Good news. We all love getting it. Our team won. Our loved one made it home safely. A new life safely born. A friend engaged to be married. A clean bill of health. A balance paid in full. A job offer received.

We all love good news.

So why do we seem to have such an addiction to bad news?

Bob Dylan’s 80th birthday yesterday brought to memory a comment from an interview with the New York Times last summer. Part of promotion efforts for his newest album, the legendary artist was full of reflection in his exchange with Douglas Brinkley. But this is the part that stood out to me: “Good news in today’s world is like a fugitive, treated like a hoodlum and put on the run. Castigated. All we see is good-for-nothing news.”

Dylan made the remark in the context of observations on the place of gospel music in American culture. But, as usual, Bob Dylan’s seemingly passing commentary rang true of realities far more transcendent than pop music.

In the past year, Dylan’s assessment of our common condition seems to have proven all the more true. We are addicted to bad news. This is no malady unique to North America, but it does seem to have some rather stark expressions in our own cultural context.

My interest is not merely in American culture, but in what is happening in our churches. Why is it that so many who claim the name of Jesus Christ seem to have an addictive dependency on bad news? I’m not talking about the kind of bad news that punches you in the mouth and makes you bleed. I’m talking about the kind of bad news that seems to pull you in, with an almost seductive power.

Gossip. Slander. Fear. Paranoia. Anxiety. Strife.

We love good news, but we are too often addicted to bad news. It feeds and fuels our outrage. It seems to lay a foundation for our self-righteousness. It legitimizes our worst fears. And now we have social media platforms driven by algorithms quite literally designed to give us more of the stuff, with just enough of a dopamine hit each time to keep us coming back for more. And the more we consume, the more we want. We all love good news. But like any addict, we seem incapable of walking away from the thing that is killing us.

No honest person can deny the reality of bad news. It is inescapable. And Christians understand full well that bad news matters a great deal. In fact, we need to know the bad news so that we will appreciate and trust the good news all the more. There are those that would swat away any bad news, preferring to live in a delusion. What matters is whether the news, good or bad, is true. 

The issue is not whether bad news exists or not. Nor is the question whether we need to be aware of the reality of bad news. The malady of our present moment seems to be that our hearts and minds have developed something of an addictive dependency on bad news. We feed on it, seeming to draw some sort of twisted nourishment from it. But in the end, bad news has no nutritive value. It starves the human soul, warping it inward.

So how can we determine if we have succumbed to this appetite? Let me suggest just a few diagnostic questions.

Do I assume the worst of others?

Good news is inseparable from love. There’s more to that statement than we likely realize. Indeed, our very definition of what makes good news good is shaped by what and who we love. But if we do love God supremely and love our neighbor as ourselves, then our loves are actually ordered rightly and we will indeed delight in truly good news.

So what’s the problem? Why do we seem to actually find delight in bad news? Even more disturbing, how do we account for the schadenfreude that seems to mark so much of the human heart and our modern world?

Sin, of course. Our hearts are so warped and bent by the fall that we actually draw disordered pleasure from the bad news about others.

One surefire indication that we are killing ourselves on bad news is that we increasingly are marked by cynicism about others, assuming the worst of their motives and actions. This can be especially tempting and subtle when we’ve been wronged or hurt, when trust has been broken. It can emerge in our hearts when we are afraid. And it can even come to characterize an entire organizational culture.

Love is the antidote.

Love is counter-cultural. In a world that celebrates bravado and outrage, love calls us to a better way. In a culture that sees political discourse as an exercise in mutually assured destruction, love looks radically different. In a historical moment that can feel so dire, enticing us to abandon love as incapable of holding up under pressure, we need to remember:

“Love is patient, love is kind. Love does not envy, is not boastful, is not arrogant, is not rude, is not self-seeking, is not irritable, and does not keep a record of wrongs. Love finds no joy in unrighteousness but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things” (1 Corinthians 13:4-7).

That kind of love calls us away from slander and gossip, back to a kind of long-suffering and patient humility. It calls us back to the way of Jesus. Indeed, it’s the same way that is shaped by the Master’s command: “Love your enemies, do what is good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you” (Luke 6:27-28).

Jesus’ imperative of love is one predicated on the scandal of mercy. It means not only overlooking offenses, not only extending forgiveness but actively seeking the good of those who curse and mistreat us. That kind of love is an antiseptic, sure to dissolve the grime that so plagues our hearts and poisons us with cynicism, gossip, and assuming the worst of others, especially other Christians.

Am I characterized by hope or despair?

For two millennia, the church of Jesus Christ has endured hardships, persecution, and suffering. And yet, the people of God are marked by hope. Even in those darkest of moments, Christians are not despairing people. There are a number of reasons for this reality. For one, the people of God have the Spirit and the Word of God. We are not left in the dark, left to fend for ourselves while God is silent. If God has spoken and now leads and guides us in truth by His Spirit, then we have every reason for hopefulness. He will guide. He will lead. The Good Shepherd still speaks and his sheep still hear his voice (John 10:27-30).

