Human Error

 I have a friend who’s missing half of the index finger on his left hand. It happened long enough ago that he’s learned to work around the missing digit, but as a consolation prize, he’s a gas at kids’ parties. You try to hold in a laugh when he’s pretending to stick his finger all the way up his nose, and a little girl whispers in awe and wonder, “he’s picking his brain.”

It happened when he was younger, and as he tells it, the fault lies with the piece of wood that would tip over before he could put the axe to it. After a handful of tries, he steadied the piece of wood with his hand and didn’t notice where his finger was before the axe dropped. The rest, as they say, is history.

When he started blaming the piece of wood, I tried letting it go, but my curiosity got the better of me, so I asked, “how was it the wood’s fault that you cut off half your finger with an axe?”

“If it had stayed the way I’d placed it, I wouldn’t have needed to steady it,” he said, as though explaining something complex to a slow child.

“I see,” is all I said, then let it go because I didn’t have the heart to tell him that it wasn’t the wood’s fault or the axe’s fault, for that matter. It was his fault and had he been a smidge more cautious, he would still be able to count to ten on both hands.

We learn to obfuscate, pass the buck, and not take responsibility shortly after we learn to crawl. I can’t count the times I’ve found a mess in the living room or the kitchen, and when I ask who did it, two little girls point at each other with serious looks on their faces and an unwillingness to point at themselves.

Eventually, we get to the bottom of the story, and oddly enough, it’s never just the fault of one or the other. Either the older one egged the younger one on, or the younger one participated in her sister’s game of let’s throw sprinkles in the air or replicate footprints in the sand but with confectioner’s sugar on the kitchen floor willingly. However, when it comes to owning their actions, they are reticent.

The thing about the devil is that he can’t make you do anything. To put it on the devil every time is never taking responsibility for your actions and leaving an ever-ready excuse and justification for every misstep and folly. The devil tempts, sets snares, entices, suggests, implies, and nudges, but he can’t force someone to give in to sin.

The reason he’s so successful, and I’m just going by modern-day statistics in evaluating his success, is that the devil doesn’t tempt you with something your flesh doesn’t want. He always attempts to ensnare with your greatest vulnerability.

You can put ten bowls of kale in front of me, and I will not be tempted, no matter how beautifully plated the stuff might be. You can even try to trick me by throwing in a handful of blueberries or candied pecans, and it would still be a no-go. You put a slice of pumpkin cheesecake in front of me, and before the plate hits the table, I start to rationalize and justify why I should eat it.

First off, pumpkin cheesecake is seasonal, so you can only get it at certain times of the year. Second, it would be rude to refuse it, and with people being so sensitive nowadays, they might take offense. Third, it would just go to waste if I didn’t eat it, and so on. 

This is why the devil went all out when trying to tempt Jesus. He knew he didn’t have a shot, but he had to try. So rather than a particular office, possession, or position, rather than one kingdom, the devil took Jesus on a high mountain and showed him all the kingdoms of the world, their glory, and said they’re all yours if you bow down and worship me.

If Jesus had been at all tempted, he would have gone into rationalization mode as most people do. Think of all the good He could have done with all the kingdoms of the world at His command. Imagine all the hungry He could have fed. Imagine all the strife that could have been done away with. Surely He could rule better than any other; surely, it would have been a net positive for humanity.

Jesus didn’t even entertain the idea. He didn’t stand on that mountaintop considering, nor did He ask the devil to tell Him more.

Matthew 4:10, “Then Jesus said to him, “Away with you, Satan!”

Perhaps if Christians used those four words more often, there wouldn’t be so many broken hearts and wounded souls in the church today.

That woman who saw your wedding band but is still flirting, touching your arm, and laughing at things you know weren’t funny is the gateway to pain and destruction. She’s not another lonely soul by which you happened to pass like two ships in the night, she’s a coiled snake ready to strike, and you still have time to get away before she bites.

That guy at the gym who’s always complimenting your form and telling you how good you’re looking lately even though he knows you’re married because you told him the first time, but not so much anymore, yes, that one. The one who’s trying to flatter you and make you feel unappreciated at home all in the same breath, he too is the gateway to pain and destruction, just another snake in the grass getting ready to cause you more pain than you knew could be had.

Learn to walk away. Learn to say away with you, Satan. Learn to see the ulterior motives and the enemy’s plan in those things that would beguile, flatter, and seem fancifully serendipitous but which would, if followed to their logical conclusion, cause destruction, privation, and heartache.

The devil didn’t make you do it. That’s a lie and a defense mechanism you invented to shield yourself from being accountable. It’s like the people suing McDonald’s for making them fat. Unless Ronald McDonald showed up to your house, tied you to a chair, and force-fed you McGriddles until your pants exploded, it’s not their fault. You got in your car, drove up to the window, paid your money got your bag of sugar and grease, and was licking your fingers by the next stoplight.

The devil afforded you the opportunity, and you jumped at it with both feet. If that’s the case, there is still time to repent. In order to repent of something, however, you must take ownership, acknowledge your trespass, fall at the foot of the cross and entreat God’s mercy.

With love in Christ,

Michael Boldea, Jr.