This world is Babylon—the world in rebellion against the Lord. It presses in on us constantly, trying to squeeze us into its mould. It may seem like God is absent, that he has been ousted by the more powerful gods of Babylon—not Marduk, Ishtar and Adad any longer, but Self, Equality and Freedom. We may find ourselves asking the same question that the exiles asked by the Euphrates River as we are mocked for our out-dated beliefs: ‘How can we sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land?’ How can I live for God in the twenty-first century USA?

Can you picture the scene? A group of Jewish exiles have gathered for their daily catch-up by the banks of the Euphrates river at the end of another working day. Everywhere they look are reminders that they don’t belong in this pagan, alien land. Man-made pyramids, called ziggurats, with temples to false gods like Marduk, Ishtar and Adad look down on them. The Sabbath day is unknown and desecrated every week. They are hundreds of miles from their promised land. Many of their loved ones are dead back in Judah. The king’s own sons had been slaughtered in front of him before being blinded taken captive, to end his days tormented by that last horror he ever saw. Other members of the royal family were made eunuchs to serve in the king’s palace. Three tidal waves of destruction swept over Judah altogether, over the course of twenty years. When they closed their eyes they could still see the massacre of their people by Babylonian soldiers, hear the screams that were suddenly cut short by Babylonian steel, and smell the smoke from the fire that engulfed the royal palace, every important building in Jerusalem and above all the holy Temple of the Lord. They could still see the gloating, arrogant soldiers carrying the sacred vessels of the Temple—how dare they pollute those holy things with their unclean hands! Why didn’t God strike them down as he struck down Uzzah all those centuries ago for daring to touch the ark?
All these memories must have been replayed over and over whenever the wretched exiles in Babylon met, as they multiplied their grief by sharing their stories of anguish day by day. The Babylonians showed no sympathy however. Perhaps they came to the Euphrates to gloat or mock or rub salt in the wounds of these devastated captives. Perhaps they were just oblivious to their pain. Either way it was a torture to the exiles. ‘There our captors asked us for songs, our tormentors demanded songs of joy; they said, “Sing us one of the songs of Zion!”’
But the people had no heart for singing the psalms of their homeland while their homeland was in ruins and they themselves were captives in a foreign land. Instead, by the rivers of Babylon, they sat and wept as they remembered Zion. Their instruments hung on the trees untouched.
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The Lord is teaching you to fly. To trust him. And if you fail, there is a gracious safety net. Look back and remember “what you yourselves have seen”—how the Lord has borne you up on eagles’ wings so many times before. Remember how he did it for Israel, not just here in the wilderness but countless times throughout their history.

In Exodus 19.4 God says that he bore his people on eagles’ wings. What does that mean? It’s a picture he returns to in Deuteronomy 32.11, where he says he dealt with Israel Like an eagle that stirs up its nest, that flutters over its young, spreading out its wings, catching them, bearing them on its pinions…
When an eagle judges that its young are ready to fly, it pushes them out of the nest, forcing them to flap their wings and try to fly. If the eaglet isn’t able to do this immediately, it will drop like a stone. But the eagle swoops down underneath and catches its young and bears it up to safety. Then the process is repeated until the young bird learns how to use its wings. It sounds cruel—but it’s for the eaglet’s good. It needs to learn to fly and that will never happen in the security of the nest. But the mother is watchful, strong and swift to come to the rescue if needed.
That’s the Lord’s own description of those two or three months Israel has spent in the wilderness since leaving Egypt. The Lord has been disciplining his people, testing them and training them to trust him. Perhaps at times his methods have seemed harsh, even cruel.
Think of how he led the Israelites in a circle until they were trapped, with the Red Sea behind them and the whole Egyptian army racing towards them. How distressing that must have been for them! How damaging for their mental health! Ex 14.10 says that they ‘feared greatly’. But the Lord swooped down to catch them, parting the Red Sea and bringing them safely through.
Think of how he led them for three days with no water—right on the brink of what the human body can endure. He brought them to Marah where there was water—only for them to find the water was bitter! The Lord is tossing them out of the nest. Will they flap their wings of faith and fly? Will they trust him? No—so he swoops down to catch them and makes the water sweet.
