Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

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) 

Nerves jangling, he faced the representatives of the people. Judges. Officers. Elders. Men he knew. Had known for years. Their acquaintance didn’t change the facts. He was new to the leadership role. And he wasn’t Moses. He wasn’t the one who had been with them, leading them, praying over them, guiding them, since their deliverance from Egypt. He was not the one who endlessly put up with their complaining, shenanigans, and ridiculousness. That was Moses. Their first leader. He was gone now. Dead. Buried high on a mountain in a grave known only to God. They mourned his loss. Deeply. For thirty days they had quietly worked through one day at a time, absorbing the bereavement, preparing themselves for life without Moses. Now God had spoken. It was time to get up, get going, move along. The people of Israel couldn’t stay in the plains of Moab forever. God had better things for them. A better place for them to build their lives. A plan that required courage and obedience under new leadership. Joshua’s leadership. He would become their new Moses. (Deuteronomy 34)

The change in leadership wasn’t a surprise. Moses had prepared them for it. Publicly, he had laid his hands on Joshua and prayed over him, commissioning him to lead God’s people. Promising that just as God was with Moses, He would also be with Joshua. The people believed him. In that solemn moment, they vowed to follow and obey him at every turn. Yet even as their fervent promises rang out, the scrolls of history teemed with moments they had failed to obey. God. Moses. Their track record wasn’t stellar. They were stiff-necked and hard-hearted. Joshua knew that. He knew better than to get his hopes up about the people, but he knew one thing about himself for certain. No matter what the people chose to do, he would always choose to obey God. In everything. Every commandment. Every rule. Every order. Every suggestion. Joshua solemnly vowed in his heart to obey God. Always. Because he knew that if he was obedient, God would be faithful. God would give him courage and strength, wisdom and success, as long as nothing came between his soul and his God. (Joshua 1:8, 24:15; Numbers 27:18-23; Deuteronomy 31:27)

Woven into God’s first directive to Joshua was this promise specifically for him. God would be with him. He would lead him, help him. He would make Joshua successful. Joshua could depend on that promise. As long as he obeyed every single command God gave him, followed God completely, didn’t get distracted by the alleged fears or fun around him, but focused solely on knowing and obeying the laws of God, Joshua would find success in leading the people to attain the promised land. God would never leave him, no matter where he was or what his circumstances turned out to be. He would be blessed, prosperous, and successful if he obeyed every command of God, including the words, “Be courageous.” (Joshua 1:1-9)

It might have been the most difficult command Joshua ever encountered. He knew the people he led. They weren’t known for courage when things became uncomfortable, when water was scarce, or food options were boring. They didn’t have a reputation for courage when enemy armies sported actual warriors instead of wimps. They tended toward cantankerousness and cowardice rather than fortitude and faith when their hopes took too long to be realized. Although they had frequently sworn to obey God, they leaned heavily into disobedience–often–clearly believing the courage required to obey was far too costly, and oddly eschewing the fact that true courage is found in obedience. (Exodus 17:2-3; 19:8; 24:7; Numbers 11:4-6; 13:31-33; 14:1-4)   

Unlike obedience, disobedience was easy. It required nothing of them. It needed only cowardice to succeed. It always does. Disobedience requires no strength, no fortitude, no spine. It never has. Not then. Not now. Blending in with the crowd has no expectation of bravery. Hiding in the shadows requires no valor. Remaining silent in the face of obvious atrocities takes no effort or exertion. It is only when you choose to stand up, stand out, stand for something true and right that courage is required. Choosing to be an example of true holiness, doing the right thing when no one else is, and speaking the unpopular words of godly truth to people who don’t want to hear them are all examples of courageous acts of obedience to God. They are scary. They are difficult. They will not make you popular. But. Obeying God will always bring you courage. Courage to keep walking with Him when things are difficult. Courage to stand strong when the odds seem stacked against you. Courage to choose His commands when no one else does. Because courage isn’t found lurking in the shadows, in the approval of people around you, or strict adherence to self-help constructs. Courage is found only in surrendered obedience to God. (I Chronicles 22:13; I Corinthians 16:13; Exodus 23:2; Proverbs 4:14-15)

