grieving God

A few days ago I wrote about the lamentation of being forgotten by God. Today I read of God being forgotten by his people, of how they grieved God. God will be remembered too late by people who would come to wish they had never forgotten the blessings of obedience.

In chapter 6 of Ezekiel is a detailed prophecy of the judgment that would come on God’s people, and one detail of the aftermath caught my eye. Verse 9 says, “Then in the nations where they have been carried captive, those who escape will remember me—how I have been grieved by their adulterous hearts, which have turned away from me, and by their eyes, which have lusted after their idols.”

It’s a very thought provoking verse. It makes me think how many days I go through most of the day without thinking much about God. My morning and mealtime devotions can stand like brief spiritual punctuation marks in an otherwise self-centered day. Is that a step on the slippery slope toward forgetting God?

Then I think how easy it is to grieve him. That kind of thoughtlessness alone would do it, but that will soon lead to bad choices which will grieve him even more.

Do I have an adulterous heart? Yes I do - I can be as passionate about political power or as greedy about hoarding my wealth or as proud of my own accomplishments as anyone, all things that can tug at my heart more strongly than love of God.

Do I have lustful eyes? Yes, that too - I look enviously at the passengers in first class, at the revelers surrounded by laughing friends, at the beautiful people whose physiques and glistening smiles give them a special sort of power, at the independently wealthy who no longer work, and those things can seem far better than the quiet life of enough where God’s blessings are found.

The prophesied fate of God’s people cautions me this morning that if my adulterous heart and lustful eyes pull my attention too much from God, he’ll take steps as drastic as necessary to get my attention back.

Because I made him feel bad? I don’t think so. I think a large part of God’s grief is at what he sees me, the beloved child bought by Jesus’ blood, doing to myself.