Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

He was exhausted. Completely shattered. Totally drained. Never had one of his regular temple visits turned out like this one. Not that he hadn’t had visions before. He had. Many. None so confronting, so personally soul-searching as this. Like an enormous light illuminating every corner of his heart, it brought him face to face with himself, his inadequacies, his inabilities, his insufficiencies. Gazing at the glorious holiness and supremacy of God, Isaiah had to admit who he was. A sinner. Unworthy to stand in the presence of God. Unable to do anything without the power of God. Unarguably in need of purging by God. He shouldn’t be there. Yet he was. Gazing up at the King of Kings, the Lord of hosts, whose glory and honor and holiness filled every corner of the temple.

Barely had Isaiah’s honest words of introspection crossed his lips when one of the seraphim responded. Taking a live coal from the temple altar, he flew to Isaiah and touched it to his lips. In the same resonating voice that had sung of the holiness of God, that had shaken the floor, rattled the walls, and filled the room with smoke, the seraphim spoke. It was finished. Isaiah’s sin was gone. His guilt was purged. He was cleansed. He would never again be the person he was before this vision. He was changed. He was better. Stronger. More able to do the work God was calling him to do. Because God was calling Isaiah. (Isaiah 6:1-7)

Still in the throes of processing the vision, Isaiah heard yet another voice. One he recognized with crystal clarity. God was speaking. To him. Asking questions. Searching for answers. Who would be God’s missionary? Who would go and spread the word of the Lord? Who was brave enough to call out the sins of the people and warn them of coming judgment? Who would plead with them to repent? Who could be trusted to shoulder this enormously difficult task with its promised adversity and alienation? 

Barely stopping to register the words before they crossed his lips, Isaiah offered himself. He would do it. He would go. Wherever God wanted. Whenever God asked. To whomever God sent him. Isaiah would go. He would speak the words God told him to say. No matter what they were. He would say them. Strong judgment. Soft comfort. Strict punishment. Sweet peace. Isaiah would speak the truth of God to the people of the land where God was sending him. He just needed to know where to go and when to leave. Except Isaiah wasn’t going anywhere. God was calling him to work at home.  

As willing as Isaiah might have been to travel to another city, another country, another community, that wasn’t what God had in mind. Isaiah didn’t need to pack his bags, sell his house, say his goodbyes, and visit his favorite coffee shop before he started off on his mission. He didn’t need to travel around and stump for funding before relocating and starting to share messages from God. He could start that very day. In Jerusalem. Isaiah had only to step outside his door, walk through his own town, talk to people he already knew, had met, had seen at the temple, in the shops, on the streets. Make acquaintances. Establish connections. Make friends if he could. Meet needs where he was able. Carefully live a life for God. Faithfully speak the words of God. Be a missionary. At home. It would be easier said than done. (Isaiah 6:8-9) 

Few, if any, of the people were excited to hear what Isaiah had to say. Rebellion was strong among them. Their hearts were already hardened. They had drifted comfortably into complacency and apostasy. They were largely not interested in repentance and change. But their opinions couldn’t matter to Isaiah. They would not alter the message he was called to speak or the work he was sent to do. Over the rest of his life, Isaiah would preach and teach, prophesy and promise. He would speak words of warning and judgment and punishment. He would bring tidings of comfort and peace and joy. He would never leave Jerusalem. Not permanently. Even his prophecies concerning other kingdoms would be spoken from his own hometown. But just because God didn’t call Isaiah to leave his home and town and wife and parents to relocate to another country doesn’t mean Isaiah wasn’t called to work for God. He absolutely was. In what could arguably be called the hardest mission field on which to serve, Isaiah was called to labor faithfully. At home. So are we. (Isaiah 6:9-10)

Every single person who claims to be a follower of Jesus Christ has been called to work for Him. At home. From home. In their home. You are the model of Christ in your home, shaping hearts and minds to follow Jesus. You are the example of Christ to neighbors and friends. You are the words of hope and comfort to the despairing souls you meet daily. You are the feet and hands of Jesus, doing good while expecting nothing in return. You are the one He has empowered to spread the message of salvation for those who repent and turn from their sin. You are the one He has tasked with sharing his love, mercy, and grace with everyone, everywhere. In your community. Your county. Your country. You are the one God is asking to go out and make a difference in your small part of the world. (I Timothy 4:12; Deuteronomy 6:6-7; II Corinthians 1:3-4; Luke 3:11; 6:38; 24:47; James 2:17) 

It is easier said than done. I know. There is no cookie-cutter way to work for God. How you work for God might look different from how Isaiah did it. You probably won’t be prophesying destruction on the people around you or the fall of other nations. You are still called to do God’s work, speak His message, show His heart. Everyone is. Differently. Some may be called to go door to door spreading the message of salvation. Some may be inspired to visit nursing homes and hospitals. Some may be prodded to volunteer at shelters, serving the forgotten of society. Others may be asked to give of their wealth to meet the needs, pay the bills, fill the cupboards of the poor and needy in our own communities. A few may be placed on stages, in front of microphones, with the direct responsibility of warning about coming judgment and calling people to repentance. Everyone has a job to do. In a different way, but for the same goal. Spreading Jesus. Right where you are. At home. (Matthew 9:37; I Peter 4:10; Isaiah 1:17; Deuteronomy 15:11; Proverbs 19:17; 22:9; 28:27; 31:8-9)

