“We don’t celebrate Halloween, actually.”
We all know the feeling when someone casually mentions a family policy of abstaining from something we freely enjoy.
“We don’t eat dairy.”
“We don’t own a TV.”
“We don’t wear shorts.”
“We don’t financially support Disney.”
“We avoid seed oils.”
“We don’t let the kids read that book series.”
And suddenly, almost involuntarily, we reassess our own position. When people’s consciences lead them to a stricter line than ours, a subtle question rises in our hearts: Am I wrong to do this?
The burden of proof seems to fall not on the stricter position but on the more permissive one. Even if we rehearse all the reasons we concluded we could partake with a clear conscience and reaffirm, Yes, this is lawful and right for us, we may still feel on the defensive.
Why does the harder way seem intuitively holier? Why do many of us instinctively assume that abstention is probably the righteous choice?
‘Do Not Handle, Taste, Touch’
Colossians 2 warns us about the appearance of virtue in asceticism:
If with Christ you died to the elemental spirits of the world, why, as if you were still alive in the world, do you submit to regulations — “Do not handle, Do not taste, Do not touch” (referring to things that all perish as they are used) — according to human precepts and teachings? These have indeed an appearance of wisdom in promoting self-made religion and asceticism and severity to the body, but they are of no value in stopping the indulgence of the flesh. (Colossians 2:20–23)
“Do not handle, do not taste, do not touch” taps into one of the oldest human impulses: the belief that we can restrain the flesh through increasingly strict rules. For millennia, people have recognized that where pleasure exists, danger often lies close behind. The answer? More rules. Stricter rules.
No TV is safer than some TV. No holiday is safer than grateful, intentional holiday-keeping. Zero carbs are safer than receiving food with thanksgiving. Pleasure in the marriage bed is suspect. A new couch is suspect. Music with a bass line may sound a little too good.
We may not agree with each of these specific concerns, but women especially tend to be driven to cohere with the women around them. We influence one another — in big and small ways, from parenting choices to pantry ingredients.
But beneath the influences of our acquaintances, we all have a bias that needs to be examined. We all carry an ancient memory: Our first mother reached out and took what she should have refused. She partook when she ought to have abstained — and the consequences were disastrous.
Eve’s Ancestral Sin
Scripture is clear: Some abstentions are not only wise but required. Some actions are always off-limits — pornography, drunkenness, mind-altering recreational drugs. Certain pleasures are inherently twisted and must be avoided.
Yet even these sins are corruptions of created goods. Sexual immorality twists a pleasure God commands within marriage. Some substances that are sinful as recreational escapes may be righteous as merciful pain relievers on a battlefield or deathbed.
Paul goes so far as to say, “Everything created by God is good, and nothing is to be rejected if it is received with thanksgiving” (1 Timothy 4:4–5). Bread. Books. Wine. Music.
But Paul also recognizes that some Christians cannot partake with a clear conscience — either because their appetites have become dominating or because their freedom would harm a neighbor. To the Corinthians, he wrote,
“All things are lawful,” but not all things are helpful. “All things are lawful,” but not all things build up. Let no one seek his own good, but the good of his neighbor. (1 Corinthians 10:23–24)
And to the Romans: “Everything is indeed clean, but it is wrong for anyone to make another stumble by what he eats” (Romans 14:20).
Sometimes, for the sake of holiness or love, the only faithful path is abstention.
Abstaining for All to See
But in the age of social media, abstention rarely stays private. Choices that once would have been shared quietly with close friends are now announced to hundreds or thousands. The lines between conscience-keeping and publicity blur.
And public abstention introduces fresh temptations — both for the one abstaining and for the one observing. Pride can mingle subtly with principle. Those watching can feel unnecessary pressure or confusion.
Scripture does not share our bias toward abstention. Instead, it gives a far more spacious command: “Whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God” (1 Corinthians 10:31).
God is not glorified by white-knuckled control over every pleasure. “Taste and see that the Lord is good” is a real command (Psalm 34:8), and one of the ways we taste and see that the Lord is good is by enjoying the things he made specifically to be enjoyed. Lavish and grateful participation can be thoroughly God-honoring.
Protected by Holy Pleasure
As daughters of the King, we have to remember an important truth about Eve’s failure: She did indeed sin by partaking in the garden, but behind this sin of licentiousness was a sin of abstention.
Before taking the fruit, she ceased to worship God as the God of abundant yes. She believed the serpent’s portrayal of him as a God of abstention, and only then did she pursue the one thing in the garden that would bring death. Her sin was first a sin of abstention: She abstained from tasting and seeing that the Lord was good. She abstained from enjoying her Creator’s abundant gifts and preserving fellowship with him as the greatest pleasure. Only then did she sin by partaking.
So, can we see created pleasures rightly? Can we receive them as tiny shards of God’s glory, scattered across the earth to meet needs, provide small joys, and whisper truths about the one who made them? Can we use them the way they were meant to be used?
That is the task of the Christian worshiper: not merely to look at the pleasures God gives, but, as C.S. Lewis observed, to look along them. Through them, we only see more of the Giver.
Desiring God