Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

Exhaustion warred with exhilaration as the Twelve made their way through the crowds to Jesus. For a few moments, exhilaration won, making them forget their aching feet, tired bodies, and growling stomachs. They had so much to tell Him. The overwhelming success of their mission had taken them by surprise. Never had they imagined that a spur-of-the-moment journey through several surrounding cities and towns could be so rewarding. Especially when they’d been traveling like beggars. With nothing. Literally. Nothing. There had been no time to put together a backpack of necessities. No accident-prone guy carried an extra shirt in case he dripped ketchup on the one he was wearing. Their pockets weren’t bulging with a stash of energy bars. No one strapped on a belt bag with cash and a credit card for emergencies. They didn’t even take a first aid kit to bandage blisters or wrap sprained ankles. Doing just as Jesus told them, they gathered only what they needed for that moment and left on their mission of spreading the gospel to people who hadn’t heard. 

The first stop had been a bit bumpy. They hadn’t practiced a speech or been given a script. When they first began to preach, people were unsure what they were talking about and even less certain they wanted to subscribe. Until the miracles happened. The miracles had been miraculous in more ways than one. As sick were healed and evil spirits cast out, news of the disciples’ ministry and itinerary spread like wildfire. People wanted in. If not for the message, for the miracles. Everyone wanted one of those. From runny noses to terminal illnesses and demon possessions, the disciple duos soon found themselves surrounded by scores of needy people. In every town they lined the streets, waiting for a visit from Jesus’ disciples. 

Marring the excitement of their blossoming ministry, news of John the Baptist’s death reached the traveling disciples. The brutal, gory account must have shaken them. Haunted them. Highlighted their own vulnerability. Perhaps that is what brought them back to town, back to Jesus’ side. Perhaps they had simply exhausted their circuit and were returning home. Once there, they began to recount their travels. Review their ministry. Regale one another with glorious stories of salvation, deliverance, and healing. They could have talked for hours. But they were tired. Physically and emotionally. They were exhausted. No one could remember the last time they had eaten an uninterrupted meal. Someone always had a pressing need. Food was taken on the run. Rest was a series of power naps. There was no time to refresh themselves, restore their minds, rejuvenate their souls. Swept up in the work of God and the busyness of their assignments, they had stopped taking time to properly care for themselves. 

Jesus knew it. He saw it. Etched in the dust on their faces was the desperate need to eat and rest and regain their strength. They needed time alone. Away from crowds. Away from the needs. Away from the people who pulled them in every direction at once. They needed time to eat. Time to sleep. Time to wash their faces and feet. So. When their excitement dwindled and the rapid-fire stories began to dissipate, Jesus issued another command. An invitation, really. “Come away from the crowds, the needs, the clamoring people. Come rest. Feed yourselves. Your bodies. Your souls. Come with me and be restored.” (Mark 6:7-30)

Jesus understood busy. Personally. The timeline of His life demanded He remain busy. Constantly. Three short years was the allotted time He had to do on earth the work of the Father in Heaven. Three years to show people who He was. Three years to give them a glimpse of His Father’s heart. Three years to woo and warn and waken. It hardly seems like enough. Given the often obtuse state of humanity, it feels like significantly less than warranted. People don’t always understand things the first time around. We are not always quick on the uptake. It was all the time He had. Jesus knew that. He worked like He knew it. He felt the urgency of His mission. Yet, as much as Jesus understood busyness, as crazy busy as He was Himself, He also understood and took seriously the necessity of rest. 

Rest is an integral part of work. Physical rest. Mental rest. Spiritual rest. Without rest, our ability to work is inhibited. Our minds function poorly without adequate rest. Our bodies become more susceptible to illness. Our souls grow weak and vulnerable to attacks of the evil one. Jesus knew these things. He knew the importance of getting away by Himself to rest and talk with God. He modeled it for us, extricating Himself from a crowd, from a situation, from His disciples, and spending time alone to rest. Over and again we read that Jesus went away by Himself to pray. At one point, we find Jesus sleeping in the stern of the boat while the disciples battle a storm. We see Him hungry when He curses the non-productive fig tree. We hear His words of frustration as He realizes the men He has chosen to be closest to Him, to carry on His ministry once He is gone, are still confused about the meaning of His words. The story of Jesus’ life outlines for us a Man who knows exactly how we feel when we are tired, hungry, and overworked. It also shows us His example of what to do and where to turn when our earthly busyness attempts to take over our spiritual business. (Mark 1:35; 5:35-38; 6:46; 11:12-14; Matthew 14:13, 23; 15:16; 16:8; Luke 5:15; 6:12)

In the little-read, seldom-preached book of Song of Solomon, we find penned in beautiful ancient poetry the words Jesus spoke to His exhausted disciples. It is hardly a coincidence. In tender words of love and care, God calls His people then and us now to come away and be alone with Him. His desire is for us. To be in a relationship with us. To be present among us. To bless us with rest and renewal. To strengthen our hearts and minds and souls. To rejuvenate our bodies. To give us what we need to thrive in a world that continually pressures us into a swirling eddy of busyness. It is into this wild pandemonium of our lives that God speaks, calling us to come away and rest. With Him. (Song of Songs 2:10-14; 6:3; 7:10; 8:13)