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Our hearts are deceitful, but God knows our hearts inside out. He has made our hearts new. The labyrinth belongs to him now and he is gradually remodelling it into a beautiful place where sin cannot hide.  And if you want to know the true state of your heart, the Lord will help you. Ps 139.23f: Search me, O God, and know my heart! Try me and know my thoughts! 24And see if there be any grievous way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting!

In Proverbs 4.23 Solomon warns his son, ‘Keep your heart with all vigilance, for from it flow the springs of life.’ He goes on to give admonitions about the mouth, the eyes and the feet (vv24-27), but it is the heart that must be guarded above all else. Why?
In Scripture, the word ‘heart’ is used more than 1000 times, but it almost never refers to the physical organ inside our chests. The Theological Wordbook of the Old Testament sums up all the usages of the term in this way: it is ‘the richest, most all-encompassing biblical term for the totality of a man’s inner nature.’ The heart is said to do a wide range of things in the Bible, but all its many activities fall into one of the three main faculties of the soul: the mind, the affections and the will. It includes the mind—our thoughts, imagination, fantasies, judgments and attitudes. It encompasses the affections—our emotions, our desires and longings, our revulsions. And it describes the will—our choices, decisions and motivations.
Once we understand that the heart involves all these things, it becomes even clearer why we must guard it with all vigilance, before all else—because it is so fundamental. It is the control centre of the whole person. Indeed Scripture sometimes uses ‘heart’ as a kind of synonym for the self (e.g. Gen 18.5; Ex 9.14; 1Pt 3.4: ‘…the hidden person of the heart’.)
We also need to guard our hearts with all vigilance because they are under constant attack. From the world and the devil outside ourselves of course, but also—most dangerously of all—from an enemy within: the flesh—a traitor inside our own hearts, a Judas looking for an opportune moment to hand us over to sin. The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately sick; who can understand it? (Jer 17.9). It is like an unsearchable labyrinth, with endless twists and turns, blind alleys and dark corners where the Minotaur of our indwelling sin lurks in wait for us.
We need to guard our hearts too because the Lord wants our hearts. Prov 23.6: My son, give me your heart. What a beautiful and powerful incentive this is! We are keeping our hearts for our Father! We wouldn’t be satisfied with a marriage where our spouse was dutiful and faithful outwardly, but longed inwardly to be with someone else to whom their heart belonged. Why would God be content with that from us? He wants our hearts—our minds, our affections and our wills. The totality of our inner nature and not just our outward behaviour. Isa 29.13: And the Lord said: “…this people draw near with their mouth and honor me with their lips, while their hearts are far from me… Ps 51.16f: For you will not delight in sacrifice, or I would give it; you will not be pleased with a burnt offering. The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.
How then do we do this vital work of guarding our hearts? The first step is to do a ‘spiritual MRI scan’ of our hearts. We need to know the current state of our hearts so that we can address the problems and weaknesses we find. Rom 12.3 tells us to ‘think [of ourselves] with sober judgment.’ The Puritan John Flavel, in an exposition of Prov 4.23, wrote these challenging words: ‘Some people have lived forty or fifty years and have had scarcely one hour’s discourse with their own hearts! … Of all works in religion, this is the most difficult, constant and important work. Heart work is indeed hard work. To shuffle over religious duties with a loose and heedless spirit will cost no great pains. But to set yourself before the Lord and tie up your loose and vain thoughts to a constant and serious attention upon him, this will cost you something.’ John Owen in his book The Mortification of Sin advises his readers: “Be acquainted, then, with thine own heart: though it be deep, search it; though it be dark, inquire into it; though it give all its distempers other names than what are their due, believe it not.”
