The rush is spongy and hollow—and so is the hypocrite! There's no substance in him, no stability. He sways to and fro in every wind, just as formalists yield to every influence. And here's the telling thing: the rush is not broken by the tempest. Neither are hypocrites troubled by persecution. They just bend and sway and survive.

I would not willingly be a deceiver or be deceived. Perhaps today's text will help me examine myself—am I a hypocrite or not?

The rush by nature lives in water. It owes its very existence to the mire and moisture where it has taken root. Let that mire dry up, and the rush withers immediately. Its greenness depends absolutely on circumstances. Abundant water makes it flourish; drought destroys it at once.

Is this my case? Do I only serve God when I'm in good company, or when religion is profitable and respectable? Do I love the Lord only when temporal comforts flow from his hands? If so, I am a base hypocrite, and like the withering rush, I shall perish when death strips away my outward joys.

But can I honestly say that when bodily comforts were few—when my surroundings fought against grace rather than helping it—I still held fast my integrity? Then I have hope that there is genuine, vital godliness in me!

The rush cannot grow without mire. But plants of the Lord's right-hand planting can and do flourish even in the year of drought. A godly man often grows best when his worldly circumstances decay. He who follows Christ for his bag is a Judas. They who follow for loaves and fishes are children of the devil. But they who attend him out of love to himself are his own beloved ones.

Lord, let me find my life in thee, and not in the mire of this world's favor or gain.