The Love That God Hates: Choosing Between the World and the Father

1 John 2:15-17

There's a haunting line buried in the pages of Scripture that should make every believer pause: "For Demas has forsaken me, having loved this present world." These words, penned by the apostle Paul near the end of his life, tell the story of a man who once labored alongside the greatest missionaries of the early church but ultimately drifted away, seduced by temporal pleasures and earthly glitter.

Demas's story isn't just ancient history—it's a warning that echoes through the centuries to our own hearts today. Worldliness remains a real and present danger, capable of cooling our affections for Christ, eroding our convictions, and pulling us away from eternal treasures.

The Command We Cannot Ignore

The apostle John addresses this danger head-on with words that one theologian called "the most solemn words addressed to Christian people anywhere in Scripture": "Love not the world, neither the things that are in the world."

This isn't a suggestion or a helpful tip for spiritual growth. It's a command—a present tense imperative that means this should not be the ongoing pattern of your life. The command continues with stark clarity: "If any man love the world, the love of the Father is not in him."

John draws a sharp line in the sand. There's no middle ground here, no comfortable space where we can plant one foot in the world and one foot in the church. As James puts it bluntly, "Friendship with the world is enmity with God."

What Is "The World" Anyway?

Before we can reject worldliness, we need to understand what it actually means. And here's where many Christians get confused.

The "world" John warns against isn't the physical planet. God gave us the earth as a gift, and the Psalms declare that "the earth is full of the goodness of the Lord." We're not called to hate creation itself.

Neither does "the world" mean people. God so loved the world that He gave His only Son. We're commanded to love people, not withdraw from them.

And worldliness isn't about rigid asceticism or denying ourselves every earthly pleasure. Throughout history, some have misunderstood this command and retreated into monasteries or adopted extreme practices to separate themselves from "the world." One man even lived atop a sixty-foot pillar for thirty-six years, thinking this would make him more spiritual.

But worldliness is fundamentally a matter of the heart.

The Greek word for "world" here is *cosmos*, meaning an arrangement or order. John uses it to describe an organized system—an invisible spiritual framework that opposes God or presents itself as a substitute for God. It's a system that suggests you can find happiness, fulfillment, and meaning without the Creator.

And who runs this system? Satan himself. The whole world "lies in the lap of the wicked one," as John writes elsewhere. Satan constantly whispers that the things of this world can fill your heart, that you don't really need God to be happy.

The Three-Pronged Attack

How does the world seduce us? John identifies three specific tactics: "the lust of the flesh, and the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life."

The lust of the flesh represents whatever your heart desires—the internal cravings that demand satisfaction.

The lust of the eyes captures the outward allurements—the things you see and suddenly want to possess.

The pride of life encompasses human ambition and achievement—the desire to excel, to be better than others, to accomplish your goals and gain recognition.

Together, these three categories encompass everything the world has to offer. If you could satisfy every desire of your flesh, obtain everything your eyes see, and achieve every ambitious goal you set—you would have "the world."

But would you be happy?

The Richest Man's Testimony

To answer that question, we need to consult someone who actually had it all. Enter King Solomon, whose weekly income has been estimated at about $75 million in modern terms. Solomon had the resources to test whether worldly satisfaction was real or illusory.

In the book of Ecclesiastes, Solomon documents his experiment. He said to his heart, "Go ahead—I'll test you with pleasure. Find out what makes you happy."

And test he did. Solomon built magnificent works, planted vineyards, created gardens and parks, accumulated servants and livestock, gathered silver and gold, enjoyed every form of entertainment. He withheld nothing from himself. Whatever his heart desired, he obtained. Whatever his eyes saw and wanted, he acquired. He became greater than anyone before him in Jerusalem.

The result? "Then I looked on all the works that my hands had wrought, and on the labor that I had labored to do, and behold, it was all vanity and vexation of spirit."

The Hebrew word for "vanity" is *hevel*—literally what's left when a bubble bursts. Nothing. Emptiness. Solomon had everything the world could offer, and it left him so dissatisfied that he wrote, "Therefore I hated life."

Think about that. The man who had it all hated life.

Why? Because he believed the lie that the world could replace God and satisfy his heart. He discovered the hard truth: you were not created to enjoy temporal pleasures. You were created to enjoy God. The Westminster Catechism captures this beautifully: "The chief end of man is to glorify God and to enjoy Him forever."

Solomon himself wrote in Ecclesiastes that God "has set eternity in their heart." You know instinctively that temporal things won't ultimately fulfill you. You were designed for eternal realities, for relationship with the eternal God.

The Passing Nature of Everything

John provides one final reason to reject worldliness: "The world passes away, and the lust thereof: but he that doeth the will of God abideth forever."

The world is dying. It's in a constant process of disintegration. Everything that glitters in this fallen system is temporary, plagued by sin and operating on the principle of death. All its institutions are crumbling, all its promises fading.

In contrast, doing God's will is permanent. It abides forever.

Consider the archaeological ruins of Herod's winter palace in Jericho. In Jesus' day, this retreat was a marvel—lush gardens, shimmering pools, magnificent marble columns designed to proclaim earthly glory. Today? It's a heap of stones near a garbage dump.

Ironically, overlooking those ruins is the Mount of Temptation, where Satan took Jesus and offered Him "all the kingdoms of the world and the glory of them" if He would just bow down and worship. Satan essentially said, "You can have the world. You don't have to do the Father's will."

Jesus' response? "Get thee hence, Satan: for it is written, Thou shalt worship the Lord thy God, and him only shalt thou serve."

Jesus chose the Father's will over the world's glory. And standing in those ruins today, the choice is vindicated. The glittering palace is garbage. The will of God endures forever.

Where Do You Stand?

The question for each of us is personal and urgent: Where do you stand?

Does the love of the Father overpower the allurement of the world for you? What do you seek with more fervor—the wealth and honors of this dying system, or the riches of grace? Where does your confidence lie—in worldly securities or in God's promises?

If you're a true believer, your default mode won't be love for the world. Yes, you might occasionally be lured by worldly temptations, but your settled affection and allegiance belongs to the Father. You can lapse into worldliness, but you won't stay there.

Because ultimately, a true Christian says, "You can have the world—give me Jesus."

That's not just a nice sentiment. It's the test of genuine faith, the mark of authentic salvation. When everything else is stripped away, when the bubble bursts and the glitter fades, only one thing remains: he who does the will of God abides forever.

The world offers nothing but vanity. God offers everything that truly satisfies. Choose wisely.