As we carry out this spiritual MRI scan of our hearts we need to bear in mind what the heart is—the totality of our inner nature: the mind, will and affections. We need to assess all three areas of the heart with probing diagnostic questions. Here are some examples of what that might look like:
A. The mind (thoughts, attitudes, imagination, plans, judgments, discernment).
a) What do you think about? Do you think about spiritual things? The glory of God? The Person and work of Jesus Christ? The Gospel of grace? Sinclair Ferguson once asked the unsettling question, ‘How many Christians today could sit in a room without any resources and think about Jesus Christ for more than five minutes before they run dry?’
b) What do you think about when you’re not focused on specific tasks? John Owen calls these ‘Natural, voluntary thoughts’. They’re like the screensaver that comes up on our computer screens. When the computer is idling for more than a few minutes, it’s the image that appears. What images appear in your mind when it’s not actively engaged in a particular task? Owen says, ‘These thoughts give the best measure of the frame of our minds and hearts… such as the mind of its own accord is apt for, inclines & ordinarily betakes itself unto.’ In other words, do you think about spiritual things when you’re not forced to because you’re listening to a sermon in church or taking part in a Bible study?
c) Owen also asks, do you abound in spiritual thoughts? What proportion of your thoughts are spiritual compared to your thoughts about other things? Here’s a very challenging way of asking the question: do spiritual thoughts ever distract you when you’re engaged in other pursuits? We all know what it’s like to be distracted by earthly thoughts intruding when we’re trying to pray or read the Bible in our daily devotions or listen to a sermon, but is it ever the other way around? Do you ever find yourself thinking about the Lord Jesus when you’re in the middle of watching a film or a football match?
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How good it is to know that when God looks at you in Christ, he doesn’t see your shabby catalogue of sins and failures—he sees the pristine life of his beloved Son. He doesn’t see your bad temper, but Christ’s perfect patience and love. He doesn’t see your lusts and fantasies but Christ’s perfect purity and chastity. He doesn’t hear your cruel words, but his Son’s sinless speech.

J. Gresham Machen (1881-1937) was one of the great theologians of the twentieth century. He served as a Professor of New Testament first at Princeton Seminary from 1906 until 1929 when he founded Westminster Theological Seminary in Philadelphia in response to the incursion of modernist theology at Princeton. He travelled widely, preaching and teaching all over the world, exercising an international influence for orthodoxy. He wrote many books and scholarly articles expounding and defending Biblical Christianity. And yet, as he lay dying on New Year’s Eve, 1936, he wasn’t thinking about any of his many and considerable achievements throughout his life. He dictated a telegram to his colleague John Murray in which his last words are recorded, ‘I’m so thankful for [the] active obedience of Christ. No hope without it.’
What did he mean by this? Simply this: that Jesus Christ saves us by living the life of perfect obedience to the law of God that fallen human beings cannot ever live. Of course, he must do more than this—he must also die the death that we deserve to take the punishment for all our sins. It’s not one or the other—both are essential if we are to be saved from hell and gain entrance into heaven. Theologians distinguish between the two by referring to Christ’s keeping the law in our place as his ‘active obedience’ and his dying to atone for our sins as his ‘passive obedience.’
If a J.G. Machen, at the end of a life of godliness, brilliance and faithfulness couldn’t rest on his own righteousness to secure his place in heaven, how much less can you or I. We need a Saviour who has lived the life we cannot live. There is no hope without it.
Just pause and think of what it meant for the Lord Jesus to obey for us, in our place. For thirty years he never once said or did anything wrong. More than that, at every single moment he positively said and did exactly the right thing, in the right way, to the right degree! More than that, his obedience didn’t just extend to his outward actions and words—his inner life was perfect in line with the law of God. In his thoughts, his feelings, his will, his desires, his reactions, his attitudes, motives and disposition—not once, not for so much as a millisecond, was there even an infinitesimal lapse.
Remember, too, that Jesus wasn’t living closeted away from the corrupting influence of sinful people. He was plunged into the middle of the world, surrounded by and in close contact with sinners. He experienced the weaknesses of a human nature that give temptation extra power. He knew what it was to be tired—weary to the point of exhaustion. (So weary, indeed, that he was able to sleep through a windstorm at sea when the boat he was in threatened to capsize!). How often we give in to temptation when we’re tired and our guard is down. Jesus never did.
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