Death By Coveting
“You shall not covet your neighbor’s house; you shall not covet your neighbor’s wife or his male servant or his female servant or his ox or his donkey or anything that belongs to your neighbor.” — Exodus 20:17
The Ten Commandments open with God's supremacy—how we must worship Him alone, with no rivals, no idols, no profanity, and no forgetfulness of His day. But they end somewhere far more subtle and penetrating—your heart.
This is not an accident. God begins His law at the throne of heaven and ends it in the inner courtroom of your soul. Why? Because even if it were hypothetically possible to live a sinless life—never lie, never cheat, never steal, never curse, never lust, never rage—God would still forbid our entry into heaven on our own merits. Why? Because even if it were possible to remain unstained by sin through word or deed, God sees deep into the dankest and darkest rotten chambers of our heart, beneath the squeaky-clean façade we like to present.
You could enter judgment day with clean hands, but still be damned because of a covetous heart. And this is where the tenth commandment exposes what all the other commandments imply: which is that sin is not merely what we do. It is who we are. And this law—God’s final blow in the Decalogue—lands like an axe at the root of our self-righteousness tree. It declares, in no uncertain terms, that the problem is not just your conduct. It’s your cravings.
DEATH BY UNSTAINED HANDS
“You shall not covet.” Unlike murder or adultery, coveting leaves no fingerprints. No DNA. No broken windows. You can covet while smiling in the choir loft, while praying over dinner, while passing the bread and cup.
And that’s what makes it deadly.
It operates in the shadows. It thrives in quiet comparisons, hidden resentments, and bitter little wishes cloaked in piety. It never shouts. It whispers. And yet, it kills just the same.
Jesus was not fooled by external virtue. He said:
“For from within, out of the heart of men, proceed the evil thoughts… deeds of coveting and wickedness” (Mark 7:21–22).
Coveting is not a stray emotion—it’s a cancer of the soul. It does not knock. It grows. And if left unchecked, it suffocates contentment, corrodes worship, and ultimately strangles faith itself.
It is death by unstained hands—no visible crime, but a heart already rotting in the morgue of divine justice.
DEATH BY CONFESSIONS
The Westminster Larger Catechism doesn’t just interpret the Tenth Commandment—it loads it like a rifle and aims it at your heart.
Q.147 says God demands “full contentment with our own condition” and “a charitable frame of the whole soul toward our neighbor.” That’s not about smiling through clenched teeth. It’s about loving what God gave you, and loving who God gave more to—without flinching.
Q.148 swings the hammer: it condemns “discontentment with our own estate; envying, grieving at the good of our neighbor; and all inordinate motions and affections…”
In other words, if you’ve ever sighed when someone else got the job, the house, the wife, the ministry, or the applause—you’ve broken this commandment.
You don’t need to rob your neighbor to break the law. You just need to resent his blessings.
Coveting is not just emotional weakness—it is spiritual treason.
It kneels at the altar and prays:
“My kingdom come. My will be done.”
It turns your neighbor’s joy into your personal hell. It accuses God of playing favorites. It calls His providence into question and His wisdom into court.
That’s why it was the first sin in Eden.
Adam and Eve didn’t eat the fruit because they were starving. They ate it because they believed they deserved better.
They saw the kindness of God, and they wanted more.
And ever since, every bitter glance, every jealous thought, every clenched prayer has echoed their protest:
“God held out on me.”
DEATH BY COVETING
James offers no bandages—only surgical precision:
“What is the source of quarrels and conflicts among you? Is it not the pleasures that wage war in your members? You lust and do not have; so you commit murder…”
(James 4:1–2)
The war outside is the overflow of a war within. You don’t resent people because they’ve wronged you—you resent them because they have what you want. Status. Security. Influence. Applause. You watch their success, and something sour stirs in your gut. Jealousy simmers. Bitterness begins to boil. And soon, relationships crack under the pressure of your unmet cravings.
Coveting isn’t just a private problem—it’s a public poison. It splits churches. It freezes marriages. It sours friendships. And if it goes unchecked, it will turn your soul into a mausoleum. James is clear: it doesn’t merely lead to fights. It leads to death. Not always with fists or weapons—but with poisoned prayers, hollow praise, and a joyless heart that cannot celebrate the good of another.
The Bible gives us a flesh-and-blood illustration in Achan. God had commanded Israel to destroy Jericho and take nothing. But Achan disobeyed. His sin wasn’t random. It followed a path. “I saw… I coveted… I took… I hid,” he confesses in Joshua 7:21. That is the anatomy of coveting. It begins with the eyes, infects the heart, moves to the hands, and ends in hiding and death. One man’s secret sin led to national defeat and the execution of his entire household. That’s not symbolic—that’s judgment.
And that story plays out again and again. Maybe it wasn’t a robe from Shinar. Maybe it was someone’s spouse. Someone’s calling. Someone’s peace. Someone’s influence. And instead of killing the craving, you nursed it. You fed it with envy. You justified it with self-pity. You wrapped it around your soul like ivy on a tombstone, until the oxygen of joy was gone and all that was left was the slow suffocation of spiritual death.
If God showed you the mirror of your heart today, would you not see the same tragic spiral? I saw. I coveted. I took. I hid. I died.
THE DEATH OF COVETING
This law condemns us all. Not just the criminals and rebels, but even the most disciplined saints. Even those who’ve never stolen, never lusted, never lashed out in rage. You may have kept your hands clean—but have you ever resented another’s blessing? Have you ever daydreamed about someone else’s life, someone else’s peace, someone else’s purpose? Then you have coveted. And if you have coveted, you deserve death. Not because coveting is rare, but because it is universal—and God is holy.
But here is the unshakable hope of the Gospel: Jesus never coveted. Not once. He never envied a single soul. Never schemed for more. Never sighed over what He lacked. Though He walked in poverty, obscurity, and rejection, His heart remained steadfast, His joy complete, His trust in the Father’s will unshaken. His affections were pure. His contentment was perfect. His obedience was entire.
Yet on the cross, He bore the full weight of our poisoned desires. He carried every envious thought, every greedy impulse, every whispered complaint. He wore the crown of our discontent, so that we might wear the righteousness of His peace. He died the death that coveters deserve, so that we could live the life only He earned. This is the death of coveting: not just that our cravings are crucified, but that Christ was crucified for our cravings.
This law, then, doesn’t just crush. It calls. It beckons us—not to self-improvement, but to repentance. And true repentance is not a fleeting tear or a momentary pang of guilt. It is an execution. It is taking that bitter, grumbling voice that lives in your chest—the one that says, “God owes me more”—and nailing it to the wood where Christ died.
Think of Gollum, from The Lord of the Rings. There’s a moment where he speaks to the twisted creature within and whispers, “Leave now and never come back.” For one brief second, he tastes freedom. But then he invites the darkness back in. He toys with it. He makes peace with it. And in the end, it drags him into fire and ruin.
Friend, don’t be Gollum. When you see the monster of coveting rise within you, don’t flatter it. Don’t entertain it. Don’t rename it something less offensive. Kill it. Say to it with holy violence: You are not welcome here. Leave. And never come back.
And then, by the power of the Holy Spirit, drag it to the cross where it already died with Christ. Let the blood of Jesus cover your discontent. Let His grace dismantle your envy. Run to Jesus. Rest in His sufficiency. Rejoice in His providence. And let true, deep, lasting contentment rise in your heart like a fragrant offering to God—the sweet aroma of a soul finally set free.