As you rock in the chaotic uncertainty of our current society, I hope you hear the tender voice of God lovingly calling you to come away with Him and rest. I hope you do so. I hope you lay aside your tablet, close your laptop, silence your cell phone, turn off the television, and sit quietly with Jesus. In a world where it is so easy to feel unseen, unnecessary, unvalued, unloved, I hope you stay in that space with Jesus and hear Him call you His beautiful beloved. That is who you are. Believe it. Settle down in His eternal, unchanging, unfailing love. Stay there. That’s your home. As you wait there, give Him access to every part of your life. Let Him restore your soul. Cast your cares on Him and let Him take care of you. Stop working, stop striving, stop skipping meals and skimping on sleep. That’s not the plan He has for you. He’s calling you to rest. Physically. Mentally. Spiritually. In Him. With Him. You are His beloved. His desire is for you. So come away from the worries and cares and busyness of life and find rest in Jesus. (Matthew 6:25-34; 11:28-30; Psalm 23:3; 127:2; 136:1; I Peter 5:7; Song of Songs 4:1,7,9; Matthew 7:9-10; Lamentations 3:22; Jeremiah 29:11)

It certainly wasn’t the most comfortable place to spend the night. He’d had better. Much better. Home would have been nice. Soft bed. Warm house. Hot food. Instead, here he was watching the sun sink the final inches behind the hills and bedding down with a stone. Literally. A stone. He really shouldn’t complain. It was his own fault he was in this mess. He spent nearly every moment of his existence, both in utero and out, striving with his brother. They had wrestled endlessly while in the womb. They’d still been squabbling when they entered the world. His brother had been faster, winning the birth race by mere seconds. Attempting not to be outdone, Jacob grabbed Esau’s heel upon their exit. It must have been a battle declaration. He’d spent the rest of his life being a thorn in that same heel. 

Esau had every right to be angry at him. Furious. Irate. Enraged. Every line of Jacob’s life had been full of deceit. Manipulation. Trickery. He had swindled Esau out of his birthright. Outright stolen his blessing. He’d won his place of superiority by hook and crook. He wasn’t even ashamed of it. Scared of his brother. Running for his life. But not sorry he had lied, cheated, and stolen his way to the top. It would have been better if he had been. Maybe he wouldn’t be running for his life right now. That final act of treachery had sealed the fate of their brotherly relationship. It was nonexistent. Dead. Lifeless. Impossible to revive. There was a strong likelihood Jacob would be the same if he stuck around. So he ran. And ended up here. Bedded down on the hard ground with his head on an unforgiving stone pillow. 

Completely exhausted from his frantic journey and the constant looking over his shoulder, Jacob drifted off to sleep regardless of his uncomfortable circumstances. He was too tired to stay awake. Tired of running. Tired of worrying. Tired of being who he was. The guy who had a reputation for deceit. He was more than ready to move on to the next chapter of his life. Ready to build a new reputation among people who were unaware of the old. Meet his relatives. Find a wife. Settle down. Build a family. Make a life for himself and see how that fraudulently obtained blessing from his father panned out. 

The dream came as a surprise. A big one. He’d never experienced anything like it. Not asleep or awake. Jacob had never had a moment where God seemed so real, so close, so personal. He’d never gotten a direct message from the Almighty. Had never met God face to face or audibly heard His voice. He never expected to. His life wasn’t exactly the place a holy God would find attractive or choose to set up camp. Jacob knew that. Given his proclivity for deceit, a visit from God didn’t seem like something he’d be in line to receive. But here he was, his head resting on a stone, positively asleep, yet dreaming the most realistic dream he’d ever had. And God was talking. Loudly. To him.

Words of promise poured from God’s lips to lodge in Jacob’s weary, fleeing soul. God was there. The God who had been so close to his father, Isaac, and grandfather, Abraham, was there. In that place. With Jacob. He wasn’t just poking around, either. He had no questions about what Jacob was doing or why he was sleeping on the ground in some desolate place. No. God had things to say. Real things. True things. Promises He was certain to keep. Plans He would most decidedly enact. He would protect, preserve and prosper Jacob. In every way. The very land he was lying on would be his own. Generation after generation would trace their heritage back to Jacob. Though he would travel on to visit his relatives, find a wife, start a family, God would bring him back to this place. He would never leave or forsake him until He had fulfilled every word of this exact promise. 

Startling out of sleep to review the words and promises of his dream, Jacob makes some promises of his own. If God was going to be with him, watch over him, feed, clothe and provide for him all through his journey and bring him safely back home, he was going to follow God. Exclusively. There would be no idols, no foreign gods, no false beliefs. He wasn’t going to trust in his own strength, ingenuity, or acumen. He was going to be God’s guy. Completely. His family, when he had one, would be God’s people. Only. His home would be a place where God reigned supreme. Always. And Jacob would converse with God Himself. Frequently. (Genesis 25:19-34; 27; 28:10-22)

