The Root of
Bitterness - By Mervin Yoder
"Looking
diligently lest any man fail of the grace of God; lest any root of bitterness springing
up trouble you, and thereby many be defiled; Lest there be any fornicator, or
profane person, as Esau, who for one morsel of meat sold his birthright"
(Hebrews 12:15-16). Yesterday I sought the Lord for another message, but when I
opened my Bible all I could see was a message of bitterness.
The Bible warns us to be careful
lest any root of bitterness spring up and trouble us. A root is a beginning, an
origin and source of life, a power behind what we see. Seldom do we look
beneath the surface--beneath our obvious attitudes and actions--to discern
what's really driving us. And too often it is bitterness that drives us, that
troubles us.
Bitterness is a terrible taste, a
harshness. It grips us and makes us crawl inside.
The root of bitterness is often the
culprit for people who have grown cold toward God and can't seem to come close
to Him anymore. They want to worship Him and come into His presence with
singing, but something blocks the way. They fall on their knees and cry out to
God, but their voices fall hollow. They open their Bibles but close them in
disgust, because the words have no meaning. They want to be in church but find
themselves angry at the people and the messages. They want to be free to serve
God and sing the songs of Zion, but they just can't do it. Nothing works.
Something simmers deep inside their
souls, but it isn't the Holy Spirit. It is bitterness, a root laying down there
that no one can see. It springs up and troubles them. It defiles them. It
leaves a harsh taste whenever they try the things of God.
"Lest there be any fornicator,
or a profane person, as Esau." Esau fornicated spiritually; he got hold of
something he was not allowed to have and took it into his body. He profaned his
calling and the place that God had set before him, and "afterward, when he
would have inherited the blessing, he was rejected: for he found no place of
repentance, though he sought it carefully with tears" (Hebrews 12:17).
Though he wanted to draw near to God, he could not.
Bitterness cannot take root in our
lives unless we, through sin, allow it. Satan cannot destroy us as Christians,
because Jesus Christ is Lord of all. If Satan could destroy us, then Jesus
would not be Lord. If a sinner says, "Father, forgive me of my sin, cover
me with your blood and take this damnable thing away from me," the devil
has to go because Jesus is more powerful than he.
Satan can make an inroad into
Christians' lives only by enticing them out of the place where God has called
them to be. He lays something in front of them to draw them into the gall of
bitterness, to prompt them to walk in unforgiveness, opening the door for his
work of destruction.
Look at Esau. Though he sought it
carefully with tears, he found no place of repentance, because he was rejected.
His sin had already allowed Satan to destroy him. The Bible says that if a man
does not forgive others of their sins, he himself cannot be forgiven of God. A
man may be living an upright life before the Lord and leading his family in
faithful service. But if tragedy strikes and, in his pain and grief, the man
harbors unforgiveness, he will lose his salvation. Though the man had been
faithful in the past, God cannot now grant him forgiveness, because his
unforgiveness cannot be allowed in God's kingdom.
When we are sinned against our only
response can be to weep and cry and pray, "God, I hold nothing against
this man. My only cry is somehow to minister to his needs. Save him."
God will not allow bitterness and
criticism in the body, His body. He does not want a bitter, ugly taste. He
wants only the sweet savor that comes from the Holy Ghost.
Many people today desire God, the
church, heaven, and the sweet savor of the Holy Ghost, but a gall of bitterness
lurks within them, rooted deep within their souls. People look at their lives
and question, "Why does he act this way? Why does she respond like she
does?" Whatever is rooted inside us will invariably yield its fruit.
Spewing out vicious words, flaring up in anger, seething in hatred--all are
fruits of that deep root of bitterness. We can pick off individual fruits and
try to throw them out of our lives, but as long as that root lives within us we
cannot know God's presence and cleansing. Like Esau we try to find God but
cannot.
In Deuteronomy 29, the Bible warns
those delivered out of Egypt not to be tempted by the riches and idols of other
peoples, whose land they were passing through, "lest there should be among
you a root that beareth gall and wormwood." God didn't want the Israelites
to become envious and grow bitter about their own circumstances. He warned them
that if bitterness sets in, He would curse them and not bless their lives.
Satan wants to set something in
front of us that brings discontent, harshness, and anger to our spirits. When
we think of difficult people or situations, bitterness can stab us like a
knife. Perhaps the memory of certain churches grips us with anger. God cannot
bless us when we're filled with that poison. He cannot allow it in His kingdom.
Esau had a twin brother, Jacob. Their
father, Isaac, had cried out to God because his wife had no children. He didn't
grow bitter but continued to pray. God opened the womb and put two nations
within it, saying, "The younger will rule over the older; the older will
serve the younger." This was God's choosing; the boys had nothing to do
with it. It was the calling of God.