Although we may not be called to preach or prophesy, God has called all of His people to work for Him. There are no exceptions. And while He does call a few to foreign missions, most of us are called to work for Him right where we are. Our community. Our city. Our country. We are all God’s workers, right where we are. Hired to work at home, in our homes, from our homes. Commanded to start our Christian work here. In our own neighborhoods, schools, communities, and states. No airplane required. No funding plan necessary. No new language to learn. We are called to work where we are needed, and we are needed at home. There is so much work to do right in front of us. There are people among us who need to hear about Jesus. There are hearts right near us who need to know someone cares. There are families beside you who need food and shelter and clothing. Needs in every form abound everywhere–not just abroad. And Jesus calls us to do our best to alleviate those needs. Minister to the poor, the needy, the broken, the disenfranchised in our communities. That’s what He meant when He called us the light of the world. Lights of Christ. Brightening the world around us. Doing good. Spreading the gospel. Being the only model of Jesus some folks will ever encounter. Called from our homes to work at home until He takes us to our eternal home. Called to work.  Relentlessly. Until every homeless, hopeless, helpless soul has found their help, their hope, their home in Christ. (Matthew 5:13-16; 28:19-20; Ephesians 2:10; Acts 1:8; Proverbs 11:30; 14:31; James 5:19-20; Luke 19:13; John 9:4; Galatians 6:10) 

Confused glances met across the congregation. No one had a clue what he was talking about. They were doing the right things. All of them. Every single one. It was obvious by the number of people gathered to hear him speak. Only the sick and infirm were missing. It was always like this. Every time they gathered. The space was full every Sabbath. Sacrifices were made. Words were spoken. They stayed through the final “Amen,” before leaving to go about their lives. Even the events planned on days that weren’t the Sabbath had not gone unobserved. Feasts were meticulously planned. New moons were celebrated. Each was appropriately commemorated according to the established standard. Perfect altar made. Perfect sacrifice laid. Perfect ritual led. This was why Isaiah’s words were met with confusion and consternation. They were doing everything right. It was true. Rigorously, they adhered to the very strictest letter of the law. In their religion. Not in their lives.  

As perfectly conscientious as the religious observance of the people was, it was not reflected in their daily lives. At all. Their lives were far less structured. Morally. Ethically. Spiritually. They were downright messy. Littered with rebellion. Brimming with iniquity. Replete with corruption. Their regular activities and actions were a clear indication of how far they had come from being people who followed God. They despised His laws. They had abandoned His ways. Spiritually diseased and morally bankrupt, they were now estranged from God, speeding down a collision course with His righteous justice. Their lives were a disaster. They needed change. Real change. Not in the temple practices. Not in their ceremonies and celebrations. In their hearts.  (Isaiah 1:1-8) 

The disastrous state of their hearts was not disguised by their careful following of the religious rituals established by their ancestors. God wasn’t even mildly fooled by that. He wasn’t confused by their pedantic adherence to temple rules and sacrifices. He was not distracted by their regular Sabbath attendance, new moon observances, and feast celebrations. God knew what they were thinking, what they were doing. He knew their confidence rested solely in their own actions and the ill-begotten belief that these observances and rituals would remove God’s judgment from the rest of their lives. No matter what they did. No matter how they spoke. No matter how they acted towards God or others. The people had allowed themselves to buy into the belief that God would bless and preserve and condone their lives because they were scrupulously adhering to the practices of the law. Outwardly. 

Every Sabbath, as the people gathered to act out the religious rituals required of them, their hearts and minds were other places. They had things to do. Schedules to keep. Places to be. Church was just a thing they did, a box to tick, a requirement to fulfill. They were there to observe the necessities and move on. They didn’t enter that space with the intention of growing closer to God, better learning His ways, more appropriately walking in His paths, or allowing His light to illuminate their hearts. No. They attended simply because it was religiously required and socially acceptable, not because their souls were hungering and thirsting after righteousness. That was the problem. That was the reason God sent Isaiah. To call them back to what they once knew. (Matthew 5:6) 

At one time, the people of Judah and Jerusalem had been close to God. Historically. Covenantally. They had walked in righteousness. Their hearts had been open to His voice, His leading. They desired to please God. Always. It was the reason they meticulously followed the religious rituals and observances. They were not a replacement for God. They were an act of worship to God. A sign of devotion. A reminder of the covenant between themselves and God. Over time, things happened. In hearts. In minds. Drifting occurred. Mediocrity set in. Complacency settled over their spirits. They didn’t notice. Because they were still doing the outward things–enacting the rituals, observing the feasts, offering the sacrifices–they didn’t notice, or care, that the inward things had fallen away. But God did. 