It wouldn’t always be in a dream. God would often visit Jacob, actively maintaining His part of their covenant. Wisdom and direction would come from above whether about tending flocks or packing up to head back home. Reminders would come as well. Reminders of the promises God made to Jacob and of the vows he’d made in return. Eventually, God would issue the command. Go back to Bethel. Get back to the physical place, the spiritual space where you first met. God now. And Jacob did. He set his house in order. Rid their ranks of idols. No matter whose they were or how they came to be among them. They had to go. All of them. As people, they needed to purify their hearts and clean up their acts. They needed to hit the road. Go back to Bethel. Go meet with God. Get back to the place where God first spoke over Jacob’s life. And stay there. Stay in that place. Stay in that stance. Stay in the space of worship and awe, the place where conversations with God bring about confessions, corrections, and conversions. But first, they had to clean house. They could hardly come and appear before a holy God while clinging to the idols of the world. (Genesis 31:1-13; 32:24-30; 35:1-7, 9-15)

Wait! Why were there idols in Jacob’s house? He knew better. He knew God. He’d promised that as long as God took care of Him, the Lord would be his God. So what happened? Did he change his mind? Did his wives beg him to accept their gods? Were his servants just that persuasive? Why, exactly, had Jacob allowed his household to be infiltrated with idols at all? Was he blind? Ignorant? Or just too weak to kick them out the moment they came through the door? Did he truly not notice their increasing presence, or did he simply not care to do anything about it? Did it bother him at all that his beloved wife, Rachel, stole her father’s idols and carried them along on their journey back toward Bethel? Maybe she hid them for a while, but as much time as Jacob spent in Rachel’s tent, it seems he’d have noticed eventually. How long did he allow them there once he was aware of their presence? How long would he have allowed them there if God hadn’t called him back to Bethel? Would Jacob ever have cleaned house had God not directly commanded him to get himself back to the place he’d been when he’d promised to make the Lord his God? (Genesis 29:13-22; 31:30-35) 

Somewhere between my irritated sighs and exasperated questions over Jacob’s odious shenanigans, I catch a glimpse of us. All of us. Everyone who has met Jesus and promised to make Him the Lord of their life. We all started in the same place. Our intentions were good. We walked carefully and closely with Jesus. Strictly held to the first and second commandments. No other gods. No idols. We surrounded ourselves with Jesus only. It was great while it lasted. After a while, though, we got distracted. Not by figurines on our mantles or good luck charms. No. We didn’t fall for that. We fell for another, less obvious but more dangerous, trap. We fell to the idols we couldn’t see. The things we want. The desires we chase. The dreams we will give anything to attain. We shifted our spiritual life into autopilot and trained our eyes on earthly things. Fashion. Fame. Fortune. Fictional freedoms that bring us nothing but bondage. We think we have them under control, pointing out our regular church attendance, abbreviated Bible reading, and quickly whispered prayer. We don’t. We aren’t invested like we used to be. We aren’t following hard after God. We aren’t dedicated to Him above all else. Why? Because the idols of the world have drawn our attention away and we’ve slipped from the commitment we made when we first met Jesus. (Exodus 20:1-4; Joshua 24:23; I Corinthians 10:14; Colossians 3:5; Matthew 6:24)

In one of His New Testament parables, Jesus addresses this exact issue. He speaks of ground covered in thorns that choke out the words of life, preventing new life from taking root and growing. Those thorns have names. Cares of this life. Love of riches. Desires for earthly things. There is no alliteration. There is simply truth. Our desperate, endless search for the next big thing, the next financial windfall, the next promise of notoriety, the next opportunity to separate us from our circumstances, does only one thing. Separates us from God. The consuming distraction draws us away from Him, placing us in that exact space beside Jacob. Needing a housecleaning. Needing a trip to Bethel. Needing to remember the promises we made to God and the fervor with which we made them. Needing to reignite the hope and joy and peace of following hard after God with no distractions, no drawbacks, no idols. (Mark 4:13-20; Revelation 2:1-6; Psalm 63:8; Ecclesiastes 5:4)

Distracted as we are by the dreams, desires, and demands of our lives, I would submit to you that we need to go back to Bethel. Our Bethel. Yours. Mine. Go back to the place in our hearts where we met with God and committed ourselves fully to Him. The place where we chose to be His people and accepted Him as our God. The place we were before the drifting started, before the distractions drew us away. We need to get back to the first and second commandments. No other gods. No idols. Nothing between our souls and His heart. Nothing physical. Nothing spiritual. We need to do some housecleaning. In our hearts. In our souls. In our lives. We need to go back to Bethel and stay there. Stay in the place where conversations with God happen. Listen to His voice. Soak in His presence. Feel the awe of His power. Drench our souls in the hope of His promises. Remember our own vows to God. Resolve to keep them. Reset our hearts and minds to follow only Him in a world full of things that demand our attention and draw our affection. Rest in the immutable truth that God is sovereign, God is faithful, and, just as He promised and proved to Jacob, God is with us. Always. In Bethel and beyond. (Psalm 37:5; 116:1; Hebrews 13:5; Deuteronomy 31:8; II Chronicles 15:2; Jeremiah 24:7; II Thessalonians 3:3; I Chronicles 29:11-12)  

My heart sank as the page turned, revealing I’d reached the end of the book. I hate that. Reading a favorite tome only to reach the end before I am prepared to finish is decidedly unpleasant. I would love to read more. Have more. More inspirations. More insights. More promises. More prayers. Several more chapters could have been added before my insatiable desire for his words was quenched. But it is finished. The final chapter of Isaiah is now behind me. Not for the first time. I’ve read it more often than I can remember. I will read it again. Although I find it impossible to choose a favorite book of the Bible, the 66 chapters of Isaiah easily make the shortlist. Every chapter. Every year. 

