So then, the word of the Lord to them will become: Do this, do that,
a rule for this, a rule for that; a little here, a little there—
so that as they go they will fall backward.
Isaiah 28:13
One of the Bible’s most poignant admonitions is found in the Revelation’s letter to the church at Ephesus. After commending the congregation for its hard work and perseverance, the glorified Christ then declares, “Nevertheless I have this against you, that you have left your first love.” It is a devastating indictment with significant implications. In spite of the many noteworthy things these believers have done, their fall from true devotion jeopardizes the very existence of their church.
The Old Testament is the history of a stiff-necked people. In their misery the Hebrews would turn to their God—who would then save them—only to lapse back into their sinful ways. The whole of Psalm 106 is like an AI generated summary of their persistent folly. The psalmist sums up 1500 years of Jewish history in a single verse: Many times God delivered them, but they were bent on rebellion and wasted away in their sin. Bang. The circle of strife.
It’s easy to reprove the wayward Hebrews; we are meant to. Theirs is a cautionary tale. Paul informs us that these things happened to them as examples and were written down as warnings for us, on whom the culmination of the ages has come. The kingdom of God has indeed come, but the potential to drift away from our first love is no less real and far more consequential.
Jesus warns his disciples of a coming apostasy: “Because of the increase of wickedness, the love of most will grow cold.” His prediction is literally chilling. Jesus warns that the rampant sinfulness of the world in the last days will cause most—underscore most—to lose their spiritual passion for the Lord. The author of the letter to the Hebrews is justifiably concerned when he exhorts the church, See to it, brothers and sisters, that none of you has a sinful, unbelieving heart that turns away from the living God. In light of these cautionary statements, it seems wise to consider how the dwindling of devotion might come about.
Ironically, spiritual enthusiasm can often lead to its own demise. When fervor is its own objective, it’s likely to veer into the ditch. Zeal without knowledge is not good, quotes the proverb, and hasty feet miss the way. I have known too many Christians whose enthusiasm was based on a shallow understanding of the scriptures and fueled by charismatic cheerleaders and incessant self-talk. They seemed to me like sailors blowing their own sails. Some of them, desperate to keep the hype alive, careened from fringe to fringe seeking strange winds. Others floundered on reefs of disappointment and discouragement, and their fragile zeal eventually gave way to apathy or unbelief. The shipwreck sagas of the flaky and the deflated are cases in point that pure and lasting devotion does not feed upon itself.
Unmoored enthusiasm isn’t the only danger to devotion. The fall from first love can also follow another trajectory, one that begins with the scriptures themselves. I remember my first experience with the Bible after my saving encounter with Jesus. The words exploded off the page with palpable power and glory. I was astonished at the sheer beauty of the scriptures and the way they opened my eyes to the presence of God. My soul exulted with the psalmist: I delight in your commandments because I love them. Many believers can bear witness to this Bible-born rapture.
But for many the Bible has become a benign burden. It is the book we know we’re supposed to love, but it has become as clinical as the medication guide included with a prescription. The words that were once charged with light are now dim and tired, reflecting the overall state of our listless hearts. More, this spiritual stupor even drains away concern. We don’t actually care anymore—and we don’t care that we don’t care. What started as delight decayed into doctrine, doctrine decayed into dogma, and dogma decayed into dullness. We’re sleepwalkers, miming a form of godliness without power. As the John Mellencamp song goes, Life goes on long after the thrill of livin’ is gone. The most we can muster is that it is what it is.
Of course, the best way to keep the fire of first love burning is never to lose it in the first place. Never be lacking in zeal, Paul tells the Romans, but keep your spiritual fervor, serving the Lord. This exhortation reminds us that lasting devotion is not a self-feeding enthusiasm loop but is an informed, relational commitment to serve the Lord. Jesus himself is the fuel for the heart fire, not some vague notion about being fired up.
But what if, like the church in Ephesus, we have already fallen from our first love. What if the cares and allures of this world have choked out the life we once knew? What if we are even now bogged down in the torpor of a shallow, lifeless faith? Can these dry bones live again?
And if I were to answer yes, would it make a difference? Would another book or sermon provide the vital information? Would a hand on your shoulder and a reassuring word bring about a resurrection? Have they before? Instead, this from the prophet Isaiah:
Brought low, you will speak from the ground;
your speech will mumble out of the dust.
Your voice will come ghostlike from the earth;
out of the dust your speech will whisper.
And what will it whisper?
Restore to me the joy of your salvation.
Then, and only then, will you know. Only then.
My eyes are dry
My faith is old
My heart is hard
My prayers are cold
And I know how I ought to be
Alive to You and dead to me
But what can be done
For an old heart like mine
Soften it up
With oil and wine
The oil is You, Your Spirit of love
Please wash me anew
With the wine of Your Blood
—Keith Green