Thursday, September 11, 2025

Nobel Lie? Sin, Choice, and Responsibility in a Broken World

 

From the Garden of Eden to the complexities of modern society, humanity has wrestled with deception dressed as virtue. In Genesis, Satan approached Eve with a noble-sounding promise: freedom, wisdom, and the chance to be like God. Yet behind the alluring words lay destruction (Genesis 3:5). This “nobel lie” doesn’t shout or coerce—it whispers, appealing to our desire to be independent, to act as our own gods. Eve acted, and Adam failed to speak truth, allowing deception to take root. The lesson is clear: deception thrives not only on individual weakness but also on the avoidance of personal responsibility.

As I prepare for the upcoming year working with children who have experienced extraordinary circumstances, these truths take on urgent meaning. These children naturally ask questions we sometimes struggle to answer ourselves: Why is there sin in the world? Why does a good and loving God allow this? How can God create all things and yet allow such suffering? The reality of sin touches every life—young and old, famous and unseen (Romans 3:20)—and confronting these questions honestly is essential.


Here, honesty matters. Sin is universal. Original sin may be uncomfortable to accept, but it levels us all before God. None of us can escape the reality of moral failure through achievement, wealth, or cleverness. Yet human nature continually seeks to justify itself—blaming circumstances, systems, or other people for choices we make. This avoidance of personal responsibility is exactly what the nobel lie exploits.


Paradoxically, the presence of sin allows moral choice to exist. Without the possibility of wrong, we could not truly choose right. Sin presents the contrast between obedience and rebellion, action aligned with God’s truth or turning away. But the nobel lie tempts us to escape responsibility entirely: to blame society, culture, or ideology for moral failures. We may even sink into despair, overwhelmed by the weight of our weakness, or rationalize our behavior with clever self-justifications. Scripture, however, calls us neither to despair nor to excuse ourselves; it calls us to see sin honestly, to confront our failures, and to take responsibility.


In modern society, this dynamic often manifests in narratives of victimization. Calls for justice and equality are real and necessary, but the nobel lie can distort them. When attention focuses on one group’s grievances, the scales may tip, leaving other perspectives unseen or dismissed. In attempting to correct injustices, society sometimes risks replacing accountability with selective outrage or moral favoritism. The danger is subtle: virtue can appear to be achieved while pride, envy, or self-interest quietly manipulate the process.


The first human story illustrates this pattern. Eve, tempted by the nobel lie, acted independently, believing the promise of wisdom and autonomy. Adam stood silently, failing to uphold God’s command. Deception flourished through both individual weakness and mutual failure. Today, moral truth is similarly compromised when individuals or societies fail to acknowledge responsibility, while elevating partial narratives over universal accountability.


  • C.S. Lewis recognized the dangers of freedom without accountability. In his reflections on democracy, he wrote that unchecked power must be balanced to prevent corruption. Similarly, sin and personal irresponsibility left unchecked can distort justice and destroy community.

  • Throughout my education, I studied thinkers like Freud, Nietzsche, and Maslow, each of whom wrestled with human behavior and morality. Freud emphasized unconscious drives; Nietzsche critiqued morality and the illusions of human ideals; Maslow explored human motivation and self-actualization. Each provides insight into the human struggle, but none account for the Creator or the ultimate source of truth. Their frameworks often mirror the nobel lie: suggesting that humans can define good and evil apart from God, or escape the consequences of sin through intellect or philosophy.


These truths are more than abstract ideas—they guide how we equip children to navigate life:

  • Helping them recognize that wrong actions are part of life, not a personal failing.

  • Providing tools to make wise choices despite difficult circumstances.

  • Teaching accountability, empathy, and resilience as antidotes to the effects of sin.

  • Showing that while sin exists, God’s love, guidance, and justice are constant.