That’s how frequently I read the book in its entirety. Yearly. Between readings, I often turn back to those pages and peruse my notes, seek specific passages, find comfort, courage, guidance, hope. I’ve found all those things there. Tucked between destructive pronouncements and prophesied judgments on those who choose not to follow Him, are the words of God to the people of God. Words that tell us who He is, express His character, and reveal His heart. Indicative words of who His people are, how they should live, and the reward for following His ways. Words that call us to turn back from the world, from ourselves, from wickedness, and come back to the God who is full of grace and mercy and forgiveness. No matter who we are, where we have been, or what we have done. Words that call us to service in a world that is rapidly slipping away. Words like those of Isaiah 6. (Isaiah 2:5; 5:16; 12:1-6; 14:27; 30:15; 33:22; 40:10-31; 49:23; 56:1-2; 58:1-2, 13-14; 66:1-2)

High on my list of chapters to read over and over again is Isaiah 6. Somehow, I identify with that chapter. Amazed and awed to be standing in the presence of Almighty God, my heart resounds in echoes of agreement with the prophet’s words. Overwhelmed by the awesomeness of God’s holiness, I, too, am acutely aware of my uncleanness and unworthiness to stand in His presence. As Isaiah humbly and honestly admits who he is, what he is, and where he is from, as he offers himself as a living sacrifice to the service of God, my head nods in agreement. My voice echoes his words. I am right there with him. Completely overwhelmed by the holiness of God, desperately aware of my inadequacies and insufficiencies, I find myself bowed beside Isaiah, crying out words that echo his. Unclean. Unworthy. Unacceptable.   

Standing in the nearly tangible presence of the perfect, holy God, I admit who I am, what I am. Because I know. Better than anyone, I know myself. And I know, just as Isaiah knew, that I am ineligible to stand there. I am not righteous. I have done nothing reputable. I do not come with glittering recommendations. All I have are filthy rags. The accolades, awards, and accomplishments of earth mean nothing when viewed under the light of God’s impeccable holiness. Yet, into that moment of absolute transparency, when it is glaringly apparent that I deserve nothing, God gives me everything. Just as He did Isaiah. Into my uncleanness, God brings cleansing, purging atonement. And He doesn’t stop there. God is still speaking. He has a mission. One that hasn’t changed since the call of Isaiah. It’s not different than the call of Jeremiah. It’s identical to the call of the New Testament twelve. It is the call of God to all people who truly know Him. “Who is going to do My work, speak My words when they are unpopular, undesirable, unwelcome? Who on earth will direct My people back to heaven?” (Isaiah 6; Jeremiah 1:1-10, 17-19; Matthew 4:19; 9:37; 28:19-20; Acts 1:8)

 In the Biblical account, there is no space recorded between God’s question and Isaiah’s answer. No matter the heaviness that came with the request, he immediately accepted the challenge. One wonders if, as God laid out His plan for Isaiah, the niggling voice in the back of his head went into full gear, setting loose a volley of questions about what he’d just signed up to do. I wonder if he thought of reneging. Just for a moment. Maybe when he asked, “How long am I doing this, Lord?” How long was he going to keep talking to people who wouldn’t listen? How long was he going to extend himself, make unpleasant prophecies and undesirable pronouncements? How long would he be an enemy to the people around him? How long would the people hear his words yet ignore their truth? How long did he have to make a difference before God’s punishment fell like rain? 

As it turns out, Isaiah had a long time to speak God’s words to God’s people. Carefully woven between prophesies of destruction, are words calling people to repentance. Isaiah was all about it. Bringing people back to God was his main priority. It was his purpose. He wasn’t just there to pronounce judgment on Assyria and punishment on Babylon. He wasn’t there only to speak out against Philistia and Moab. No. Isaiah’s mission was much more important. He was there to speak words of rebuke and calls for repentance to the rebellious, recalcitrant people God loved. He was sent to offer restoration, demonstrate renewal, and start a revival among the people of God. Unfortunately, his words fell on purposely obtuse ears. (Isaiah 5:8-30; 10:12-19; 14:3-15:9; 40; 43:1-25; 55:1-7)

Nearly sixty chapters after Isaiah’s encounter with the seraphim and capitulation to the call of God, he pens the words of a desperate prayer. There’s so much sin and straying around him. The people continually waver in their dedication to God. Sometimes they follow. Often they stray. They love idolatry. Love themselves. Love the trinkets of the world. They have made God angry with their bent toward wickedness. Knowing everything they know about God and His mercy, they still stray. As if they have all the time in the world. As if God will simply overlook their evil ways. As if there are no consequences for wickedness. In desperate desire to see God work and move and change the people, the urgent words of a prayer flow from the depths of the prophet’s aching heart to land on the parchment. “God, tear away everything that stands between us and you. Saturate our space with your presence. Fill it with your glory. Do a work so mighty everyone will know Your name. We know we don’t deserve it. We know we could never earn it. We acknowledge that we have sinned and strayed and stubbornly followed our own ways to our own detriment. But. You are our Father. You love us no matter what. Your desire is for us. You long to dwell among us. So tear back the heavens and come do your work on earth. Among us. Restore us. Renew us. Revive us again.” (Isaiah 63:15-19; 64:1-9; 66:18)

