Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

Furtively sneaking up to the side of the house, they cautiously peered through the windows. The sight was disgusting. Abhorrent. Offensive. Apparently, every rascal and ragamuffin in the area had received an invitation to dinner at Matthew’s house. Of course they had all accepted. Being a tax collector and social outcast didn’t preclude the man from having money. Those scruffy dregs of society probably hadn’t eaten like this in ages. The table overflowed. Their plates were heaped high. The conversation was animated. And, seated right in the middle of all the organized chaos, comfortably taking part both in the talking and feasting, sat Jesus. It was an utter disgrace. (John 2:13-15)

Not that they expected anything else. Quite the opposite. This rather proved their opinions of Him true. No matter the number of miracles He performed. Regardless of the excellent truths He taught. In spite of the fact He could quote the law better than they themselves did, the Pharisees were determined to find something by which to discredit Him. The scene inside the tax collector’s house would certainly do the trick. Those people were having the time of their lives. Prostitutes. Tax collectors. Unfaithful men. Dishonest women. Lawbreakers of every kind. Jesus was definitely a magnet for the dregs of humanity, the unclean, the socially unacceptable. People known for their poor choices and illegal acts. People who didn’t keep the letter of the law. People who wouldn’t know the truth if it walked up right beside them. People with whom Jesus should have no affiliation. If He was a real prophet. If He was the Son of God. If He really was their long-awaited Messiah. Of all their measurements that said He wasn’t, this one spoke the loudest. There He sat. Brushing elbows with the unholy. Listening. Smiling. Talking. Teaching. Acting like those people, those sinners, those social rejects, could become part of the kingdom of God.  

The very thought was preposterous! Those obviously lost souls hadn’t spent their entire lives memorizing the law and carefully keeping every word. They didn’t count their steps on the Sabbath. Fast with regularity. Pray publicly. Give noticeably. They hadn’t earned a designated seat in the synagogue by perfect attendance. No. They were unclean. In word. In deed. There were no redeemable qualities in them. Especially those useless scraps of humanity called tax collectors. Everyone hated them. They were wretched. Worthless. Unsalvageable. Cheats lining their pockets with money from inflated taxes. Yet, when Jesus could have surrounded Himself with perfect, upright, righteous men like the Pharisees, He chose instead to sit down to dinner with a bedraggled group of unrighteous ragamuffins. (Matthew 9:9-11; Mark 2:13-16)

It was not to be tolerated. And that was fine by them. Assuming one’s character is reflected in the company they keep, the Pharisees couldn’t stop the frisson of triumph that coursed through their souls. They had been right about Jesus all along! He wasn’t so great of a guy. How He managed to heal so many people and do so many miracles, they didn’t really know, but He clearly wasn’t their Messiah. He couldn’t be. Their Messiah wouldn’t spend so much time courting the scumballs and lowlifes of society. He wouldn’t be so busy healing their diseases and forgiving their sins. He wouldn’t be so careless about the rigidity of the law. His disciples would be fasting and praying and not picking grain on the Sabbath. And Jesus would be spending time with them, the righteous Pharisees, not with the miscreants now surrounding Him. (John 2:18,23-24)

It wouldn’t be the last time Jesus sat down to eat with tax collectors and sinners. The occurrence became common enough that the Pharisees and scribes complained about it. Even when it turned out in their favor. Like when Jesus met Zaccheus. Carefully hidden up in a tree, Jesus still saw him. Called to him. Specifically. Told him to come down. And invited Himself over to stay at Zaccheus’ house. There was a lot of complaining that day. By everyone. No one in the crowd following Jesus, hoping to get His attention, touch His garment, feel His hand, appreciated the fact Jesus gave time to Zaccheus. They were all affronted by His decision to go home with him. But they all benefitted. Zaccheus chose repentance and restitution. He did something unheard of. The tax collector gave money back. To the people. Yet it didn’t stop the question frustrating the minds of the Pharisees. Why did Jesus spend so much time eating and hanging out with people the religious leaders deemed unclean, socially unacceptable, worthless, when He could simply hang out with them? (Luke 15:1-10; Luke 19:1-10)

Knowing their thoughts, Jesus answered. More than once. He was busy being about the Father’s business. He was seeking His precious straying sheep. He was searching for His treasured lost coin. He was healing souls sick with sin. He had come to seek and save the lost and to give them abundant, magnificent life in Him. Jesus wasn’t looking just inside the synagogue. His efforts weren’t limited to those who meticulously obeyed the letter of the law. He wasn’t seeking only the properly pedigreed people from the right side of town. No. Jesus came for everyone. Physically sick. Spiritually dying. Those dead in trespasses and sin. The people whose list of sins was so great as to be insurmountable until Jesus came and erased the debt with all its obligations. The already righteous didn’t need a savior. Sinners did. That’s who Jesus came to seek and save. The lost. The sinners. The socially unacceptable. Those surely unsalvageable. People on the margins of society. People like me. People like you. (John 9:4; Mark 2:17; Colossians 2:13-15; Ephesians 2:1; Luke 15:11-24) 

