OU blog

Personal Blogs

Jim McCrory

The Happiness Evil Cannot Give

Visible to anyone in the world
Edited by Jim McCrory, Saturday 12 September 2026 at 08:25

The Creator has so inseparably interwoven the laws of eternal justice with the happiness of each individual, that the latter cannot be attained but by observing the former.”

English jurist William Blackstone

sketch.png

The Happiness Evil Cannot Give

In my early morning today with the Word of God, I became fixed upon a single proverb:

“Evil men understand not judgment: but they that seek the LORD understand all things.” — Proverbs 28:5

My first instinct might easily have been the instinct of most of us: Well, I am not an evil man.

The word “evil” immediately summons people worse than ourselves. We think of the cruel, the violent, the corrupt and the obviously wicked. Whatever else Proverbs 28:5 might be saying, surely it is talking about them.

But perhaps that instinct itself should make us stop.

Psychologists speak of what is sometimes called the Lake Wobegon effect, named after Garrison Keillor’s fictional town where “all the children are above average.” Applied to ourselves, it describes our rather endearing—and sometimes dangerous—tendency to rate ourselves more favourably than is warranted. Most of us find it easier to recognise selfishness, prejudice, pride and questionable motives in other people than in ourselves.

Then we encounter the Hebrew word translated “evil” in Proverbs 28:5.

It is raʿ (רַע), a wonderfully uncomfortable little word. It can certainly describe what is wicked or evil, but its range is broader: that which is bad, harmful, disagreeable, morally wrong or injurious. Suddenly it becomes harder to keep the proverb at a comfortable distance.

The question is not simply, Am I an evil person. It is this: What is there within me that bends away from the good?

And now the proverb becomes intensely personal.

Its remarkable claim is that evil does not merely affect our behaviour; it affects our judgment. “Evil men understand not judgment.” The Hebrew word translated “judgment,” mishpat, carries the idea of justice, right judgment, what is fitting and what ought to be.

In other words, our moral condition affects our ability to see.

That is a profound observation about human nature. We like to imagine ourselves as detached judges of reality, calmly examining evidence and reaching rational conclusions. But human beings are not quite like that. Our reasoning travels in company with our desires. We are remarkably good at finding reasons for believing that the thing we want is also the thing we ought to have.

Greed can rename itself ambition. Pride can masquerade as self-respect. Resentment can call itself justice. Selfishness can present itself as freedom. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the moral compass moves.

And this matters enormously because we are all searching for essentially the same country. Namely, Happiness.

We may give it different names—peace, fulfilment, success, love, contentment—but behind so much human activity lies the hope that somewhere ahead there is a life worth having.

Here Proverbs 28:5 contains a warning of extraordinary importance. If evil distorts judgment, then evil may distort our understanding of happiness itself.

Imagine a traveller whose compass is gradually becoming unreliable. He desperately wants to reach home. He walks faster, works harder and covers enormous distances. His problem is not lack of sincerity or effort. His problem is that the instrument by which he determines direction is pointing away from his destination.

There is something like this in the relationship between goodness and happiness.

We may seek happiness through wealth and gradually become incapable of saying “enough.” We may seek it through admiration and become dependent upon the opinions of others. We may seek it through sexual gratification while damaging our capacity for faithful intimacy. We may seek freedom by avoiding obligation and eventually discover that the deepest friendships are built precisely upon loyalty, sacrifice and commitment.

Evil offers us the fruit while quietly taking an axe to the tree.

This is why goodness and happiness may be much more intimately connected than our culture sometimes imagines. Goodness is not merely the entrance fee God demands before allowing us to be happy. Goodness may describe the very kind of creature a human being must increasingly become in order to experience the deepest forms of happiness.

The grateful person can enjoy what he possesses. The generous person can delight in another’s flourishing. The humble person does not have to win every comparison. The forgiving person is gradually released from the exhausting task of carrying yesterday’s injuries. The faithful person can enter the extraordinary security of being deeply known and deeply trusted.

Virtue enlarges our capacity for certain kinds of joy.

And vice does the opposite.

Envy makes another person’s happiness painful to us. Greed makes “enough” perpetually inaccessible. Pride turns other people into competitors. Lust can turn persons into objects. Resentment permits someone who injured us years ago to continue occupying rooms within our hearts.

The terrible possibility is that evil does not merely prevent us from obtaining happiness. It can damage the person who must experience happiness.