But we are also resurrection people. We look back to an empty tomb on the outskirts of Jerusalem, believing that God raised Jesus from the dead, that he ascended to the right hand of God the Father, and that he will indeed come again one day to judge the living and the dead. We have been crucified and resurrected with him so that, even now, we are truly seated with Christ in the heavenly places (Ephesians 2:6).

And yet, so much of our discourse hinges around anxiety and despair. So much of what passes for “cultural engagement” is just a daily exercise in outrage and worry. We all need to be like those sons of Issachar who understood the times (1 Chronicles 12:32). There is no inherent virtue in delusion. Indeed, loving God and our neighbor will require us to step up and speak out on behalf of the vulnerable. But if you find yourself in a near-constant state of worry, anxiety, or anger about the direction of political, cultural, or social headlines, it may be time to ask why. If you are feeding yourself on a daily diet of culture war skirmishes and “show and tell” headlines about the most bizarre cultural developments, then don’t be surprised that your heart and mind are drifting from hope. 

Is this leading me in the path of wisdom?

Our age is one suffering from a famine of wisdom. Thankfully, that is not a new experience for the people of God. James had to address the matter quite directly to his original readers in the early decades of the church. Consider his distinction between two very different kinds of wisdom:

“Who among you is wise and understanding? By his good conduct he should show that his works are done in the gentleness that comes from wisdom. But if you have bitter envy and selfish ambition in your heart, don’t boast and deny the truth. Such wisdom does not come down from above but is earthly, unspiritual, demonic. For where there is envy and selfish ambition, there is disorder and every evil practice. But the wisdom from above is first pure, then peace-loving, gentle, compliant, full of mercy and good fruits, unwavering, without pretense.” (James 3:13-17)

If you’re looking for good news, look for voices marked by the kind of wisdom James describes, the kind of wisdom “from above.” If the voices you’re listening to regularly feed the counterfeit wisdom James describes, it’s time to change the channel.

There is no wisdom to be gained by listening to fools. Indeed, Solomon’s instruction to his son on the way of life is a good reminder: “The path of the righteous is like the light of dawn, shining brighter and brighter until midday. But the way of the wicked is like the darkest gloom; they don’t know what makes them stumble” (Proverbs 4:18-19). 

What James described is consistent with Solomon’s instruction. The way of wisdom is the way of the Lord. It is the way of truth. But as James points out, there is also an ethic of wisdom. It is not merely enough to have cognitive access to God’s truth. Wisdom shows itself in a heart that has been transformed by and renewed in that truth. So here’s a good test for evaluating the cacophony of voices out there that would claim to offer you instruction in the truth. My own pastor asked the question of our church recently: Are you swallowing gallons of metaphorical sewage water, but starving yourself of the living water offered to you in God’s Word?

Are you more trusting of strangers’ voices on the internet than your own pastor? Are those voices coming from persons who exhibit the wisdom from above that James describes? If not, move on. And ask God to lead you in the path of wisdom.

Am I drawing closer to Jesus?

When all is said and done, this matters more than anything else. And yet, our obsession with bad news corrodes intimacy with Christ. 

Paul understood this dynamic well. Deeply acquainted with suffering and hardship, the man knew bad news. And yet, his testimony was one of hope and peace. For example, consider the context of his letter to the Philippian church. Writing while incarcerated, Paul has no delusion about sin, evil, and suffering. The Apostle knew the reality of persecution and took Jesus at his word that persecution would be the norm for the church. And yet, he seems to be marked by a joyful intimacy with Christ throughout the letter. For example, he claims that nothing else compares in value to “knowing Christ Jesus my Lord” (Philippians 2:8). He calls on Christians to “Rejoice in the Lord always” in such a way that they will be marked by graciousness, freedom from worry, and the protective peace of God (Philippians 2:4-7). And then, to top it all off, he instructs them to “dwell” on certain things: “whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable—if there is any moral excellence and if there is anything praiseworthy” (Philippians 4:8).

The world, the flesh, and the devil conspire against this every single day. There is a discipline of grace required of every Christian, calling us to actively direct our hearts and minds toward the good, the true, and the beautiful—toward Jesus Christ himself. Show me a Christian who walks closely with Jesus—meditating on his Word, communing with him in prayer, telling others about him—and I’ll show you someone who delights in good news.

That’s because the good news of Jesus is news so wonderful that it exceeds the limits of human imagination. We need to know the bad news—the news of our sin and guilt before a holy God, the news of coming judgment—but we don’t stop there. There is no nourishment to be gained from the bad news. It informs us of the truth of our human dilemma, but it has no inherent power in itself if we are not then captivated by the good news of the gospel. And that’s where we find Jesus himself.