No matter how good you are, how upstanding your character, or whether your house is in a gated community or a ghetto, there is a sinner in all of us. An addict. An adulterer. A liar. A thief. The list of sins standing against us should separate us from God eternally. Except Jesus. Jesus came that we might be saved from our sins and extricated from our mess. He walks right into where we are, the darkest alleys of our lives, and makes a table right there. He welcomes us to pull up a chair and have lunch with Him. Talk to Him. Listen to Him. Learn from Him. He offers us a feast of love and mercy and grace. And He gives us the opportunity to stay in that space. Live there. Continually partake of His offerings. All are welcome. No one is ever turned away. There’s always an open seat at the table of grace. (Romans 1:16; 3:22-24; 4:16; 5:18-19; 8:14; 10:9-13; John 3:16; 6:35; 7:37-38; Revelation 22:17; Isaiah 55:1)

The disciples found this true. Seated with Jesus at the frequently painted, often preached, very well-known meal dubbed, “The Last Supper,” the disciples gathered around Jesus. They were used to being there. Eating with Him. Talking to Him. Learning from Him. Maybe they had even gotten a little complacent about it. Maybe the shine of sitting with Jesus had worn off a little. But this final supper together wasn’t like the others. It was darker, more somber, the mood heavier. The words Jesus spoke held more gravity. Someone was going to betray Him. Someone was going to offer Him up to death and destruction. Someone who sat at His table. Someone who had consistently been offered His grace was going to sell Him out. Someone else was going to verbally, vehemently deny knowing Him. In fact, at some point, all of them were going to abandon Him and run for their lives. The fact changed nothing. Jesus didn’t remove their seats at His table because He knew what was coming. No. The love kept streaming. The mercy kept flowing. The grace kept pouring out. They were all still welcome, no matter what their past, present, or future held. Why? Because all are welcome at God’s table of grace. (Mark 14:-20; 27-31; Matthew 26:31,56) 

You are too. No matter what your past says about you. Where you’ve been. What you’ve done. No matter the ugliness of your present. Where you are. What holds you captive. No matter how bleak your future looks. Where you are headed. How limited your options appear. There is a seat with your name on it at God’s overflowing table of grace. There’s room for you there. When no one else wants anything to do with you, Jesus does. When everyone else thinks you are too far gone, Jesus doesn’t. When few can see your potential through the filth of your failures, Jesus pulls out your chair and welcomes you to His table. The main course is grace. It’s plentiful. Overflowing, in fact. The sides are unending mercy and unfailing love. For you. Regardless of all the reasons you aren’t fit for His kingdom, you are still welcome to come. Always. Take a seat at the table. And let His grace cover your sins. Now. Today. Just as you are. From near. From far away. From a place you think grace doesn’t reach. From a space you believe grace can’t flow. From the prison of sin that tells you grace can’t extricate you. Come anyway. Because it can. It does. It will. The grace of Jesus Christ extends beyond the extraordinarily far-reaching fingers of your sin and degradation. You have only to come to the table. Sit in the seat inscribed with your name. A space saved just for you. Your own personal place at the table of grace. (Ephesians 1:7; 2:4-5, 8, 17; 4:7; Romans 3:20-24; 5:1-2, 8; 9:16; Titus 2:11; 3:4-7; John 1:16-17)

Three months had passed since their miraculous deliverance put Egypt in the rearview mirror. They were still reeling with awe. Not just about the exodus. About a dry path through the Red Sea. About surprise quail for dinner, bread falling like dew, and water springing from a rock in the desert. About the amazing defeat of the Amalekites. It made the promise easy to make. Why wouldn’t it be? They were in a good place. Headed to the land God promised their ancestors, their heads swam with visions of perfection. Lush fields. Overflowing streams. Healthy herds. Growing families. Everything was working out for them. God was obviously protecting them. He was watching over their lives. He was guiding their steps. They couldn’t foresee a time when they would regret making the commitment, or a time when they would choose not to keep their side of the agreement. They were happy to enter into a covenant with God. Eager to promise obedience to every one of His commands. Thrilled to make a vow to God while basking in the afterglow of His wonder-working power. Of course they would do everything God said they should. He could consider their part of the covenant kept. They would do everything the Lord commanded. Always. Except they wouldn’t. (Exodus 19:3-8) 

It wasn’t that they didn’t start out well. They did. After hearing the extensive list of rules, laws, and commandments that came from God’s lips to Moses’ ear, they truly attempted to live by them. No other gods. No idols. No murder. No adultery. No stealing. The list went on. Adhering to the initial ten didn’t seem so difficult. At first. But Moses had disappeared up the mountain with Joshua after delivering the laws. It wouldn’t have been a big deal, except they had never returned. Days turned into weeks. Then a month. No one could go up to investigate. No word came down to inform. God didn’t appear. There was no one to tell them what to do or where to go. If they should go. Their lives were effectively on hold, but the evil one wasn’t. (Exodus 24; Galatians 5:7) 

While Moses was up on the mountain in sweet communion with God, the evil one was running amok throughout the camp below. Discontentment, discouragement and frustration began to simmer and boil over among them. The monotony of waiting started getting on their nerves. They were bored. They were impatient. They weren’t happy with the silence. They weren’t even certain Moses was coming back down that mountain. He wasn’t young anymore. Maybe the climb had been too much for him. Maybe Joshua was stuck up there nursing him through a medical episode. Maybe he’d gone on ahead without them. There was no proof he hadn’t just left there. Abandoned. Annoyed. Afraid. Angry. They needed something to keep them occupied until Moses returned. If he ever did. 

