Do you merely dislike sin—or do you hate sin? The question is about much more than semantics.

In Psalm 101:3, David pledges, “I will set no worthless thing before my eyes; I hate the work of those who fall away; It shall not cling to me.”

Notice that David didn’t say he “disliked” sin. The word here is hate. And God uses that same word—hate—to describe a long list of sins He despises.

The big deal? When we simply “dislike” sin, we inevitably tolerate it—and even toy with it. It gains a toehold, if not a foothold, in our lives.

I dislike my messy office desk, but apparently, I don’t hate it because I tolerate piles on my desk and even piles on the floor. If I truly hated it, I would get rid of the mess. This is nothing less than the sin of laziness or lack of self-discipline.

Spurgeon says, “What fascinates the eye is very apt to gain admission into the heart.”

Many are driven by lust—which certainly fascinates the eye—and so, at some level, we engage it. Others of us toy with greed, laziness, or extreme ambition. On good days, we avoid these sins (we dislike them). But at other times, we engage them (down deep, we like them). So, we feed them and give them lodging in our hearts.

In other words, we are part-time sin-haters. Which is another way of saying we are part-time sin lovers. But John Owen's warning still shouts about the fray: “Be killing sin, or sin will be killing you!” 

I say again, a part-time sin hater is also a part-time sin lover. Then what’s the way out? How do we learn the art of “killing sin?”

Matthew Henry advises, "In all our worldly business, we must see that what we set our eyes upon be right and good and not any forbidden fruit, and that we never seek that which we cannot have without sin. It is the character of a good man that he shuts his eyes from seeing evil." 

All of this sounds remarkably similar to Philippians 4:8: "...whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if anything worthy of praise, think about these things."

But I leave the final word with Spurgeon, who offers this succinct advice: “Hatred of sin is a good sentinel for the door of virtue.”

Lord,

Help us lock the door on sin—and throw away the key. Help us stop being part-time sin-haters. We want to love you more —and love you only.

Amen!

The immersive green textures drenched us in beauty as the tractor hauled us deeper into the woods. I suggested to five-year-old Emma that we have a “looking party,” pausing to notice and thank God for all His creation. We did.

But why isn’t this a way of life for us grownups? I’m convinced there’s a price we pay for not really looking. First, we cease to be thankful. Second, we cease even to notice the magic. Doubt my claim?

When was the last time you looked up at the sliver-cratered moon of ours and whispered, “Praise God!”

Do we see those geese honking overhead during their formation flights? Even if they’re not honking, the sound of their wind-whipped wings is awesome.

When did we last inhale the fragrance that only autumn unbottles?

And how does God paint such bombastic shades of red on the tree leaves?

When was the last time you stood reverently in a field of corn and enjoyed the symphony of an early morning breeze making music in the drying stalks?

God's creation offers a staggering amount of beauty—yet much of it passes by daily without our thanks. Worse, we fail even to notice it.

But what if we chose differently? What if we scheduled a daily "looking party" —a moment when we chose to notice—and thank God—for His creative touches?

Our cloud-crafting, moon-making, sky-painting, God generates an original never-to-be-repeated show every single day. And night. A “looking party” might be just what you need to notice—and thank Him for it!

It is I who made the earth and created mankind on it. My own hands stretched out the heavens; I marshaled their starry hosts.

-Isaiah 45:12

Are you a conversational narcissist?

Most of us are good talkers but lousy listeners. So, here's how to know if your conversations are consistently more about you than anyone you're talking with:

• You give little or no focus to what other people tell you.
• Your undying preoccupation is laser-locked on what you're going to say next.
• You habitually hijack conversational subjects and steer them toward your own interests and experiences.
• Your stories are always "better" or "more important" than anyone else's—therefore, more worthy of airtime.

Most of us love to talk more than listen. That’s garden variety selfishness. But conversational narcissists are me-monster addicts. They’ve never encountered a chat that couldn’t become all about them. Protest all you like, but if that’s really you, your friends and family already know.

I'm reading a book called How to Listen with Intention. Author Patrick King points out, "Conversational narcissism may look on its surface like a regular conversation, but on closer inspection, it actually resembles two people spouting monologues"—and they're right next to each other!

