Porn Is Not The Problem… Your Worship Is!
INTRODUCTION
There is a terminal illness ravaging the modern church—not new, but tragically normalized; not obscure, yet stubbornly ignored: the cancer of the closed Bible. Its symptoms are devastatingly clear: lust metastasizing silently in men’s hearts, addictions hidden behind superficial accountability, fornication sanitized as mere "struggle," and a generation spiritually malnourished beneath polished religiosity.
We jest about lust as harmless camaraderie among brothers. We shrug at temptation as a badge of authentic masculinity. We flinch at confessing it and yawn at overcoming it. But what if sexual ruin is rooted not in misplaced passion, but mismanaged worship? What if it isn't fundamentally a libido crisis, but a liturgy crisis? Men fall not because desires overpower them, but because their souls are too starved to resist.
This condition is Malnutritio Scripturalis—Scriptural Malnutrition. It afflicts every man surviving on spiritual crumbs yet pretending readiness for battle. It strikes when daily nourishment from the Word is skipped, leaving the soul—created for the Bread of Life—crawling desperately toward gutters. A starving man doesn’t deliberate between filet mignon and garbage; he grabs whatever is within reach. In our culture's digital sewage, men who refuse Scripture inevitably gorge on lust. Sexual sin isn't the disease itself, but the symptom of deeper poison—exposing foundations long decayed.
Understand clearly: This is not just behavioral—it's dietary. It's less about momentary desire and more about long-term digestion. Without Scripture nourishing the heart, the eyes lose their guard. When the Word loses value, temptation loses its terror. With closed Bibles, the battle is forfeited. Men without the Word are soldiers without rations, stumbling into battle without strength or sword. Solomon saw this in Proverbs 7, observing a young man stripped of armor, drifting toward ruin—not from hatred of God, but from neglect. No sword, no compass—just spiritual fragility mistaken for masculine freedom.
Thus, sexual ruin doesn't originate in the bedroom but on the bedside table, where the unopened Bible gathers dust. It begins when doctrine yields to distraction, prayer to podcasts, and communion with God to mere content about Him. The soul withers subtly: truth dries, conviction fades, discernment dims, until temptation no longer needs to break down your door—because you've left it open.
This blog is more than about sexual sin. It's a clarion call—a wake-up blast to a church lulled into spiritual sleep. It summons us back to Scripture's feast, nourishment that strengthens will, satisfies souls, and builds men into fortresses. Long before your pants fell to the floor, your Bible gathered dust—and there, not in lust, your fall began.
THE WORD ISN’T A SUPPLEMENT
If spiritual ruin begins with a closed Bible, recovery starts by opening it—not occasionally or casually, but as daily nourishment. Treating Scripture as a sporadic devotional snack betrays the depth of our illness. The Word isn’t a supplement—it is the substance that sustains the soul. Without it, we don’t merely drift; we decay.
Consider Solomon’s prescription in Proverbs 7. He doesn’t primarily recommend accountability software, support groups, or journaling exercises—though each has value. Instead, he commands:
“My son, keep my words and treasure my commandments within you. Keep my commandments and live… that they may keep you from an adulteress, from the foreigner who flatters with her words.” (Proverbs 7:1–2, 5)
Notice Solomon’s verbs: keep, treasure, live, guard. This is not casual spirituality—it’s combat-level discipleship. The Word isn't decorative; it’s defensive, clarity amid confusion, sanity amid cultural madness.
Sexual sin never politely requests entry—it lunges ferociously. You cannot fight beasts with sentimental spirituality; you fight with the sword of the Spirit and armor of truth. Tragically, most men ensnared in lust never engage the battle—they drift unarmed into enemy territory, the Word an acquaintance rather than daily nourishment.
Solomon’s urgent command is clear: return to Scripture. Every spiritual weapon derives its strength from this foundational source. Prayer without Scripture deteriorates into emotionalism; accountability without Scripture devolves into behavior modification. But Scripture—alive, active, sharper than any sword—pierces hearts, renews minds, and arms souls for victory.