And then comes the glorious second half of the proverb:

“But they that seek the LORD understand all things.”

Notice the word seek. It does not say that those who seek God already possess perfect understanding. They are travellers too. They can make mistakes, take wrong turns and misunderstand the landscape.

But their compass is continually being brought back to true north.

Perhaps this is one of the deepest lessons of Proverbs 28:5. In the great human race for happiness—indeed, for eternal happiness—the first question is not simply, How quickly am I travelling? Nor even, How happy do I feel at this moment?

The greater question is:

What direction am I becoming pointed in?

For if God is the source of goodness, truth, love and ultimately happiness itself, then seeking Him is not a diversion from the human search for happiness.

It is the recalibration of the compass by which we hope to find it.

Permalink Add your comment
Share post
Jim McCrory

Come Sit With the Creator For a While

Visible to anyone in the world
Edited by Jim McCrory, Sunday 30 August 2026 at 09:14

sketch.png

Come Sit With the Creator For a While

Sometime back in the fourth century, a troubled man sat weeping in a garden in Milan. His name was Augustine, and although he would eventually become one of the most influential Christian thinkers in history, at that moment he was simply a man in turmoil, painfully aware of the distance between the life he was living and the life he knew he ought to live.

Then, from a nearby house, he heard the voice of a child repeating a little refrain:

Tolle, lege. Tolle, lege.

“Take up and read. Take up and read.”

Augustine later described the moment in his Confessions. He took the words as an instruction, picked up the Scriptures, and read. What he encountered there became part of the great turning point of his life.

There is something wonderfully simple about those words.

Take up and read.

If you have never read the Bible, or have not opened one for many years, I would like to offer you that same invitation. Not an invitation to understand everything at once, to become religious, or even to settle beforehand what you believe about God. Just take it up and read.

We sometimes imagine the Bible as a distant book: ancient, formidable, filled with unfamiliar names, difficult passages and ideas belonging to another age. Yet the Bible says something rather different about itself:

“Assuredly the word is exceedingly close to you—even in your mouth and your heart—so that you might do it.”

—Deuteronomy 30:14 NKJV

I love that expression: exceedingly close to you.

That is increasingly how I have come to think about the Bible. Not merely as a book to be studied, though it certainly rewards study, but as something close enough to enter the ordinary circumstances of a human life.

In my quiet hours, when I sit with the Bible, my prayer is often very simple: Father, what do you have for me today?

Sometimes I need direction. Sometimes discipline. There are aspects of my personality that still need changing, and occasions when I need the uncomfortable honesty of Scripture rather than reassurance. At other times I come carrying a fear, a disappointment, or something I cannot resolve. I read, and sooner or later a sentence seems to arrest me. I stop. Read it again. Sit with it.

And there it is.

For me, this is not merely an interesting thought from an ancient writer. I receive it as communication from God, meeting me in the circumstances of my life.

Cancer medication sometimes has me awake during the night. Oddly enough, I have come to treasure some of those hours. The house is still, the world seems to have withdrawn for a while, and there is time to read without interruption.

Early this morning, my attention settled on a verse in Psalm 118:

“I called on the LORD in distress;
The LORD answered me and set me in a broad place.”

—Psalm 118:5 NKJV

I stayed there for a while.

Life has many ways of hemming us in. Illness can do it. So can fear. There are pressures outside our control: the unkindness of others, slander and gossip, unhappy relationships, financial worries, loneliness, uncertainty about the future. Then there are the pressures within us, those private struggles that other people may know nothing about.

The writer of the psalm knew that feeling.

The Hebrew language behind his words makes the image especially vivid. The word associated with his distress carries the idea of narrowness or confinement—a tight place, somewhere you can hardly move.

Then comes the answer.

The Hebrew word merḥāḇ means breadth, spaciousness, room.

The movement of the verse is therefore almost physical. The psalmist cries to God from the narrow place, and God answers him in spaciousness.

From confinement into room.

I find that image beautiful because God does not always remove the circumstance that confines us. Some things cannot simply be wished away. I still have cancer. A broken relationship may still be broken tomorrow. Someone who has treated us badly may never apologize. Grief does not obey a timetable.

And yet, in circumstances that have not changed, something within us can.

The walls no longer seem quite so close.

There is room to breathe.

