My Tame Sin

I am a boring person. Completely unoriginal. And tame. Excessively tame. I live comfortably within my own four walls, and have little to no concern about the world surrounding me. Every now and then I peep out my little window, but I quickly draw back with a shudder. Everyone outside my little walls seems a little... dirty. I pride myself, with a little ruffle of my perfectly coiffed hair, that I'm not nearly as dirty and sinful as those I've gotten a glimpse of. I'm appropriately moved to sorrow at their condition, and then I go right back into my own comfy cave of darkness.

I'm not starting bonfires of sin, I'm cuddling right up next to it with a dreamy sigh.

You see, while others may go out and light a giant bonfire in commemoration of their sin-- lighting up the sky with fireworks of "Look! I'm sinning!", I don't. My idol doesn't parade around in the traditional sense of the word. Instead, it creeps up beside me... in the form of comfort.

You see, more than rebellion and flagrant thumbing of my nose at rules and regulations, my sin takes a more tame, insidious bent.

I love comfort. Love it. I like pants with elastic waistbands, naps, and microwaveable foods. I like days when I can sleep in, and piles of books to bury myself in. I like a complete lack of to-do lists and a complete disregard of goals or ambition. I would like to have life handed to me on a silver platter, thank you very much. I don't want to strive, sweat, or groan... those sound too painful and miserable. I just want to curl up in my sweatpants and wait peacefully until I'm ushered into a blissful and (need I say it?) restful eternity.

Comfort masquerades as a right, as a friend, as something which should be allowed (at least one weekends, right?). But the truth is, if I'm living my life as I should, comfort should not be an option.

"But understand this, that in the last days there will come times of difficulty... You will be betrayed even by parents, brothers and sisters, relatives and friends, and they will put some of you to death. Everyone will hate you because of me... For it has been granted to you on behalf of Christ not only to believe in him, but also to suffer for him... In all this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials."

In truth, my desire to curl up in my comfort is a disgusting commentary on my eagerness to roll around in the filth of my sin. Harmless items, such as sweatpants and lazy Saturdays, become harmful, poisonous substances when I worship them above the plans of my Savior. 

I am not designed to seek comfort. I'm designed to proclaim the glory of God. I should be living my life in reckless abandon for His fame. I should be pushing aside even the fluffy, quiet sin, in horror of its creeping comfort in the same way as I am of the firework sins. I'm not brave or creative in my sin. But I'm shockingly unashamed and consistently tolerant of my own condition.

Why am I not pushing it away? Why am I not fighting? Why am I not running from this?

Perhaps it's the tame sins which are the most deadly.