The truth of the old saying that idle hands and minds are the devil’s workshop was vibrantly underscored. Feeding into the ideas he’d carefully planted, satan whispered words and ideas that said they were alone now. Moses had left them. God had abandoned them. They were alone in the wilderness with no direction, no protection. They had no leader. God wasn’t dropping instructions to anyone else. Not even Aaron. Maybe it was time to take a page from the Egyptians. Build a god. Any god. Something to believe in. Something to put their faith in. Something to supposedly lead them out of this wilderness. They didn’t want to stay there. They wanted to get going. They wanted to get to the promised land. Now. But without a god to lead them, without a leader to guide them, they were stuck. 

Urgently approaching Aaron, they demanded a new god to follow. He was Moses’ second, surely he had at least a little authority. Maybe, but he clearly didn’t have much sense. He was as bored as the rest of them. There was only so much one could find to do in a makeshift camp. And the evil one had been just as busy with him as with the rest of them. It took literally zero effort to convince Aaron to build an idol. None. Like a house of cards, he capitulated at the very suggestion. “Bring all the jewelry to me,” he commanded. And they did. Without thought or concern, without remembering their fervently made promise to obey all the commands of God, they brought their jewelry to Aaron. Melting down the gold, he meticulously hand-tooled the image of a calf. Engraved it with careful markings. Set it before the people with a flourish. Only to hear the traitorous people, in flagrant violation of both the first and second commandments, claim it as god. Their god. The one who rescued them from and led them out of Egyptian bondage. And it didn’t end there. 

Commandment two was about to take a hacking. Especially the extended part. You know the one. The words that say not to bow in worship or serve idols. Not the kind you can see. Not the kind you can’t. Simply. Clearly. Explicitly. No idols. None. No idol worship. Ever. It wasn’t to be done. Not even considered. Nothing, absolutely not one thing, was to ever take the place of honor and authority reserved for God alone. God didn’t stutter when He issued the commands. They were unarguably clear. The people of Israel didn’t stutter when they promised to keep them. Twice. Once before they were issued. Once after. And God didn’t talk about idols only once. He reiterated it. Once in the second commandment. Again in the beginning of the additional laws. It wasn’t even hidden. He literally said, “Don’t make golden gods for yourselves.” No hidden agenda. No confusing verbiage. No caveats. Just a straightforward command from God to His people. (Exodus 20:1-5; 23; 24:7)

God’s commandments are always that way. Straightforward. There is nothing ambiguous about them. He never sets out to confuse people. He doesn’t say things just once. Over and over throughout the Bible, the commands of God are repeated. They are not contradictory. God doesn’t change. He isn’t fickle or spineless, holding one command for some and another for others. We are never left to guess at what He wants, hoping to maybe get it right. His commands don’t come with caveats. They need no special interpretation. They don’t change with the times, society’s whims, or your own personal urges. There is no circumstance under which worshipping an idol (in any form) will ever be rubber-stamped. Not when you are disgruntled. Not when you are desperate. Not when you are bored out of your mind. There is no moment in which God will turn a blind eye to the worship of anything that isn’t Him. Not on earth. Not in heaven. Not in the sea. Nothing can take preeminence over God in your life and still leave you in a proper relationship with Him. The Israelites knew that. They knew God’s part of the covenant rested solely on their obedience. Yet still they chose to throw a party in celebration of their new god. Still, they chose to give the credit for their miraculous rescue to an impotent statue made by human hands. Still, they chose to take what was not god and make it a god, willingly violating their covenant with God. (Exodus 20:4-5; 22:20; Deuteronomy 4:2; Malachi 3:6; Isaiah 40:8; Hebrews 13:8)

Calling the congregation before him, Aaron announced there would be a festival the following day. He said it was to the Lord. It wasn’t. It would be to their new god. The one he had just created. The gorgeous, golden, hand-crafted one on display. The one that couldn’t hear. Couldn’t see. Couldn’t speak. Had absolutely no power. The one to which he personally built an altar. They would throw a feast. There would be drinking and dancing. There would be sacrifices to their new god. And no one would give a thought to the true God. The One whose strength and glory and holiness they had sung about just a few short weeks before. No one would be thinking of the true God while they were offering sacrifices before their fake god. They wouldn’t be thanking the omnipotent God of the universe while eating and drinking in front of that calf. Their minds would be far away from the commandments as they danced and partied the day away in the presence of their newly minted leader. No one would remember the promises they had so easily vowed yet so quickly broken. No one would remember to be promise keepers. No one would remember God. (Exodus 32:1-6)

From the comfort of our 21st-century homes, it is so easy to sit in judgment over Aaron and the ancient Israelites. We can read their account from start to finish. We know that if they had obeyed God as devotedly as they originally vowed, the account would read so much differently. We know that if they had passed down an unwavering heritage of godliness to their children and grandchildren, the landscape of the entire Old Testament would be changed. We also have the New Testament. We know the life of Jesus. We know God keeps His word to His people. We can read the exhortations of the apostles. We know that in the end of all things, God wins. We also know that we are exactly like the fickle people of Exodus. 

In total transparency, each of us would be forced to admit that we have made promises to God. Glibly. Hastily. When things are going well. When the paycheck is constant. When the family is healthy. When the blessings are falling like rain. When everything is working in our favor it is easy to make vows to God and even keep them. The difficulty comes when times are hard. When bad things happen. When jobs are lost. When illness strikes. When homes are splintered by storms. In those moments, it is so difficult to look up to heaven and tell God you still trust Him, you will still follow Him just as closely as when things were good. In despair and discouragement, it is easy to turn aside. Look for a different way. Find another god to follow. It is easy to believe God has abandoned you. In that moment of defeat and disillusionment, it is easy to forget or alter God’s commands. In frustration and fear, it is often difficult to be a promise keeper. 

