We All Are Thieves

“You shall not steal.”

The command not to steal is comprised of just four English words. A short fence in one way—but also one that surrounds a vast and sacred field. The Eighth Commandment is not merely God’s prohibition against burglary and fraud. It is His holy boundary around the entire economy of righteousness. It safeguards the way wealth is created, distributed, and stewarded under His rule. It is not just a quick line against taking what does not belong to you—it is a summons to honest gain, to diligent hands, noble work, and productive lives that bring glory to the God who gives us strength to labor.

Because theft, after all, comes in many disguises.

There is, of course, the obvious kinds that involve blatant criminality: breaking into homes, hijacking cars, defrauding clients, skimming funds, pirating digital property. These are the visible manifestations of theft and fairly obvious (whether it involves ski masks or hidden malware).

But Scripture does not let us stop there. God sees theft not merely by what is taken, but in what is withheld. You can rob a man with a crowbar—or with a fraudulent timecard. You can rob your neighbor by emptying his wallet—or by giving him less than what he’s owed. You can rob your family by gambling away your paycheck—or by being so slothful that they inherit nothing but your lifetime of excuses and regrets.

Solomon says in Proverbs 11

“A false balance is an abomination to the Lord, but a just weight is His delight.” — Proverbs 11:1

In the ancient world, false balances meant dishonest scales—tools that appeared fair but cheated the customer. But the image runs deeper. God isn’t merely upset with shady merchants. He abhors the entire framework of dishonesty and apathy that help them get ahead. He despises corrupt men—and that does not just include perps tip toeing in the night. It also includes all those who refuse to pursue excellence in their calling robbing from their potential, who shortchange their employers with idle hours and minimal effort robbing from their company, who build careers without character robbing from their reputation, and collect paychecks without integrity robbing from their legacy. Sloth, in this context, is not a minor flaw. It is theft. It robs companies, co-workers, families, and economies. It robs the future. But more than that—it robs God of the glory He is due.

Now, I do not believe that we can add to the glory of an infinitely glorious God, nor can we subtract from it. In that sense, God possesses perfect aseity—He is complete in Himself, lacking nothing, and dependent on no one. Yet when Scripture commands us to do everything to the glory of God (1 Corinthians 10:31), we are being summoned to reflect and display His glory in our lives. And if we offer subpar effort, thoughtless labor, poisoned hearts, and corrupt motives, then a kind of theft takes place—not a robbery of God's essential glory, but a failure to glorify Him as He deserves, which is a moral robbery of His revealed majesty.

Think about it this way. He gave you breath. He gave you skill. He gave you hours in the day. And He expects that you will use those gifts in meaningful and glorious ways. Now imagine how grievous it is when you give someone a gift, they feign excitement, and you later find it collecting dust in the attic, unused and forgotten.

When you treat His gifts with disdain—when you scroll your phone instead of working, give 60% while collecting 100%, when you coast through your vocation with laziness and excuse—you are not merely stealing from a company. You are robbing your conscience. You are robbing your household of security. You are robbing your church of generosity. And you are robbing your God of worship.

Paul tells us:

“Whatever you do, do your work heartily, as for the Lord rather than for men.” — Colossians 3:23

Men, this commandment calls us to rise up and build. It calls us to swing hammers, crunch numbers, flip burgers, craft policies, build companies, enact legislation—not with eye-service or minimum effort—but with Christ in mind. You don’t work for a boss. At least not ultimately. You work for the King.

Women, you too are not exempt from this high calling. Though modernity sneers at the domestic sphere, Scripture sanctifies it. Titus 2:5 exalts women as "workers at home," and Proverbs 31 depicts a queenly matron who wakes early, builds wealth, nurtures her children, orders her household, and fears the Lord.

Laziness is no respecter of gender. The same sin that tempts a man to clock out emotionally on the job site tempts a woman to scroll past the dishes by getting caught up on social media. When the home is entrusted to your care and it lies in shambles because of your indulgence, that is not just disorder—it is theft.

And the deeper tragedy? When we rob through laziness, we not only limit our provision—we cripple our generosity. Slothful men do not tithe. Lazy women do not abound in good works. The thief does not give. He consumes. He demands. He hoards. But the Eighth Commandment is not just about what we wrongly take. It’s about what we righteously fail to give—to our neighbor, our church, our family, and to God Himself.

So ask yourself:
Are you a thief—not with a crowbar, but with your carelessness?
Have you been stealing, not by intrusion, but by inertia?
Have you robbed your boss by withholding your best efforts?
Have you robbed your spouse by refusing to give her Christ-like love?
Have you robbed your children of your joyful presence?
Your church of generosity?
Your God of worship?

The Law levels us. It unmasks us. And underneath the ski mask, we are all burglars and liars. Every one of us. We’ve stolen time, honor, credit, praise, wages, attention, and opportunity. We’ve taken what wasn’t ours and failed to give what was. We are not the hardworking saints we imagine ourselves to be. We have a ledger of theft—measured not in dollars, but in disobedience.

But praise be to God—Christ came for thieves. He was crucified between two of them. One mocked. One repented. One railed against his fate. The other beheld the King of glory bleeding beside him and saw hope. He cried out for mercy, and Christ gave him more than mercy. Christ gave him paradise.

“Truly I say to you, today you shall be with Me in Paradise.” — Luke 23:43

That is the hope for every time-thief, every heart-hoarder, every sluggard and spiritual shoplifter who wants to be made whole. Christ was stripped so you could be clothed. Christ was shamed so you could be crowned. Christ was cast out so you could be welcomed in. Christ was emptied so that your arms could be filled with righteousness.

So repent. Return. Make restitution where you can. Pay what is owed. Rebuild what is broken. Rekindle the fires of vocation. Offer your labor, your diligence, your entire life as a sacrifice to God. And above all—look to Christ, the One who gave everything and stole nothing, so that thieves like us could be redeemed.

Let the thought of that thrill you—from your toes to your hair follicles.
And let that thrill drive you, with joy, back to the throne of grace.

Because in a covenant, there are two parties.
And we are the party that always breaks the terms.
But every week, He welcomes us back.
He receives us again.
Because Christ has paid it all.

To Him be the Kingdom, the Power, and the Glory. Amen.