Joshua believed that. He believed in obeying God no matter what. It was the reason he found himself courageously standing there, his hands at his sides when they wanted to be twisting in front of him, armed only with the command of God. It was time. They were leaving. Leaving mourning behind and heading out to conquer and inhabit the land God had promised to give them. Within three days, they would be passing over the Jordan River and heading into the promised land. They needed to get ready. Pack up their things. Settle their families. Prepare their minds and hearts for the coming battles. Because there would be battles. This was not going to be easy. Possessing the land was going to take mental fortitude and physical strength. They would need courage to persevere against daunting enemies and disheartening setbacks. Obedience to God would require courage from even the faintest heart. Choosing obedience was the only way to get that courage. (Genesis 12:7; 13:14-17; 15:18-21; 17:8; Deuteronomy 20:16-18) 

Speaking to Joshua before sending him to meet with the group of representatives, God said all of this. In different words. With a promise attached. He was going to keep His word to the people. The one He had sworn to so long ago. The one in which they were going to possess and inhabit a land full of good things. Every place they walked on, they would own. It was already theirs. Nothing would stand against them. Nothing would prohibit them from living there. God would see to it that every part of the land He promised them was theirs. As long as they obeyed God. And part of that obedience was being strong, courageous, fearless, and calm. They could be. If they chose to obey all the laws and commandments given to them, if they lived as close to God as possible, they could take courage from the fact that their obedience would result in His blessing. So can we. (Joshua 1:1-16; Isaiah 1:19-20; Deuteronomy 28:1-2; 31:6; Psalm 118:6-7)

As often as we hear the words of Joshua 1:9, rarely do we hear verse 8. It isn’t as pretty. It doesn’t exude confidence and power. It isn’t as easy to swallow. We don’t love hearing that our courage, strength, and success rest in our complete obedience. We aren’t super excited about being completely surrendered and obedient to anyone. At all. Not even God. Yet our distaste doesn’t make the command less true. It has always been that way. Since the dawn of time. Adam and Eve were presented the opportunity for obedience in the Garden of Eden. They could eat everything. Eat anything. Except for one tree. Leave that one alone. It was the only rule. The repercussions were clear. Disobedience would result in death. Obedience promised life. It wasn’t a difficult concept. It was simply difficult to obey, because the wayward hearts of humanity will always lean toward the path of least resistance, the one that takes little courage, less effort. But the end of that path is always destruction. Ask Achan. (Joshua 1:8-9; Genesis 3)

Having strictly obeyed God’s directions for conquering Jericho, they carried their elation into the battle at Ai. It was a small city, easily dispatched, and Israel sent only a few hundred men in expectation of a quick victory. It was not to be. Three dozen men did not return. Not alive, anyway. None of them returned victorious. They had been beaten back by a tiny town with an untrained army. The defeat was unexplainable. 

Falling to his knees, Joshua cried out to God for insight. He had done everything he was commanded to do. He had followed God’s rules to the letter. He had been faithful and done his best to keep the people faithful. He was unaware of any sin among them. But God wasn’t. God knew what was buried under Achan’s tent. He knew that, in a moment of cowardice, Achan had given in to the temptation to take things from Jericho that didn’t belong to him. When choosing obedience required Achan to have courage, be strong, and leave the spoils alone, he had instead chosen the cowardice of disobedience and stolen a cloak and silver and gold. 

It cost him everything. Cowardice and selfishness cost Achan everything he had. His life. His sons’ lives. His daughters’ lives. His livestock. Everything he had was destroyed because Achan failed to choose obedience. Walking away from that treasure trove might have been the most difficult thing he would ever do, but choosing obedience would have saved his life. It would have given him courage to face the next moment of temptation with greater strength and a stiffer spine. Because courage is found in obedience. (Joshua 7)

The Israelites might have learned this the hard way, but you don’t have to. You can learn from the multitude of accounts in the Bible. Times when people chose the cushy path of disobedience, the comfortable path of fitting in with the people around them, the cowardly path of sitting quietly while evil raged out of control. Times we understand, because we live in the same circumstances. We are constantly tempted to cowardly tread the path of least resistance, adopt purposeful ignorance, choose disobedience. But we aren’t called to that. We are called to courageous obedience. Complete adherence to God’s Word. Total surrender to His will. Absolute acceptance of His divine authority. We are called to walk through this world, live in this world, but not be part of this world. It requires unlimited dedication to God. It demands unending denial of self. It necessitates enormous courage in the face of extraordinary opposition. It brings us to the realization that courage is found in choosing obedience to God. (Romans 12:2; I John 2:15-17; I Corinthians 15:33; Ecclesiastes 12:13)

