On the Anvil - Max Lucado [7]
And what slyness! We never know when he will strike. When he will creep up, we never know. All we see are the results of his deadly bite: blank faces, nonreflective hearts, questionless minds, empty lives. A trail cluttered with broken hearts and tears.
Who is this snake? Greed? Lust? Egotism? No (even though they are just as deadly). No, I’m unmasking the vilest of hell’s vipers—complacence.
We live in a world plagued by complacence.
We’re complacent to hope. Many people settle for a stale, vanilla lifestyle that peaks at age seventeen. Hope? What’s to hope for? Life is a paycheck and a weekend. Nothing more. You’d think we all had blinders. It’s like one car after another driving off a cliff, no one daring to object. Like watercolor names painted on a sidewalk . . . washing away in an August rain.
We’re complacent to death. Masked faces at a funeral endure the procession; weep at the burial; and then, a few hours later, giggle at the television comic. “The only way to handle death is to accept it as inevitable. Don’t question it or defy it. You’ll walk away depressed. Close your eyes. Put your hands over your ears. There is no explanation.” We stand complacent.
We’re complacent to God. Churchgoers pack the pews and sing to the back of someone’s head. Fellowship is lost in formality. One, two, three times a week people pay their dues by walking in the door, enduring a ritual, and walking out. Guilt is appeased. God is insulted. Are we so naive as to think that he needs our attendance? Are we so ignorant that we put God in a box, thinking he can be taken in and out at our convenience?
We’re complacent to purpose. How in the world can a person be born, be educated, fall in or out of love, have a job, be married, give birth, raise kids, see death, cry, scream, giggle, drink, eat, smoke, climb up or down the ladder, retire, and die without ever, ever asking why? Never asking “Why am I here?” Or, worse yet, asking why and being content with no answer. History is jam-packed with lives that died with no purpose. Neighborhoods reek with mediocrity. Office complexes are painted gray with boredom. Nine-to-fivers are hypnotized by routine. But does anyone object? Does anyone defy the machinery? Does anyone ask why?
Sometimes I want to stand at the corner of the street and yell, “Doesn’t anyone want to know why? Why lonely evenings? Why broken hearts? Why abandoned marriages? Why fatherless babies?” But I never yell it. I just stick my hands in my pockets and stare . . . and wonder.
The most deadly trick of Satan is not to rob us of answers. It’s to steal our questions.
What is the difference between contentment and complacency?
What is the source of complacency?
What would it take to shake your complacency?
13: New Wine Is for Fresh Skins
I’ll never forget Steven. I met him in St. Louis. His twenty-three years had been hard on him, his arm scarred from the needle and his wrist scarred from the knife. His pride was his fist, and his weakness was his girl.
Steve’s initial response to love was beautiful. As we unfolded the story of Jesus before him, his hardened face would soften and his dark eyes would dance.
He wanted to change.
But his girlfriend would have none of it. Oh, she would listen politely and would be very sweet, but her heart was gripped by darkness. Any changes Steve made would be quickly muffled as she would craftily maneuver him back into his old habits. She was the last thing between him and the kingdom. We begged him to leave her. He was trying to put new wine into an old wineskin.
He wrestled for days trying to decide what to do. Finally, he reached a conclusion. He couldn’t leave her.
The last time I saw Steve, he wept . . . uncontrollably. I held big, tough, macho Steve in my arms. The prophecy of Jesus was true. By putting his new wine into an old skin, it was lost.
Think for a minute. Do you have any wineskins that need