A man not saturated with Scripture is already smoldering, unaware of the smoke. He enters a minefield in flip-flops, humming hymns, confused when his legs blow off beneath him. Scripture is not optional; it’s oxygen—not decorative, but your armor. It’s the sustenance transforming boys into men and weak men into warriors.
You already acknowledge the battle’s existence. The real question is whether you're still fighting half-starved, half-clothed, and half-awake. The call is unequivocal: pick up your sword, bind the Word to your heart, and live.
THE PROBLEM OF SPIRITUAL STARVATION
In Proverbs 7, Solomon vividly illustrates Scripture’s neglect. He peers from his window, unveiling not a quiet street, but a soul unraveling—not suddenly, but subtly. The young man isn’t racing toward sin; he’s drifting toward ruin, oblivious to his spiritual depletion. Solomon’s insight is sharp: spiritual starvation isn't sudden temptation overpowering strength; it’s chronic neglect hollowing a weakened soul.
Men don't plunge into sexual ruin because desires suddenly erupt. They fall because their inner life was never fortified against temptation. This isn't a failure of willpower; it's a failure of worship. The battle is lost gradually—in neglected mornings and evenings where Scripture yields to digital distractions. By the time temptation arrives, the internal scaffolding has collapsed, leaving nothing to sustain resistance.
This is the bitter essence of Malnutritio Scripturalis—a profound famine of truth. When doctrine doesn't shape hearts, wisdom doesn't guard desires, and Scripture becomes mere background noise, the soul warps. It becomes brittle, hollow, easily bent toward sin. Lust doesn't need to roar—only whisper—to topple spiritually starved men.
Solomon's young man isn't a rebellious warrior storming into battle; he's a naive child stepping into traffic. He lacks wisdom, insight, and spiritual substance—not from hatred, but neglect of God. His downfall isn’t fierce rebellion, but quiet indifference—tragically oblivious until the ground disappears beneath him.
This describes countless men today. They don't awaken craving destruction; they awaken empty. Left unchecked, emptiness becomes a vacuum pulling in immediate comforts—lust, fantasy, despair. Men who don’t fill their souls with God’s truth inevitably seek sin’s shortcuts.
Pornography and sexual sin aren’t the diseases themselves—they're symptoms of spiritual collapse. Men seek them not just because they’re tempted, but because they're starved, emotionally adrift, desperate to feel alive. Without Scripture, immediate gratification becomes inevitable, leaving them ultimately hollow.
When Solomon depicts the young man drifting toward destruction, he diagnoses spiritual starvation. Treasuring everything except truth leads to dulled discernment, deadened consciences, and desperate hearts so dehydrated of holiness that poison feels like comfort.
This condition feels initially harmless—even justified. Slowly, it reshapes your cravings, aligning appetites with temporary comforts. If Scripture isn't your nourishment, holiness will never become instinctive.
Spiritual starvation is subtle. It doesn’t kick down doors; it leaves them unlatched. By the time temptation arrives, no guard remains at your heart’s entrance—just a soul too weak to recognize danger and too starved to resist it.
IT ALWAYS FINDS A FEAST
A starving soul is never silent—it relentlessly demands satisfaction. As physical hunger twists the stomach, spiritual emptiness twists the soul into desperate cravings. But unlike physical hunger, which naturally seeks nourishing food, spiritual starvation rarely discerns between health and harm. Deprivation breeds desperation, and desperation seldom chooses wisely.
Here lies the tragic irony: spiritual hunger rarely drives men instinctively toward God’s table. Instead, it pushes them toward immediate substitutes, which our culture abundantly supplies—streaming in high definition, algorithmically curated, infinitely accessible. The starving man doesn’t search; he scrolls. He doesn’t hunger for filth out of love but from emptiness that blinds him to poison. The modern world has erected shrines to lust, naming them smartphones. Men bow—not from reverence, but desperation.
