Month: October 2026

The Great Equalizer

/ taethne

There’s a verse tucked away in the middle of Proverbs that doesn’t get quoted on coffee mugs nearly as often as “Trust in the Lord with all your heart.” It’s Proverbs 29:13, and it goes like this:

“The poor and the oppressor have this in common: the Lord gives sight to the eyes of both.” (NIV)

Or, if you prefer the ESV’s slightly more dramatic flair:

“The poor man and the oppressor meet together; the Lord gives light to the eyes of both.”

At first glance it feels almost too straightforward. Like Solomon looked around, shrugged, and said, “Well, both of these guys can see the sunrise. Next proverb, please.” But linger with it for a minute, and it starts to glow with the quiet, slightly mischievous wisdom of God.

Picture the scene. On one side of the ancient marketplace sits a man whose sandals have more holes than leather. On the other side stands the guy who owns half the marketplace and has strong opinions about how little the first man should be paid. They don’t share a lunch table. They don’t share a worldview. They barely share the same air without tension. And yet—same eyes, same gift of light from the same Lord.

God doesn’t check the bank balance before He flips the switch on another day. The sun rises on the righteous and the unrighteous (Matthew 5:45), and here Solomon points out that the same divine generosity that lets a beggar see the path to the bread line also lets the oppressor see the path to the counting house. It’s almost funny in its fairness. The Lord of the universe is not impressed by our hierarchies. He hands out eyesight like free samples at Costco—no membership required.

This is pure common grace with a side of holy humor. The God who formed the poor man’s eyes also formed the rich man’s. The same breath that gave life to the oppressed gave life to the one doing the oppressing. Neither of them earned the ability to open their eyelids this morning. Both of them will close those same eyelids one day and give an account. In that light, the oppressor’s temporary advantage looks a lot less permanent, and the poor man’s temporary disadvantage looks a lot less final.

From a Christian perspective, this verse is a gentle reminder that the ground at the foot of the cross is perfectly level. Jesus didn’t die for the deserving. He died for people who could see—literally and spiritually—only because God first opened their eyes. Some of us use that sight to chase status and power. Others use it to simply survive. Either way, the light came as a gift.

So the next time you’re tempted to write someone off as “those people” (the lazy poor, the heartless rich, the annoying neighbor who parks like a maniac), remember Proverbs 29:13. The Lord gave that person the same capacity to see beauty, truth, and their own need for grace that He gave you. That’s either deeply comforting or mildly inconvenient, depending on how much you enjoy ranking people. Personally, I find it both—and I’m pretty sure Solomon would have smiled at that.

After all, if God is generous enough to keep the lights on for both the underdog and the top dog, maybe we can afford to be a little more generous with our attitudes too.

Application Questions

  1. When was the last time you caught yourself mentally sorting people into “deserving” and “undeserving” categories? How does this verse challenge that habit?
  2. In what practical ways can you reflect God’s impartial generosity this week—toward someone poorer than you and toward someone who seems to have more power or privilege?
  3. How does remembering that every person you meet received the gift of sight (and life) from the same Lord change the way you pray for both the oppressed and the oppressor?
  4. Where might God be inviting you to “meet together” with someone very different from you, simply because you both stand under the same light?

Owning More, Enjoying Less

/ taethne

Solomon had seen enough warehouses, banquets, and anxious rich men to notice a pattern most of us learn the hard way.

“As goods increase, so do those who consume them. And what benefit are they to the owners except to feast their eyes on them?” (Ecclesiastes 5:11, NIV)

That is a surprisingly cheerful way of saying: congratulations on the extra. Please also meet the crowd that arrived with it.

Get a little more, and life develops appetites you did not put on the grocery list. The house needs more furniture. The furniture needs more space. The space needs more cleaning. The kids need more activities. The activities need more snacks, more gas, more uniforms that will be outgrown by Thursday. Distant cousins develop a sudden interest in “catching up.” The budget, which you thought had finally exhaled, starts breathing through its mouth.

You still get to look at what you have. Solomon grants you that much. You can open the account app, admire the closet, walk through the rooms and think, This is mine. It is a real pleasure, in the way looking at a bakery window is a real pleasure. It is just not the same as sitting down to eat.