The nobel lie exposes the human tendency to avoid responsibility, pursue self-interest, and embrace deceptive appearances of virtue. Scripture, by contrast, offers clarity: God never deceives, and His commands guide us toward life and justice. Recognizing sin equips us to embrace moral responsibility, navigate societal tensions wisely, and act with integrity. Choice is real, consequences are real, and accountability—both to God and to one another—is essential for true justice.


Modern society struggles to balance justice, responsibility, and equality. Calls to elevate one group may unintentionally tip the scales, while the nobel lie encourages self-justification or despair. For children who have experienced trauma, understanding these truths can be transformative: they learn to confront sin honestly, take responsibility, and navigate life with courage, discernment, and resilience. By acknowledging our shared condition, facing our personal failures, and grounding our choices in God’s truth, we gain humility, freedom, and the ability to pursue justice that is both fair and enduring.

What Makes This Day Different?



There are moments in history that pierce the soul of a nation. September 11, 2001, was one of those moments. We watched towers crumble, lives vanish, and an illusion of safety shatter in an instant. Yet, in those dark hours, something remarkable happened. We turned back to each other, and we turned back to God. The language of prayer filled the airwaves. Churches overflowed. Strangers became neighbors. We knew instinctively that relativism could not carry us. Feelings could not anchor us. There was only one foundation solid enough to stand on: the Word of God.

For a brief time, we remembered what mattered. Life was sacred, not because we said so, but because God said so. Good and evil were real, not cultural constructs but eternal truths. We stood united, not because our politics agreed, but because our souls recognized a higher authority. America’s heartbeat was steady because it beat in rhythm with something greater than itself.

But two decades have passed, and the drift has been unmistakable. We have turned from the Rock that held us together and wandered into the wilderness of self-worship. The authority of Scripture has been exchanged for the authority of feelings. The voice of God has been drowned out by the chorus of “what works for me.” We see people burning herbs and crystals, reaching for psychedelic experiences, and bowing to the supposed spiritual power of nature. It looks like peace, but it is hollow. It looks like freedom, but it binds the soul in chains.

The tragedy of yesterday—the violent murder of Charlie Kirk—shakes us again. It is a reminder that when a nation casts aside the moral anchors of God’s Word, chaos does not wait at the door; it floods in. Life loses its sacredness. Truth becomes negotiable. Violence becomes a language. We can mourn the loss, and we must. But we must also see the warning. This is what happens when a people forget the foundations that once steadied them.

The Psalmist asked, “If the foundations are destroyed, what can the righteous do?” (Psalm 11:3). That question is no less piercing today. We have a choice before us. We can continue chasing a spirituality of feelings, crystals, and fleeting comforts. We can keep worshiping at the altar of self. Or we can return. We can turn our eyes back to the God who does not change, to the Word that cannot be broken, to the cross where every false authority is silenced by the authority of Christ.

This is not a time for casual faith. This is not a time for sentimental spirituality. This is a time to stand on truth that will not move, even when towers fall and voices are silenced by violence. The remembrance of 9/11 calls us back to unity, but not just any unity—it calls us back to unity under God’s authority. The remembrance of Charlie Kirk’s death calls us to see the cost of abandoning that authority.

We are living in days where light and darkness are being exposed more clearly than ever. We are watching a nation choose between the Rock and the sand, between the eternal Word and the shifting winds of emotion. And the Spirit is still calling: Return. Repent. Remember.

The hope is not gone. The foundations may be shaken, but they are not destroyed. Christ is still the cornerstone. His Word is still living and active. His Spirit is still moving. But the call is urgent. Do not wait for another tragedy to awaken what you already know. Anchor yourself now. Stand firm now. Lift your eyes now.

September 11 reminds us of how fragile life is. Yesterday reminds us of how violent a world without God can become. But the cross of Jesus Christ reminds us of something greater—that death does not have the final word, that truth cannot be silenced, and that the kingdom of God is unshakable.

The time to choose is now. Will we be a people of feelings, or will we be a people of truth? Will we worship ourselves, or will we worship the living God? History will not forget our answer. Neither will heaven.