Consider Jesus in the wilderness. He didn’t quote Deuteronomy merely to impress Satan; He articulated a crucial principle we forget:
“Man shall not live on bread alone, but on every word that proceeds from the mouth of God.” (Matthew 4:4)
Christ overcame temptation not just through moral resolve, but divine nourishment. He knew what we neglect: the lasting defense against sin is a soul already satisfied by God. When your heart feasts on heaven’s truth, hell’s offers lose allure.
Yet we’ve traded spiritual nourishment for transient novelty, meditation on eternal truths for fleeting distractions. We've exchanged Psalms for pixels, private devotion for endless scrolling—and wonder why our spiritual resilience evaporates. Treating Sunday as a single spiritual feast followed by six days of fasting inevitably leads to dangerous substitutes. A heart fed irregularly soon craves unhealthy alternatives.
Trendy techniques and motivational talks offer no lasting remedy. Fighting lust through human strategies alone is like engaging naval battles with foam noodles—absurdly inadequate. We don’t merely need behavioral tweaks; we need holiness. Scripture must reshape our souls until they instinctively reject poison, craving divine truth alone.
Your soul always feasts—it’s never neutral. If Christ isn’t enthroned at your heart’s banquet, idols inevitably take His place. Neglect Scripture, and you train your soul toward destructive substitutes promising life yet delivering death.
Spiritual starvation is never static; it actively seeks nourishment. Your choice is stark: deliberately satisfy your soul with Scripture or inadvertently nourish it with poison. Choose wisely, because a starving soul always finds a feast.
THE REMEDY: GET FAT ON THE WORD
If spiritual famine leads to ruin, the remedy isn’t moderation—it’s saturation. Starving souls don't need portion control or incremental improvement; they need abundant feasting. Not brief devotional snacks, but lavish, consistent, overflowing intake of divine truth. Half-measures won’t suffice for souls dulled by neglect; radical immersion alone revives.
The cure for Malnutritio Scripturalis isn’t complexity—it’s consistency. Not sterile academic consistency, but vibrant, passionate, relentless intake of God’s Word. Inhale Scripture until it reshapes your desires, alters your instincts, and reprograms your spiritual reflexes. It should no longer feel intrusive to open your Bible; rather, it should feel suffocating not to. This isn’t minimalism—it’s biblical maximalism. Feast on Psalms until prayer revives. Devour Gospels until Christ becomes more than doctrine—until He becomes your delight. Immerse yourself in Proverbs until your instincts are seasoned with wisdom.
Scripture isn’t seasoning for life’s decisions—it’s the meal itself, the meat and marrow of spiritual maturity. Consume it until it metabolizes into discernment and fortifies character. Absorb enough that it shapes not only decisions, but your very desires. Scripture isn’t mere information—it's incarnation, embedding divine truths into your being until scriptural reflexes become automatic.
Solomon expresses this vividly:
“Bind them on your fingers; write them on the tablet of your heart.” (Proverbs 7:3)
Don’t merely study Scripture—wear it, internalize it, until it instinctively governs your actions. Scripture must become your internal dialogue, the heartbeat of your conscience—so embedded that temptation must fight through a thicket of truth just to reach you.
The theological reality is clear: where Scripture ceases to be precious, purity ceases to be a priority. If God's Word no longer grips your heart, don’t expect your flesh to submit. The appetite for holiness disappears precisely when the appetite for Scripture fades. To defeat sin decisively, drown it in superior delight—the Word itself. Immerse yourself until sin becomes alien and repugnant to renewed affections.
So yes, brother—saturate your soul. Fortify yourself by divine truth. Let Scripture fill every corner of your being until deceit finds no foothold, wisdom frames every action, and holiness becomes your natural response. Then, when temptation whispers your name, it finds no starving victim—but a satisfied man, fully nourished and content in Christ.