At the end of this Old Testament account, we find Aaron and the people on the receiving end of great punishment for their failure to keep their promises. The death of three thousand men was a horrible loss, but the loss of the presence of Almighty God would have been greater. I know that. You know that. We also know that the only way to remain in Christ, to have His presence continually, is to keep His commandments. Steadfastly. Don’t turn to the right or the left. Don’t be disillusioned in God’s moments of silence. Don’t be drawn away by the lies of the evil one. Measure every thought, every feeling, every idea by the truth of God’s Word. Alone. Stand in that truth. Only. Refuse to be moved. The safest space for a promise keeper is firmly planted in unwavering obedience to the Word of God. It is there you are covered. It is there you are secure. It is there you are backed by the omnipotent power of the great God of the universe. So make a vow to God and keep it. Always. Be a promise keeper. Forever. Knowing this. The promises of God are always yes and amen to those who keep their promises to Him. (Proverbs 4:27; John 14:15; 15:1-10; Exodus 32:25-28; I Thessalonians 5:21; Numbers 30:2; II Corinthians 1:20; II Peter 1:4; Hebrews 10:23)

Wary eyes met his as he issued the command to set up camp on the edge of the wilderness. It was to be expected. Moses had also noticed the side-eye he’d received when he led them toward the Red Sea. The people weren’t stupid. Generations of enslavement and hard labor hadn’t dulled their sense of direction. They knew there was another, closer route to take toward the promised land. So did Moses. So did God. God also knew His people. He knew their pain and suffering. He was acquainted with their grief. He understood the fragility of their faith. He fully comprehended that if He led them the close way, they would encounter pushback from the Philistines who inhabited that area. There would be war. And, in their current mindset, the people He had worked so diligently to free would throw up their hands and run back to Egypt in surrender again to slavery.

It would be difficult to blame them. The people had been through so much. Few had known freedom. Ever. Most were born into slavery. Many of the men had unknowingly faced death as infants at Pharaoh’s command. Only the faith and cunning of the Israelite midwives had spared their lives. They had all known hard labor. Fear. Punishment. Abuse. For decades they cried out to God for salvation. They had no proof He heard. Silence echoed from the heavens. God seemed uncaring. Uninterested. Unconcerned with their plight. And the people began to wonder if He had forgotten them, forgotten the covenant He had made with Abraham. He hadn’t. (Exodus 1:15-23; 2:23-24; 5:19-23)

Looking down on His people from His dwelling in the heavens, God saw the horror of their situation. He watched the forced labor, the beatings, the abuse. He felt their pain. His ears rang with their cries as they struggled and suffered. He knew they were exhausted. Physically. Spiritually. Emotionally. Broken spirits. Battered faith. Burned out confidence. Belief was at an all-time low. Trusting God seemed futile. He had done nothing to rescue them. They had no proof He ever would. They had been asking for a long time to no avail. As their circumstances worsened, their ability to hope and trust in God depleted. Yet, the circumstances that deprived them of hope and diminished their faith had no impact on God’s ability to act. When His people were too broken and downtrodden to believe He could or would rescue them, when all they could do was moan and cry out their affliction to God, when hope seemed gone and help was nowhere to be found, God acted. 

Into their pain and sorrow and brokenness, God sent Moses. Coming back from his 40-year hiatus in Midian, God sent him to stand up to Pharaoh and deliver the people of Israel. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be immediate. God was on a mission to show himself to the Egyptians. He wanted to reveal His glory and let them know who was God. He wanted to give them the opportunity to believe. For weeks, as God worked out His plan, the Israelites rode the roller coaster of Pharaoh’s broken promises of freedom. Plagues came in Egypt. Water became blood. Frogs descended. Hordes of gnats flew out of the ground. Flies infested everything. Livestock died. Boils infected. Hail pulverized the crops. Locusts ate what remained. Darkness covered the earth for three entire days. A lesser man would have relented, yet Pharaoh still tried to negotiate their exit strategy. He made promises he knew he’d never keep. The Israelites’ hopes were dashed so many times they could barely muster the strength to believe. Then the final plague came. (Exodus 6:2-9; 7:14-10:29)

The firstborn of every household would die. Everyone would be affected. Not just the land of Egypt. Everyone needed to paint their doorway with blood if they wanted to be spared. The Israelites were given specific instructions. What to wear. What to cook. What to pack. What to eat. And they needed to be ready to leave. There would be no time to make preparations later. They couldn’t run around collecting their clothing and throwing some bread in a bag for lunch. No. Their yeast-less dough should be in their mixing bowls and their households ready to travel. They were leaving. For real this time. God had spoken and He would make it happen. (Exodus 11-12)

For people so beleaguered by oppression and bondage, it must have taken every ounce of faith they could muster to follow the orders they were given. Kill the lamb. Paint the door frame. Cook the food. Mix the dough. Ready your household for travel. One wonders if the entire time they were following Moses’ commands, their minds were reeling with, “What if…” questions. What if God didn’t come through? What if they did all this and Pharaoh backed out again? What if they didn’t get out in time and some of them were held back by the Egyptians? What if they got out in the wilderness and died, abandoned and alone, when they could just live, even oppressed, in Egypt? What if everything failed? What if it all came to nothing? What if their faith was misplaced? What if, after traversing the obstacles of exiting Egypt, they ended up in an even worse situation?   