God was absolutely not happy with what was going on. Inside or outside the temple. His intention had always been for one to flow into the other. The things learned inside were to change their hearts, flow through their lives, and show in their actions outside. It wasn’t like that. Instead, they had created two separate lives. One for church. One for society. They thought it was genius. God thought it was disgusting. He said so. With peaked indignation and overflowing just judgment, God spoke. He was done. He wasn’t interested in their sacrifices and offerings. He wasn’t moved by their crocodile tears and copious public prayers. Those things didn’t come close to meeting the standards for being a pleasing sacrifice to God. Their spirits weren’t humble. Their hearts weren’t contrite. Their souls were not obedient. They deserved judgment. God knew it, yet still He offered grace. (Psalm 51:17; I Samuel 15:22; Hosea 6:6; Proverbs 21:3)

Overflowing with compassion and mercy, God sent Isaiah to have a conversation with the people. A one-sided conversation. A monologue, if you will. A revealing reprimand they needed to hear. God was wise to their shenanigans. He knew they were busily practicing a form of godliness, but lacking the spirit of God in their lives. Isaiah’s job was to call them back to the heart of worship, to bring back into focus the importance of Sabbath gathering, to turn their attention back toward God. Because they had forgotten. The reason for worship. The message of worship. The One they worshipped. So absorbed were they in their own lives and aspirations that they had forgotten, or were ignoring, the real reason they came to the temple, made sacrifices, and listened to the priests teach. More concerningly, they had convinced themselves that attendance and ritualistic adherence to the laws was enough to gain God’s approval. 

It wasn’t. God was wholly unimpressed with their ability to flawlessly perform longstanding rituals. Anyone could do that. Everyone could. Nations worshipping false gods did it every day. God wanted more from His people, more for them. He wanted relationship with them. Collectively. Individually. But that required change. Intentional change. Purposeful change. Uncomfortable change. It required looking into their own hearts, admitting their guilt, identifying the places that needed work, and opening themselves to the correcting, cleansing, purifying work of God. 

The task would be daunting. They knew it. They knew what was in their hearts. Like smears of red on garments of white, their hearts were stained and dirty. Sin clearly had dominion over them. It ruled their hearts and lives. They were selfish and self-centered. They were boastful and proud. They were cheaters and liars and rebels. Their days were spent in injustices, their nights in revelry. Their souls were sick, wounded, and bleeding, infected, septic, and dying. The view in God’s mirror was horrifying. Yet Isaiah was calling them to come and look anyway. See their true reflection. See who they had really become. See how much they had changed. Admit how they had tried to use the Sabbath rituals as a way to manipulate God’s favor while holding onto their sin. Acknowledge who they currently are. Law followers, not God followers. The difference is indisputable. The outcome of staying in that space is irrefutable. The soul that sins dies. (Isaiah 1:9-20, 28; Ezekiel 18:4,20)

Embarrassingly, we are afflicted in much the same way as Judah and Jerusalem. Although we have not stopped attending and participating in church rituals and religious habits, we have forgotten the original reason for our Sunday worship services. They have become rituals. Habits. Things we do before we can get on with the things we really want to be doing. The two halves of our lives, spiritual and secular, never intersect. They exist independently of one another rather than one influencing the other. We participate in one, but engage in the other. We show up at church. Go through the motions. Get out as quickly as possible. We experience no urgency in prayer. No welcoming of the presence of God. No hope that the Spirit descends, the glory of God falls, conviction reigns, and we cry out to God in repentance, obedience, and change. We are just fine without any of those things. We don’t want them. Have convinced ourselves we don’t need them, that habitually participating in the ritual is enough to get to Heaven. It isn’t. It never will be. Empty prayers, miserly sacrifices, and selfish lifestyles will never get you there. But they will get you sick souls. We should know that. Our churches are full of them. Starved for His presence, thousands of souls are dehydrated and dying. Is yours one of them? It doesn’t have to be. 

Written directly after the intense reprimand and call to repentance Isaiah issued to the people of Judah and Jerusalem is a picture of how the church should look. A description of how it will look in the future, but also a goal for what it should be today. In the second chapter of Isaiah, he records a vision where he sees the exaltation of the Lord’s house and all nations flooding there to worship. They are coming in with the express purpose of learning God’s ways so they can go out and walk in His paths. Sabbath worship is no longer a time of meaningless habits and rituals, but a time of reconciliation and rejuvenation. It is a place people want to be and a time they are happy to spend. Not because the coffee bar was upgraded, the speaker is engaging, or the music is particularly contemporary. No. Because their souls are being fed and fattened by the unadulterated words of God. There is accountability. For the preachers. For the people. There is encouragement to walk in God’s ways. All of them. In public. In private. There is bonding and building of a community of true believers who are unwilling to compromise their souls for the passing pleasures of earth. Nothing is more important to them than walking in the light of the Lord. Because that is how church should look. (Isaiah 2:1-5)

It starts with us. If our churches are going to look that way, our hearts have to look that way too. We have to be open and honest before God. We have to live in a spirit of repentance and obedience. We have to choose to walk in the light and ways of God when it isn’t prosperous, isn’t popular, isn’t particularly promoting. We cannot let the things of the world take precedence over time in His presence. We cannot settle for mediocrity. We cannot become complacent. We cannot buy into the Jesus lite doctrine. We must safeguard our souls by creating a space in which we meet with and hear from God on a regular basis. Then we must live like it. The spiritual must spill over into the secular, guiding our decisions, our morals, our ethics, our standards. In this way, by learning and daily walking in the light of the Lord, we become the light of the God, illuminating the darkness of the world. Exactly as we were called to be. Light bringing lights to the world. (Isaiah 2:22; Romans 12:2; Matthew 5:14-16; 22:27; I John 1:7; 2:15-17; Ephesians 5:8; John 8:12; Philippians 2:15; James 4:4; Colossians 3:16; Psalm 84:10; 122:1)  

The tree was beautiful. Gorgeous, actually. Strong brown branches. Vibrant green leaves. Plump, glistening fruit hanging well within reach. The glorious sight was enough to make anyone’s mouth water. Especially hers. Not that she was particularly hungry. She wasn’t. Couldn’t be. Not when the entire garden looked this way. Fantastically healthy plants, trees, and vines endlessly produced perfect fruits and vegetables, all readily available for snacking or feasting whenever she desired. Except this tree. This amazing tree in the center of the garden with its luscious looking fruit was off limits. Entirely. Even if the fruit dropped to the ground, she still couldn’t eat it. God said so. It was His only rule. 