John understood that truth. Personally. He also knew the reward of obedience. Writing while exiled on Patmos for his refusal to teach anything other than Jesus Christ, his inspired letters to the churches tell us of the promised land that awaits those who today find the courage to be obedient to God. They tell us of the blessings to come. They give us the reason to find courage through obedience when cowardly disobedience is easier. Those who choose to overcome sin through obedience will be given the right to eat from the tree of everlasting life. They will reign with God in Heaven. They will be dressed in white and have their names written in the Book of Life. Those same names will be spoken before God the Father and all His angels. The people whose names are written in the Book of Life and spoken before the Father will be the same people who get to dwell in the house of the Lord forever! Those who don’t, won’t. No cowardly or disobedient souls will be present there. At all. It’s not a threat, just a fact. Heaven isn’t made up of those who, in cowardice, choose disobedience. It is home only to those who, through choosing to walk in the light of God, discovered courage. Courage to walk with God. Daily. Courage to speak His words. Often. Courage to live by His regulations. Always. Courage that is found only in choosing obedience. Because in obedience is where courage is found.  (Revelation 2:7, 3:5,12,21, 21:8; Ephesians 5:8-9; I John 5:3; John 14:15; Deuteronomy 10:12-13; Matthew 22:37-40; James 1:22) 

The words echoed in his ears and settled in his heart. He had heard them before. At a different time, in a different place. The Chebar canal. That’s where he heard them the first time, where he had originally been called to be more than a priest among the Jewish exiles in Babylonia. He was to be their watchman. He was charged with speaking God’s words. All of them. Blessings. Warnings. Rebukes. Sometimes in words. Sometimes through actions. He would soft-sell nothing. Tell them everything. Requirements and ramifications. Like the watchman on the wall blowing the trumpet at the first sign of trouble, Ezekiel was tasked with doing his part to warn the people of coming judgment. Then let them choose. Let them determine their own path, make their own choices. Even if they weren’t the right ones. And they wouldn’t be. The people were stubborn and hard-hearted. They wouldn’t want to listen. They wouldn’t care what he said until it was too late. But forcing people to do the right thing wasn’t the job of the watchman. It wasn’t Ezekiel’s job, either. His job was to speak the truth, voice the warnings, and issue the invitation for repentance. (Ezekiel 1:1-3; 2:3-7; 3:4-11, 16-21)

Ezekiel realized it was going to be a difficult road when he first heard the call. Hard things lay before him. Many hard things. Things that would make him look insane. Months of lying on his side, bound by ropes, cooking his food over a fire made from animal excrement was certainly one of them. Shaving his hair and beard, weighing it, dividing it, burning some, striking some with a sword, and scattering the rest to the wind, all while remaining mute, literally made him look like a lunatic. Packing a bag and escaping through a wall to portray an exile felt ridiculous. But he did it anyway. No matter what he thought, felt, or wished, Ezekiel did exactly as he was told. He stayed obedient. A faithful watchman for an unfaithful people. (Ezekiel 4, 5, 12)

Frankly, the people were more interested in Ezekiel’s escapades than in the meaning behind them. It was like a one-sided game of hilarious charades. The silent prophet enacted scene after scene, leaving them to deduce the message. Not that they cared about the message. They didn’t. They had no intention of changing. They really didn’t care about the warning behind the siege enactment or the exile prophecy. Perhaps they thought those things wouldn’t happen in their lifetime. Maybe they believed they had all the time in the world. Perhaps they just wanted to live their lives and reconcile to God right at the very end–have their earthly fun and enjoy eternal bliss, too. They weren’t going to change. At all. But they did enjoy the diversion. Ezekiel and his little stories were quite amusing.

Not to Ezekiel. He had done all the things. Been mute when he wanted to speak. Stayed silent when he wanted to mourn. Spoken only the words God gave him to say when he wanted to say so much more. Endured the frustration of being mocked, laughed at, scorned. As much as he had wanted to shake people and force them to listen, he stood impotently by as they chuckled at his antics, shook their heads, and went on about their way. It was frustrating. He had done all the things God had told him to do, exactly as he had been told to do them, yet he had accomplished nothing. Now here he was, sitting in silence, hearing the voice of God speak. Again. To him. For him. Not a new commission. An old one. In the exact same words. “Be the watchman.” (Ezekiel 33:7-9)