Some people struggle with such
passages of scripture and with similar situations in their own lives. Why does
God choose to bless some people in ways He doesn't bless others? We grow bitter
and complain of such perceived injustice. But the proper attitude is to respect
and honor the gifts and authority of God. When He puts the Holy Ghost and gifts
of revelation and insight into someone's life, He expects us to honor that authority.
If we are to resist the temptation
toward bitterness we must understand it better. There is always a
"right" reason for us to become bitter. We don't just decide one
day that "We're sick of life and we're
going to be bitter." No, we suffer a legitimate hurt, a genuine wrong,
that gives us good reason to turn bitter. Perhaps someone we respected fell
into sin and we think, "If that could happen to him, then what will happen
to everyone else?" Or we may make good, godly plans for our family or
business that fall apart for no apparent reason. We have every
"reason" to become bitter.
Esau, too, had good reasons for his
bitterness. He had worked hard to develop good hunting skills and was using
those skills to bless his father and the entire household. His father loved his
venison. Then suddenly he could find nothing. I imagine he came in from the
hills one day, kicked the dirt a good one, threw down the bow he took such good
care of, and wondered: "What's going on here. Where is the blessing of God
in my life? I'm a child of Abraham and Isaac, and I've given all I can give to
serve others, and I've come up empty." Probably the servants were
watching, and one ventured up to him and said, "Esau, what happened? Did
you miss today? You didn't bring any game." I don't know what words were
said to him and what thoughts passed through his mind, but the devil can always
provide plenty of grievances and good reasons for bitterness.
When Satan starts pumping us with
bitterness it takes control of us like a drug. I don't know much about drugs,
but I've talked to people who use them, and they say the high pumps you up and
makes you feel strong, like you could fly off a building. Then suddenly the
effect wears off and you drop like a rock.
Satan feeds us the same kind of
illusions that drugs do. We start wrestling with God, arguing with Him,
accusing Him, and blaming Him. Then an innocent bystander walks across our path
and we blame him as well. We want to kick things. The rage consumes us. Then
suddenly we drop like a rock and feel weak and helpless, like giving up.
"What's the use? I can't do anything right. I'm worthless. I'm nobody. I've nothing to live for."
What would you do if, like Esau, you
found the blessing of God was no longer on your life? What would you do if one
day you got down to pray and God shut the heavens and didn't answer anymore?
And so, when Jacob said "Give
me the birthright," Esau said, "Take it! Who cares? Give me a bowl of
soup. I need to eat. I don't care about a birthright. I don't care about a
blessing."
Do you see the root there? The
poison at work? Bitterness is defiling Esau, causing him to walk away from his
family and from the place of blessing. He is contemplating, "What does it
profit a man to serve God? What does it profit a man to go to church and
fellowship with brothers and sisters? What good does it do? There is no
blessing on my life anyway. Take my birthright." He is spiritually
fornicating. In his passion of bitterness Esau goes for a bowl of soup and a
morsel of meat, selling away his blessing and right standing with his father
and with God.
I wonder how many of us find
ourselves in the same place as Esau. Something harsh devours us. Something
tears within us because we've become embittered.
I experienced that poison in my
relationship with my father. I harbored bitterness because I believed he went
wrong in many, many ways. He provoked me to wrath, I charged, and he didn't
understand me, so I had "good reason" to be bitter. My anger grew
until I couldn't stand to hear him walk into the room; just the sound of his
breathing enraged me. "Get me out of here. I can't take that man." I
would stand in front of my own father and scream in his face. I was a bitter
teenager.
There was a root deep within my
spirit that was feeding that anger, pumping up day by day fresh reasons for
offense. I would rage against my dad, then go to my room, slam the door, lay on
my bed, and cry: "Why am I like this?"
The bitterness poisoned every part
of me. I remember standing in front of the mirror just hating the way I looked,
hating the way God made me. I wondered why I couldn't be like other people. I
would scream, "God, why did you do this? You made a mistake when you made
me. You did it all wrong." I would slam my door, walk away, and rage. Then
the rage would evaporate and a terrible weakness and hopelessness would flood
over me and make me feel like giving up. Many times I was tempted to get in my
car and take off for California or somewhere. "Nobody cares. Mom and Dad
don't care. Family doesn't care. I'll just get out of here. I'll show
them."
The poison would spread to other
people. I would get around friends and run down my dad, then run down everyone
else--anyone I could. That's what happens when a man is in the gall of
bitterness. He sees all kinds of faults in other people. "God, why don't
you judge them?" he cries. "You're giving me such a bad cup, giving
it all to me. Why don't you give it to them? Look how bad they are!" His
contempt drives him further yet away from God.
Oh, that horrible root of
bitterness. It pumps us up and knocks us down. Then, in an attempt to feel
better, we try to come back to God. We try to kneel and pray: "God,
forgive me." But heaven is shut. Nothing happens because the root is still
there. We pray about the symptoms--the bitter fruit--but the root is still
there, burning, stamping, churning away at our spirits, bringing unforgiveness.
