“I wish what every addict wishes for: that what we love is good for us.”
the late David Lynch on cigarettes
Righteousness is an acquired taste. But I get ahead of myself.
Years ago, on one of my many trips to India, I and one of my ministry directors were the guests of honor at a private home in a rural area. In order to get there, we had to hike along dirt paths that meandered across muddy patches occupied by scrawny goats and despondent cows tethered in place. As we came over a low hill, our destination came into view. It was a humble abode with the patina of mildew common to the area, but not unwelcoming. Unfortunately, in order to get there we would have to ford a wide flooded field, whose brackish waters reeked of bovine byproducts. My partner and I exchanged glances, removed our sandals, rolled up our pant legs, and gingerly waded through the foul broth.
We were heartily welcomed and after rinsing our feet under a hand pump near the door, we were ushered into the small dining space. The table was dressed with an aged, formerly white table cloth and a collection of dinnerware that was clearly their very best. We sat and enjoyed tea as the fare was brought from the kitchen to the table. Back then I was a vegetarian, which meant that India was one of my favorite stops. Since beef was generally off the menu, I settled easily into the flavorful cuisine of the region.
The dishes kept coming, and we ate until we were full. Just as we thought that the feast had come to a blissful (but welcome) end, a large bowl was ceremonially brought to the table. In it was a heap of what looked like meatballs. The faces of our hosts glowed with pride. This was clearly meant to be the showpiece of the meal, a luxurious dish worthy of august visitors such as we. I didn’t want to dishonor my hosts, and recalling Paul’s instructions to eat whatever is put before you, I determined to try one of the meatballs. Our host proudly announced that these were fresh fried goat hearts as he dropped three huge cardio-balls on my plate.
I locked eyes with my partner who was sitting next to me. A former Army Ranger and trained to eat anything, he saw my panic and subtly nodded. As soon as our hosts were distracted with serving duties, I slipped the goat hearts to his plate. When they returned, I sighed deeply, smiled, and pushed away my empty plate (with a few morsels strategically remaining). Delighted, my host lunged to serve me a few more goat hearts, but I quickly—maybe a bit too quickly—declined. I found out later that my partner wasn’t all that thrilled with the goat hearts either, but, being a literal trooper, he politely swallowed his aversion (and mine too) and saved us from committing an unforgivable cultural sin. I still owe him.
As a rule, we tend to like our native cuisines, amusements, and customs—those broad cultural aesthetics we grew up with. We also tend to pull back from what is foreign to our sensibilities. Even the adventurous among us, who like to try new things, assess their experiences through the filters of an already ingrained disposition. According to the health proverb, we are what we eat. With regard to our inclinations, however, it’s the inverse: we eat what we are—and shun what we aren’t.
Consider goodness and its biblical analog righteousness. Most people, religious or not, would insist that we all fundamentally desire the good and that problems are simply the result of competing ideas of what the good is. This is not how the scriptures view it. John’s gospel summarizes the situation this way: Light has come into the world, but people loved darkness instead of light because their deeds were evil. The world loves darkness because darkness is its own nature. In his psalm, David bluntly indicts the wicked: You love evil more than good. Some 250 years later, the prophet Micah levels an even harsher charge: You hate the good and love the evil. Evil is not only a moral abyss; it is an object of profound desire.
The prophet Amos offers a simple solution: Hate evil and love good. Simple, yes; but not so easy. The apostle Paul often writes of the conflict of desires between the new man and old man, and Peter speaks of sinful desires which wage war against your soul. The upshot is clear: There are things that we love that we should not and things that we do not love that we should.
Learning to love righteousness, of course, begins with Jesus who did it himself. The Father testifies of his son, “You have loved righteousness and hated wickedness.” In him is birthed the new man created to be like God in true righteousness and holiness. This new nature is animated by the Holy Spirit who inclines the believer toward righteousness. Those who live in accordance with the Spirit, says Paul, have their minds set on what the Spirit desires. Christ gives us his own nature whose native soil is righteousness; the Spirit gives us the innate desire for righteousness.
To become a gourmet of the good, however, demands deliberate engagement. Many Christians seem satisfied to be saved but appear uninterested in righteousness as a way of life. It shows. We have to practice loving righteousness and hating evil. We must train our affections to joy in what is good and be repulsed by all unrighteousness. As the writer of Hebrews notes, anyone who lives on milk, being still an infant, is not acquainted with the teaching about righteousness. But solid food is for the mature, who by constant use have trained themselves to distinguish good from evil. They are the connoisseurs of the Kingdom.
Cheers.