The humor in the verse is almost kind. God is not rolling His eyes at your paycheck. He is rescuing you from a myth: that more stuff will finally make the room go quiet. It usually does the opposite. More goods attract more mouths—some of them people you love, some of them bills with no last name, some of them your own restless want for the next slightly nicer thing.

A Christian reading does not turn this into a guilt trip about owning a sofa. Scripture is not allergic to provision. God feeds birds, clothes lilies, and calls work good. Later in the same chapter Solomon even says it is a gift to enjoy what you have been given. The warning is narrower and more useful: do not confuse the gift with the Giver, and do not confuse looking at the gift with living.

Jesus said life does not consist in the abundance of possessions. That is not a slogan for people who have failed at abundance. It is good news for people who succeeded and still felt strangely hungry. Paul could be content with plenty and with little because Christ was the portion that did not shrink when the expenses grew. The laborer in the next verse sleeps. The person guarding a growing pile often does not. One of them has less to stare at. The other has less peace.

So what do we do with the pantry that got bigger?

Use it. Share it. Thank God for it. Let some of it be eaten on purpose—around a table, in a tithe, in a quiet kindness nobody will post about. That kind of consumption is not the tragedy Solomon is describing. The tragedy is owning more and enjoying less, managing more and trusting less, feasting your eyes while your heart stays on a diet.

You do not have to despise what God has put in your hands. You also do not have to keep asking it to save you. Look at it if you like. Then go eat with the people in front of you, and let Christ be the one thing that does not get consumed when everything else does.

Application Questions

  1. What “increase” in your life recently came with extra consumers—people, bills, maintenance, or new expectations—and how did that change the way the increase felt?
  2. Are you currently using what you have, sharing what you have, or mostly just keeping watch over it? What is one ordinary way you could move from looking to enjoying this week?
  3. Who might God be inviting to “eat” from what He has given you—family, a neighbor, the church, someone under strain—and what would generous stewardship look like without turning into anxious people-pleasing?
  4. Where do you need contentment more than a larger margin? What would it sound like to thank God for today’s portion instead of waiting for a future pile that finally feels like enough?

Food In The Fallow Ground

/ taethne

Let’s be honest: most of us have a mental highlight reel of Proverbs. There’s “A soft answer turns away wrath,” which we quote right before yelling at the dog. There’s the classic about the sluggard who won’t even lift a hand to his mouth, which we mutter while staring at the pile of laundry that has officially achieved sentience. And then there’s Proverbs 13:23—the quiet kid in the back of the class that almost never gets called on at Bible study:

“The fallow ground of the poor would yield much food, but it is swept away through injustice.” (ESV)

In other words, Solomon—ancient Israel’s answer to a very wise, slightly sarcastic farmer—looks at a patch of land that resembles the average teenager’s bedroom after a three-week gaming marathon (weeds, mystery clumps, and a general air of “please don’t make me deal with this”) and says, “Relax. That mess is secretly an all-you-can-eat buffet… if somebody would just stop vacuuming the groceries out of it.”

The field itself is ready to produce. God packed it with potential the way your grandma packs a suitcase—way more than seems possible. The problem isn’t the dirt. The problem is that injustice keeps showing up like an overzealous housekeeper with a giant industrial broom, sweeping the entire harvest into the nearest dumpster while whistling cheerfully.

From a Christian viewpoint, this little proverb is pure gospel in overalls. God has woven abundance into the ordinary. He designed creation so that even “fallow” ground—the unspectacular, the under-resourced, the not-yet-plowed—can yield more than enough. That’s His generous heart on display. Yet the same verse refuses to let us pretend that good intentions alone will fill the barn. Injustice has a nasty habit of showing up with a rake and a smug grin, scattering what God meant for the poor.

Jesus later put flesh on the same idea. He talked about the Kingdom like seed that falls into all kinds of soil, some of it rocky or thorny or trampled by the wayside. The potential is always there; the tragedy is when something—or someone—keeps the harvest from happening. Proverbs 13:23 is the Old Testament version of that same ache: God is not stingy. People sometimes are.

Now, a couple of practical applications that might actually fit into a regular Tuesday:

Look for the “fallow ground” in your own circle and refuse to sweep it away.

