by Andy Stanley
Read Ephesians 4 and 5 for yourself. It’s an incredible catalog of virtues and values, the stuff parents preach to their children all the time. But is it realistic? Can anybody really pull it off? At first glance, I think not.
The good news is that Paul anticipated the frustration of his readers. So he incorporated into this intimidating list of what-to-do an invaluable how-to-do-it. Specifically, he unveiled an approach to life that, if embraced, will set us up for success as we attempt to live out the values he listed. And it’s from this short but powerful piece of instruction that we derive the question this book is all about.
Here’s what Paul wrote:
Be very careful, then, how you live—not as unwise but as wise, making the most of every opportunity, because the days are evil. Therefore do not be foolish, but understand what the Lord’s will is. (Ephesians 5:15–17)
Life changing, huh?
No? Okay, let’s break it down.
Here in the opening phrase, with that little word “then” (or “therefore” in some versions), Paul is linking what he’s about to say with what he just said before—where he described what we need to do. Now he connects that with an explanation of how to do it. It’s as if he’s saying, “If the values and practices I’ve outlined, as overwhelming as they may seem, are things you desire to embrace, if something in you stirred when you imagined living out those standards, if you want to live life on an entirely different plane, then here’s what you need to do.”
Then Paul reveals the principle that gives all of us wannabe Christ followers the traction we need to live out what, at times, seems out of reach:
“Be careful, then, how you live.”
Or to turn it around, Don’t be careless how you live. In other words, following Christ is not a casual endeavor. It requires extreme caution. If we are serious about living out the values the New Testament teaches, we must watch our steps. After all, we know from experience how easy it is to stumble.
Then without so much as a pause, Paul discloses the criterion by which we are to measure and judge every one of our choices. In the six words that follow, we are given the grid through which we are to evaluate every invitation and opportunity. Here is the standard, the yardstick by which we are to assess our financial, relational, and professional decisions. Get out your highlighter.
“Not as unwise but as wise.”
The question that sets us up for success where it counts, the question that enables us to consistently apply the commands of the New Testament is this:
What is the wise thing to do?
Wait a minute. How could that possibly be such a critically important question? How could that be the key to consistency in our walk with Christ? To understand the potency of this question, we need to examine the way we’re used to evaluating our options.
We’re Asking the Wrong Questions
Typically when making choices, we run our options and opportunities through a more generic and far less helpful grid. There are several variations, but the question we ask ourselves is this: Is there anything wrong with it?
The assumption is that if there is nothing wrong with what we’re doing, it must be okay. If it is not illegal, unethical, or immoral, then it qualifies as a live option, right? Biblically speaking, if there is not a “Thou shalt not” associated with it, then it’s safe to assume it qualifies as a “Thou certainly shalt if thou please.”
Unfortunately, that kind of thinking sets us up for another question that we rarely verbalize or even allow to surface to the level of conscious thought. Yet, if we are honest, this question drives far too many of our choices. It goes something like this: How close can I get to the line between right and wrong without actually doing something wrong? The Christian version goes like this: How close can I get to sin without actually sinning?
Every teenage guy has asked this question in some way at some point in his dating career. Everyone on a diet asks this question every day. Attorneys make a living asking this question on behalf of their clients.
But it doesn’t stop there. Inevitably, once we have come this far, we find ourselves asking, How far over the line between right and wrong can I go without experiencing consequences? In other words, how unethical, immoral, or insensitive can I be without suffering any unmanageable outcomes? How long can I neglect my family, finances, or professional responsibilities without feeling the effects? How far over the speed limit can I drive without getting pulled over? How far can I indulge in an addictive behavior without actually becoming addicted?
It is a slippery slope, both subtle and sinister. It all begins so innocently by asking what seems to be a noble question: Is there anything wrong with it? But it ultimately leads to yet another question. One we have all asked at one time or another: How did I get myself into this mess?
Damage Control
It’s a question I have heard dozens of times. Heck, I’ve asked myself the same question a dozen times or more. How in the world could someone as smart and biblically astute as I am get myself into—well, it’s really none of your business what I’ve gotten myself into. Let’s talk about you, or Fred.
Fred is one of smartest guys I’ve ever met. Unfortunately, by the time I met him, he was attempting to navigate through a labyrinth of sexual addictions, bankruptcy, divorce, and a child custody battle. For forty-five minutes, he poured out his heart. He told me how he and his wife met: he saw the warning signs but ignored them. He told me about his business partner: again, he saw red flags but moved ahead anyway. He described his early experiences with pornography: he knew the dangers, but figured he would be the exception.
Every bad choice Fred made could have been avoided if only he’d asked our big question. His was not an IQ problem. As is the case with most people, his nightmare began with the assumption that he could dance on the edge of moral, relational, and professional disaster and beat the odds. If it wasn’t technically “wrong,” then it must be “right.” Right?