Looking at our society, our country, our world, I find myself in the same space as Isaiah. Frustrated with the flourishing spiritual apathy. Concerned over the complacency of the church. Exhausted by the constant battle of good versus evil. I deeply feel the words of his prayer. I know them. I’ve prayed them. Desperate wishes. Urgent longings. Hope consistently triumphing over experience to believe the people so egregiously steeped in resistance and rebellion may still turn back to God. And I find myself, in a tone likely far less acceptable than Isaiah’s, crying his words out to God. “Do something. Now. Make your presence known. Among us. Even if I am the only one asking. Even if no one else is interested. Do it anyway. Rip away the heavens if necessary. Come down here. Tear away the sky and send your spirit among us. Shred the things that stand between us and you. Leave no barriers intact. Wash our hearts. Cleanse our minds. Purge our lips. Do what it takes to fill every inch of our space with your presence. Renew our hearts. Restore our dedication. Revive us again. Start here. In me.” 

It has to start there. In you. In me. Personally. As lawless and sinful as our world is, if we are to pray down revival on our nation, our communities, our churches, we must first pray it down on ourselves. We must stand open before the Lord, allow Him to tear away the dead and dying branches of our lives, let Him edit our thoughts and words and desires, give Him carte blanche to do in us what needs to be done so that we can be filled with His presence. We must let go of our complacency. We must relinquish our selfishness. We must sacrifice our idols and favorite sins on the altar of God. We must submit to His cleansing so we might be renewed, restored, and revived to become the fire of God spreading throughout our world. It is not enough to wish or even pray for revival. If we want to see societal healing, change, and revival, we must first bare our souls to the personal cleansing, purging work of the Holy Spirit. (John 15:1-2; James 4:8; Psalm 80:19; 85:6; II Chronicles 7:14; II Corinthians 7:1)

In a moment of absolute honesty, we would be forced to admit the outlook isn’t great right now. Tragedy surrounds us. Uncertainty pervades the atmosphere. Unease fills us with anxiety and fear. Surprisingly enough, none of these things turns our selfish, arrogant, rebellious society back to God. Mired in our idols and tied to our idolatry, we continue to trudge on, ignorantly believing we can set things right on our own. We can’t. We have an enormous problem. Lots of them. We can’t fix them on our own no matter how hard we try or how great our ideas seem. We are lost on our own. But. We do have an omnipotent Father. He is poised and waiting. His ears are tuned to hear our cries. He is waiting for an invitation. He is hoping to hear our cry, “Lord, tear away the things that stand between us and You. Come. Cleanse our iniquity. Purge our sin. Renew our hearts. Restore our souls. Revive us again.” (Psalm 50:15; Jeremiah 33:3; Isaiah 58:9-11; 59:12-15; Romans 10:13) 

He will. When God’s people fall to their knees and cry out to Him, He will answer. At the very invitation to permeate our hearts with His presence, He will come. As we submit and surrender to His pruning, His nudging, His care, He will restore us to new life. He will revive us again. That’s how revival starts. By God’s people falling to their knees and crying, “Do whatever it takes. Tear away anything that is standing in the way. Fill our lives, our homes, our churches, our communities with your presence. Even if it hurts. Even if it is uncomfortable. Even if we contemplate quitting halfway through the process. Don’t stop. Keep working. Give us your spirit. Purge our dross. Dwell among us. Renew our devotion. Restore our faithfulness. Revive our complacent hearts.” God will respond. If only we cry out to Him. 

So pray the words. Not for your pastor, your spouse, your neighbor, your friend. Pray them for yourself. Ask God to change you. Your heart. Your mind. Your outlook. Ask Him to revive the dying parts of your soul. Prune away the unnecessary baggage. Remove the things that sap your spiritual strength and drain your spiritual energy. Beg Him to restore you to Himself. Pray to be renewed in your mind. Pray for holiness to be reinstated in your life. Ask God to tear away the things that have created a space between you and Him and to fill that space with His presence. Allow Him to change you. Saturate every part of your being. Flow into, through, and out of you. Revival is possible. In you. Through you. If only we pray. (Habakkuk 3:2; Acts 3:19-21; Hosea 6:1-6; Psalm 51:10-13;139:23-24; Lamentations 5:21; Isaiah 57:14-19)

Stretching his back the best he could, the faithful servant wished again for a more comfortable way to travel. He’d been on this camel far too long. Weeks too long. It had been a lengthy journey. A quiet ride. The men with him weren’t given to chatter. His thoughts weren’t given to silence. Like shooting stars, they exploded across his mind, voicing concerns, raising doubts, asking questions. He didn’t have answers. Not really. Nothing that would permanently quiet the storm of thoughts in his head. His mission was slightly terrifying. So many things could go wrong. What if he didn’t find a suitable woman? What if she declined? What if her family wouldn’t let her leave? What if he had to return to Abraham empty-handed?