That might be the coworker whose ideas get ignored in meetings because they don’t have the right title, the single parent in your church who never gets invited to the “fun” small groups, or the quiet neighbor whose kids could use a ride to practice. Injustice doesn’t always wear a cape and a sneer; sometimes it just looks like “that’s just how things are.” A Christian response is to notice the potential, protect it, and—when we can—help plow a little. Buy the extra groceries and drop them off without a speech. Speak up when the promotion process feels tilted. Sometimes the most spiritual thing you can do is make sure the harvest doesn’t get swept into someone else’s barn.

Check your own broom.

It’s easy to point at “the system.” Harder to admit we occasionally do a little sweeping ourselves. Maybe we favor the people who already have advantages because it makes life simpler. Maybe we quietly decide certain folks “just aren’t worth the investment.” Proverbs won’t let us off that easily.

The same God who stocked the fallow field also sees the tiny injustices we commit in traffic, in family group chats, and in the way we interact with those who are “different”. Repentance here can be as simple as choosing the longer checkout line so the new cashier isn’t left alone with the difficult customers, or making sure the kid who never gets picked first still gets a turn. Small acts of justice keep the harvest where it belongs.

The beautiful, slightly comic truth is that God keeps scattering seed in fields that look unpromising. He seems to enjoy working with the overlooked plot more than the manicured estate. Our job isn’t to manufacture the abundance—He’s already put that in the dirt. Our job is simply to stop sweeping it away, and maybe, when the chance comes, to grab a hoe and help.

So, the next time you pass a patch of weeds that looks like nothing, smile a little. Somewhere in there is a harvest waiting. And the King of the universe is still rooting for the poor to eat their fill.

Sparks and Tinder

/ taethne

Proverbs 22:24-25 has the gentle bluntness of a friend who loves you enough to say, “That person is delightful… from a safe distance.”

The NIV puts it this way:

“Do not make friends with a hot-tempered person, do not associate with one easily angered, or you may learn their ways and get yourself ensnared.”

Solomon is not telling us to hide from every human being who has ever raised their voice. If that were the standard, most of us would have to live in a cave with a very patient goat. He is talking about close friendship. The kind of companionship that slowly shapes how we talk, how we react, and how we see the world.

Anger is surprisingly contagious. Spend enough time around someone who treats every inconvenience like a personal insult, and you may notice your own fuse getting shorter. You start finishing their sentences. You start feeling justified in the same little explosions. Before long, the “that’s just how they are” excuse has quietly become “that’s just how we are.” Matthew Henry put it well centuries ago: our hearts already have plenty of tinder in them. We do not need someone tossing sparks around.

This is not a call to become cold or superior. Christians are commanded to love our neighbors, bless those who curse us, and show kindness even to difficult people. Jesus sat with tax collectors and sinners. He also chose His inner circle with care. There is a difference between being friendly and becoming entangled. You can be gracious to the hot-tempered coworker without making them your accountability partner. You can pray for the relative who treats every family dinner like a debate club without inviting them to set the emotional temperature of your home.

The warning is practical because the danger is real. Habitual anger rarely stays contained. It spills into words we later regret, decisions we would not have made in a calmer moment, and a witness that looks more like the world than like Christ. The “snare” in verse 25 is not just social awkwardness. It is the quiet trapping of the soul—becoming the very kind of person we once winced at. Paul later says the same thing in different clothes: “Bad company corrupts good character” (1 Corinthians 15:33).

The good news is that this proverb is not the last word. Many of us are the hot-tempered person on our worse days. The gospel does not leave us there. The Holy Spirit produces self-control, gentleness, and patience—the very qualities that make a person safe to be around. Jesus absorbed the world’s rage on the cross and offers us a better way to live. We can ask Him to change our own tempers even as we wisely choose who gets a front-row seat to our formation.

Choosing companions is one of the most ordinary and most spiritual decisions we make. The people who sit at our tables, text us late at night, and influence our moods are forming us whether we notice or not. Wisdom says: choose people whose presence makes it easier, not harder, to become like Jesus.

Application questions

  1. Who in your life consistently leaves you more agitated than you were before you spent time with them? What would a wiser level of closeness look like?
  2. In what situations do you become the hot-tempered person others might need to be careful around? What usually lights that fuse?
  3. How can you remain kind and available to difficult people without making their patterns your own?
  4. Who are the calm, steady, grace-filled friends God has already given you? How can you invest more intentionally in those relationships this week?
  5. Where do you need the Holy Spirit’s help to grow in patience and self-control so that others are safer, not more tense, because they know you?