Porn: When Accountability and Boundaries Aren’t Enough

Accountability, Boundaries, and the Grace of God

The first step in fighting pornography is typically accountability: open up to a trusted friend or group of friends who will ask you hard questions, pray for you, listen to your confession, and encourage you in the fight. 

The next step is usually creating boundaries that limit access to porn: get preventative software on phones and computers, set rules about using electronic devices in private spaces, and destroy any offline pornographic materials.

Such accountability and boundaries are undoubtedly important, even essential. They can provide a degree of stability while you learn to fight, but you have probably realized by now that these things alone aren’t enough. Because often underneath the accountability and behind the boundaries is a heart that is still desperately clamoring for what it loves, a heart that eventually gets what it wants. Accountability lacks the power to change the heart. Our desires, our loves are not changed by the limits and boundaries we put in place. So then, what do we do?

The Bible tells us that the only thing that can change the heart is God’s grace (e.g. Gal. 3:1-5; Eph. 2:1-10; Titus 2:11-14). If that’s true, how do we get that grace? There are many ways by which God’s grace comes to us. In this booklet we will focus only on one: questions. In his ministry on earth,

Jesus often made way for grace through questions. Questions, when considered with humility, have a way of making room for the grace of God. Questions, answered truthfully, drill pilot holes into the heart, allowing God’s grace to enter in.

So, if you love what you shouldn’t, or if your heart craves something that is destroying your life, and you want to prepare the way for the transforming grace of God, consider the following questions thoughtfully and prayerfully. Be aware, some of these questions might sting.

Where are you? (Gen 3:9)

This is the first question God asks in the Bible. In the Garden of Eden, the first two human beings lived in unhindered relationship with their Creator. Humans walked with God “in the cool of the day” in perfect fellowship. And then one day, when their Creator came for his daily stroll with them, they were nowhere to be found. Why? Because they were hiding from him. They had done wrong, and they knew it, and they didn’t want God to know. They tried to avoid him entirely, hiding in the bushes from his holy presence like frightened animals from a predator. Naked and ashamed, they tried to hide parts of themselves from his holy gaze with fig leaves. And then God came walking through the forest, saying, “Where are you?”

By asking this question God was helping them pause and assess their situation with honesty and clarity. “Where am I? And how did I get here?” It’s not about physical location, it’s about their spiritual and moral status. In posing this question to them, God was giving them a chance to come forward and take ownership, to come clean and show themselves to him in all their sinful nakedness. Without excuses or shifting blame. Without minimizing or justifying. Very simply, “Where are you? And how did you get there?”

Unfortunately, Adam and Eve did not believe he called them for any reason except to judge them. The thought didn’t cross their minds that he might be seeking them so he could forgive their guilt and cover their shame. When they heard the question, they did not believe that the One calling to them did so as a Father, desiring to restore the relationship before sending them into his world that they had broken.

Addictions lead us to the same place as Adam and Eve: hiding in the bushes, afraid of God, naked and ashamed, and trying to sew together all manner of fig leaves so that no one sees what we’ve done and who we’ve become. Dealing thoroughly with our addiction begins with answering that question: “Where are you?” Are we willing to admit, plain and simple, what we’ve done? Are we willing to say - without excusing, shifting blame, or minimizing - how we got here? Consider the One who calls you. He does so not to judge, but to forgive and to help. He calls us forth so he can restore us to fellowship with him and help us flourish in the midst of a broken world, in spite of our sin.

Do you want to be well? (John 5:6)

What kind of question is that? A man has been lame for thirty eight years, desperately waiting and trying to get into a pool in Jerusalem believed to have healing powers. If anyone wants to be well, it’s this guy. And yet, Jesus asks him if he wants to be well. Why would he do such a thing? As strange as it might sound at first, sometimes we prefer sickness to health. Perhaps the lame man was afraid to enter back into normal life after four decades of convalescence. Perhaps he was afraid to lose the tight-knit community of the sick and lame. Maybe he knew he would have to give up his self-pity. There are a number of reasons he might have preferred to stay lame. And Jesus wants him to be sure he’s ready to leave his sickness behind.

Although a little different, the question is worth asking about an addiction. We may say with our mouth that we want to be free from it. We may even be seeking help for it. Even so, do we want to be well? To be completely free? Everyone wants to be rid of the effects and consequences of sin. But are we willing to be rid of the sin itself? The question begs to be asked because, if we’re honest, we love our sin (at least, part of us does). There is a reason Jesus uses the violent metaphors of cutting off hands and plucking out eyes to describe the battle of sin. Being well - being set free - is costly.