They didn’t really have a choice. They had to risk it. Now. Sucking in great, calming breaths, they stalwartly made ready. Bags were packed. Livestock were gathered. Dough was made. Blood was sprinkled. The meal was cooked and eaten. Their sandals were on their feet. Their walking sticks were in their hands. When Moses and Aaron issued the order to evacuate, they were ready. And God brought them out of the land of Egypt safely with their flocks and herds, the aged and little ones. He delivered them from evil. Not in the way they imagined He would. Not at the time they believed He should. And now, not even in the direction it seemed they should go. This wasn’t the quickest way to the promised land. They knew it. Moses knew it. Surely God knew it. So why were they taking the long way? Why were they heading through the wilderness toward the Red Sea? Was God really leading them out or was He leading them to their death? He had brought them out of Egypt, but was it time for them to take the wheel now that it seemed God had His wires crossed? (Exodus 12:29-40)

God wasn’t confused about where He was leading His people. At all. He simply knew His children. He knew how downtrodden they were. He knew their discouragement. He understood their emotional fragility. He was aware that their ability to face a new enemy would end in certain disaster. They were not in a place to fight back. In their current, vulnerable state, the first sign of trouble from the Philistines would have them tempted to run back to the alleged safety of Egypt. They had to go this way. In order to remove the temptation to turn back, God led them by a way they weren’t anticipating. A path they hadn’t considered. A course that would take them out of harm’s way until they were in a stronger spiritual and emotional space. God wasn’t about to lead them into temptation in the process of delivering them from evil. (Exodus 13:17-18)

He won’t do that to you either. Embattled as you are in the things that beat on your soul. Waiting as you are for God to keep the promise of doing something new in your life. Disheartened as you are when everything around you seems to be crumbling and you feel like you are constantly perched on the precipice of despair. Worried and anxious over your future, your job, your relationship, your child. Emotionally drained, physically exhausted, mentally numb due to your current circumstances. Questioning if God is even going to do that thing–whatever it is–He promised. Feeling like there has to be a better, faster, more efficient way to get to the good part of His promise, know this. God isn’t stalling. He isn’t waiting it out to see how long you can handle the panic and pressure. God is working out His plan in the way that is best for you. He is asking you to trust Him while He works. Then trust Him while He leads. Trust Him when the path He is taking you down isn’t the one you think is best. Remembering this. God will not lead you into temptation while delivering you from the evil. (James 1:13; Isaiah 43:16-19; I Corinthians 10:13; Psalm 23:3; 37:23)

Sometimes it is in our best interest to go the long way. We really don’t like it. In our world of instant gratification, we are incredibly poor at waiting. But God is never making you wait just to torture or penalize you. God is allowing you to wait because He knows what is ahead. He knows what is going to happen, how you will feel, what you will do when you meet certain obstacles or gain certain goals. And He is trying to keep you away from temptation. Just like you’ve asked. Every time you pray the prayer Jesus’ taught us to pray in the Gospels, you asked Him to do just that. “Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.” That’s what God is doing. Because He knows you. He knows what will make you and what will break you. He knows how strong or fragile your emotional, physical, and spiritual health is. And, like the prophet Isaiah wrote and Jesus quoted, “He will not break a bent reed. He will not snuff out the smoldering flax.” He knows where you are and cares about every part of you. You can trust Him. (Isaiah 42:3; 46:10; Matthew 6:9-13; 12:20) 

So do it. Trust God with your uncertainty, your fears, your cares. Trust Him with your vulnerabilities, your exhaustion, your questions. Trust Him to lead you away from temptation and deliver you from evil at the very same time. Trust Him to do that new thing He promised. Because He will. At just the right time, in just the right way, God will keep His promise. He will rescue you. He will honor you. He will bless your life. As you daily cry out your pain and frustration, angst and anger, fear and uncertainty to God, know that He hears you. He sees you. He understands your circumstances. And He has a plan. He will rescue you. But you will have to trust Him. Trust His heart of love for you. Trust His inherent goodness. Trust His timing, His path, His plan. Know that God is sovereign over all the distressing, discouraging, disastrous things in your life. Trust Him to bring you victoriously through. The same God who brought the people of Israel to the promised land via the long way, through hardship and horror, between walls of water, and across desert wilderness, will make a way for you too. Even if your faith is faulty. Even if your belief is broken. Even if your hope is hesitant. Know that you can trust Him. Know that He is working for your good. Know that He always keeps His promises. Even when He takes you the long way. (Romans 8:28; Jeremiah 15:21; Psalm 34:15; 91:15; I Peter 5:7; II Timothy 4:18; Ephesians 3:20; Isaiah 55:8-9; II Corinthians 1:20)

Silence washed over his soul like a healing balm. The wilderness was like that. Quiet. A  place for private thoughts and thoughtful prayers. Space to rethink the past and consider the future. Time to be grateful for what he had been given since finding himself exiled in Midian. He never imagined he would end up there. He had never dreamed of herding sheep for a living. Growing up as the adopted son of an Egyptian princess had in no way prepared him for living outdoors and doing manual labor. No. Moses ended up tending sheep in Midian only after being forced to flee from Egypt. 