He couldn’t let that happen. Wouldn’t let it happen. He’d interview every eligible female in Abraham’s hometown before he’d concede. Failure was not a viable option. He must secure a wife for Isaac. The promise he’d made to Abraham echoed in his mind, weighed heavily on his heart. The questions he’d posed chased one another through his thoughts. What should he do if the woman was unwilling to make the daunting journey to marry a man she’d never met and live among people she didn’t know? It would be unsurprising to garner negative responses, receive pushback from family. Every father of the bride wants to meet the groom. Preferably before the wedding. But Abraham had been adamant. In full faith, the girl must come to Isaac. Isaac must never go to the girl. Ever. He should never return to the land of their ancestors. He needed to stay put. Right there. In the land God had given them.    

By the time the buildings of Abraham’s hometown began to appear on the horizon, the servant had been in his thoughts for far too long. Every question or problem with any potential to arise had been thoroughly cogitated. He’d finally settled on a game plan. One he’d learned by watching Abraham as they journeyed from place to place following the sometimes nearly indistinguishable hand of God. He would pray. Before doing anything else in the city. Before arranging accommodations. Before commencing a candidate search. Before casting a call for the most beautiful girl, most talented cook, most cordial hostess. Upon arriving in town, he’d park his band of camels and all his goods near the well where all the young women would come to draw water. But before they got there, before one beautiful face had the potential to sway his choice, the servant would pray.

This prayer would be unlike any prayer he’d ever prayed before. Probably distinctly different than any he’d pray in the future. He didn’t have the words all planned out yet. Some of them might not even need spoken to an omniscient God. He’d say them anyway. Tell God where he was and what he was up to. Tell Him on whose behalf he was doing this task. Then he’d utter his request. Ask for his miracle. Because it would be a miracle if this worked. He would ask God to let the one girl who should be Isaac’s wife give him a drink from her water jug and offer to water his camels as well. It would be an enormous undertaking. 

Camels like water. A lot. They literally soak it in. A quick internet search will tell you that camels can drink multiple gallons of water at a time. Double-digit amounts. And there were ten camels. Based on even the most conservative estimates I found, the girl would have to haul somewhere around 200 gallons of water for the camels alone. Any idea how much a gallon of water weighs? I do. Now and then I believe myself amazing enough to haul two-gallon jugs with one hand. I quickly learn I’m crazy. My arm tightens. My shoulder pulls. My hand hates me. Immediately. Maybe I’m just an out-of-shape wimp. Regardless, it stands to reason that hauling 200 gallons of water would be exhausting. And she wouldn’t be done. That sweet girl would still have to draw and carry the water she initially came to retrieve for her household. She was going to be there a while. The servant was going to have plenty of time to observe her mannerisms. How she interacted with the other girls at the well. How she treated his camels. How she handled herself around his traveling companions. It was a test he prayed someone would pass. 

As evening approached, the servant positioned himself and his camels around the well. Dropping to his knees, he prayed. A prayer of faith and hope. A prayer only God could answer for a miracle only God could give. A prayer that was rather quickly interrupted by the approach of a lovely young woman with a jug on her shoulder. Watching as she walked past and filled her jug, the servant waited until she was headed back toward him, then approached and asked for a drink from her water jug. I know. Creepy. Some random guy lurking by the well watching the girls fetch water. In our world it would have smacked of ill-intentioned attention. We’d tell our girls to run the other way. Scream. Use their cell phone to call the police. Apparently, that’s not how they did things back then. At least Rebekah didn’t. Disregarding any concerning vibes exuding from the somewhat sketchy situation, she stopped. Whipping the jug off her shoulder, she offered him a drink. While he was slaking his thirst from her freshly filled pot, she innocently bubbled out an offer to water his camels, too! All ten of them.

The servant must have nearly choked as he tried to swallow his shock and his drink at the same time. It had to be one of the quickest answers to prayer he’d ever seen. Literally. He hadn’t even said, “Amen!” This was the first girl that came along. Yet here he was with the exact miracle for which he’d asked. Staring at the wisp of a girl in front of him, he realized the enormity of the task he’d asked God to make her undertake. But couldn’t refuse. It was exactly what he’d prayed for. It wasn’t a minimal task. The girl would definitely be late getting home with her water jug. But it gave him time to watch, to listen, to wrap his head around the fact that the God of Abraham had brought him success so quickly upon his arrival. Gave him a moment to pause and be grateful that before he did anything else, he prayed. (Genesis 24)

With little effort, most of us could find a dozen things to unpack in this account. Abraham’s faith. The servant’s faith. Rebekah’s faith. But the outcome of the adventure really hinges on this one thing. The servant prayed. First. Before anything else. Before finding a comfortable place to rest. Before announcing his arrival. Before introducing himself to the community. Before heralding his mission. Before searching out Abrahams’ relatives. Before letting everyone know about his situation, his need. Before voicing his concerns to all who would listen. Before conducting his business in any normal human way or using age-old strategies. Before doing anything, he asked God to do everything. The servant prayed. 

Those are life goals right there, friend. Seriously. We aren’t good at that. Praying first. Trusting God to handle things we can’t. We are much better at talking. Railing, really. Going on and on to everyone who will listen about our alleged grievance, issue, insult, or problem. By the time we wind down and remember to pray about it, our minds are buzzing with so much bad advice and so many ill-conceived notions we can’t even hear the voice of God telling us which path to take. We have no idea what to do or how to do it. We are frustrated and confused and a little angry. Maybe a lot angry. And you know what? That’s exactly where the evil one wants you to be. 