More often than not, Eve found herself standing at the base of that tree gazing up into its branches, letting its beauty steal her breath, and wondering how its fruit would taste. Her mouth would water as the tantalizing aroma of sweet, fresh fruit wafted on the breeze. Often her hand would raise, nearly of its own volition, intending to touch the fruit. In the nick of time, she would withdraw her hand, tucking it safely behind her back, as the words of God echoed in her ears, “Do not eat that fruit. No matter what. On the day you choose to eat from that tree, you will die.” (Genesis 2:16)

 The dire warning, stark and startling as it was, did not make Eve keep a wide berth. Day after day she could be found sitting in its shade, gazing up into its branches, staring at the fruit she was strictly denied. Rarely did she drag herself away. Neither the company of Adam nor the abundant beauty of the garden succeeded in diminishing her obsession with that tree. It was a slippery slope. Hanging about under the leaves of temptation made her a target for the evil one. An easy target. Vulnerable. Open. Easily persuaded to disobey God. 

Lurking near that same tree, patiently waiting for the right moment, was the serpent. It wasn’t his first gig. He was an experienced mayhem maker; had already been expelled from Heaven for that very thing. It wasn’t his first day of reconnaissance in Eden, either. He had been watching Adam and Eve in the perfect garden God created for them, seeking the perfect place and time to interject his particular kind of trouble. That’s how he noticed Eve’s fixation with the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. Her weakness was obvious. He’d grinned to himself as he carefully chose the moment of attack. Calm. Cautious. Calculating. Creeping into a spot beside her, the serpent stared up into the branches of the tree, mimicking Eve. Slyly watching from his periphery, he carefully chose his moment to speak, asking a question certain to generate a response. “Did God put you here and tell you not to eat any of the bountiful fruit from these beautiful trees?” (Genesis 3:1; Isaiah 14:12-15; Ezekiel 28:12-17; Luke 10:18) 

His voice startled her. She didn’t recognize it. It wasn’t Adam. She knew his voice well. It wasn’t God. She knew His voice, as well. There weren’t any other people in the garden. She hadn’t heard anyone or anything approach. There was no one else there. No one except an odd looking creature. Its presence was mildly discomfiting, yet oddly compelling. It was speaking. To her. Human words. Understandable words. Words meticulously crafted to create comfort and build camaraderie.  

As if they had been friends since her own creation, Eve responded, “Oh, no! We can eat from all the trees. Any fruit we want. Except this one. This fruit is off limits. God said if we eat it, even touch it, we will die.” (Genesis 3:2-3) It was an exaggeration on Eve’s part. God hadn’t said they couldn’t touch it. He had only forbidden eating it. But Eve knew herself. She needed to keep her hands off that fruit. Touching it would be her downfall. If she allowed her hand to touch that fruit, if she allowed herself to hold it, if she lifted it to her nose for a silent inhale of its mouth-watering fragrance, Eve knew she would never stop herself from eating it. The added clause was a self-fulfilling prophecy. If she touched it, she would eat it, and she would die. 

Hideous cackles erupted from the creature beside her at this explanation. He was bent double in his riotous hilarity. This would be easier than he thought! Sucking in a deep breath to calm himself, the evil one dropped his own bomb, “You aren’t going to die! God just said that to scare you, to manipulate you into doing what He wanted you to do. That fruit is delicious. Very tasty. Juicy. Sweet. And it’s magical. If you eat it, you will know everything you don’t know now. Good and evil alike. You will be just like God. That’s the real reason He doesn’t want you to eat it. He doesn’t want you to know things. God’s trying to keep you ignorant.” (Genesis 3:4-5) 

Staring at the serpent for a few seconds, Eve weighed her options. She knew what God had said. She knew His voice. She had spent time with Him. She knew His character. She knew what Adam had reiterated from God. She knew Adam’s voice. She knew his character. She had no experience with this stranger. Had never met him before that day. Had no idea about his character. Hadn’t ever heard his voice. His words were diametrically opposed to what both God and Adam said. But she liked his idea. Being wise held great appeal. Ignoring the red flags wildly flapping around the serpent, Eve made her choice. Choosing to believe the voice she didn’t know, Eve plucked a piece of fruit from the tree. The weight in her hand felt delicious. The smell in her nostrils was delectable. The taste on her tongue was nothing short of decadent. Eve had been right. About herself. Once she held the fruit in her hand, once she smelled it, nothing could stop her from tasting it. Wiping juice from her chin, she realized the odd creature must have been right as well. About God. About the fruit. About everything. Here she was, half-eaten fruit in her hand, very much alive and well, encouraging Adam to eat as well. (Genesis 3:6) 

It took about two seconds for the sweet savor of the fruit to dissolve into the sour disappointment of alleged wisdom. They knew things now. Embarrassing things. Things better left unknown. They were naked. Both of them. Completely exposed. To the elements. To the animals. To one another. To God. They were entirely exposed to God! Every part of them. Body and soul. Not that they hadn’t been before. They had. But now they knew it. Now they knew God knew. Everything. He would come to walk in the garden later that afternoon, and He would know. Probably already knew. They had broken the rules. They had eaten the fruit. They were naked, exposed before all creation. They knew it. So did God.  

