Foxes in the Vineyard

Foxes in the Vineyard

I’ve been going to church my whole life. I grew up in the church; my parents grew up in the church. There’s a lineage of grace there. I’ve been blessed to be raised this way and I look forward to raising my own kids this way. (Whenever that is.)

Sometimes I hear others’ testimonies and feel…jealous? Jealous that they have such a clear transition from unsaved to saved. Do some of you relate to this? Maybe it’s because I’m a sucker for a good story, and my story seems boring. I prayed the sinner’s prayer when I was 5 years old. I took it very seriously. I never had a season where I fell away. I’m a rule follower deep down and so I’ve tried to abide by the rules I know.

I didn’t have any obvious, outward, sins. (Stay with me. I am a sinner. I need Jesus.) I didn’t have a story of overcoming—I didn’t overcome drug addition, or stealing, or idol worship, or, or, or….

For a long time, I’ve thought of myself as a pretty good person. I have shortcomings, sure, but I’m a good person. Right?

It’s almost funny; I started writing this blog post a month ago, and each week I’ve felt like it wasn’t quite ready yet. It wasn’t quite the right time. And then this morning, Pastor Dan preached out of 1 John 1:5-10, and he specifically talked about how we have to be honest about our sinful natures, that we shouldn’t take our sin lightly. Just because our sins were forgiven on the cross doesn’t mean we don’t need to continue to ask for forgiveness. He spoke about the process of sanctification and how Christ is conquering our temptations—because saved doesn’t mean free from temptations. This sermon was another thread in this concept that I’ve been trying to wrap my head around.

Sometimes sins aren’t obvious. Many times, actually.

When I was a girl, maybe 7 years old, maybe a little older, Pastor Bob gave a sermon that has stuck with me. The passage was from Song of Solomon. It was definitely a sermon directed at married couples, not at little girls doodling in the pews. I don’t remember the whole sermon, but I remember parts of it. He was talking about marriages and the things that can chew away at a marriage. I can’t give you examples of the things he gave examples of—because that’s not what stuck with me. I remember him clearly saying, “You have let foxes in your vineyard. Do. Not. Let foxes in your vineyard.”

He said this loudly and with conviction.

I remember thinking, “I will never let foxes in my vineyard.”

Those of you who are married are probably chuckling at the naivety of that thought. Sometimes the foxes get into your vineyard when you’re not looking. Sometimes you leave a gate open you didn’t know was there.

If the snake could get into the garden, a fox can get into your vineyard.

There have been moments this past year where I’ve thought, “Anna, you’ve got a fox in your vineyard.”

But I’m not married. I don’t have a vineyard that I’ve been cultivating with a husband. Why is this sermon on marriage one that has stuck with me for so long?

But…but my relationship with Christ is like a marriage. This is an analogy I’ve come to resent—even though it’s Biblical. (My own doubts and insecurities about being single have begun to seep into this beautiful description of my relationship with my Savior.) Scripture describes Christ as the bridegroom of the church, and I am a part of the church. And I’ve been working on this relationship for most of my life. He and I have been really working on this vineyard for a long time.

There are things that I’ve been silently battling. I haven’t asked for help.

Pride—one of my sins.

I was listening to a podcast from Elevation Church, and Pastor Steven Furtick made a clear statement that worry is a sin. Jesus himself says in Matthew 6:25, “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink, or about your body, what you will wear.  Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? … Can anyone of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?” He goes on to describe how God cares for the birds and the fields, why would He not care for us? Do not worry.

Yet I do. I worry a lot.

It hadn’t occurred to me that this worry was a sin. Which may seem fairly obvious to some of you, but I honestly hadn’t thought of my worry as doubting my God’s ability to care for me.

My desire to be in control, my pride in my own abilities, speaks to a worship of self.

Pride and worry are two foxes I’ve let into my vineyard.

Thankfully, I have a Savior who is willing to get into the dirt with me and root out the problems in my heart.

Thankfully, I don’t have to chase the foxes out on my own.

Thankfully, the work on the cross is still working in me and Christ is sanctifying me with His blood.