Echoing back from the far recesses of his mind even as God spoke it anew to his heart, Ezekiel heard the message. Again. Received the call to be the watchman for his people. Again. Accepted the gravity of preaching and teaching the words of God exactly as He intended. Ezekiel knew it was his duty, his job, his calling. Even when no one listened. Even when people scoffed and laughed. Even when he stood alone in his faith. He was still going to do it. Just like he always had. When the priests didn’t want to hear him. When the people didn’t want to believe him. When no one wanted to obey the words he was called to speak. Ezekiel was still going to issue God’s warnings, because he took his job as a watchman seriously. Every watchman did. (Ezekiel 33:1-9) 

A well-known occupation, the job of a watchman was always serious. The watchman’s ability to see coming danger gave him the power to alert residents, offer choices, and save lives. Sounding that alarm gave people the opportunity to choose how they would react to imminent danger. Run. Hide. Stand. Fight. Once he gave the alert, the watchman’s job was complete. The choice of action rested on the people themselves. It wasn’t his job to drag them into hiding. No. That was their own responsibility. The watchman was responsible for imparting the knowledge. The people were responsible for acting on it. As long as he sounded the alarm, the watchman’s position was safe. 

Not so if he failed to sound the alarm. If the watchman fell asleep on the job, got distracted, failed to notice the oncoming danger, or somehow mislaid his trumpet, resulting in failure to sound the alarm, people would die. Lots of people. Potentially everyone. Guilty. Innocent. Lackadaisical. Diligent. The watchman himself might die. And he would be responsible. For all of it. Blame for every ramification, lost life, or ruined future would rest on his shoulders. It was no different for Ezekiel. 

Although his warnings may not save a physical life, they could save eternal lives. Many lives. It was the reason God was reiterating the call to him now. A lot of things had happened. Ezekiel had travelled dark days and rough waters. The people had been through tough times. Everything God had said would happen had, indeed, happened. Siege and destruction included. Still God wasn’t done with Ezekiel. There was still work for him to do. But Ezekiel, tired and work-worn, needed the reminder of who he was and what he was called to do. He needed to know his work wasn’t yet done. He couldn’t let up, slack off, or give up. He still had work to do. God’s work. The work of a watchman. It was time to watch out for their souls, time to draw them back to God, time to verbally issue God’s call to repentance for His people. Time to let everyone know they were going to answer for their own actions. Priests for their teachings. People for their adherence. Everyone for the contents of their own hearts. All would be judged. All would give an account. All would be rewarded or punished according to what they did with the warnings of the watchman; and the watchman would be punished if he didn’t issue the warnings at all. (Ezekiel 33:10-20; 34: 1-22, 25-31; 36:9,22-29; 37:23-28) 

It was a serious call. Imperative in its urgency. Ezekiel was charged with preaching the words of God to people who didn’t want to hear them and were wholly uninterested in living by them. He couldn’t skip a beat, miss a memo, change a word, or edit an understanding. Ezekiel had to speak the commands and laws of God just as they were given to him. No exceptions. That was his job. Whether the people listened or not. Whether they heard or not. Whether they obeyed or not. Whatever choice they made after he spoke was entirely up to them. They would bear the entire responsibility for their response. Ezekiel’s responsibility was to speak. To warn. To preach the word, offer the options, disseminate the information so the people could make informed choices. It is our responsibility, too.

No matter who you are in the kingdom of God, you bear the same responsibility. Be a watchman for the kingdom of God. Be salt. Be light. Illuminate the paths of others by sharing God’s words with them. All of God’s words. The comfortable as well as the convicting. Share them as He spoke them. Don’t soft-sell His regulations. Don’t cheapen His gospel. Don’t water down His words. Refuse to participate in a partial gospel. Reject any message that promotes half-hearted commitment to Christ. Rebuke sin in all its forms. Stand up for Jesus, His words, His ways, in a world that isn’t listening, isn’t hearing, isn’t following. Speak up anyway. Speak God’s truth. Live it out. Demonstrate godliness in how you handle yourself, your business, your life. In word and deed, tell everyone you meet the truth of life in Christ. That is your calling. It is your duty. It is your mission. The mission of the watchman. (Matthew 5:14-16; Proverbs 11:30; Deuteronomy 12:32; Revelation 22:18-19; Ephesians 5:1-2; I Peter 1:15-16; Jeremiah 1:9; Acts 1:8) 

Quiet settled over the gathered congregation as the words of the letter hit their mark like icy pellets of guilt aimed directly at their souls. They had done all of those things. Every. Single. One. At some point, all of them had actively participated in one or more of those shameful activities. They had engaged in immoral practices. They had worshipped something other than God. They had stolen, been greedy, excessively imbibed. They had committed everything on Paul’s list. And more. Their sins were many. They knew it. They had been those people. In the past. They weren’t those people now. Not anymore. It was simply who they used to be.    