Panicked by their newfound knowledge, Adam and Eve scoured the garden in search of covering. Not just a place to hide. Something to hide their bodies. Cover them. Protect them. From prying eyes and unpredictable elements. Their search led them to fig leaves. Fastening some together would do the trick. For now. A quick craft project would fix their situation. Partially. It would cover their bodies, but their recently gained knowledge revealed it would do nothing to cover their sin. Still, they sewed. Vigorously. As quickly as possible, fashioning leaf clothing to cover themselves, finishing just in time. (Genesis 3:7)

As the breeze that signalled the cool of the day began to float through the garden, Adam and Eve heard the familiar footsteps of God. Desperate to hide their obvious sin, they ran to hide, hoping He wouldn’t notice their absence. He did. Of course, He did. So He called out to them, asking where they were and why they were playing this ridiculous game of hide and seek. (Genesis 3:8-9)

Using the shortest possible answers, Adam relayed the truth of their situation. They were naked. They were afraid. They had followed a voice that wasn’t God’s and eaten the forbidden fruit. And God’s heart broke. Not just because the serpent had deceived them. Not just because they had sinned. Not simply because He was being forced to remove them from the garden. God’s heart broke because, while Eve had known His voice, she had listened to and heeded a voice she didn’t know. A voice that told her believable lies. A voice that seemed knowledgeable and wise. A voice that appeared to be honest and looking out for her best interests. A voice that she didn’t immediately discard, even when she knew it was not the voice of God. (Genesis 3:10-24)

We know exactly what that is like. We know quite a lot about listening to voices that aren’t God’s. We do it all the time. Follow the voice that takes us down the road of least resistance. Adhere to the words that most closely match our own desires. Believe the negative voices that say we aren’t enough, aren’t capable, aren’t loveable. Give in to the perfectly presented idea that God’s words are negotiable, editable, erasable. But none of it is true. It is all lies, created by the father of lies, delivered in the silky smooth voice of an angelic deceiver. And we buy into it. Even when we know God’s words on the matter. Even when we know the things being said do not align with His character. Even when we know it is not His voice. Still we listen. We believe. Just like Eve. (John 8:44; II Corinthians 11:14) 

It is our greatest downfall. Our abject inability to listen, hear, evaluate, and eradicate any voice that isn’t saying things aligning with God’s character and Word is the thing that trips us up most often. Negative thoughts about ourselves make us stop, or never start, doing things for God. Outside voices convince us to stray from the unchanging truths of God’s Word. Our own desires tell us nothing bad can happen from giving our own way a shot. In the cheering section of our brains, impeccably clothed and articulately spoken, sits the evil one, the serpent from Eden, cheering us into every misstep, every backstep, every sidestep we make. If we don’t learn to differentiate between the Voice of Truth and the father of lies, we will find ourselves hampered by sin, hiding from God, headed for punishment. Just like Adam and Eve.   

We really are no different. We, too, know God’s voice. We understand His words. We are familiar with His character. His requirements and commands are clear and well-known. Yet frequently we make the same choice Adam and Eve made. A choice to believe a voice they didn’t know, couldn’t vouch for, and had never heard before. A voice that led them into temptation and sin. They didn’t have to go there. At all. Neither do we. 

You see, friend, the most important thing you can do for your soul is know the voice of God. Know His character. Know His heart. Know that He will never lead you into temptation. He will never browbeat or viciously berate. He will never call you names, deem you unworthy, or declare you incapable. God is love. That is His character. It flows through everything He does. Even His discipline. It drips with unending mercy and boundless grace. That is who God is. That is how He treats His children. Even when you choose to listen to voices that aren’t His because they align with your own crazy desires. God still calls you back to Himself in love and forgiveness. (II Corinthians 2:11; I John 4:16; Hebrews 12:6; Ephesians 2:4-6; John 1:16)

So don’t trust every voice you hear. You can’t afford to. Instead, test them. Identify them. Look for the attributes of God’s character in them. Know who is dropping thoughts in your mind and words in your ear. Don’t act until you do. Then follow the voice you know. The voice of God. The One who protects and preserves your soul. The voice that would never lead you into temptation, instigate self-doubt, or encourage you to violate His commands. The One whose love never fails, who chooses to give good gifts to His children, and who has the power to deliver you from all evil. Trust the voice whose character you know to be faithful and true. Trust God’s voice. The voice you know. (Psalm 23; 121; Proverbs 3:5-6; I John 4:1; I Thessalonians 5:21; Matthew 6:13; 7:11; John 10:27-28; Jeremiah 31:3; Revelation 19:11)

Profoundly invigorated from their recent trip up the mountain, Peter, James, and John were wholly unprepared for the chaos below. It hadn’t been like this when they left. Things were a mess. The crowd gathered around their fellow disciples was agitated, murmuring among themselves, posing questions, airing concerns. Something unpleasant had happened. Obviously. Angst and confusion hung in the air. Disappointment was nearly palpable. And the scribes were there. Unfortunately. Smugly ecstatic to be present. Exacerbating the issue. Perpetuating the confusion. Vigorously arguing with the disciples. Bullying. Badgering. Backtalking. The usual bag of tricks. They always had something to say. Nothing useful. Nothing helpful. Nothing compassionate. Always something. They certainly weren’t attempting to rectify this situation. Quite the opposite. They were making it worse. Highlighting failures. Underscoring weaknesses. Doing their best to undermine the authority of the message of Jesus when Jesus Himself wasn’t present to debunk their theories. Except He was.  

