Loving the Gift More Than the Giver: The Trap of Spiritual Idolatry

"It is seriously wrong to have more regard for God’s blessings than for God himself: prayer and detachment.” —St. John of the Cross (The Sayings of Light and Love, #138)

 

This specific quote was one of the many concise, diamond-cut spiritual truths that Saint John of the Cross, the great Spanish Carmelite mystic, would frequently share with those under his spiritual direction, particularly the nuns he mentored, like St. Teresa of Ávila's communities. They were known to write these simple yet profound Sayings down and pin them to the walls of their cells and workspaces as constant, actionable reminders of their foundational commitment to God. This particular saying, pointing to the essential remedy of "prayer and detachment," strikes at one of the most persistent errors of the spiritual life.

 

The Universal Trap

Have you ever watched a child at Christmas become so enamored with their presents that they forget to thank the relatives who gave them? Or perhaps you've experienced it yourself—that moment when a long-awaited promotion, a financial windfall, or even an answered prayer becomes so consuming that the source of the blessing fades into the background. We clutch the gift while the Giver stands forgotten in the doorway.

This universal human tendency strikes at the heart of what the Spanish mystic identified as one of our most serious spiritual errors: having "more regard for God's blessings than for God himself." His words cut through centuries to challenge us today, exposing a subtle but devastating form of idolatry that can corrupt even our most sincere religious practices.

 

The Ancient Trap in Modern Clothing

This spiritual pitfall is as old as humanity. Consider the Israelites in the wilderness who, after witnessing the miraculous parting of the Red Sea, quickly fashioned a golden calf, declaring, "These are your gods, O Israel, who brought you up out of the land of Egypt!" (Exodus 32:4, NRSV). They confused the blessing of liberation with the Liberator himself, creating a tangible substitute for the invisible God who had saved them.

The prophet Hosea later captured God's lament over this recurring pattern: "It was I who fed them, but when they were satisfied, they became proud; then they forgot me" (Hosea 13:6, NIV). The blessings meant to draw them closer to God became the very things that pushed Him away.

Jesus himself encountered this phenomenon. After feeding the five thousand, the crowds pursued him eagerly—not because they recognized him as the Messiah, but because they wanted more bread. Jesus confronted them directly: "Very truly I tell you, you are seeking me, not because you saw signs, but because you ate your fill of the loaves" (John 6:26, NRSV). They wanted the gift of miraculous provision but not the Gift-giver himself.

 

The Subtle Seduction of Spiritual Success

What makes this error "seriously wrong," as John of the Cross puts it, is not merely poor spiritual etiquette. Rather, it fundamentally distorts the very nature of our relationship with God. When we fixate on blessings rather than the Blesser, we reduce God to a cosmic vending machine and ourselves to spiritual consumers.

This distortion manifests in countless ways today. While the Prosperity Gospel is an obvious example, the trap extends beyond material wealth. Consider the person who becomes addicted to spiritual experiences—the emotional high of worship, the sense of peace from meditation, the intellectual satisfaction of theological study—while remaining fundamentally unchanged in character and uncommitted in relationship to God. As Augustine of Hippo wrote, "I was seeking you outside, while you were within" (Confessions, X, 27). Even our spiritual practices can become idols when we love the experience more than the One we experience.

The fourth-century monk Evagrius Ponticus warned about "spiritual gluttony"—an excessive desire for spiritual consolations that ultimately focuses on the self rather than God. He observed that some monks became so attached to the sweetness of prayer that they would become despondent when God withdrew these consolations, revealing that their true love was for the feeling, not for God himself.

 

The Prescription: Prayer and Detachment

John of the Cross offers a two-fold remedy that is both simple and radical: prayer and detachment. These are not separate solutions but intertwined practices that work together to reorient our hearts toward God himself.

True Prayer: Seeking the Face, Not the Hand

True prayer, as John understood it, is not primarily about obtaining blessings but about communion with God. It is what Paul describes as the Spirit within us crying "Abba, Father" (Romans 8:15, NIV)—a cry of relationship, not requisition. Prayer, in this understanding, becomes a process of stripping away our attachments to everything that is not God, including our attachments to his blessings. It is learning to say with Habakkuk, "Though the fig tree does not blossom... yet I will rejoice in the LORD" (Habakkuk 3:17-18, NRSV).

Detachment: Holding Gifts Loosely

Detachment (desasimiento in Spanish, literally meaning "un-seizing") does not mean indifference or ingratitude toward God's blessings. Rather, it means holding them loosely, recognizing them as gifts that point beyond themselves to the Giver. It means releasing our grip on things so that our hands are free to embrace God.

This concept finds deep roots in scripture. When Jesus sent out the seventy-two disciples, they returned rejoicing that "even the demons submit to us in your name!" But Jesus redirected their joy: "Do not rejoice that the spirits submit to you, but rejoice that your names are written in heaven" (Luke 10:17, 20, NIV). The blessing of spiritual power was real and good, but the greater reality was their relationship with God himself.

The Jesuit tradition speaks of "sacred indifference"—not apathy, but a profound freedom that comes from desiring God's will above all else. When our fundamental security rests in God rather than in his blessings, we can receive gifts with gratitude and release them without despair. We become like Paul, who said, "I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation" (Philippians 4:12, NIV). The secret was that his joy was rooted not in circumstances but in Christ himself.

 

Conclusion: The Freedom of Reorientation

The simple yet profound warning from Saint John of the Cross—"It is seriously wrong to have more regard for God’s blessings than for God himself"—is a constant invitation to a deeper, more mature faith. It is a call to move beyond the transactional relationship of a consumer and embrace the transformational relationship of a beloved child.

Our task is to continually reorient our gaze, letting every blessing—every sunrise, every moment of peace, every material comfort, every spiritual consolation—function as a window through which we see the Giver, not a mirror reflecting our own success or spiritual prowess. The practice of detachment is the spiritual equivalent of letting go of the golden calf so we can hold the hand of the Liberator. When we practice the twin remedies of prayer that seeks communion and detachment that holds all things lightly, we find the profound, secure freedom of resting not in what God gives, but in God himself, the true and eternal Gift.