“So the question is not whether you have idols. You have many. The question is which one you would sell the others to keep.”
(Kendall Lankford) There is a curious thing about the first commandment, which is that almost no one believes they have broken it. Murder, yes. Theft, perhaps. Adultery, well, of the eyes if not of the body. But idols? Idols are wooden men in jungles and golden calves in deserts and fat little statues in temples on the other side of the world. The modern man hears Thou shalt have no other gods before me and feels a faint, rather pleasant solidarity with Moses, the way one feels solidarity with a man condemning a crime one has not yet thought of committing.
The truth is that we break this commandment before breakfast.
We break it in the silent thirty seconds before our feet hit the floor, when the soul, still warm and unguarded, leans toward whatever it has decided is the meaning of its life and whispers good morning. We break it in the soft glow of the phone we keep face down on the nightstand like a small dark altar. By nine in the morning most of us have committed more idolatry than the high priests of Baal managed in a season, and we have done it while believing ourselves to be reasonable, civilized, modern people who would never bow to a calf.
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