Palace upbringing had not been everything those living as peasants think it is. At least not for Moses. He knew he wasn’t Egyptian royalty. Everyone knew. His story was common knowledge. Retrieved from the bulrushes by Pharaoh’s daughter, he had no choice in his upbringing. At a time when baby boys were being executed by Pharaoh, the princess had saved Moses’ life, and he was grateful. Still, she hadn’t done him any favors by raising him in the palace. Not when he so badly wanted to identify with his own people. Not when he wanted it enough to kill an Egyptian on their behalf. 

That’s how he ended up in Midian. His blood was already simmering at the sight of his people engaged in forced labor. It went to a full rolling boil when he saw that Egyptian brutally striking one of them. Seeking to set things right and do something for his people, Moses attacked the Egyptian. Killed him. Buried him in the sand. Thought no one noticed. What was one less Egyptian, anyway? But people did notice. His people. A fact that smacked him between the eyes when he attempted to settle a dispute between two Hebrews. They weren’t interested in him, his opinions, or his peace-making methods. They saw what had happened. They knew. And it was only a matter of time before Pharaoh knew too. Adopted grandson or not, Moses would be a wanted man. So he did the only thing he could think to do. He ran. 

He supposed everything had turned out fine in the end. Midian wasn’t such a bad place to live. He had a wife and son, a good father-in-law, and this great gig minding sheep in the wilderness. Alone. Plenty of time to contemplate his past and present while enjoying the peace and quiet. He may not have thought his life would lead him to this place, but he was happy it had. He wasn’t looking for a career change. He wasn’t interested in working with people instead of sheep. The wilderness was enough excitement for him. And it was about to get a lot more exciting. 

Leading the flock over to the far side of the wilderness, Moses found himself approaching Horeb, the mountain of God. Although he had no intention of making the flock attempt to climb the mountain, there would likely be decent pastures and some water at its base, so he plodded on. Lost in thought, it took him a moment to fully realize the sight before him. A bush was on fire. That was odd. It was only one bush. And it was burning continually. One would expect it to burn out or the fire to spread to surrounding brush and grass. It didn’t. That single bush just kept burning. Curious, Moses headed toward the phenomenon to get a closer look. It would make a good story to tell when next he was home. 

As he approached the bush, a voice called his name over the crackling of the fire. “Moses.” He knew that voice. Without ever having heard it before, Moses knew exactly who was speaking. God. The God of his ancestors. The God of his people. The God who had entered covenant with them and who had promised never to fail. The God whose power and holiness preceded Him. Gripped with fear and afraid to lift his gaze, Moses buried his face in his hands and simply listened. 

The first few words were music to Moses’ ears. God had been watching and listening and hearing. He saw how miserable the Israelites in Egypt were. He heard their cries and groans. He knew they were suffering. He wasn’t interested in leaving them there forever. He had come down with a plan to rescue them and bring them into their own space, their own place. A place of good and plenty where they could be God’s people and He could be their God. It was all good news. Until it wasn’t. Unfortunately for Moses, God’s plan involved taking him out of his comfort zone and back to the place he’d started. 

Moses couldn’t come up with excuses fast enough. Was God sure he was the right guy for the job? He wasn’t super good with words. He had no idea how to convince the Israelites that God had truly sent him. There was no guarantee they would obey him. And his speech. It was a mess. Had God listened to him talk lately? He was always searching for words, waiting for his tongue to figure out how to push them past his lips. Especially when he had an audience. Public speaking wasn’t his strong suit. He was certain to mess it up. But God wasn’t having any of it. Moses was the man. God had chosen him. Tapped him for the position. Come down to speak with him. Personally. Right there. At Mount Horeb. The mountain of God. The place where God meets with and speaks to mankind. (Exodus 2-4)

Moses wasn’t the only one to meet God on Mount Horeb. Centuries later, another man called by God also found himself there. Holed up in a cave after a forty-day journey to safety, Elijah hunkered down to spend the night. He was exhausted. Drained. Physically. Mentally. Spiritually. On the run from a furious and raging Queen Jezebel, he had already begged God to take him. Let him die a peaceful death rather than the torturous one Jezebel had planned. It hadn’t happened. Although he slept, he hadn’t wakened in Heaven. He was still on earth. Still in need of protection. Still clueless to what his next move should be. So here he was, hiding in a cave, trying to get some sleep, to clear his mind so he could figure out a plan for his future. 

Into the cave on Horeb stepped God. He came to the mountain of God to speak with the man of God. The one who felt alone, abandoned, rejected, hopeless, helpless. God wanted to speak with him. Not in a roaring wind. Not in a violent earthquake. Not in a raging fire. No. God wanted to speak with Elijah. Calmly. Peacefully. Soothingly. In a way his soul, buried in the darkest despair, could find comfort and strength and direction. And he did. In the form of a still, small voice, a whisper, even, God spoke. As dark as things looked around him, God wasn’t done with Elijah. He still had a plan for him. He had work for Elijah to do. Stepping into the swirling emotions and anxieties and frustrations filling that cave, God began to make sense of the chaos. He put order to the racing thoughts in Elijah’s tired brain. He laid out a logical plan of action and gave Elijah the strength to enact it. Right there. Right then. At Mount Horeb. The mountain of God. The place God meets with and speaks to His people. The place God’s people go to speak with Him. (I Kings 19) 