The problem is as old and knotty as sin itself. The answer? Patrick King suggests, "Listening well requires that you suspend your own self-interest and ego and gracefully allow someone else to shine." This sounds remarkably like Philippians 2:4--

Do not merely look out for your own personal interests, but also for the interests of others.

Our conversations say everything about our interests in others, our Savior—and ourselves. Maybe a good next step for all of us is to simply say less—much less—and listen more. Much more!

Understand this, my dear brothers and sisters: You must all be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to get angry

- James 1:19

If you think of an Oscar Meyer hotdog as nothing less than an assault on good nutrition, you can skip this blog. But if you hold a soft spot in your heart, a place on your palate—and your plate—for hot dogs, prepare to be amused.

Those yellow-band packaged Oscar Mayer hotdogs go back to 1929. Sales grew steadily even throughout the depression, and Oscar Mayer became a household name.

With commercial success, brand recognition, and the 1936 introduction of the kitschy Weinermobile, the company lacked but one thing: a catchy jingle. So, in 1963, Oscar Meyer sponsored a national contest inviting anyone to submit their musical ideas.  

Ironically, Richard Trentlage only learned about the contest the night before the deadline. In about an hour, he scribbled out a melody and lyrics and recorded a demo with his 11-year-old son and 9-year-old daughter. The next day, he drove up to Wisconsin from his suburban Chicago home to drop off the entry—and then waited. And waited. More than one year (and many focus groups) later, Trentlage learned he had won.

Once released, that jingle went viral before things went viral. To the point where people started requesting it on the radio! You know the lyrics:

Oh, I wish I were an Oscar Mayer Wiener,

That is what I'd truly like to be-ee-ee.

'Cause if I were an Oscar Mayer Wiener,

Everyone would be in love with me.

The tune is perky, and the lyrics amuse.

But I’m stuck on that phrase: “If I were on Oscar Mayer Weiner, everyone would be in love with me.” The idea conveyed (all in good fun, of course) is that if you really want the love of others, you gotta do something. In this case, become a hot dog.

You say, Jon, you’re way overthinking this. It’s just a jingle! Maybe. But I’m convinced that many Christians—could it be most Christians—secretly believe that same hot dog theology. We “sing” messages to ourselves like:

• If I were a lot more holy…
• If I were me without my past…
• If I were able to get past my abuse, my divorce, my prison record… THEN God would be in love with me!

Nothing could be further from biblical truth. Ephesians 2:4,5 declares, “But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ—by grace, you have been saved.”

If He loved before you loved Him, you can do nothing to earn more of that love. Nothing. You already have it! Almighty God is already in love with you!

That’s something to celebrate!

(With or without a hotdog).

P.S. Enjoy that photo of the Weinermobile—27 feet of pure fun!

It has the most powerful bite of any shark on the planet. At 1,300 pounds of bite force per square inch, the Bull shark is even more powerful than the Great White. By the way—puny humans like us have a bite force that maxes out at a mere 150psi.

Bull sharks are found all over the world in saltwater oceans as well as freshwater lakes. They’ve even been found in Alton, Illinois—some 1800 miles up the Mississippi River! Not to creep you out, but almost no one in the water is safe from a Bull Shark.

They eat dolphins and turtles (hard shells easily cracked by the shark's teeth). And Bull sharks will even attack hippos!

But here’s the creepiest fact of all. Bull shark babies, known as pups, usually live in mangrove swamps away from big nasty predators. But adult Bull sharks take advantage of this—eating the young of their own kind.

Disgusting? Absolutely. But what about us?

When we chew on juicy theories about why one of the church’s worship singers left her husband—aren’t we eating our own kind?

When we tear apart the pastor's sermon—over lunch, no less—aren't we eating our own kind?

When we hungrily swallow unflattering words about fellow believers, aren’t we guilty of eating our own kind?

That evil behavior comes so naturally is an ugly proof of Jeremiah 17:9, "The heart is deceitful above all things and desperately wicked."

Today, let’s choose to be gentle—extra gentle—on the people around us. Especially those that rub us the wrong way. Remember—we’re called to be harmless as doves, not ruthless as sharks.

But if you bite and devour one another, take care that you are not consumed by one another.

- Galatians 5:15