He’s counting on you being there. Humans are predictably similar. We all struggle with the same basic things. Talking too much is absolutely one of them. Praying too little is another. The evil one knows that. He also knows that if he can get in on the ground floor when you haven’t yet prayed, your mind is swirling with the problem, your fingers are texting and you’ve called your best friend to vent, he can screw things up royally. And, wow, is he happy! That’s right up his alley. Screwing things up. One well-placed thought followed by a carefully worded question will fly across your mind and you’ll be in your feelings for hours. Days if he can make it happen. But you can cut him off at the pass, stop his fun before it begins, if you simply do what the faithful servant of Abraham did. Pray. (Proverbs 10:19; I Peter 5:8; John 10:10; Ephesians 6:10-18)

Pray first. Every day. In every situation. Talk, or don’t, later. Before you waste a hundred hours hashing it out in your head. Before you ring your best friend. Before you fire off a questionable text. Before you do anything at all. Pray. Pray before the evil one has time to set up camp in your head. Pray before he can plant seeds of anger and bitterness in your heart. Pray before you cast aspersions and blame and spread rumors you have no business spreading about things of which you have no real knowledge or understanding. Pray for the same things in you that the servant had in him. Pray to suppress the need to speak when you should be silent. Pray to guard against the raging, ridiculous thoughts that draw you aside. Pray that your actions exhibit your dedication to God and your willingness to let Him work in the way He wants. Don’t manipulate the situation. Don’t play games with people. Don’t make a scene. Just pray. First. And let God answer. (Proverbs 10:14; 21:23; II Corinthians 10:5; Ephesians 4:29-32; 5:1-2; I John 2:6; Leviticus 25:17)

In a world of impatient waiting and rushed responses where little time is given to thoughtful answers or the wisdom of contemplation, it has never been more important to pray first. Start your day that way. Every day. End your day that way. Fall asleep quietly, calmly bringing your concerns, petitions, problems to God. Before you do anything else with those things. Before you talk to anyone else about those things. Pray. Before you make that decision. Before you say those words. Before you take that action. Pray. First. Not just when things are overwhelming or scary or feel impossible. Pray when things are annoying, irritating, infuriating. Pray when your knee-jerk reaction is to do something else. Pray before your mouth shoots off, your brain misfires, your soul gets led astray. Pray. Always. About everything. Pray to be like Jesus. Pray to be inhabited by Him. Pray that only His thoughts will be in your head. Pray that only His words will be on your lips. Pray that His actions would flow through and out of you. Before you do anything else. Pray. (I Thessalonians 5:17; Colossians 4:2; Matthew 26:41; Ephesians 6:18; Philippians 4:6; Luke 18:1; Psalm 19:14)

A heavy sigh escaped his lips. Dark grief gathered around the edges of his deep concern. His heart was heavy. He was losing him. He knew it. Everyone did. Daily they watched as the worsening illness wracked his servant’s body. No one could have predicted this. Not the length of his illness. Not the severity. When he’d taken to his bed, they’d all been surprised. When he hadn’t risen again, they’d all been sobered. When he fell into a silent, still, shallowly breathing shadow of his former self, they all sorrowed. Their hearts were broken. Especially the centurion. 

Faithfully, he had used all his authority to urgently call in doctors and specialists. He’d found the best medical care money could buy. They had all done their best. It wasn’t enough. The proof was in front of him. This servant, a man he highly valued, lay dying before him. It broke his heart. It made him angry. This wasn’t just any servant. This was a man he relied on. One who knew him nearly as well as he knew himself. Someone who could anticipate his needs without the inconvenience of words. Replacing him would be impossible. Reviving him appeared impossible. Releasing him to death seemed imminently unstoppable. Until they heard the news. 

Racing in from the edge of town, a breathless boy came heralding the news that Jesus was headed their way. Coming to Capernaum. If He continued on His current path, He’d walk right through town. People were getting excited. Starting to line the streets. His miraculous power had gained notoriety. News of healed sick and living dead preceded Him. Everyone wanted something. Needed something. No one more so than the centurion. At least it felt that way. Having exhausted every other option in an effort to save his servant’s life, the desperate centurion would grasp any possibility with even the remotest chance of granting his urgent desire. And no one was in a better position to get what he wanted. 

By his own admission and what history tells us about Roman centurions, this was a man comfortable with making things happen. He gave orders. Commands. No one questioned him. When he spoke, people moved. His authority was never in question. He knew it wouldn’t be now. He also believed a group of Roman soldiers wouldn’t be as compelling to the Jewish Healer as a group of His own people. A bunch of spears probably wouldn’t be conducive to eliciting a miracle. It made sense. Leaving the soldiers to carry on with their assigned duties, the centurion called a handful of Jewish elders together and ordered them to go get Jesus. Immediately. Bring Him here. At all cost. Wheedle. Cajole. Beg. Plead. Spare no expense. Ask Him to come and save the life of this most valued servant. Don’t take no for an answer. 

