages undergo common temptations that put a wedge in the covenant. It matters greatly whether we do the work to remove the wedge or whether we hit it with a hammer.

This is why Paul also reminds us of the promise that “God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability, but with the temptation he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it” (1 Corinthians 10:13).

Over my twenty years of ministry and marriage, yes, I have seen too many marriages and ministries crumble. But I have also seen the faithful love of Jesus heal and help people in ways and to degrees I never thought possible. I’ve seen Jesus provide ways of escape and ways to endure.

There may be the terrible possibility of adultery, but there is also the wonderful promise of endurance and escape.

When Philemon walks away from Paul’s letter, what kind of response does Paul want to see — mere compliance or a heart full of faith in God’s promises?

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