That morning the verse was no longer simply something written by a Hebrew poet thousands of years ago. It had reached across those centuries and entered a quiet room where one man happened to be awake because of his medication.

“The word is exceedingly close to you.”

I thought again of Augustine in his garden and that child’s strange little song drifting over the wall.

Take up and read.

You do not need to approach the Bible with someone else’s certainty. You can bring your questions with you. Bring your doubts too, if you have them. Bring your disappointments, your curiosity, your objections, your hopes, and all the untidy pieces of being human. The Bible is remarkably unafraid of such things. Its pages are populated by frightened people and courageous people, doubters and believers, failures and saints, kings and prisoners, grieving mothers, angry prophets, bewildered disciples and people desperately looking for a way home.

So if there is a Bible somewhere in your house, take it down.

Open it.

You might begin with one of the Gospels and meet Jesus through the recollections of those who knew him. Or begin with the Psalms, where almost every human emotion eventually finds a voice. Do not worry about how much you read. A few verses may be enough.

And before you begin, you might even try the little prayer I use in those quiet hours:

Father, what do you have for me?

Then take up and read.

The book that seems so ancient may turn out to be exceedingly close.

Note

Are you a regular visitor or a new visitor? If so, please drop me a note in private and tell me what articles have appealed to you. You can reach me at JimAlba@proton.me

Scripture quotations marked NKJV are taken from the New King James Version®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Permalink Add your comment
Share post
Jim McCrory

You Have a Year to Live, What Will you Do With It?

Visible to anyone in the world
Edited by Jim McCrory, Friday 17 October 2025 at 08:02

sketch.png

“There’s a young man inside me.

 He has followed me around all his life.

 His age, I do not know, but 

he is always there

 He comforts me

 and his presence 

convinces me

 God has eternity in view for me” 

Last autumn, I went through a series of medical examinations. Then came the day to see the consultant for the results.

That morning, my wife and I read our usual scripture together—Psalm 91:1–2:

He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High
Will abide in the shadow of the Almighty.
I will say to the Lord, “You are my refuge and my fortress,
My God, in whom I trust.”

I turned to her and said quietly, “We are going to get bad news today.”
She agreed, her face pensive.

God has often spoken to us through scripture in ways that feel precise, almost personal—as if the right verse lands in our lap just when it is needed. And sure enough, that day the news confirmed what I had already sensed: the faithful cells in my prostate had turned hostile, rebelling and spreading to the pancreas and liver—and perhaps beyond.

The consultant, a kind Asian man, looked worried that I hadn’t fully grasped the gravity of what he was telling me.
“You are very bravado about this?” he asked gently.

“There’s a young man inside me,” I replied. “He has followed me all my life. His age, I do not know, but he is always there. He comforts me, and his presence convinces me that God has eternity in view for me.”

We came home that afternoon and read the whole of Psalm 91. Both of us felt a deep sense of peace. I have never experienced what the Germans call Torschlusspanik—that sense of the gates closing in. Instead, I wake each morning with a miraculous calm, the kind that only God and Christ can give.

Contentment and Gratitude

The first thing I needed was space. When word spreads that you have a terminal illness, people from your past often want to speak with you. But I am a solitary person by nature, one who needs time to reflect and put life in order.

A year has almost passed since that day. Who knows what the next will bring? Yes, the side effects of treatment are wearying—tiredness, intrusive thoughts, dry eyes, and other discomforts—but my wife and I have not lost our joy.

We are grateful for what we have accomplished this year: the quiet beauty of summer in Scotland, the camping trips, the people we met along the way, and the opportunities to share our faith.

Exercise and nature remain restorative companions. Cancer and stress are not harmonious bedfellows, so I carefully guard my peace and cherish it.

I still take pleasure in reading and in writing my book What It Means to Be Human each day. Like the ancient cave painters who pressed their handprints onto the stone, I write to leave a mark—a reminder that I was here, that I lived, that I believed.

Life is a journey, but the destination can be determined—through God’s undeserved kindness.

When a man dies, will he live again?
All the days of my hard service I will wait,
until my renewal comes.
—Job 14:14 (BSB)

 

"Renewal", a wonderful concept.

Image by Copilot

Permalink Add your comment
Share post

This blog might contain posts that are only visible to logged-in users, or where only logged-in users can comment. If you have an account on the system, please log in for full access.

Total visits to this blog: 2608820