An addiction is like a secret garden to escape to when life gets hard. Are we willing to set fire to it? An addiction temporarily numbs the pains of body and soul. Are we ready to go without the epidural? An addiction is like a best friend who provides a listening, caring ear when we are lonely and other relationships are too hard. Are we ready to nail it to the cross? Importantly, these metaphors might sound like a one-and-done act of repentance. Usually, the battle of addiction requires us to drown the old Adam daily, to crucify the flesh repeatedly, to set fire to that secret garden time and time again. “Do you want to be well?” is a question you may have to answer every morning when you get out of bed.

In asking, “Do you want to be well?” Jesus is wondering if we are ready and willing to pay the cost. “I don’t know how,” you might say. No problem - will you let him teach you? “I don’t have the courage,” you might say. That’s fine - do you have the courage to ask him to do the surgery? “But I’ve tried,” you might say. I’m sure you have, but this is not about the ability to make yourself well, (which we discussed in the last question). This is about the willingness to be made well by God. The Physician offers his services free of charge; the only thing it costs you is your addiction.

Do you love me? (John 21:15)

Peter had denied Jesus, abandoning him in his greatest moment of suffering and need. A few days later, Jesus asks, “Simon Peter, do you love me more than these?” In asking this, Jesus makes Peter’s dis-obedience intensely personal. Peter can’t get away with telling himself that he simply made a mistake or broken a mere law. That’s far too impersonal. No, he sinned against a Person. The question turns his disobedience into infidelity, his idolatry into adultery. His denial wasn’t the breaking of a law as much as the breaking of a relationship with Someone who loved him dearly.

Likewise for us, it would be easier on our consciences if we could chalk up our failures to a lapse in judgment, to a simple mistake, or reduce it to a problem of the body and brain. Yet, Jesus’ question won’t let us do so. Every time we indulge, we hurt a relationship, we sin against a Person. And not just any person, but the One who hung on a Cross in love for us.

Yet there is more to his question. When Jesus asked the question, he put his finger on the real issue at the root of Peter’s disobedience - a lack of love for his Lord. Peter is embarrassed by the question and defends himself, “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.” Indeed, Peter did love him, but not yet enough to keep himself out of trouble. Jesus asks twice more, because he doesn’t want Peter to miss the point: if he is going to follow Jesus faithfully, his love for his Lord will have to grow.

Likewise, Jesus asks us, “Do you love me more than these?” For us, too, the root of our problem is an insufficient, faltering love for Jesus. “Do you love me more than the men or women on the screen? Do you love me more than the booze or pills that turn life into a party? Do you love me more than these things that, for a moment, make you feel completely alive?” Our love for him has to grow until it is larger than love for anyone or anything else, including ourselves. Otherwise we will never have a sufficient reason to make the sacrifices required to follow him. The more we love him, the less we will be controlled by lesser loves. The more we love him, in response to his love for us, the easier we will find obedience, self-denial, and sacrifice. Such things are impossible without love for him.

At the same time, please - please - do not miss the point of our sacrifices. The whole point of denying ourselves and taking up our crosses is so that we may have the pleasure of following Jesus. The merchant in search of fine pearls only sold his collection when he found a single pearl worth more than all of it put together. For the merchant, selling everything to buy the one great pearl was no sacrifice. Likewise, we are not called to live a life of denial for its own sake, but so that we may gain Christ. Anything we sacrifice to gain Christ is, in the end, no sacrifice at all.

Impossible things begin to happen as we grow in love for Christ. You may have heard the phrase, “The opposite of love isn’t hate, it’s indifference.” Likewise, as we become more constrained by the love of Christ, we should not be marked by hyper-fixation on the hatred of our addiction but rather by an indifference to it. As we become captivated by Christ, we grow increasingly deaf to temptation, for the pleasures promised begin to feel cheap and trivial in comparison. As satisfaction with Christ grows, we become increasingly disinterested in the object of our addiction. Sin becomes boring.

What is that to you? (John 21:22)

Peter doesn’t like the path that Jesus has laid out for him, one that is marked by suffering and, ultimately, martyrdom. In response to Jesus’ call to follow him on the path of suffering, Peter asks, “What about John?” He wants to know whether John will have to go through the same things. Whether John will have to suffer like him. Peter wants to make sure it’s fair. And Jesus responds, “What is that to you? Follow me!” In other words, don’t worry about John. Worry about following me, about staying on the path I’ve called you to go down.

What does this have to do with addiction? Well, in order to persist in sin or addiction, our conscience has to find a way to justify our actions. In most cases, the heart of such justification is pain.