Unexpectedly wading into the crowd and raising his voice to be heard over the cacophony, Jesus calmly queried what had caused the intense argument. It hadn’t been like this when He left. Not that there had been peace between the disciples and the scribes. There hadn’t. There never was. The scribes were continually trying to discredit their teaching, undermine their efforts, and confute their arguments. This time was no different. Latching on to an evolving situation in the crowd, the scribes were doing their best to make Jesus’ disciples look like imbeciles. It seemed to be working. Until Jesus came. 

In answer to His question, a man approached with his son in tow. His heartbreaking story poured out in a torrent of verbal anguish. As a child, an evil spirit had rendered the boy mute. Over the years, the same spirit would periodically plague him, throwing him to the ground, completely rigid. His teeth would audibly grind. Foam would come from his mouth. Sometimes it would throw him into fire or water, endangering his life. It was utterly terrifying. Worse, there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing the father could do for his son to stop those episodes of horror. He knew. He had tried everything. Nothing helped. Nothing changed. He felt helpless and hopeless. Until he heard about Jesus.

With flickering hope, the man quickly packed his knapsack, took his son by the hand, and set out in search of Jesus. Desperation filled his heart. He had to find Him. Had to ask Him. It was his final option. His only hope. Hope that he continually tempered with human reality. This might not work. Jesus might not be willing or able to help them. He might not have time to hear their story. He might not be interested. There might be too many other people who needed Him. Someone whose situation seemed more dire may steal His attention. Someone more important might push to the front of the queue. As much as he believed the accounts he had heard, believed Jesus was capable of doing what he was asking, the father curbed his expectations to limit his own disappointment in the event that Jesus said “No.”  

Acknowledging that he would never know the outcome if he never asked, the man elbowed his way through the crowd. Bursting through to the center, he tugged his son forward only to be met with deflating disappointment. Jesus wasn’t there. It was only a handful of His disciples. Teetering in indecision, he started to turn away. Then he stopped. He hadn’t come all this way to give up. He had to try. For his son. For himself. For everyone who knew and loved them. Bravely stepping forward, the father asked Jesus’ disciples to help him. Implored them to cast out the evil spirit. Begged them to make the madness stop. Literally.  

They tried. Really. They did try. It didn’t happen. They couldn’t make it happen. No matter what they did or said, nothing changed. The boy remained mute. The evil spirit continued to plague him. The father sat in his helplessness. His doubts doubled. If the disciples hadn’t been able to free his son, what were the chances Jesus could? Still, they had made the effort to find Him, they might as well ask Him to try. If He would. (Mark 9:14-21) 

In words wrenched from a heart struggling to believe through the onslaught of doubt crowding his mind, the father stood before Jesus and pleaded, “If you can do anything. If you can do everything. If you hold all power over heaven and earth and things under the earth, surely you can find it in your heart to show compassion to a tormented boy and his anguished father.” (I Chronicles 29:11-12; Psalm 24:1-2; Mark 9:22; Matthew 19:26)

His words, intentionally or not, were offensive. And revealing. A spotlight shining into the unbelieving corridors of his own heart, making it impossible to miss his lack of faith. And Jesus noticed. Addressed the issue. Immediately. Bluntly. Necessarily. In plain speech, Jesus challenged that father to believe. For his son. For himself. Believe when things look impossible. Believe when he knew the hoped-for outcome was improbable. Believe when everything he ever believed in had failed. Believe now. Today. Because all things are possible for those who believe in the power of God to do anything, do everything, do this one thing. Right here. Right now. He simply had to believe Jesus had the power to free his son. And that He would.

Perhaps that was the rub. Believing that Jesus would do what He was able to do. We all have that problem. We believe Jesus can do things. We hope He will do them. But we anxiously hold back, wait, refuse to allow our faith to fully expand. We are cautiously optimistic yet carefully realistic. We temper our expectations by reminding ourselves that things might stay the same in spite of our tears, our cries, our prayers. That is what the desperate father’s words said. He was there asking a favor because he believed Jesus had the ability to do it, but his faith wasn’t strong enough to believe that Jesus would definitely do it. He had braced himself for the possibility that Jesus might not do anything. He was reluctantly prepared to return home the same as he came–the tired, hopeless father of a helpless son. He had to be. Because he didn’t truly believe. Not completely. His fear of rejection, of repudiation, of renunciation was too strong. It held full belief captive. And his lack of belief was standing between his son and salvation. 