The people of the Corinthian church were keenly aware of who they were before the gospel of Jesus Christ found them. Idolaters and adulterers. Immoral and unethical. Swindlers and sidewinders. They weren’t proud of it. They weren’t flashing their colorful past around, bragging about the things they used to do. They weren’t hoping to identify with sinners. But they did. They identified with the stories passed down through generations of men and women, all extravagant sinners, who found redemption through encounters with Jesus. They understood the greed that inhabited Zaccheus’ heart as he scammed and stole his way through the populace. They identified with the rich young man who chose his possessions over Jesus. They knew all about idolatry. Both types. The tangible idols of wood and stone, as well as the intangible things people put before God in their lives. Possessions, power, prestige. They were embarrassingly familiar with the adulterous woman standing alone between Jesus and her accusers, waiting for the burst of pain from the first launched stone. Some of them had been just like her. She was just like them. (Luke 19:1-10; Mark 10:17-27; Colossians 3:5; Exodus 20:3-5; John 8:2-11; I Corinthians 6:9-11) 

Dragged from the place of her tryst to the temple, the woman was roughly deposited before Jesus. Her accusers, all men, took up stations around her, effectively thwarting any chance of escape. They were obviously on a mission. To what end, she wasn’t certain, but she knew it to be true. Sinner or not, she was simply a pawn in the game they were playing. Useless. Expendable. They didn’t care if she lived or died. Not really. But the law said she should die for her sin. By stoning. That would be her fate. She knew it. These men would ensure it. Even without a proper trial or the presence of the man who was with her, the testimony of the men dragging her to the temple would be enough. She would die that day. She knew it. She deserved it. She knew that, too. (Leviticus 20:10; Deuteronomy 22:22-24) 

Fixing her gaze on the dirt at her feet, she steeled her emotions as the ugly allegations began to fly around her. Not that they weren’t true. They were. Mostly. They simply seemed more shocking when spoken publicly. Even to her. The ramifications of her selfish choices lined up before her in vivid color. How they affected others. How they affected her. Unable to avoid the truth or soft-sell her sin any longer, the woman had to admit who she was. An adulteress. She hadn’t set out to be one, yet here she was, caught in the web of her own sin, facing the stark truth. Sin deserved punishment, and it looked like today was her day. The moment her sin caught up with her, the hour her sentence was handed down, the day she would be handed over to eternal death because of her sin. She could barely stomach the thought, but couldn’t allow herself to hope that mercy would reach clear down to where she was. Not with how far she had fallen. As she stood there waiting for Jesus to announce His decision, her heart pounded in her chest, her stomach churned, her knees felt weak, her head spun, and she found herself wondering how it would feel to be struck with stones until she died. 

Muddled as her mind was, she couldn’t claim to have tracked the entire conversation between Jesus and those men. How could she? Panic and fear had such a hold on her that she had to strictly focus on staying vertical. Her brain played an endless loop of what her future could have looked like had she made better decisions. Bone-deep sadness at all the family milestones she would miss and the experiences she would never have, had tears clouding her vision. Her heart mourned their loss. She wished she could simply repent, change, be someone different. But it was too late. Or was it? 

Snapping her attention back to the present, the woman realized Jesus hadn’t answered them yet. He hadn’t stated His opinion or even acknowledged their questions. He almost seemed not to have heard. At all. He literally made no response to their demands for her instant judgment. Not to them. Not to her. He didn’t open a discussion on their allegations. He didn’t start quoting the law. He didn’t immediately doom her to stoning. No. Jesus simply bent down and silently started drawing in the dirt. She had to stretch to see what it was. It looked like words. Not that she could read. She couldn’t. Pictures would have been better. She had no idea what it said. Apparently, the men couldn’t read either. Or they weren’t interested. Either way, they ignored Jesus’ actions and kept banging on, seeking permission to enact the law, to make an example of her, to execute her right there on the spot. 

As if finally tired of hearing their repeated questions and haranguing, Jesus stood up and dropped her in it. Completely. She supposed He didn’t have a choice. The law was the law. He had to comply. He was going to let them do it. Stone her. He said so. “Whoever of you is sinless, whoever has never had an irresponsible moment, an errant thought, a fractious word, or committed a sinful act, that person can throw the first stone.” Then He went back to playing in the dirt. Heart sinking like lead in her chest, she bowed her head as low as possible and waited for the first lobbed rock to land.  