Fred launched into the process of rebuilding his life and marriage. He learned to ask a different set of questions. Things got better, but his new perspective couldn’t quickly erase the pain he’d caused his wife and daughter. Restoring lost trust takes a long time.
As a pastor, I’ve heard more than my fair share of heartbreaking stories. Yet every bad decision I’ve ever heard about could have been avoided if someone had simply asked the valuable question we’ve identified. Every single one. Adultery, addictions, unwanted pregnancies, bankruptcies, you name it. All could have been avoided with a proper application of this question.
The moral of the story is, just because there isn’t a “Thou shalt not” attached to a situation does not necessarily mean it is a “Thou shalt.” What’s morally and culturally permissible is often not what’s best for us.
Like a good father, God wants what’s best for each of us. So he has given us a standard that goes beyond the cultural norms. He has given us a question that enables us to live out the values that lead to what Jesus referred to as an abundant life (see John 10:10). Not a barely-get-by life. Not a life of regret. An abundant life.
But the question he gave us is not, Is there anything wrong with it? The question is, Is it the wise thing to do? To foolproof your life, you must ask it of every invitation, every opportunity, every relationship.
What is the wise thing for me to do?
Think back for a moment to your biggest regret. That event or chapter of your life you wish you could go back and undo or relive. What was the decision you wish you could reverse? The relationship you wish you could do over? Can you see how some or all of what you regret could have been avoided if you had asked and applied our question?
From this moment on, you can avoid the mistakes of the past and live regret-free by making it the habit of your life to ask this question.
Our heavenly Father never intended for us to live life at the level of what’s permissible, legal, acceptable, and not prosecutable. To do so is tantamount to organizing our lives around the
question, How close can I get to sin without sinning? Now there’s a standard.
Instead, we are meant to analyze every opportunity and invitation through the lens of wisdom. Every choice should be tested by asking, What is the wise thing to do? This is what Paul was getting at when he admonished us to be careful how we live.
Speaking of Paul, in the last chapter we cut him off in midsentence, so let’s pick up where we left off. After telling his audience to walk wisely, Paul went on to say:
“Making the most of every opportunity, because the days are evil.”
Evil days? I guess some things never change. If you visit the ruins of Ephesus, you can still see phallic symbols etched in the stone walkways, marking the path to the pagan temple. The temple was supported through prostitution. In fact, sex was an integral part of the pagan worship rituals. Drunkenness was encouraged as well. So, as you might imagine, the men of Ephesus were religious zealots. Nobody missed worship. And it wasn’t the music or the preaching that drew the crowds.
Apparently, some of the Christians in Ephesus were being drawn back into their former ways. Why settle for a sermon when you can … never mind. Anyway, they were attempting to blend the old with the new. They were blurring the lines. And some were beginning to suffer the consequences of their actions. So Paul went right to the heart of the matter.
“You can’t be careless!” he warned. “You don’t live in a morally neutral environment. If you aren’t on your guard, the culture will sweep you right back into the chaos from which you have been rescued.”
Asleep at the Wheel
We don’t live in a morally neutral climate either. Every day we interface with a culture of sensuality, gluttony, and greed. Ours is a culture that encourages us in the most provocative ways to do everything in our power to try to satisfy appetites that can never be fully and finally satisfied.
These are evil days. Gone are the days when you had to go looking for trouble. Trouble is on every street corner, on every page of just about every magazine. Trouble is dripping from every billboard. Trouble drives across our television screens and calls to us from our computers.
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Most Americans are overweight and overleveraged. We eat too much and spend too much. By far, the biggest online moneymaker is pornography. Consider this: American men spend billions of dollars every year to look at pictures of women on their computer screens. Billions of dollars.
Again, we do not live in a morally neutral environment. The world we live in is much like the grassy area outside my kitchen door where I let my dog out to do her business every night. If you’re not careful how you walk, you’ll step in it.
That’s a little gross, but you get the point. Like the Ephesians in Paul’s day, we live in morally and ethically perilous times. The days are evil. If you don’t pay attention, you will end up paying a price for your carelessness. If you aren’t intentionally cautious, you may end up unintentionally corralled by some vice you’ve always condemned. If you don’t filter your choices through the powerful question we’re exploring here, you will find yourself face-to-face with consequences that could have been, and should have been, avoided.
This Is Your Wake-Up Call
I know the question is annoying. After all, it forces you to face up to what you have spent years of time and energy trying to ignore. It’s like an alarm clock for your heart, a wake-up call for your soul. It’s irritating, but necessary. Perhaps it was the universal propensity to wear out our snooze buttons that drove the apostle Paul to continue with these words:
“Therefore do not be foolish.”
If punctuation had been available in the first century, I imagine that this phrase may have come with double exclamation points. “Do not be foolish” is a polite way of saying, “Don’t be a fool! Don’t approach life as if you lived in a morally and ethically neutral environment!”
Then Paul commands us to do something that on the surface appears to be impossible.
“But understand what the Lord’s will is.”