It was the first thing Jesus addressed. His faith. Knowing the man’s son was standing there, likely to go into another fit at any moment, desperately needing freed, Jesus took the time to talk to the father about his faith. He needed that lesson. He needed to understand the weight his faith carried with Heaven. He needed to know and believe that placing his faith in Jesus’ power and authority meant nothing was off the table. Everything was possible. Anything was possible. His son’s healing today and his needs tomorrow could all be made possible through complete confidence in the power of God. He simply had to step out in faith and fully believe. (Mark 9:23-27)

Admittedly, it is more difficult than it sounds. So often we come to Jesus swallowed up in outrageous circumstances and horrific situations with the well-intentioned, yet rather glib, words of others echoing in our heads. “Just believe.” “Have faith.” We try. Really. We do try. But it is hard. Believing in something we can’t see or feel or hardly imagine is emotionally taxing and spiritually strenuous. Blindly trusting God to work in our best interest feels like walking a tightrope across the Grand Canyon. Especially when we have to wait for things to happen. That is the hardest part. The waiting is when bad things happen. Our minds play tricks on us. We grow concerned. We question. We doubt. We look for alternative options. We forget that in the silence, in the waiting, God is working. In our situation. In us. In the time between the asking and the affirmation, God is busy doing business with our souls and building our belief in the promise that all things are possible to those who believe. 

That is the lesson Jesus was trying to impress on this desperate father then and on our frazzled hearts today. Believe in God. Completely. Unrestrainedly. Hold nothing back. As you stand before him, the shattered pieces of your broken life lying around your feet, asking Him to put them back together, don’t let doubt and fear curtail your ability to fully believe and trust in the power of God. He knows you. All about you. He knows you are weak and frail and human. He knows your mind conjures up a thousand reasons He might not answer. He knows the evil one will present you with alleged evidence cautioning against full faith in His promise. He knows you feel impotent and insignificant, helpless and hopeless. Still, in the face of all that, Jesus is asking you to believe. In Him. When you have exhausted all the other options, when there is nothing else you can do, rather than do nothing, find the courage to do something. If you can do anything, find the strength to believe. (Psalm 37:5; 55:22; 103:14; Jeremiah 17:7; Proverbs 3:5-6; Isaiah 26:3-4; Romans 8:28; I John 5:14-15; Hebrews 11:6; Matthew 11:28-30; James 1:5-8; John 6:29; Mark 11:22)

Trepidation edged the excitement swirling around the community. They were finally going to do it! After weeks, months, years of wandering, they were finally going to cross the Jordan River into the Promised Land. It was wildly exciting. It was terribly alarming. The culmination of all their hopes and dreams was finally right before them. They would do what their ancestors had failed to do. Inhabit the promised land. Possess it. Own it. Finished would be the never-ending carnival ride of packing, travelling, moving. Their homes wouldn’t be temporary anymore. They could settle down, establish roots. Their hearts were filled to the brim with emotion. Joy. Relief. Anxiety. Fear. Before them stood one final obstacle. The Jordan River. Rushing waters. Overflowing banks. Unusual depths. Gazing at the turbulent flow, their hearts sank, their stomachs clenched, their doubts surfaced. How, exactly, were they going to get to the promised land? 

Under normal circumstances, the Jordan would be formidable, but still crossable. It would take some ingenuity and expertise, but they could do it. But these were not normal circumstances. The waters were flowing down from the mountains at an exceptional pace, making the Jordan River deeper and wider and more chaotic than usual. Their women and children didn’t stand a chance against the current. Their livestock would struggle to make it across alone, likely wouldn’t make it when weighed down with goods. Many of the men would face difficulties attempting to cross themselves, rendering them unable to help others in need. Staring at the water, recognizing the dangers it held, the people felt the icy fingers of defeat grip their hearts. They wanted to cross, yes, but weren’t sure they could. Not safely. Not right now. 

Either Joshua was crazy, or he had heard a different word from the Lord. Wait didn’t seem to be in his vocabulary. He was planning to cross the river. Now. He had a whole set of instructions. Specific steps to be followed. Ordered directions and set spacing. The ark of the covenant, carried by the priests, would go first. By a large margin. No one who wasn’t a Levitical priest tasked with carrying the ark should go near it. At all. They were not to approach. Not to get close. Absolutely not to run ahead of it. The ark of God was going to lead the way, show them where to walk. They hadn’t been through there before. They didn’t know the path. They had no idea where they were going. They could easily drown, make a wrong turn, go astray. But God wouldn’t. He knew the way, every dip and drop and mossy rock. He would safely lead them across the fast-flowing waters of the Jordan. The people of Israel had only two tasks. Consecrate themselves to God in obedience now and follow the leaders later. Right through the Jordan River. 

One wonders how long it took them to realize they were going to have a Red Sea experience in the Jordan River. This time it wouldn’t come as a surprise. Joshua told them exactly what would happen. Traveling a significant distance ahead of the people and carrying the ark of the covenant, the priests would step into the edge of the river. As the soles of their feet met the water, the miraculous would happen. The waters would part, stacking up like banks. Nothing would flow down. Nothing would sit still. Not one puddle would form. There wouldn’t even be mud on their sandals when they reached the other side. They were going to walk across on dry land. A miracle nearly identical to the one God had performed for their ancestors when they exited Egypt and originally headed for the promised land. 