There is an enormous amount of comfort in the concept of Mount Horeb. The mountain of God. The place God is. Always. The space in which God visits mankind with the express intention of communicating with us. No matter where we are in our lives. Content in our situation. Fleeing from our circumstances. Overwhelmed by anxiety, fear, and despair. Keenly aware of our inadequacies and inabilities. Suffocating in aloneness. Downtrodden. Discouraged. Ready to die. No matter our circumstances, when we find ourselves at Mount Horeb, God is already there. The bush is already burning. The cave is already made up. The quiet, peaceful whisper is waiting for the exact right moment to speak. God is ready to meet with us, meet our needs when we meet Him at our Mount Horeb. (Philippians 4:19; Matthew 11:28-29)

I don’t know where that is for you. I don’t know where you go to find alone time with God. At different points in our lives, different levels of busyness, different numbers of tiny humans needing our attention, that place may change. Mine has. Sometimes it still does. The car. The shower. My desk. Maybe yours is the closet, the office, your home gym. It doesn’t matter. It can be anywhere. Why? Because your Mount Horeb isn’t so much a specific place you go as it is a place within you. There is nothing magical about a room, a chair, a porch that makes God listen and speak better than anywhere else. No. Mount Horeb is the quiet place in your soul that can hear God speak no matter where you are. When everything you have worked so hard to attain goes up in flames–literally or figuratively. When your exquisitely built plans catastrophically fail. When your friends and family have turned their backs on you, and the aloneness is suffocating. When fear and anxiety, despair and depression hold you in a grip you just can’t shake. When everything is going pear-shaped and you stand helpless in the chaos, yet your soul resounds with the quiet, peaceful voice of God. Then, friend, you have found Horeb. Your Horeb. The place God transcends the horror and terror and confusion around you to bring you His peace, His calm, His direction. That’s your mountain of God. That’s your Horeb. (Zephaniah 3:17)

It took decades of my life to figure out where my Horeb was. I looked everywhere. Tried everything all the preachers promoted. It didn’t work. What I thought might be the voice of God turned out to be the voices of a hundred different people trying to tell me what they thought God wanted me to hear. Sometimes the opinions conflicted. Sometimes I thought I’d never hear Him. Often I was afraid to believe it was Him. But the more time I spent reading His Word and talking to Him–in a closet, on my knees, or vacuuming the house–I began to know His heart and learn His voice. It took building a lifestyle in the presence of God to find the mountain of God. My Horeb. You see, when you purposely live in His presence, God can speak to you anywhere, at any time, about anything. When you spend every quiet moment of every day in conversation with God, you will know His voice better than you know your own. You will find your Horeb, the place God meets with and speaks to His beloved people today, is not a place you frequent but a place in which you reside. (Psalm 37:7; 119:105; Isaiah 55:2-3; John 8:47; I Chronicles 16:11)

So. Have you found it? Have you found your Horeb? Have you spent the time to make space in your life for God Almighty to dwell? Do you live in His presence? Constantly? Do you traverse each day in conversation with God? Do you know His voice? Only His voice? Can you hear Him over the cacophony of opinions around you? You need to. You need to find your Horeb. Create it, if necessary. Build a space in which you constantly live in the presence of God and hear His voice no matter what is going on around you, no matter how you are feeling, no matter how dark the outlook seems. You need a place where you meet with God, a place where God meets with you. Not a place on the map, not a pin drop, not a church bench or a rock by a stream. No. You need a mountain of God in the heart of your soul. A place you meet with Him alone no matter where you are. When you find that place, when you make that space, you will find your Horeb. In you. (Psalm 61:3; 85:8; II Corinthians 6:16; Isaiah 30:21; John 10:27; I Peter 3:12)

It was safe to say he was concerned about them. Deeply. Worried, even. He had heard some disconcerting things. Had it been possible, he would have packed his bag and been on the next plane to Corinth. But it wasn’t possible. He couldn’t go in person. He would have to resort to the next best thing. A letter. He had written them often. Many churches received his messages that way. It wasn’t always the best way to communicate. Things seemed to get lost in translation. Punctuation tended not to appropriately express his level of care. One could hardly fill the page with exclamation marks. Words often failed him, leaving his tone too mild or his message too harsh. Although Paul’s hope was never to offend or chase people away from the gospel, he was duty-bound to exhort and admonish, encourage and instruct. Unfortunately, this particular message required a touch of harshness. 

The readers needed to take his words seriously. All of his words. He wanted the people to apply them to their lives. Not just the pleasant parts about grace and mercy and forgiveness. No. As important as those parts were, Paul wanted the church at Corinth to read, understand, and remember the less palatable bits as well. He wanted them to take a deep look inside themselves and search out the places where impurity was hiding, find the parts of themselves that were just going through the motions, locate the spiritually immature spots that would easily be drawn aside from sincere devotion to Christ. Paul wanted them to test themselves. Examine their hearts. Honestly evaluate their relationship with Jesus Christ to determine if it was sincere or if they were simply going through the motions, following the laws and protocols of the day, keeping a vessel that was clean on the outside but filthy on the inside.