Consider the pain of unmet “needs.” This comes up often in marriage. We think, “She’s depriving me! What else can I do?” Or, “He hasn’t touched me in months. Of course, I’m reading romance novels and looking at porn.” Or, “I’m not getting the respect / love / affection I need. How could I not reach outside the marriage?” Neglect and rejection hurts and leaves us feeling like we have no choice but to meet our needs, whatever it takes. Sometimes this neglect is very real, and sometimes it is only perceived, such as justifying pornography with the fact that God has not given you the spouse you deserve.

Unresolved pain from the past can also be a source of justifying an addiction. Undoubtedly, all kinds of problems result from unresolved past suffering, influencing the present powerfully. When there seems to be no hope of resolving the past, we turn to things to ease the pain in the present, even if for a moment.

Similarly, we can justify an addiction with ongoing pain. This could be physical pain, relentless stress at work, the strain of broken relationships, persistent guilt and shame, chronic anxiety or depression. Like Jeremiah, we ask, “Why is my pain unceasing, my wound incurable, refusing to be healed?” Facing life, day after day, seems unbearable without a little pleasure.

Temptation under such pain is not surprising. Addiction under such circum-stances makes sense. Even so, in response to any justification we might make, Jesus asks us, “What is that to you? Follow me!” This isn’t to downplay our pain nor excuse those who have hurt us, for these things not only grieve us but also our compassionate Lord. Neither does this render our suffering inconsequential, for the Savior who asks this question knows pain deeper than any of us. Instead, the question keeps us from using suffering to justify our own sin. Jesus wants us to stay focused on following him, even if it requires suffering. That’s part of what it means to take up your cross. Jesus’ question wisely strikes at the excuses and rationalizations that allow us to continue in our sin, taking away a key ingredient in the soil of addiction. He calls us to follow in his footsteps, the Suffering Servant, who alone can heal and satisfy, who is worthy to be followed.

No doubt, pain needs to be processed. Hard things are meant to be grieved and past pain acknowledged. Our suffering needs to be put into words. We need help knowing what to think about our suffering, what it “means,” what it says about us (and what it doesn’t). We need counselors, pastors, and friends who will give us compassion but who will also speak the truth in love (even when it hurts). Unprocessed suffering, although it does not determine us or excuse our sin, can certainly make following Jesus more complicated. It’s possible to carry a cross with a limp, but it sure would make the going easier if we did something about that leg. The stories of our pasts need to be re-told biblically. Wounds need to see the healing light of God’s wisdom and grace. Following Jesus becomes a lot easier with two working legs. 

What is your name? (Gen 32:27)

It’s another way of saying, “Who are you?” This question was first posed to Jacob. The name “Jacob” is a Hebrew word meaning deceiver, trickster, or cheater. Indeed, Jacob had cheated his brother Esau out of his inheritance, deceived his father into blessing him, and tricked (and been tricked by) his father-in-law. “What is your name?” God asks Jacob, getting him to confess what he has become. “I’m Jacob,” he admits, meaning, “After all these years, I’m nothing but a trickster. I’ve deceived, cheated, defrauded.” That’s who Jacob is, the identity he has created for himself.

But it’s time for a new life. Jacob is about to enter back into the Promised Land and God has big plans for him and his family. If he is going to fulfill God’s purposes, it can’t be as a trickster. It’s time for a new name, a new identity. So, after a night of wrestling (literally) with God, God renames him Israel, a name related to warfare, courage and victory. God has given him a new identity.

How about you? What’s your name? What is the identity you live in? Do you see yourself as the sum of your sins? As the sum of sins done against you? As you interact with people, as you pray and worship, as you look at yourself in the mirror, who are you? An addict? A victim? An impostor? Apart from God’s redemption, those things may be true of you. Yet, God wants to give you a new name. And if you are a believer, he has given you a new name already in Christ.

There are hundreds of ways to speak of that new name. You are a saint. You are a son, a daughter of the King. A beloved child. Chosen. A man in Christ. A new creation. Clean. These are names God gives to sinners, meaning, he declares people to be things that, in themselves, they are not. These are not identities we earn or craft for ourselves. These are given to us by grace, because we have been united to Christ and now share his identity. So when we fight against besetting sins and addictions, it is not for salvation, or for a new identity, but from salvation, from a new identity we’ve been given in Christ. With this new name, God wants us to fight against sin, to seek his kingdom, to love our neighbor, to know and worship him. Of all the different “names” God gives to believers, name one in particular you want to hold onto in faith. How would it change things if you lived like that was true of you?

By way of conclusion, a short poem by John Bunyan:

‘Run, John, run,’ the law commands,

but gives me neither feet nor hands;

Better news the gospel brings,

it bids me fly and gives me wings.