If It’s Not Of God, It Is Sin
You know, it sounds simple at first, “If it’s not of God, it is sin.” But the weight of that hits deeper than we often realize. It’s not just some catchphrase, not just something that sounds spiritual to say. This is a truth that digs right into the roots of our lives. It challenges everything: what we’re living from, what we’re aiming for, and ultimately, who we’re trusting.
The Bible gives us commandments and instructions to follow, but it’s more than just a list. It tells a story, one that’s real, one that hits home. It’s a story of a holy, pure, and good God, and a people who continually drift away from Him. And that drift, even if it seems small, even if it’s barely noticeable? That’s sin. Not just when we make a big, dramatic choice to rebel. Even the tiniest shift, the smallest lean away from God, that’s sin too. Because it pulls us away from the very source of life, and because it moves us outside His instructions, even unknowingly.
When we think of sin, we usually think of the big things, murder, theft, adultery. But sin can be so much more subtle than that. It can be invisible to everyone around us. It can even show up in things that, on the surface, look good. It can also be failing in what God personally reveals to us, in attitudes, motives, and choices that don’t align with His commands.
Take someone who volunteers all the time. They’re constantly helping, serving, giving of themselves. You’d think that’s just wonderful, right? But here’s the thing: if they’re doing all of that to feel good about themselves, to get recognition, or even just because they feel like they should, but they’re not doing it with God, from God, and for God, then that can become sin too. Even outwardly good acts, if disconnected from God’s instructions or motive, are empty and not counted as obedience (Isaiah 29:13, “These people honor Me with their lips, but their hearts are far from Me. Their worship of Me is made up only of rules taught by men.”; Matthew 6:1-4, “Be careful not to practice your righteousness in front of others to be seen by them. If you do, you will have no reward from your Father in heaven. So when you give to the needy, do not announce it with trumpets, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and on the streets, to be honored by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward in full But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your giving may be in secret. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.”
This shows that even good actions, if done for the wrong reason—pride, recognition, or obligation—are disconnected from God and therefore empty. Faith and obedience must flow from the heart, rooted in trust and dependence on Him (Romans 14:23, “Everything that does not come from faith is sin.”; Greek pistis faith, trust, reliance).
Let’s just pause there, because that changes everything. Faith isn’t just believing that God exists. Faith is trusting Him with everything. It’s including Him in everything. Faith means listening when we’d rather act. Waiting when we’d rather rush ahead. It means recognizing that we don’t have it all figured out, that we’re not as wise or strong as we think we are. And when we move ahead without that faith, when we act without asking Him first, we’ve already stepped out of the relationship He designed us to have with Him (James 2:17, “In the same way, faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead.”).
And once we’re out of that relationship, everything we do becomes disconnected. That’s what sin is, it’s separation. It’s being apart from Him. It’s not always obvious or wicked-looking, but it always starts with independence. It starts with a choice to go it alone. A moment when we say, “I’ve got this, God,” instead of, “What do You want me to do, Father?” (Deuteronomy 30:15-16, “See, I set before you today life and prosperity, death and destruction. For I command you today to love the Lord your God, to walk in obedience to Him, and to keep His commands, decrees and laws; then you will live and increase, and the Lord your God will bless you in the land you are entering to possess.”).
And you know what? This goes all the way back to the beginning. Eve didn’t eat the fruit because she hated God. No, it was just that for one moment, she thought her way might be better. That tiny step of separation, that decision made without God, that’s when sin entered the world (Genesis 3:6, “When the woman saw that the fruit of the tree was good for food and pleasing to the eye, and also desirable for gaining wisdom, she took some and ate “…she took some and ate it. She also gave some to her husband, who was with her, and he ate it.”
That tiny step of choosing her own way, even just once, brought separation from God into the world. It wasn’t hatred or defiance, it was independence, a moment of deciding without Him. That’s the root of sin: moving apart from God, even subtly, even in a single choice.
James tells us, “To the one who knows the right thing to do and does not do it, to him it is sin” (James 4:17, “If anyone, then, knows the good they ought to do and doesn’t do it, it is sin for them.”). That’s personal. It’s not just about the big, obvious sins we know are wrong. Sometimes sin is about what God has shown you personally. If He’s told you to speak, and you stay silent, that’s sin. If He’s told you to rest, but you push yourself harder, that’s sin. It’s not just about the action. It’s about obedience.
And then Jesus comes along and says, “Apart from Me, you can do nothing” (John 15:5, “I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in Me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from Me you can do nothing.”). He doesn’t say, “You can’t do much.” He says, “You can do nothing.” That means even the most impressive things we do, giving, serving, teaching, obeying commandments, mean nothing if they’re done apart from Him. It’s not that He doesn’t see the effort. It’s that He’s calling us to stay connected to Him. Like a branch that can only bear fruit if it’s attached to the vine. And anything that doesn’t come from that connection, no matter how spiritual it looks, is fruitless. Empty. And honestly, that’s what sin is at its core: emptiness pretending to be full.
So when we say, “If it’s not of God, it is sin,” it’s not because God’s being harsh. It’s because He’s holy. He is the only source of what is pure, what is good, and what is true. And anything done outside of Him, no matter how good it seems, is built on the wrong foundation. This includes not only motive, but also missing His instructions, failing His commandments, or ignoring His guidance—even in small ways (Psalm 24:1, “The earth is the Lord’s, and everything in it, the world, and all who live in it.”; Micah 6:8, “He has shown you, O mortal, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.”).