Present among them or absent from them, Paul would have no way of knowing what was truly lurking in the hearts of his readers. Even if he knew, it would be beyond the scope of his ability to change them. He could admonish and encourage, chasten and correct, but he was powerless to enact change in their hearts. They had to do it themselves. They had to see the need for themselves. They had to make the choice for themselves. They had to look at their own hearts and minds and lives, measure them by God’s measuring stick, and personally decide what they were going to do about any shortcomings. The message he needed to share was imperative, even if redundant. Examine yourselves. Look closely at what is inside your heart. Make sure you are committed to Jesus Christ both inside and out. Works won’t get you to heaven. Only clean hands and a pure heart will do. (II Corinthians 7:1, 10; 13:2-5, 11; Psalm 24:3-4)

It wasn’t the first time humanity had heard this lesson. Jesus addressed the same issue during His earthly ministry. In a scathing rebuke of the hypocrites surrounding Him, Jesus called out the scribes and Pharisees for believing their outside appearance, the things they did in public, were true depictions of their hearts. It wasn’t true. They could parade around perfectly pressed and dressed, fastidiously keep the law, speak in the acceptable vernacular, religiously follow the prayer times, and fast with regularity, but it wasn’t a true depiction of what was in their hearts. As perfect as they appeared on the outside, their hearts were twisting and writhing with greed and selfishness. They were rife with impurity. Their spirits were teeming with hypocrisy and evil. Their lives were a show. An act. A way of gaining attention and status and respect when their hearts were a horror show of sin. 

They needed to stop worrying about the outside. Stop spending so much time primping and perfecting their look before they leave the house. Stop planning the perfect time to publicly and pretentiously drop a coin in a beggar’s cup. Stop rigidly adhering to the letter of the law while ignoring the spirit of the same words. If they would only examine and clean up their hearts, make room for God to live and reign and work, then His righteousness would consume them. It would spread from the inside out. Posturing would no longer be necessary. Pretension would be unwarranted. True righteousness would voluntarily spring from their hearts, wash over their lives, and inform the entire world they were true followers of God. (Matthew 15:3-20; 23:25-28) 

Unlike Paul, Jesus knew what was in people’s hearts. That was the only place He ever looked. Inside. Jesus was never drawn in by a designer robe, flash car, or social pedigree. He was more inclined to be found with those who knew what they were yet chose to come find Him anyway. In their moment of deepest need and darkest sin, Jesus saw hearts and souls that longed for the change He could bring and He drew them to Himself. Blind Bartimaeus. Greedy Zaccheaus. Arrogant men. Adulterous women. There was nothing attractive about these people. Inside or out. Everyone else was happy to overlook them. Avoid them. Run from them. Jesus walked right into their mess with healing, forgiveness, and change. Soul upon soul was miraculously changed because they examined themselves, found what was lacking, and set out to find the One who could make the difference. (I Samuel 16:7; Jeremiah 17:10; Mark 10:46-52; 11:27-12:37; Luke 19:1-10; John 3:1-21; 8:3-11; 4:4-42)

Paul was hoping it would be the same for the Corinthians. He wanted them to read his words and apply them to their lives. He wanted them to take time alone to do some soul-searching. He hoped they would find a quiet place alone and honestly evaluate their lives, examine their hearts, and see who dwelt therein. He wanted each person to get alone in their prayer closet, their office, their field and prayerfully, carefully examine their hearts to make sure nothing had slipped, nothing had shifted, nothing had changed. He wanted them to test their own hearts to make sure they were truly devoted to Christ, not simply living out tradition or blindly following rules. He didn’t want them simply putting on an act, he wanted them to be living out the truth. 

One wonders if, as Paul meticulously labored over each word he wrote in his second letter to the church at Corinth, he fully comprehended how desperately the following generations would need to hear his admonishment. Did he know then how far humanity would drift? Did he have an inkling things would get so far out of hand that we would need to reiterate his exhortation for self-examination? Did he have an idea that the list of things drawing our hearts and attention away would be so much more extensive now than it was when he penned those words? Did he know it would be even easier in our day to present ourselves as righteous to the world, but have hypocritical, Pharisaical, wildly sinful hearts within? Did he ever think the 21st century Christians, with the ability to own and read their very own copy of the Bible, would need his words even more than the 1st century church to which he wrote them? Probably not. Yet we do. Desperately. 

As the Lenten season dawns, Paul’s admonition rings out to each of us. There is no better time than now to adhere. Set aside the distractions. Scale back the calendar. Say “no” to the social opportunities. You have something more important to do. You need to get alone with God. You need to examine yourself. Honestly. Without the opinions, affirmations, or approval of others. You need to ask yourself hard questions. Scrutinize your thoughts and motives. Sift through the things you’ve allowed to harbor and fester within. Throw aside the outer garments of pretension and honestly evaluate your heart. Find the things that shouldn’t be there and rid yourself of that load. Confess your sins, your needs, your shortcomings to God. Let Him renew your heart. Since Lent is about laying something aside to make more room for Jesus, why not take this time to lay aside your besetting sins and fill your soul with Him? Completely. Don’t be stingy with your space. Soak every inch with His presence. Drench yourself in His Spirit. Fill your heart, your mind, your life with Jesus Christ. Let Him do a work in you that changes your life and tells the world you belong to Him. Without the pretense. Without the Christianese. Without the legalism. Sit down with God and examine yourself. Let Him change you from the inside out. (I Chronicles 16:11; Galatians 5:22-23; Lamentations 3:40; James 1:23-25; Psalm 51:10; 119:59; Romans 12:2; Jeremiah 29:13)