Rushing without running, the men met Jesus as His feet were barely stepping onto Capernaum sand. They understood the urgency of their mission. Their words tripped over one another as they begged Him to come and help, come heal. They offered a litany of reasons. Come because this man in a position of authority has asked you to come. Come because the one asking is a good person. Come because he has treated us with respect and done nice things for us. Come because he loves our nation. Come because he built us a synagogue. Come because he has earned our respect. We can vouch for his goodness. He is worthy of Your time and attention. He is worthy of having his request granted. With all the good he’s done for us, he’s surely earned a favor. 

Even as the words were rushing over their lips to Jesus’ ear, the centurion sat in his home second-guessing what he’d done. What had he been thinking? Had he even been thinking? What about him would make the Jewish Healer want to come do him a favor? He represented everything Jesus should hate. Romans. Gentiles. Sinners. People with evil buried deep in their hearts. He knew himself. He was all those things. Some by birth. Most by choice. His actions, good as they appeared on the outside, didn’t necessarily depict what was in his heart. He’d buried things there. Ugly things. Dirty things. Things that made him completely unworthy of a visit from Jesus, not to mention a miracle. Nothing he’d done made him a candidate for the miraculous. He shouldn’t have sent for Him. Shouldn’t have asked Him to come. Shouldn’t have bothered Jesus with his own problems. Shouldn’t have waylaid Him on His journey to people who surely were more deserving than he. It would be no surprise if Jesus opted out. Declined the invitation. He wouldn’t blame Him. He wouldn’t be surprised if his unworthiness caused Jesus to say, “No.” (Luke 7:1-7)

 As excited as I am to get to the next part, the miracle part, there is something about this account that stops me right here. Right in this moment of brutally honest self-examination. Right in this uber-familiar space of knowing oneself, seeing oneself under the microscope of truth, admitting to oneself, if to no one else, our own unworthiness. The place in which we admit the truth of who we are and who God is. His cleanness. Our filthiness. His greatness. Our smallness. His omnipotence. Our impotence. The place where we realize we deserve nothing, yet Jesus comes to us as if we deserve everything. That is grace. Gorgeous grace. God’s grace. Grace that covers, mitigates, overlooks, eradicates the enormous heap of sins hiding in our hearts, suffocating our souls. Grace that miraculously raises us up, lifting us from the brink of spiritual death to the vitality of life in Christ. We don’t deserve it. We could never earn it. No amount of earthly power or authority can bestow it upon us. Yet, in faith, we can receive it. Worthy or not. When we humbly ask Jesus to save our lives. (Romans 7:24-25; Isaiah 6:5-6; II Corinthians 13:5; Titus 2:11; Romans 11:6; James 4:6; Ephesians 2:8)  

Acknowledging his unworthiness, the centurion experienced a change of mind. Jesus didn’t need to come to his house. He could just speak the words. There really wasn’t a lot of difference between them. He spoke. People acted. Jesus spoke. Things happened. Jesus didn’t need to come see the mess of his life, He just needed to speak the words. Command the servant to get well. Rebuke the illness. Raise him up to new life. That would be fine, too. So he released a second attache to apprehend Jesus. Tell Him not come. He didn’t need to. The centurion believed Jesus’ power was great enough to act even from a great distance away. And it was. But Jesus wasn’t a great distance away. 

Jesus was practically on his doorstep. He was right there where the centurion lived. He could take in the house and property. He could hear the words spoken to the servants. He could gaze into the heart and soul of this desperate man and know the condition of his heart. Gauge his worthiness. It was a terrifying truth. If Jesus saw half of what the centurion knew about himself, He’d surely turn and walk away. The truth was inescapable. He wasn’t worthy to have Jesus come to His house. Not worthy of His presence. Not worthy of a miracle. As far removed from Judaism as he was, the centurion still knew the jist of what Jesus was teaching. He also knew his heart and life didn’t conform to those ways. The contents of his heart was rarely something to be proud of. He hadn’t worked hard to keep the commandments. Hadn’t kept his heart and life from evil. Hadn’t loved God with his whole heart. Hadn’t always loved his neighbor. Didn’t feel a lot of grace toward his enemies. He wasn’t worthy of this visit. Didn’t deserve it. He knew it. So he was altering his request. Don’t come. At all. You don’t need to. Simply speak the words. It will be enough. And it was. (Luke 7:1-10; Matthew 8:5-13)

Honoring the great faith of the centurion, Jesus fulfilled his request. By the time the emmissaries re-entered the house, the sick guy was well. His health was restored. Completely. There was no delay. No recuperation time. No days of eating broth and growing stronger required. The centurion’s faith had rescued his servant. It should sound familiar. Not physically. I can’t promise you that every physical thing you ask of God will be performed. I’m not here to dictate His actions or explain His choices. As a dear friend is wont to say, “God will do what God will do.” But. I can promise you this. When you go to God in faith, asking Him to breath life into your sin-sick soul, He will do it. Immediately. Your spiritual health and well-being is always at the top of His priority list. No matter your alleged level of worthiness. Regardless the mess in your soul. No matter the darkness of your heart. When you call to Him in faith, though spiritually dead in trespasses and sins, He will bring you back to life. Spiritual life in Christ Jesus. The only life worth living. It’s absolutely worth asking. (Romans 10:9; Acts 16:31; I John 1:9; Ephesians 2:8-9; Colossians 2:13; Matthew 7;7-8)