There’s an old Sunday school chorus that goes like this:
Root them out, get them gone,
All the little rabbits in the fields of corn!
Envy, jealousy, malice, and pride,
They must never in your heart abide.
While its poetry may be marginal at best, the song’s imagery is potent—and the message is remarkably timeless and practical: For all of us, there are weeds in our hearts that need to be rooted out and pests that need to be gotten rid of.
One of the chief among these pesky intruders, the Scriptures tell us, is bitterness. Paul says in Ephesians 4:30–31, “Do not grieve the Holy Spirit of God, by whom you were sealed for the day of redemption. Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you, along with all malice.” And in another potent image, the book of Hebrews tells us, “See to it that no one fails to obtain the grace of God; that no ‘root of bitterness’ springs up and causes trouble, and by it many become defiled” (12:15).
It’s quite the thought that bitterness not only grieves the Spirit but also calls in question the reality of our profession of faith. Yet the warnings are clear and dire, and they justify the characterization of bitterness as an insatiable pest and an overpowering weed, stealing away and choking out the fruit that God intends for us.
Identifying the Weed
If we picture bitterness as a weed that sprouts in the heart, then we can imagine ourselves identifying it by its three leaves.
First, we may identify the weed of bitterness by the habit of opposition. A bitter heart is a grumbling heart, and grumblers express themselves through anger, resentment, dissatisfaction, and, ultimately, opposition to much of the benign work that goes on around them. If someone says “black,” they say “white.” If someone says “plain,” they say “plaid.” If someone says “go,” they say “stop.” In the wilderness wanderings recorded in the books of Exodus and Numbers, the people grumbled and opposed Moses because they didn’t trust him—and, more importantly, they didn’t trust God, who chose and called him. Far from merely rebuking Moses when he sinned, they opposed him and rebelled at every opportunity. Those with embittered hearts will consistently do likewise.
Second, we may identify the weed of bitterness by the presence of unbelief. The bitter heart displays an unwillingness to take God at His word. It takes Proverbs 3:5—“Trust in the LORD with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding”—and turns it on its head: It doesn’t believe that God seeks our good or that He is ultimately in control.
There is no alienation in the Christian life such as may be compared to that which emerges from a bitter heart.
Third, we may identify the weed of bitterness by the presence of disenchantment. Unwittingly, unwillingly even, those in whose hearts the bitter weed has taken root find the taste of every joy that God gives to be spoiled. Songs no longer emerge from the heart but only come from the tongue. Handshakes end at the wrist. The Scriptures die on the printed page.
Tragically, we find that, like most weeds, bitterness spreads further the longer it is tolerated and crowds out the crop. And it also isolates: The only company the bitter want to keep are those who share their disenchantment. Indeed, few who have successfully fended off the bitter root will want to keep company with the griping, complaining crowd! There is no alienation in the Christian life such as may be compared to that which emerges from a bitter heart.
Tearing Up the Root
What, then, of the weed’s root? If we want to pull bitterness up and prevent its return, where do we need to lay our hands?
First of all, we need to root out jealousy from our hearts. It is hard to say just how many churches have been rendered useless by jealousies that emerged because someone thought they should be in a certain place that they weren’t or that they deserved something they didn’t get. King Saul, for instance—perhaps the great biblical example of an embittered soul—became hostile when the women of Israel sang, “Saul has struck down his thousands, and David his ten thousands.” He inferred wrongly, “What more can he have but the kingdom?” (1 Sam. 18:7–8).
Second, we need to root out our disobedience against God’s Word. Often, when we find bitterness in ourselves, we won’t have to look far to discover that we’ve rebelled against a clear dictate of Scripture—something that is absolutely crystal clear, yet we refused to do it, and we knew it to be so. Saul’s declension began with those acts of disobedience and folly that precipitated God’s rejection (1 Sam. 13:13–14; 15:17–19). We will not rebel against God’s Word without resenting, at least in some small measure, the Word and the one who gave it.
Where you find bitterness, you will find strife.
Third, we need to root out suspicion from our hearts. Saul’s bitterness was shot through with suspicion. When Saul became jealous of David, he “eyed David from that day on” (1 Sam. 18:9). Suspicious people hunt for hidden agendas and look for malice behind every word and deed. They will have no shortage of resentments to embitter them, since they are skilled at finding them wherever they look.
Fourth, we need to root out strife from our relationships. Saul, again, had no shortage of conflict with David. Where you find bitterness, you will find strife; and where you find strife, you will find bitterness.
Fifth, we need to beware how we respond to our circumstances. Hebrews 12:11 tells us that God may discipline us through hard circumstances, which “seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it” (emphasis added). In other words, two people may go through the same circumstances (indeed, Saul and David both faced threats to themselves and their kingdoms), but one will bow under the wonder of God’s discipline while the other will resent it. As the old rhyme goes, “Two men looked out from prison bars; one saw mud, the other stars.”
The Weedkiller
Any and all of these things can take root and spread the weed of bitterness among God’s people. We must stand ready to prevent their incursion into our hearts and fellowships. But how? We need a weedkiller.
The best way to deal with bitterness is by cultivating its opposite: grateful forgiveness—namely, in recognition of the great debt from which we ourselves have been forgiven. If God can not only put up with us but also love us, sinful as we are; if God can forgive all our sins, past, present, and future; if God can overlook our faults and weaknesses for the sake of Jesus, then what possible right do we have to resent the faults of others? (See Matt. 18:21–35.)
The best way to deal with bitterness is by cultivating its opposite: grateful forgiveness.
Jesus was an innocent man—the only one who ever truly had a right to be bitter because of how He was treated. Yet His cry from the cross was “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do” (Luke 23:34). We can also choose forgiveness—not by repressing our anger at the wrong done but by recognizing that all the sin against us, as well as our own against others, has been dealt with at the cross of Jesus Christ.
Forgiveness is not a glandular condition, not an emotional effulgence. We choose to forgive people. Every time we are wronged, we either forgive, or we don’t. And when we don’t, bitterness will take root.
There is no cure for bitterness like the Gospel of Christ—which is exactly why we should fear that we may be outside of the Gospel if we find that root of bitterness within us. But when we have known Christ’s forgiveness, we will find in it the motive and the power to put on our gloves, grab our tools, get down on our knees, and tend our garden.
This article was adapted from the sermon “Bitterness” by Alistair Begg.