Like a poisonous drug it lifts us up and lets us fall. Lifts us up and lets us
fall.
After a while we don't know what to believe.
We don't know who we love or who loves us. We spew out words, and our attitudes
grow ever more vicious. Everything looks dark. The poison spreads.
I believe Esau could find no place
of repentance because bitterness burned within him, twisting him. He couldn't
forgive. He couldn't turn back to his days of innocence, those victorious days
before he sold his birthright. He couldn't fix the mess he was in. People try
to fix things, to throw out the bad fruit. They change their church. They
change their dress. They change this and that. But the root is still there,
pumping and feeding that bitter life.
I've seen many people come out of a
church thinking their problem was that church. They think all will go well now,
and God once again will open heaven to them. But the root remains within them,
and before long the bitterness poisons their relationships in the new
fellowship. "Why is every other family in the church blessed, and we're
not? Why are others prospering financially, and not us?" Or the problem
they thought they were running away from looms before them bigger than ever,
and they blame God more than ever. "Why did you let this happen to my
baby? Why didn't you protect my wife?"
Years ago, when I was dating my wife
and she was away at school, I got a call from a friend one Sunday morning.
"Did you hear what happened last night?" he asked. "Phyllis's
brother was killed in an accident. I thought you probably would want to
know."
Shock. Amazement. I couldn't believe
it. I wasn't ready for this. What could I do? I went up to my room, got out my
Bible, and cried. I prayed, "Lord, what pain this is going to cause in
this family. How could you let it happen? God, I don't understand. You could
have protected him. You could have prevented it. God, where are You when we
need You?"
Instead of going to church that
morning I went over to see the family. I pulled in the driveway and saw that
Phyllis was still away. I sat in the car, holding the steering wheel,
wondering, "God, what shall I say? These poor people. Over there somewhere
in a morgue lies their son, dead. Just at the beginning of life. He just
recently turned his life over to You and was ready to live for You."
I just sat there, wondering, unable
to think what to say. Then I walked in and saw Phyllis's mother in the kitchen.
I gave her a hug and started crying. I said, "I'm sorry. I don't know what
to say. I'm just sorry." She held me back, and I'll never forget the words
she said to me that day. She pushed off every root of bitterness; she pushed away
any blame toward God. She roadblocked any avenue that Satan planned to use to
travel inside her heart and sow bitterness. She said, "Mervin, I don't
know what the future holds, but I know the One who holds the future. It's all
right. I don't blame God. It's all right."
I just stood there and cried. I
looked at what grace there was upon that woman to receive such a loss in her
life and still not blame God. Yet so many of us, when tragedy strikes, allow
Satan to turn us bitter. We shut our Bibles. We don't feel like praying. Or we
pray, "God, where were You when I needed You? Where were You when
everything in my life was going wrong?" Later we try to come to God and
regain that holy ground, but there is no ground. We don't know how to get through.
We become convinced that God is against us because He doesn't answer our
prayers or work through us anymore. But we still don't deal with that bitter
root growing deep within.
Esau began to cry and said,
"That Jacob. Oh, that Jacob. Oh that brother of mine."
I wonder how many marriages break up
out of bitterness. We blame God, we blame our spouses, we harbor resentment and
unforgiveness, and we wonder why we can't "work things out."
People walking in bitterness despise
the very ones God sends to help them. They can't stand to go to the very places
where deliverance awaits them. The poison turns in them and defiles them.
When He was hanging on the cross,
Jesus, knowing all was finished, cried out, "I thirst." People came
and put a sponge of vinegar on a stick and lifted it to His mouth to drink. I
don't know--maybe there's an explanation for what they did--but I wonder if
somehow the devil, even at the end, wanted to spurn Jesus one last time. He
wanted to put that taste of bitterness in Him one last time.
Imagine you are Jesus hanging there,
looking at the people you came to claim as your own. They're wagging their
heads, mocking you, spitting at you. Now you are thirsty, and look what they
give you. Vinegar. One more bitter taste. One more reason to turn in viciousness
and revenge against these people. One more opportunity to lose the chance to
become Savior of the world.
There it is. Drink it, Jesus. No. He
turned his head and gave up the ghost. He died, not allowing Himself to be
defiled with bitterness toward those who hated him. He tasted from the sponge
but He would not receive it. He continued to love the people who put Him there.
What do we do in a weak moment? We
take in the bitterness. We are in the right; we have reason to feel this way.
They are wholly in the wrong. We always find ample reasons for bitterness. But
God still does not allow it. He calls it spiritual fornication. He will not
allow it in His kingdom.
Satan is quick to lure us with
bitterness, because it gives him a way into our lives. But he cannot make us
take it--we can claim the protection of the blood of Christ. We can turn away
from that temptation. We must decide today to let God pull out the very roots
of bitterness, get them out entirely, and be restored in God's kingdom.
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