Deceit

by Ed Harrell

Upon his return from the Scopes trial in 1925, H. L. Mencken told a story of one of the leading citizens of Dayton who was a staunch prohibitionist but also spent much of his time halfstewed.

This citizen went home one evening after drinking a bit too much and told his wife he was sick and that she would have to do the evening praying alone. He went to bed but he could hear his wife on her knees in the next room. She began: "Oh, Lord, throw the mantle of Thy mercy around my drunken husband." He bolted up in bed and shouted to his wife, "Gracious, woman, don't tell Him I'm drunk; say I'm sick."

No one believes such nonsense. But millions act like they do.

The recent public spectacle of a famous television preacher trapped by immorality is not new, nor is the use of deceit to try to escape the consequences of sin. it is difficult for the mighty to humble themselves and say, "I have sinned."

But it is not only difficult for the mighty; it is onerous for all of us. Fortunate is the man who has never been entangled in the treacherous descent from immorality, to lying, to a life of deceit, fleeing the public price of sin.

One pays a terrible cost for hypocrisy. We sacrifice the cleansing grace of a penitent heart, brought low by the chastisement of conscience (2 Cor 7:10). We lose our ability to identify with others, to comfort and instruct those who carry such burdens in their own lives (Gal 6:1‑5). And, above all, we forfeit our honor and self‑respect (2 Pt 1:9). Somewhere, deep in my heart, I know that I lie to myself as well as to others.

So it is that one sin unacknowledged leads me deeper and deeper into the throes of deceit. Without self‑respect, without the answer of a good conscience, the will to do right has perished.

Public wrong can rarely be hidden successfully; its public acknowledgement is the road to God's forgiveness and our own reformation. But even more dangerous is the private deceit which threatens the integrity of my conscience.

There is much about me that you do not know, and you will never know. But I know, and God knows. it is between me and Him that deceit becomes most deceitful. I have never believed that public recitals of private sins served either God or man. But the soul‑searching, closet prayer of a penitent heart is the biblical road to forgiveness and personal reconstruction.

The most curious facet of the story of the Tennessee drunk is the image of God that it presents. Can we hide from God? Such thinking, callously pursued, denigrates God; it obscures His eternal presence and majesty; it contributes to the frivolous modern concept of powerless divinity.

I confess that I guard my behavior for many different reasons. I value my family and loved ones; I am humbled by the esteem of others; I would not want to risk my job and the stability of my life. But, for all of that, I know that I can, if I will, run and hide. it may be risky, but I can sin and deceive.

The gyroscope of my life must be a God‑consciousness. I live in His presence. He is with me everywhere I go‑for good or evil. He watches, along with heavenly hosts, the adulterer and the liar. Will you do such dark and repulsive things in His presence? It is chilling to think such thoughts.

Of course, I do sin in His presence. And when I do, as I should, I fall remorsefully on my face and pray that He will do what I cannot do - remember it no more. It is a grand and awesome truth that I cannot forget my sins; they are painfully etched on my conscience for a lifetime. But He who knows all, has chosen to know no more.

The majestic truth can be thus stated: if you deceive yourself and pretend that He does not know ‑ He knows. If you humble yourself and pray forgiveness for what He knows ‑ He no longer knows. 

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