Not that any of the people now had memories of that experience then. They didn’t. This was not the generation that had been enslaved in Egypt. That generation had passed away, unable to enter the promised land because of their sins, their unbelief, their lack of faith. This was a new experience for this generation. They had heard the stories, sat in awe at the thought, yet never had their wildest dreams included experiencing such a miracle. But they were going to. The very next day. God promised through Joshua. But first they had work to do. Instructions to follow. A task to complete. They had to consecrate themselves to God. Clean out their hearts. Clean up their lives. Confess their sins–all of them. They needed to recognize the seriousness of coming before God, asking for a miracle. They needed to go into this moment with hearts fully surrendered to the purpose of God, hearts completely devoted to His will, and eyes full of faith to see Him do the miraculous for them. They had to prepare themselves, because God was on the move. (Numbers 14:29)

To be fair, it had been a bit of a dry spell where miracles were concerned. There hadn’t been a rock spewing water or birds falling from the sky for quite some time. They hadn’t fought a recent battle ending in a phenomenal victory. Preceding Moses’ death, there had been a lot of talking. A lot of preaching. A lot of admonishing. Moses had reminders for them. Things he didn’t want them to forget. Things God required of them. Laws. Rules. Commandments. Moses had other words, too. Blessings. Warnings. A new covenant between God and His people. Moses had spent his last days preparing them to go on without him. Encouraging them to follow Joshua in his stead. Finally, having said all he had to say, Moses had gone. Trudging up the mountain to his certain demise. Sadness and mourning had shrouded the encampment for thirty days. Then Joshua, their new leader, told them it was time to move out. Out of their grief. Out of their mourning. Out of Moab. And into the good place God had for them. (Numbers 20:1-13; Exodus 16:12-13; 17:8-16; Deuteronomy 28-34)

It took every ounce of strength and courage they had to pack up and follow Joshua. Not necessarily because they didn’t trust him, but because their hearts were still with Moses. He had proved his mettle from the beginning. Their parents and grandparents had trusted him. He had a reputation for being a strong leader. Joshua had the potential, but not the resume. He hadn’t done all the things Moses had done. He hadn’t faced down Pharaoh and escaped with his life. He hadn’t brought them water from rocks when they believed themselves to be near death in the wilderness. He hadn’t travelled up a mountain–twice–to bring them the laws and commands of God so they could know how to live in accordance with His will. Joshua had done very little to prove his leadership skills, yet here he was, asking for their allegiance to him, their consecration to God, and their faith that God was still doing miracles even though they hadn’t seen a new one for a hot minute. (Exodus 5:1-2; 7:10; 10:28-29; 17:1-7; 20:1-17; 24:12, 18; 34:28-29; Joshua 1:10-18; 3:5)

Lining up behind the priests and the ark of the covenant, ready to cross the Jordan River as they had been commanded, their stomachs knotted in anxiety at the rushing waters before them. Barring a miracle, it would be certain death. As the priests stepped forward, the people held their breath. One step. Two steps. Three. The next step was it. The final one. The priests’ feet would land in the water, and the people were anxious. If the water stayed in place, their faith was misplaced. Their prayers were unanswered. Their consecration in vain. But. If the water displaced, if the miracle happened, it would be confirmation. God was truly among them, working for them, obviously on the move. 

That is exactly how it happened. Barely had the priests’ sandals touched the water before it rolled back, making a path of dry land. They were gobsmacked. Astounded. Astonished. The stories they had heard about the Red Sea were nothing in comparison to seeing it with one’s own eyes. The water literally stacked up in a towering mountain of rushing, roaring power, leashed by God’s own hand. The land they needed to tread was bare and dry. No water. No residual moisture. No mud. Dry land. A clear path through the overwhelming fury to the safety of the other shore. A path built on surrender, obedience, and faith that God was on the move. (Joshua 3)

Forty years elapsed between the Red Sea crossing and that at the Jordan River. A lot had gone down in that amount of time. Sin. Salvation. Rebellion. Forgiveness. Straying. Returning. Their own fickleness had resulted in a lot of unnecessary wandering. But they were following now. Following God. Following Joshua. Following directions. Building a story of faithfulness–both God’s and theirs–to tell their grandchildren. It would be one of the most important stories they told. If they got the lesson right. Because the lesson would be the same for every generation, perfectly presented in Joshua’s words to them, “Clean up your hearts. Straighten up your lives. Surrender yourselves. Submit to God. Be prepared. Be ready. Watch in anticipation. You don’t want to miss this. God is on the move.” (Joshua 3:5)

At some point in the people of Israel’s journey around the wilderness, the story of the promised land must have seemed like just that. A story. A pipe dream. A hope. A wish. The Biblical accounts tell us they often found it easier to go their own way than to go God’s. They doubted and feared, regretted and reneged. The initial lot of them never saw the promised land because of it. It didn’t have to be that way. Had they stayed consecrated to God, surrendered, submitted, faithful, they would actually have gotten there. That’s the lesson here. A lesson of staying. God is on the move, but you need to stay. Stay surrendered. Stay submitted. Stay steadfast. Stay strong. God is at work. He has a plan. He is orchestrating every piece and part of your life into a masterpiece. Artwork by God. All the prayers you have prayed and cries you have made have been heard. God is acting. Even if you can’t see it. Even if you don’t feel it. Even when the space between your soul and God’s promise is filled with an insurmountable obstacle. Rest in the knowledge that impossible things are His specialty. God isn’t done. Your story isn’t finished. So stay. Stay still. Stay faithful. Stay trusting. Stay obedient. Stay silent and wait for instructions. They will come. It is imperative that you obey. Because God is on the move. (James 4:7, 10; Luke 9:23; Proverbs 3:5-6; John 2:5; 5:17; Romans 8:28; Jeremiah 29:11; Isaiah 1:19; 40:31; II Peter 3:9; Psalm 24:17; Deuteronomy 5:33)