Rumble Strips and Road Signs

We love to use them; but we don’t want them used against us. I’m talking about 100% words. Always. Never. Forever. If you’ve got kids who are able to talk, you’ve heard them. “You never let us do anything!”  Or, “She always gets to ride shotgun!” Or, “Why do I always have to do the dishes? He never does them!” We’re quick to spot the flaw in these statements, but probably slow to admit that we adults are prone to use them as well. “Why don’t you ever help around the house?” Or, “My car is always in the shop!” Or, “My boss never recognizes when I do the right thing; he always jumps down my throat as soon as I make a mistake.” These types of statements are unhelpful in conversations because they put the other person on the defensive, looking for the loophole. Seldom is anyone consistent enough in anything to warrant a 100% word.

That’s why the other day when I read Hebrews 3:10, I immediately started thinking about exceptions. You’ll see the 100%-er right away:

“Therefore, I was angry with this generation and said, ‘They always go astray in their heart, and they did not know my ways.” 

“They always go astray?” I thought to myself. “That’s just hyperbole.” But then I caught myself because God Himself is speaking here. He’s not using a 100% word to build a strawman (like you or I tend to do). He’s using it because it’s true. And that’s a thought that I’ve not been able to shake. “They always—incessantly, invariably, perpetually—go astray in their hearts.” And so do I.

Context

Lest we forget we’re in a forest and focus only on one little pine cone, let’s zoom out and consider the context of this statement. The writer of Hebrews has just asserted that Jesus is better and worthy of more glory than Moses (vv. 1-5). He stated that Moses was faithful as a servant over the house, but that Christ was faithful as a Son. Then the author says that we are that house—so long as we hold fast to our faith. It’s this statement that leads us to the wilderness.

As an example of people who did not cling to their faith, the author holds up the Israelites in the wilderness (makes sense, since we were just talking about Moses). The author quotes Psalm 95 quite extensively in the middle of chapter 3. This psalm starts as a call to worship but finishes as a warning against having a hard heart, like the Israelites had in the wilderness[1]. The author of Hebrews uses the psalm for the same reason: as a warning against hard hearts. However, the stakes are higher even than dying in the “great and terrible wilderness” (Deut. 1:19); the consequence of a hard heart is to “fall away from the living God” (Heb. 3:12).

A Gentle Slope

“Going astray” doesn’t sound so bad, does it? On a hike, I might stray from the path to observe a beautiful vista or pick some wild berries. On the road, if I stray a bit from the driving lane, I hit the rumble strip, make a simple adjustment, and am quickly back on course. However, “going astray” is anything but innocuous. Consider these words from CS Lewis, via his fictional demon Screwtape:
“The safest road to hell is the gradual one – the gentle slope, soft underfoot, without sudden turnings, without milestones, without signposts.”

Here Lewis captures the ease and the danger of straying. Our enemy doesn’t push us off a cliff. He leads us, one step at a time, away from the “narrow way.” He doesn’t post signs such as “One lunch date away from adultery” or “Two romance novels away from dissatisfaction with your husband.” Instead, the path appears clear, easy, inconspicuous. And yet, its destination is hell.

Really? Always?

You’re probably not going to argue with me that anyone can go astray, or that, from time to time, we’ve all been guilty of it. But how can God say, even of the grumbling, wilderness-dwelling, manna-eating Israelites that they “always go astray”? Apparently, because it’s true.

We’re quick to come to the defense of our hearts, aren’t we? That biting remark that you’ve been choking back all evening finally comes out, and the first thing you say afterward is, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that!” According to Scripture, though, you did. Christ said, “For the mouth speaks out of what fills the heart” (Matt. 12:34). We don’t say things willy-nilly with no significance behind them. We may immediately regret a harsh word and be instantly remorseful for thinking and saying it, but it’s never (I think I can use a 100% word here) accurate to say that you didn’t mean what you said.

That’s just one way we defend our wicked, con-artist hearts. We also like to pretend that we’re still on the path: Our food addiction is just “being munchy” and our enslavement to Netflix or social media is just “down time.” But let’s not forget the sobering words of Jeremiah 17:9: “The heart is more deceitful than all else And is desperately sick; Who can understand it?

Our hearts are “desperately sick.” In fact, they’re terminal. And on top of that, they’re more deceitful than anything else. Every deceitful thing you can think of was connived by someone’s deceitful heart. But beware of comparing your heart to someone else’s. If you think yours is okay, you’ve just been deceived. Because of the wiliness and perversity of our hearts, we must agree that our default mode is indeed going astray.

The Antidote

At this point, if you’re still with me, you’re probably thinking about tuning into the headlines of the day because they would be less depressing than what you’ve just been reading. Thankfully, though, there’s an antidote. And it’s found in verse 13:

But encourage one another day after day, as long as it is [still] called “Today,” so that none of you will be hardened by the deceitfulness of sin.

The antidote to our evil, unbelieving hearts’ being “hardened by the deceitfulness of sin” (vv. 12-13) is each other. We’re called to encourage preemptively—before there’s a problem, because if we wait, it may already be too late. That’s why we’re told to do it “day after day” and “as long as it is still called ‘Today.'”

Let me go back to the rumble strip analogy for a minute. The other night I was driving home in the middle of a January snow storm–small by Minnesota standards, but still not a lot of fun. Big flakes were falling steadily, and the plows hadn’t been on the roads yet. My biggest concern wasn’t losing control and sliding into the ditch, but losing the road and inadvertently driving into the ditch. There were few tracks and no lines to follow. I hit the rumble strip once and was thankful to know where the edge of the road was. It’s hard to keep your bearings when everything is white. According to Hebrews 3:13, you are my rumble strip, and I’m yours. I need you to help me keep my bearings in navigation; and I need you to help me “wake up” when I’m just not paying attention. The consequences of spiritually losing the road are far more serious than a towing bill.

But what should the content of this encouragement be? Back to Hebrews 3. The author opens this chapter with an exhortation that sums up his entire epistle:

Therefore, holy brethren, partakers of a heavenly calling, consider Jesus, the Apostle and High Priest of our confession.

There it is: the content of our encouragement. “Consider Jesus.”

We all need those words. We need to preach them to our own hearts and we need to hear them from others. So why not find a brother, sister, friend, or acquaintance and encourage them while it’s still called “today.”

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[1] Like the Psalmist, I’m going to assume that you know about the Israelites’ wilderness issues, but if you’re unsure, read Numbers 13-20, and you’ll be caught up.