“For the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and of spirit, of joints and of marrow, and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart.”
It is Monday the 13th. And the 13th of any month holds a special place in my heart. It calls back a memory almost fifty years old.
I was a fifteen-year-old, trekking that strange land of adolescence, confidence and uncertainty in a tug-of-war with my teenage heart. In 1974, I was uncertain of many things: girls (I was awkward), my place on the high school baseball team (I didn’t make it), and golf (my dad’s passion, not mine).
But I was very confident of one thing: I was not going to pay rent to live at home.
When I was fifteen, my dad had the harebrained idea that I should contribute to the family income if I wanted to enjoy the family amenities; in other words, pay room and board. I threw a temper tantrum:
This was insane, idiotic, crazy! No way! I wasn’t going to do it. Over my dead body!
Of course, these were the thoughts running through my mind. To know my dad, is to know why those thoughts were never released to the public.
Dad was a tough cuss, the son of a hard-nosed Lithuanian immigrant. Dad was a jack-of-all-tradesman who could design and build anything from the house we lived in, to the bunk beds my brother and I slept on, to the golf course he managed. A strict disciplinarian, my dad was not the kind of guy that you talked back to. For that matter, he was not the guy you had a conversation with; if he said it, you did it.
So . . . even though I was son of the tough cuss, and at times an ornery little cuss, I kept my “convictions” to myself.
Proverbs 13:1
One Sunday morning before church, while in my state of onerous discontent, I remember opening my Bible to Proverbs 13. If this seems a strange act from the previously mentioned me, you need to know I wasn’t a complete hoodlum. Generally, I was a smiling kid; just a smiling kid harboring a big frown in my heart. Blessed by great youth leaders who taught me the importance of reading God’s word and a mom who modeled that discipline, picking up the Bible was not unusual.
In the providence of God, this teenage defiant, opened God’s Word to Proverbs 13:1, which reads,
“A wise son hears his father’s instruction, but a scoffer does not listen to rebuke.”
Talk about a holy U-Turn. God's word hit me right between the eyes, or more importantly went straight to my heart, cut through my rebellion, softened my stubbornness, and created a renewed desire to obey my dad.
“In that instant, I saw myself: I was the scoffer, not the wise son!”
This is the kind of heart work God does — all the time — when we open his Word!
The Pocketknife
Recently, a friend — knowing my love for cars and wrenching — passed many, MANY tools my way. Buried in the boxes and buckets of tools I hauled from his garage to mine was a pocketknife. I haven’t owned a pocketknife in decades. That tool, stout and sturdy with brass end caps and a hardened steel blade, has become a new treasure. It has also become my reminder of God’s bigger double-edge sword, the one the writer of Hebrews describes:
“For the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and of spirit, of joints and of marrow, and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart.”
God’s pocketknife is living
When the writer of Hebrews says, “The word of God is living,” he means God’s word is not a dead book. If it gathers dust on the shelf, that’s not a reflection of the book, but of the one who fails to read it. Jeremiah describes God’s word as a hammer (Jeremiah 23:29, see also 2 Corinthians 10:5), the Psalmist calls it a “light for our path” (Psalm 119:105), and Hebrews, a sharp double-edged sword.
That teenage Sunday morning, I discovered the hammer-pounding, path-illuminating, soul-revealing power of God’s Word.
God’s pocketknife is living and active
The writer of Hebrews continues, “The word of God is living and active . . . “
“Active” conveys the idea of effectual! In other words, it accomplishes God’s work. Paul puts it this way, “All Scripture is breathed out by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness . . .”
But Paul does not stop there! Why? Because God’s word is not a paper traffic cop, simply steering me into moral conformity to satisfy his divine decrees. It is effectual to the end “that the man of God may be complete, equipped for every good work.” (2 Timothy 3:16-17).
Little boys (and sometimes big ones) throw temper tantrums, they pout and fuss and kick up dust when life doesn’t go their way or the path is more arduous than they imagined. But that’s not the road to maturity, to godliness, to holiness, to joy, to the life Christ came to give. So God, who is interested in turning little boys into mature men and little girls into wise women, effects heart change as we open his Word.
That little incident way back then was my introduction to “effectual.” It was also a precursor to many more effectual encounters with the Bible.
God’s pocketknife is sharper than any two-edged sword
That day I discovered, maybe for the first time, what I now know deep in my being. God’s pocketknife pierces my soul and cuts right to my heart — not to harm me, but to help me. You see, God’s kindness was on full display that day. In revealing the young scoffer I was and opening my ears to listen and obey, God was shaping my character, building my relationship with my dad, and saving me from a world of pain then and now.
Of course, God does this for all of us . . . all the time.
God’s pocketknife comforts and encourages, strengthens and empowers. It gives wisdom and stamina, peace and joy … and a better understanding of who He is and how He works in our lives and in our world.
My Bible Reading Rhythm
Most days, no matter where I am in my Bible-reading plan, I usually read the chapter of Proverbs that corresponds to the day of the month. So this morning I took out my Bible and opened it to Proverbs 13:1, “A wise son hears his father’s instruction; but a scoffer doesn’t listen to rebuke.”
And with that verse comes a memory and thanks to God . . . for my paper pocketknife, for a dad who disciplined me, and for the people who taught me and modeled for me the importance of reading God’s Word.
By the way, I am happy to report that, as it turned out, my dad never charged me a dime. More importantly, God worked a change in my heart and gave me a lesson for a lifetime:
Carry his pocketknife. Use it every day.