The Sunday Sermonette – A Greenish-Gray Metaphor.
Aristotle. Dickens. Thoreau. Beethoven. Van Gogh. And Einstein. If you like taking a daily walk, you are in good company. Many of the world’s greatest thinkers, writers, musicians, and artists found walking essential to their God-given creativity and the inspiration they found in His natural world. Not that I’m in the same league as the greats listed above, but I do enjoy a good walk in all kinds of weather.
Some years ago, while on my walk to the beach, I noticed that the iron fence surrounding Gulfport’s Armed Forces Home had been given a fresh coat of black paint, which glistened in the morning sunlight whispering through the oaks. Since then, I’ve walked past that fence hundreds of times, but the other day I noticed something that caught my eye. The fence looked sturdy as ever. And its posts stood at attention. But on closer inspection, I discovered it was smothered in a greenish-gray crust. Lichen had attached itself to the fence. In stealthy silence it had grown—to my eyes, almost unnoticed.
Lichen grows at a glacial pace and is persistent, clinging stubbornly to whatever it touches. Moisture and limited sunlight are its best friends. In the same way, our sin flourishes in the damp, dark shade of secrecy. It grows when we fail to confess it, and when the healing light of Father God’s truth is kept at a distance.
An iron fence covered with lichen is in no danger of collapse, but the crusty, fungal growth mars its beauty, and over time, that beauty is completely covered. Sin works the same way. Unconfessed sin may seem harmless at first, but it keeps the soul moist with guilt and shame, excuses, and spiritual blindness. Over time, what began on the surface of our lives can encrust what lies beneath.
This is one reason that lichen is such a powerful metaphor for sin. Its consequences do not always arrive like a ferocious storm, knocking down the iron fences in our lives in a single blow. More often than not, it arrives in quiet silence, settles in, and curls up on the hearthstones of our hearts. It might begin as a wee bit of compromise when dealing with truth and falsehood. Or in a thimble of anger toward an employer, a family member, or a friend. Perhaps, it’s a hidden habit, a secret hate, a neglected prayer life, or a truth that we refuse to face. Oh, we assure ourselves, “Don’t worry. A little sin won’t hurt. It’s nothing serious.” But what is not removed, oft times begins to spread.
When that happens, we get accustomed to the lichen of our sin. What once bothered us—doesn’t anymore. The first time we noticed that crusty patch, we may have thought, “Yikes! I gotta get the Clorox to that.” But weeks pass. Then months. Then years. Soon, that little patch has multiplied thousands of times, but still seems normal. If we do not bring it before Father God, our encrusted hearts become accustomed to that which should alarm us. But it doesn’t. We stop calling it sin and start calling it our struggle, a weakness to endure, stress that can’t be cured, or a habit that feels good. We look toward heaven and scream, “Get off my back, God! This is just the way I am!”
In the Old Testament, King David was no saint! One of his most notorious sins was his adulterous affair with Bathsheba, whom he saw bathing one day. Overcome with lust, he summoned her to his palace, slept with her, and got her pregnant. His lust clouded his memory of the commandment: “Thou shalt not commit adultery.”
When Bathsheba told David she was pregnant, to conceal his adultery, he schemed to bring Uriah, her husband, home from war so he would sleep with Bathsheba, thus concealing the pregnancy. When Uriah refused, remaining loyal to his troops, David sent him to the front line where Uriah was killed. David’s lie led to his violation of the commandment: “Thou shalt not kill.”
When the gravity of his adulterous lust and his abuse of power led to murder and finally brought him to his knees, begging for forgiveness, King David understood his need for cleansing. He cried, “Have mercy upon me, O God, according to thy lovingkindness: according unto the multitude of thy tender mercies blot out my transgressions. Wash me thoroughly from mine iniquity and cleanse me from my sin…Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean: wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.”
I don’t know about you, but I often find myself, like King David, down on my knees begging for forgiveness for the myriad sins in my life. I have to remind myself that the iron fences in my life are not as pristine as I think they are. Therefore, it’s my responsibility to bring the lichen that covers them into the healing light of Father God’s mercy and grace though honest confession, humble repentance, and renewed obedience to Him.
What about you? Pray that Father God will expose the lichen growing in your life. Is there resentment fermenting in your heart? A habit you keep hidden in the shade. A wrong attitude that has become part of the scenery? Do not wait until lichen smothers your heart. Never forget: “For all have sinned and come short of the glory of God.”
But do not let this create fear or doubt in your heart! Father God is always ready to forgive and restore us. His love and mercy are deeper than any shame or failure we carry. When we confess it and turn to Him, He welcomes us with open arms. Got lichen? Talk to Father God and Christ.
Ponder this and go forth