Seconds stretched to minutes. Nothing happened. She wanted to look around, see what was going on, but didn’t dare move. Finally, a soft thump sounded. Someone dropped their stone. Not threw it. Dropped it. On the ground. Footsteps crunched the dry dirt as one man walked away. Then another. And another. Not one stone came in her direction. Not one person was willing to declare himself sinless. Still she stood there, barely daring to breathe, until Jesus stood back up from his sand art and looked around her, noting her accusers were no longer there. Where were they? Had they left? Did no one stay to offer accusations and condemnation? Was no one there happy to heave a stone? Carefully turning first one direction, then the other, the woman realized every single man had gone. No one had stayed to tell their story or throw their stone. No one except Jesus. 

Raising her eyes to His, she waited for the lecture that was sure to come. It was the least that would happen. Except it didn’t. Instead, offering her absolution for her sins, Jesus commanded her to go on her way and stop sinning. He didn’t call it another name. He didn’t act like it never happened. He didn’t say it didn’t matter or offer excuses for her behavior. Jesus called her actions what they were–sin–and told her to stop it. She was different now. Her sins were washed away. She was forgiven. Sanctified. Justified. Changed. Adultery may have been her past, but it didn’t define her now, and it certainly wasn’t her future. (John 8:2-11)

Paul’s message said exactly the same. Your past doesn’t define you. You might have been a lot of things back in the day. Terrible things. Ugly things. Sinful things. Maybe you were those things as recently as yesterday, but today you are different. Today, through grace, you have been given the gift of forgiveness. Today your soul has been cleansed from sin. Today, through the blood and power of Jesus Christ, you have been set apart for God to do His work and spread His gospel. Today you are different. You have been changed. Your past no longer bears weight in your life. At all. Although there is no denying who you used to be, there is only one definition for who you are now. Forgiven. Sanctified. Justified. Changed. A lot of things may need to happen before you discover who you will become, but the only thing you need to know today is how God defines you right now. Cleansed. Redeemed. Reformed. Redirected. Who you were is not who you are. Not anymore. 

Centuries after the ink dried on the very first draft of the 66 books we call the Bible, we are still remembering people by who they were. Their sins mostly. David’s victory over Goliath is overshadowed by his affair with Bathsheba. Jonah’s great obedience is eclipsed by his extraordinary disobedience. Peter’s discipleship is dwarfed by his denial. The woman caught in adultery is still referred to as just that–an adulteress. Because, in our humanity, we define others by their faults rather than their forgiveness. Even ourselves. We have no trouble remembering who we were before Jesus rescued us, but we struggle to see who we are now that He has. Washed. Sanctified. Justified. Changed. Children of God. Residents of Heaven. Called to be saints on earth. It’s not who you used to be. It’s who you are now. (I Samuel 17; II Samuel 11-12; Jonah 1,3; Luke 22:54-62; John 8:2-11; I Corinthians 1:2; Philippians 3:20; Romans 8:16)

I get it, though, sometimes the condemnation of the past is so heavy that you question who you are in Christ. Are you really saved? Is your sin really covered? Is it really possible that God forgot all your sins when you came to Him in repentance and faith? Yes, friend! Yes! There is no current or coming condemnation for those who have placed their lives in the care of Christ Jesus and spend every day resting in the shade of His shadow. Even if your heart questions and worries and wonders, God is bigger than those doubts and fears. He knows the truth–about you and your heart–and His word is final. To everyone who is in Christ Jesus, who has been washed in His blood, who has been sanctified, justified, cleansed, He speaks new words over you. Words that say you are His. You belong to God. You are His child. You are His precious treasure. You are loved and beloved by Him. That is who you are. Right now. At this moment. And nothing can take that away from you. Not life or death, authorities or powers, things of earth or things under the earth. Not one thing can change who you are in Christ or separate you from the infinite love He has for all of His children. You belong to Him. You are His. That is who you are. Forgiven. Washed. Sanctified. Justified. Changed. Not stuck in the past, but looking forward to a glorious future. Child of God, that is who you are! (I John 3:1-3, 20; Micah 7:19; Jeremiah 31:34; Romans 8:1-2, 15, 38-39; Isaiah 43:1; Song of Solomon 7:10; Hebrews 8:12; II Corinthians 5:17; Proverbs 23:18; John 1:12; Galatians 3:26)