You can’t command someone to understand something, can you? I had a Greek teacher in college who would have us come up to the front of the room and translate out loud for the class. There I was with my paperback copy of The Iliad, standing in front of my peers and bluffing my way through some incident in the Trojan War, filling in the gaps with my own editorial comments. When it became evident that I was no longer translating but merely telling the story from memory, the teacher would stop me and say, “Mr. Andy, I don’t think you are reading.” Busted.
“You are right, Mrs. Cuntz,” I would reply. “I can’t translate it.”
Her reply was always the same. “Yes, you can! Now translate it for us.”
“I really can’t.”
“Yes, you can. Now translate.”
She would always insist that we understood more than we did, as if her insistence would somehow increase our capacity for the Greek language. It never did. Eventually she would allow us to give up and return to our seats. I always felt like Mrs. Cuntz took my ignorance personally. Funny, it never seemed to bother me. Oh well.
Whenever I read Paul’s admonition to “understand what the Lord’s will is,” I always think of Mrs. Cuntz exhorting us to understand Homer. Both seem like a waste of time. You can rah-rah an athlete to perform better, but you can’t rah-rah people into knowing something they don’t know.
So what was Paul’s point? Why didn’t he say, “Discover what the will of the Lord is”? Or perhaps “Obey the will of the Lord”? We could move on either of those. But why understand?
Face-Off
Paul’s command to “understand” God’s will is really an exhortation to face up to what we know in our hearts God would have us do. As I mentioned earlier, people are masters in the art of self-deception. So Paul, leveraging the grammar of his day, reaches off the page, grabs us by the collar, yanks us up close, and shouts, “Quit playing games! Quit pretending. Quit rationalizing. Ask the question, and embrace the answer!” This is Paul’s final attempt to get us to admit what we know in our hearts to be true—to admit that we generally already know what God would have us do.
One reason we don’t admit certain things to ourselves is that it helps us avoid the guilt that naturally follows from not doing what we know we should. This is why most Americans eat so unhealthily. It’s not just a lack of discipline. Americans haven’t really faced up to the reality of what the foods they eat are doing to their bodies. How do I know? Because I’ve seen how quickly the diet changes once someone has had a brush with cancer or heart disease. Lumps, clogs, and shortness of breath force a person to face up to what he or she has refused to acknowledge for years. And the revelation leads to death-defying discipline.
But lifestyle changes don’t happen until an individual faces the facts. It is not until a person acknowledges the truth and quits lying to himself that something positive takes place. And once someone has turned the corner mentally, it’s amazing how quickly that person is able to break unhealthy habits and begin new routines.
Every person I know who has undergone this kind of transformation after a health scare says the same thing: “I should have made these changes years ago.”
Translated: “For years I refused to face up to what I knew in my heart was true.”
Bankruptcy can have the same effect. So can an unwanted pregnancy, a letter from your spouse’s attorney, a DUI charge, or a trip to detox with one of your kids. And perhaps that’s what it will take. There is something out there somewhere that will get your attention. Unfortunately, that something may scar you as well as scare you. You may be left with limited options and reduced opportunities. So why let things go that far? Why not face up now to what you know in your heart your h
eavenly Father wants you to do?
Why not start taking seriously our question—and ask it?
When I was a kid, we lived in Miami. Every summer we would pull our eighteen-foot travel trailer to Naples, Florida, for a week of vacation. If you’ve been to Naples lately, you know the waterfront is lined with condos and hotels. But in 1968, there was nothing but miles of empty beach. So my dad would actually pull out onto the beach and drive along the tree line where the sand was firm. Then we would drive for miles until we found a suitable place to set up camp.
Although I was in elementary school at the time, I still have a vivid memory of something that happened during one of our weeks on the beach. That particular year the undertow was ferocious. It wasn’t dangerous, in the sense that the undertow might pull you out to sea, but it would carry you down the beach in no time. I still remember playing in the water, looking back toward the shore, and our trailer not being there! Why would my parents move the campsite? Of course they hadn’t moved—I was forty yards down the beach from where I had stepped into the water. It was the undertow.
Well, after a couple of days of looking out from the trailer and wondering where his kids had drifted off to, my dad came up with a novel idea. He gathered about twenty coconuts and made a neat little cannonball-like stack about thirty yards down the beach from where our trailer was parked. The coconuts were to serve as a reference point. Once we drifted past the coconuts, we were to get out of the water and walk back to the point where we were even with the trailer, and then we could swim again. And it worked.
You may already know where I’m going with this. Like the undertow at Naples, culture has a way of subtly sweeping us beyond healthy moral, ethical, and financial limits. That accounts for the times when we have looked up and said, “Who moved the trailer?” Or rather, “How did I get myself into this situation?” When everything around you is drifting along at the same rate, it’s easy to be fooled into thinking that you’re standing still. Without a stationary reference point, it is impossible to ascertain where you are, where you aren’t, and where you ought to be.