Last summer, I went to war in my backyard. The “front lines” were situated around a mulberry tree and some purple irises that blanket the grass around it. My enemy? Poison Ivy. Somehow, it had managed to wind its way under, over, and throughout the tree, iris leaves, and a nearby fence. It would multiply itself weekly. For a while, I tried treating it with a DIY Pinterest concoction. Sure enough, the leaves shriveled up, but never for long. After several topical attempts, I got serious. Someone with a greener thumb than I have told me it propagates itself with vines that grow underground, and the only way to truly eliminate it is to dig it out.
So, covered from head to toe and armed with double layers of protective gloves, I set out. I started with the sinister trios closest to me, wedging my fingers underneath to find their roots, without success; the tips of the vines were too young and too fragile to pull on without breaking. In frustration, I broke off all the leaves I could see – a far cry from a lasting solution. After regrouping, I tried to locate some of the vines closer to the base of the tree. There they lay, tangled and matted together in what seemed like an impenetrable above-ground network of burgundy cords. I started yanking on the vines until, drenched in sweat, muscles trembling, and mulberries embedded in my hair, I had filled up a garbage can of my leafy opponents.
I made a good dent in the poison ivy that day, but more rewarding than the blow I dealt it was the lesson God taught me along the way. The process became such a spiritual metaphor. As I took hold of those crimson roots and pulled, I watched what had been hidden under the surface of the ground become visible. My eyes traced the vine, leaf by leaf, as it sprung out of the earth, eventually dislodging the tip, until I held the entire strand in my (thoroughly gloved) hand. This method proved far more effective than merely plucking at the leaves in plain sight.
It dawned on me that the sin in our lives develops very much the same way. It thrives just under the surface. Its visible evidence springs up in our actions, tracing direct, underground lines all the way to the source. Scripture teaches that sin’s roots can be found in the heart – the command center of our lives – the very core of our thoughts, will, and emotions. The roots run deep. James 4:1 tells us that our passions are literally at war within us. We know the dangers of letting these vines grow unchecked. Sin not only poisons our own environment and chokes out our capacity to thrive in the space God has given us, but it poses a dangerous threat to those we invite into the environment of our lives. John Owen puts it this way: “Be Killing Sin, or Sin will be Killing You.”
So, with good intentions, we set out to remove it. If we’re overly ambitious, we even dare to pluck every visible “leaf” we can see. Things look better in the yard – at least for a few days. We’re disheartened, though, when we return to find the same sinful patterns growing even faster where we had labored before.
The truth is that we won’t make much lasting progress with behavioral modification alone.
It is in grasping the roots and digging them out that we find victory over the obstinate, insidious sin patterns in our hearts. It’s not easy. It’s messy and sweaty and frustrating and makes your spiritual muscles shake and you might find mulberries in your hair. We’re often not prepared for the grittiness and the strain that fighting sin involves. John Owen describes our tendency to underestimate the challenge:
“Men look upon it as an easy task and as that which will be carried on with a little diligence and ordinary attendance. But do we think it is for nothing that the Holy Spirit expresses the duty of opposing sin and weakening its power by mortification, killing or putting to death?...Everything will do its utmost to preserve its life and being. So will sin too; and if it is not constantly pursued with diligence and holy violence, it will escape our assaults. Let no man think he can kill sin with few, easy or gentle strokes.”
This realization humbles us. We quickly realize we are unevenly matched for both the volume of the earth, the complexity of the root system, and the tenacious hold it has on the soil. I love the way theologian J.C. Ryle describes this tension:
So deeply planted are the roots of human corruption, that even after we are born again, renewed, “washed, sanctified, justified,” and made living members of Christ, these roots remain alive in the bottom of our hearts, and, like the leprosy in the walls of the house, we never get rid of them until the earthly house of this tabernacle is dissolved. Sin, no doubt, in the believer’s heart, has no longer dominion. It is checked, controlled, mortified, and crucified by the expulsive power of the new principle of grace. The life of a believer is a life of victory, and not of failure. But the very struggles which go on within his bosom, the fight that he finds it needful to fight daily, the watchful jealousy which he is obliged to exercise over his inner man, the contest between the flesh and the spirit, the inward “groanings” which no one knows but he who has experienced them – all, all testify to the same great truth, all show the enormous power and vitality of sin. Mighty indeed must that foe be who even when crucified is still alive!”
As I followed the vines to their origin that day in the yard, I eventually landed on the root bundle about a foot underground. The main vine was as thick as a tree limb. Even with a shovel, I needed help to dislodge it.
This reveals another crucial spiritual truth:
Fighting our sin involves extreme personal dedication, but we cannot do it in our own power.
Paul, in Romans 7, gives a pretty vulnerable account of his struggle with sin:
“For I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate…For I know that nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh. For I have the desire to do what is right, but not the ability to carry it out.” (Romans 7:15,18)
Our hope of victory over the twisting roots of sin does not come from our efforts alone. We don’t have what it takes. This is where the precious Word of God meets us with a GLORIOUS and HOPEFUL reality:
“For it is God who works in you, both to will and to work for his good pleasure.” (Philippians 2:13)
“Now may the God of peace himself sanctify you completely, and may your whole spirit and soul and body be kept blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ.” (1 Thessalonians 5:23)
“For if you live according to the flesh you will die, but if by the Spirit you put to death the deeds of the body, you will live…” (Romans 8:13)
God alone is able to fully uproot sin in our hearts, and He has CHOSEN TO DO IT IN THE CONTEXT OF OUR SPIRITUAL COMMUNITIES.
God has not only given His power, but has also given us unsearchable resources for the task – one of which is each other.
We put a high value on Biblical Counseling and the community provided by Life Groups at FBC because they allows us to partner together to do the hard work of uprooting sin in our lives with the strength that God supplies. Where simply plucking the leaves hasn’t been successful, we dig out the roots, shoulder to shoulder. As a tool, He has given us His Word, which alone is able to unearth the poisonous roots of sin below the surface. Behavioral modification might remove the visible shoots, but God’s Word plumbs the depths of what is hidden from plain sight:
“For the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and of spirit, of joints and of marrow, and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart.” (Hebrews 4:12)
This is hard work. Messy and painful work. But it works. And it’s pretty amazing to watch as the Holy Spirit uproots a string of frustrating sin patterns that have always seemed impossible to kill. True Christian community is committed to the gritty work of laying hold of those vines and dealing with their roots. And freedom is found as sinister, crimson-tipped leaves fly upward.
There are still occasional and stubborn poison ivy remnants under the mulberry tree in our yard. I’ve learned that it’s a process that takes diligent and ruthless attention – the “holy violence” John Owen described. And on a heart level, it’s a process that won’t be finished until Heaven, when the Master Gardener perfects the soil of my heart once and for all. Until then, I’ll keep doing battle with the sin in my heart as God reveals it to me, in the context of the community He has given.
And by His grace and because of the gospel, I can confidently echo Paul’s words:
“And I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ.” Philippians 1:6
