I used to serve as the deacon of grounds at our church, and weeds were my worst enemies. Weeds are the bullies of the domestic plant world. They steal the precious resources needed for growth from your grass and flowers, and they make no apologies about it. So, they must die. A yardman accepts this duty, and he makes his plan. But not all weeds are created equal, and not all will die with the same efforts. Some are small enough to pull up with your hands. Some require a hand tool. Others take even heavier implements such as shovels, machetes, and even nuclear warheads.

There was one weed on the church property in particular that mocked me. This one was tree-like, stretching far above my head, growing from a well-established root system woven into the very foundation of the church building. Every season, I would take a hatchet, a shovel, and even poison to it. Nothing would kill it. Every time I cut back the visible growth, it would grow back. The main problem was that the root system had integrated into the foundation of the building. And that is a great illustration for how addictions distinguish themselves from the normal habitual sins of life.

The Unique Death of an Addition

When considering how a person can kill addictions in his life, the different levels of effort required for these different types of weeds serve as a helpful illustration. As my fellow writers have already established in this issue, addictions always involve some idolatry of the heart that, when pursued repeatedly, conditions the soul and the body in such a way that the freedom of personhood becomes warped, bent toward a particular object and, far worse, bent away from God. When this happens, the most entrenched kind of sin takes over a person’s motivations. Addictions are less like a bunch of little weeds out in the open and more like the one weed integrated into the foundation of a building. Addictions thread their roots through the expectations and desires of the soul as well as the impulses and cravings of the body.

So when we speak of putting addictions to death, we have to be careful with what we mean. What I don’t want to communicate is that killing addictions is like pulling up a small weed, root and all, so that it no longer remains a threat. What I do mean is that killing addictions is like going to war with the thick tangle of roots that has penetrated the foundation. It’s about consistently cutting back any sign of growth so that, with no growing leaves to catch the sun’s energy, the roots will weaken their structural hold on the foundation.

Like that one weed, addictions do not die in a decisive action. They die over a long period of time. Of course, we must recognize that God is able to—and sometimes does—free someone decisively from the draw of a particular addiction in a miraculous act. But why does it normally take an involved process over time rather than merely a simple action in a moment? The answer is theological.

God designed us to conform—body and soul—to what we pursue. When we pursue a particular object as a replacement for God over and over again, we condition our bodies and our souls in the shape of that pursuit. In terms of the body, addictive behavior works itself into our neurobiological hardware, our chemical dependencies, and our bodily cravings. The structures of our bodies become dependent on substances not normally needed to sustain life. In terms of the soul, addictive behavior patterns itself into our conception of joy, satisfaction, and wonder; we find ourselves committed to finding those immaterial values in material things. We worship created things rather than the Creator—we become committed to finding God-like value in a particular object that is not God (Rom. 1:21–25).

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