But here’s the good news. It’s not about being perfect. It’s about our position. Are we walking beside Him? Listening for His voice? Or are we out there on our own, assuming we know best? Obedience was never meant to be mechanical or fear‑driven. It was always meant to flow out of relationship, trust, and nearness to Him (Deuteronomy 6:4-5, “Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one. Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength.”).
But we don’t have to fear that. We don’t have to try to figure it all out on our own. We just need to stay close. We just need to listen. And when we do that, we’ll be living from Him, and not from ourselves. Because once we’ve experienced what it’s like to move with God, nothing else satisfies. Nothing else feels right. And nothing else is truly holy (Psalm 16:11, “You make known to me the path of life; in Your presence there is fullness of joy; at Your right hand are pleasures forevermore.”).
At first, she couldn’t put her finger on it. There was just a heaviness. A tiredness that went deeper than her bones. She’d pray, but it felt like her words were falling flat. Her prayers, once full of life, now felt empty. Then came the irritation, the fatigue, the quiet bitterness when someone would ask her to do just one more thing. She started snapping at her husband, skipping meals, skipping rest. And then one day, in a quiet moment, one of the few she allowed herself, she realized she didn’t feel close to God anymore (Psalm 63:1, “O God, You are my God; earnestly I seek You; my soul thirsts for You; my flesh faints for You, as in a dry and weary land where there is no water.”).
She sat with her Bible in her lap and asked the question that had been growing in her heart for so long: “Have I been doing all of this for You, God? Or have I just been doing it because it feels good to be needed?” And the answer didn’t come with shame or anger. It came with gentle correction, like a whisper in her spirit: “You didn’t ask Me. You didn’t bring Me into it. You ran ahead with your plans, and I let you. But I never sent you there.”
She cried, not because she was ashamed, but because it felt like a weight had been lifted. She understood now. She hadn’t been sinning in some big, obvious way. She hadn’t outright turned her back on God. But she had been moving without Him. She had been doing things in her own strength, without seeking Him first. And because of that, everything that had looked holy had turned heavy.
She had been choosing good things, but they hadn’t been God’s things. And that little difference, she realized, was everything. From that moment on, things started to shift—not in her schedule, not right away, but in her heart, in her posture. She began each day with one simple prayer: “What do You want, Lord?” And sometimes He said, “Yes, go.” Other times, He said, “Wait.” And sometimes He’d say, “Let someone else do it this time.” And slowly, she learned to listen. She stopped thinking that she knew best. She stopped acting out of guilt or pressure. She stopped measuring her holiness by how busy she was. She stopped doing good things without God.
And bit by bit, the emptiness left. Her joy returned. Her soul started breathing again. Not because she was doing more, but because she was doing less. Less, but with Him. That’s the kind of sin we don’t talk about enough. It’s not rebellion. It’s not defiance. It’s the quiet kind of separation. The kind where we forget to ask Him, where we lean on ourselves, where we do things in our own strength instead of His. We forget to include Him. We forget to invite Him in (Romans 11:36, “For from Him and through Him and to Him are all things. To Him be the glory forever! Amen.”).
That’s why the verse, “Whatever is not from faith is sin” hits so hard (Romans 14:23, “Everything that does not come from faith is sin.”; Greek pistis faith, trust, reliance). It’s not about punishment. It’s about being disconnected. And anything disconnected from God, no matter how good it looks on the outside, will always end up dry on the inside.
Abba…
You see everything, things we haven’t even said out loud. You know those quiet places inside us where we decide things before we even stop to think. You know when we hold back. When we feel You nudging us, but we brush it aside and go our own way. Forgive us for that. Not just for the things we know are wrong, but for that deep-down habit of trying to do life without You. For making plans and walking into them without even asking what You think. For assuming we’ve got it handled, when really, we don’t.
You’ve told us that anything not from faith is sin. And that’s hard to hear, but it’s true. If we’re doing something without trusting You, if it didn’t come from Your Spirit, if You didn’t breathe life into it, then it’s not from You. And we don’t want to live like that. But You haven’t left us to figure this out alone. You’ve invited us into something better, closer. A way of living where we lean on You for everything. And that’s what we want. I want that.
Help us recognize Your voice more quickly. Soften us so we stop making You shout to get our attention. Teach us to pause, to ask, to wait. Even in the little things. Because they matter.
Make us a people who obey, not because we’re afraid You’ll be mad, but because we love You and we trust You. Help us live like we believe You really do know best. Because You do. Your ways are so much higher than ours. You see the whole picture. You always know what’s good and right and full of peace (Isaiah 55:8-9, “For My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways My ways,” declares the Lord. “As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are My ways higher than your ways and My thoughts than your thoughts.”).
I don’t want to be full of my own ideas and opinions. Empty me out, Lord. Fill me with whatever You want. If it’s not from You, I don’t want it.
Keep us close. And when we wander, and we will, bring us back fast. Gently. Fully.
I love You. I trust You. I want to live with You, not just for You.
In the name of Yeshua, Amen.