In The Ten Commandments, we have the rudiments of a legal code. Torah[1] however, is much bigger than a legal code. In it, specific commands are woven into the rich context of Israel’s covenant living before Holy God. Thus, while a judicial body might hold one accountable to say, Exodus 20:13, “You shall not murder,”[2] in terms of whether someone intentionally killed someone or not and for just or unjust cause, their power stops there. Its context in Scripture, however, adds layers. God’s desire goes further than whether or not we actually swing the axe. He looks at the heart of the one thinking about the axe.
A pastor of mine, once asked the room, “What do you think it would take to drive you to murder?” Eager to look both tough and spiritual, people offered up several scenarios, all extreme, in which their Christian heart might be driven to murder. Horrific imaginings indeed. One even pontificated about time travel and meeting up with Hitler as a child. Me? I said, “Maybe if someone steals my parking spot.” It was then that everyone realized that I’d won the game.
Jesus knew that murder doesn’t begin with an act of violence; it begins with anger, resentment, envy, jealousy, hurt feelings, consuming greed, frustration, or even contempt for your fellow man. It begins with selfishness run amuck. In Matthew 5:21-22, Jesus says:
“You have heard that the ancients were told, ‘YOU SHALL NOT COMMIT MURDER’ and ‘Whoever commits murder shall be liable to the court.’ “But I say to you that everyone who is angry with his brother shall be guilty before the court; and whoever shall say to his brother, ‘Raca,’[3] shall be guilty before the supreme court; and whoever shall say, ‘You fool,’ shall be guilty enough to go into the fiery hell.”
My temper has been a struggle. No bodies in my trunk, but on more than a few occasions there certainly could have been. My heart has touched murder, and even its shadow in my soul has terrified me on a few occasions.
I remember weeping with my mother over a Christmas morning incident in which I smashed a gift I had lovingly and excitedly bought special for my little brother. He hurt me with his contempt for me (a particularly volatile button in my soul) and I lost it. I was upset because I could not undo the damage. But I was more upset, because I knew that I might just as easily have destroyed him for whom I lovingly and excitedly bought presents.
I’ve murdered souls without harming a hair. On the last day of elementary school, as my younger brother mounted the bus in joy, he spun to point out a girl in his class whom he’d been ridiculing to me for a while. “That’s her! That’s her! Doesn’t she look ridiculous!” She did. She was one of those unfortunates in looks and mind and social awareness that make “normal people” feel uncomfortable, and make foolish children, who don’t know how to deal with such negative emotional responses, torment them. I laughed out loud at the sight of her. Nay, I guffawed. She was mounting the stairs of the bus next to our bus, obviously excited with everyone else that it was the last day of school. She was joyous and sharing a beautiful moment with her classmates, feeling one with the group in a comradery normally denied her. Then she locked eyes with me, pointing, and howling, gleeful scorn etching my entire frame and face. I watched her soul die. I knew in an instant what a horrid thing I’d done and that I would never be able to undo it. Later, alone, I wept.
Things with my brother got worse after puberty. I was bigger, stronger, faster, better prepared as a fighter, and in a much fouler mood. Again, he incited me to violence. See what I did there? I put part of it on him. From his perspective, he should take part of it onto himself, contemptuously poking a bear, but for my part, I must take it all. I allowed my temper to grow almost beyond my ability to contain it. It was not a blackout rage. I remember it all. I felt murder coursing through my veins; my mind conjured the images of bludgeoning, blood, and death, hands gripping neck, fists cracking bone, rending, tearing, snapping. Thank heaven my older brother and sister were there to protect him. Their very presence gave me strength to restrain my hand. In the full frenzy of my… rage does not capture it… my wrath… no… I know no word in English that satisfies for what I felt… but in the height of it, God broke in and let me see my own murderous heart as He’d done that Christmas… that day on the bus. It broke me. I cried out for divine mercy and more importantly for a divine cleansing… I needed help and begged God for it. He did not disappoint.
It reminded me of part of a poem that goes:
“Once I prayed, I knew not what I said; Show me myself, oh Lord, alas I did not dread; The hideous sight which now, I shudder to behold; Because I knew not self-aright; And I was led in answer to my prayer; As step by step to see my wretched heart lay bare; Then I prayed: stay, Lord, I cannot bear the sight; And pityingly His hand was stayed, His hand was stayed.”[4]
Many of us have never learned how to properly manage negative emotions and we tend to express this emotional immaturity through anger; many ugly works and words flow out of that anger. This is where murder hides, lurking in wait in our unexamined souls. Bring this to God. Seek self-knowledge from the Holy Spirit. Cry out for divine wisdom from Christ, so that you might develop the character of Jesus.
~Andrew D. Sargent, PhD
[1] First five books of the bible.
[2] The famous reading in the King James Bible renders Exodus 20:13 as “Thou shalt not kill.” The Hebrew word used behind “kill,” however, does not mean kill; it means murder… the unlawful inexcusable taking of a human life. There are different forms of “killing” that are not only allowed, but demanded in order to maintain Divine Order.
[3] This is an Aramaic term that is a explicative uttered in rage, meaning, “Fool!” or “Worthless Fellow!”
[4] Helen McDowell, “Once I Prayed.” You can read the whole wonderful thing here: https://www.fincher.org/Quotes/Friends.shtml.
