Line in the Sand

4 min read

“Mankind, who cannot even keep the waters clean, has declared himself king and god. Here for a blip in the vast span of eternity.”

I was always that kid who did as much as she could do without “crossing the line.” I was constantly trying to figure out how close I could get to it, how much I could get away with without going too far, without anyone noticing. I wanted to appear obedient and disciplined on the outside, but my flesh still wanted to do what it wanted to do on the inside. Little did I know, that whenever I inched a few steps closer to the line in my mind, the real line had already been crossed ten steps back. 

We live in a postmodern society. One that celebrates relativity and self-interpretations. One that frowns on a standard and ethical objectivism. Some like to use adjectives like “my” or “your” before the word truth, as if the truth could be owned in various forms by different individuals, depending on the day, mood, or perspective. In this society, not only is there not a line, but if you were to go so far as to suggest that such a line existed, you would be upbraided and called a laundry list of colorful and not-so-kind names.

I believe that we are all born with a knowledge of this line. God places it in each heart. As children we knew when we were getting too close to it. Always wanting to touch what we were told not to. Looking both ways before taking a cookie out of the cookie jar. At what point between our childhood and adulthood have we negatively modified our consciences to support our lifestyles? Conscience. Something we cannot see, but are well aware of its presence. 

Until we’re not. The danger of crossing that line in the sand, is that, well, it’s sand. With each movement, sand gets moved around and thrown on top of itself. After we go back and forth enough times, unbeknownst to us, the line begins to fade, until it is not even there anymore. We no longer see that standard of behavior. Not long after, we begin to even doubt that it was ever there, saying things like, “What I say is right for my life is what is actually right.”

My life is built with the bricks of my choices. Who knows how loudly my conscience was yelling at me the first time I decided to do anything wrong? With each passing willful decision to do that wrong thing, my conscience goes from a yell to a whisper, until I can’t say I hear it anymore. Not that it’s not still there persisting, in some cases begging me to stop, but that I have allowed the noise of repeated wrong action to drown out that still lone voice. 

Once we successfully deceive ourselves, we then self-appoint ourselves (as William Ernest Henley put it), “the master of [our] fate, the captain of [our] soul.” Mankind, who cannot even keep the waters clean, has declared himself king and god. Here for a blip in the vast span of eternity. 

How can I grasp ahold of humility and remember that I am the created and not the Creator? How can I sharpen my conscience to its former glory? How can I become sensitive to the fact that I am truly not in control? Can the line in the sand be redrawn? And who is the one that should be doing the redrawing? 

In a previous article, I wrote about self-justification and that there would be a serious conflict of interest if I (the party in question) could deem myself (the party in question) as justified. An outward intervention would be needed for justification to take place. Similarly, we whose actions have dulled the voices of our own consciences cannot expect to be the ones to restore them.

But if not for God, who or what else could we turn to concerning such an “inward” matter? This is not something that a pill could fix, that a workout could fix. There is no product or procedure that could possibly remedy this type of problem. Although the conscience is used as a moral compass of sorts, the reason God gave it to us in the first place was to prove to us His existence.

In Romans 2, Paul explains that we all have God’s law written in our hearts, thereby knowing right from wrong. But then he goes further in verse 15 by explaining that our “conscience also bears witness, and [our] thoughts are either accusing or excusing us.”

If we choose to live in a world where right and wrong are measured person-to-person by various standards, then we cannot even say that the most heinous of crimes are really “wrong” or the sweetest acts of kindness are “right.” There would be no concrete standard. Who is to say that I am right and you are wrong (or vice versa)?

It seems, that whether we like it or not, we need a standard. A line that cannot be erased. An immutable Person who is the same yesterday, today, and forever. He is our Father God. He has given us His Holy Spirit to minister to us, and His Son, the Word, to remain a constant—a measuring stick that we can continue to reference to judge both our action and the authenticity of what we understand, as Christians, to be true.