First of all, I need to start by saying that I HATE POISON IVY!!!!
Seriously, it may be one of the most miserable things in the world. It makes you just miserable enough to where you want to scream and/or punch out a window, but because it’s only a rash, it doesn’t constitute being “sick,” so you’re still obligated to do all of your normal daily activities. Instead of getting to sit home and feel sorry for yourself, you still have to go about your day, acutely aware of every spot the rash has shown up. On top of all that, nobody else knows that you’re suffering from a furious case of poison ivy, and most of the time, even when you tell people about it, they don’t ever seem to have that much sympathy for you – they just look at you like you just told them you stubbed your pinky toe.
But let’s be honest, poison ivy is the worst. If you’ve ever had it really bad you DEFINITELY know what I mean, and are probably doing a combination right now of nodding in agreement and shuddering in painful remembrance.
The terrible thing about it is that the more you scratch it the more it itches. It feels like the right thing to do, but scratching it ALWAYS makes it itch worse and releases oils that allow it to spread faster. You know how it is, though – you keep scratching and it keeps itching, so you scratch harder and it itches more – and so the cycle continues.
Typically, it starts out in a fairly small, in an isolated manageable patch. You don’t make too much of it, because you think it’s just a mosquito bite or some of the sort – the sort of thing that’s not a big deal. But before long, that “mosquito bite” declares war on the rest of your skin in a coordinated, bodily blitzkrieg. Soon enough, you look in the mirror and find random pink spots on the total opposite side of your body – places that couldn’t have possibly come in contact with the original area. You wave the white flag, but get steamrolled as the army of pink spots marches across your chest and around your appendages. Even if, once spotting the first signs of the rash, you go all-out OCD, washing and applying lotion every hour, it always finds a way to escape the quarantine zone.
After about a week, it affects every aspect of your life. You’re so miserable from the itching and the spreading that you have the patience of a pea and the emotional brevity of Eeyore. You just want the stupid lotion to do its job and be rid of the whole mess, but nothing seems to be working and you’re fed up with the whole mess. You just want it to be gone, but you’ve tried everything you know how to do – every over-the-counter and home-remedy solution, but the poison ivy just sits there and laughs at you.
Finally you resolve to pursue drastic mesures. The lady at CVS sees your misery and suggests you ask for a steroid prescription to help you be rid of the rash once and for all (something you should have done from the beginning, were you not in denial of the severity of the issue.) You get the steroids, however, and they immediately begin to fight back the encroaching armies. When it’s all said and done you realize how stupid it was not to have called the doctor in the first place. Sure, it didn’t seem necessary at first, but how much misery would you have been able to avoid had you gone to the expert to begin with. The rash may have gone away on it’s own, but why make yourself live through that misery and stupidity when you can easily ask the doctor to give you something that will bring healing?
(If you’ve read my blog more than a couple times I’m sure you see where I’m going with this.)
What a brilliant analogy for the struggle with sin.
It’s as if we all have this spiritual rash called Sin that we can’t get rid of no matter what measures we go to. Typically it starts out small in a fairly manageable, isolated patch. We don’t pay all that much attention to it, save perhaps the occasional scratch, thinking it’s something that it’s not – the kind of thing that’s not a big deal. However, before long, that thing that’s, “not a big deal,” declares war on the rest of your spirituality in a coordinated blitzkrieg. Soon enough, you take a step back to look at your life and find evidences of it on the totally unrelated corners of your day-to-day – places that couldn’t have possibly come in contact with the original area. You wave the white flag, but get steamrolled as the army of sinful thoughts and motives march across over your good intentions and slice down your attempts at surrender. You then begin to realize that this really is, “a big deal,” and that something definitely needs to be done (if, indeed, you weren’t aware of that from the beginning, but too lazy to do anything about it.) So you go all-out OCD, praying, reading your Bible/various books by Christian authors, maybe even getting breakfast with a few good Christian friends to raise awareness to the issue. You make a concentrated effort to clean up your act and do everything you can to clean up the problematic areas, but even then it seems to always find a way to escape the quarantine zone.
Struggling with Sin sucks. It’s itchy and miserable and sometimes even downright painful. It feels right to give in to the temptation to scratch it, but doing so only causes it to itch worse, which then causes a heightened temptation to scratch more – a never ending cycle. Different people handle it differently – some scratch and scratch until they’re bleeding all over; some do their best to ignore it completely, hoping it will simply go away on its own; while others realize that it won’t go away unless something is done, but go falsely try to “clean” or “fix” the problem by their own means.
The truth is, none of it works. Nothing that you’re doing, or plan to do, is going to cure your disease. It wouldn’t have gone away on its own. Why live through the misery and stupidity of fighting with it when Jesus has so offered you a chance to be rid of the itch once and for all? Of course, just like the physical rash, the effects of sin take time to heal and stop itching, but Jesus is faithful to keep offering you grace (spiritual steroids) until the day you get to Heaven. He’s not mad at you for scratching, but loves you deeply and hates to see you in such misery. He gave up his life to produce a cure for you, asking you to trust him to lead you out of your affliction. Why not quit the frustrations of both scratching and ignoring, and ask Jesus to bring you healing?
———–
On a side note: It has honestly blown my mind to see how consistently God speaks Truth to me through these idiosyncratic channels that he’s created my brain to understand. He knows how he hardwired my personality, and knew the ways which my heart would need him, search for him, and find him. It’s rather overwhelming when you think about all of the sovereignty involved – that God would choose my misery over getting poison ivy to teach me about the nature of struggling with sin. Even more overwhelming is the realization of how loving/patient/gracious He remains in the whole sanctification process. I mean, this is the God of the universe we’re talking about, yet He has chosen to father me and push me toward what He knows to be best for me. Even if it’s through poison ivy.
