Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

The email made me giggle. I don’t know why. It was the third in the series, coming at least two full weeks after the initial missive. Someone’s boat was afloat with no captain. On the community lake. It was a serious infraction. One that warranted stern verbiage outlining the ramifications should the owner fail to retrieve their vessel from the dock to which a kind soul had secured it. It had bobbed there for a week, awaiting pickup. If the owners wanted to claim it. Even if they didn’t. The responsibility was theirs. They needed to take care of their boat. Today. It wasn’t supposed to be wandering the lake alone. Someone needed to claim it. There would be repercussions if they didn’t. 

Attached to the original email was a photograph of the boat. If one could call it that. It was more of a dinghy. A sad, dilapidated little mess. Perhaps that is why it was left to drift, unclaimed, in the first place. It needed work. A lot of work. It looked like it had bobbed along a dock, forgotten, for several years. The paint was darkened with age, layered with dirt and algae. It was peeling in spots. The benches were gray from weathering. Lack of use and care had led to the erosion of its mooring rope, freeing the boat to become a lake-faring vessel all on its own. No captain. No guide. No fisherman to row it back to shore. Now, in disreputable shape, no one wanted to claim it. Relieved to have it gone, the owners quietly deleted the emails, feigning ignorance. I wonder what changed from the time they bought the boat to the day they let it drift away.  

When newly purchased, that little boat was bright and beautiful. A shiny hull. Sparkling interior. Cute little benches to sit on. Oars neatly tucked inside. It had caught their attention. They looked at it and thought, “That’s the one.” And they made it so. Purchasing that boat, they loaded it up, brought it to our lakeside community, and secured it to their private dock.  At first, they used it regularly. Every summery weekend found them out on the lake, fishing off the side of the boat, relaxing as it cut through the water, enjoying the pull of muscles as they rowed from shore to shore. They kept it clean. At first. Inside and out. Trash didn’t pile up in the corners or under the seats. Branches and leaves blown in from storms were regularly removed. Algae was meticulously scrubbed from the outside. But time passed. Life happened. Responsibilities crept in. Schedules filled. Even weekend ones. Age and time took their toll. Hobbies changed. Activity level decreased. Eventually, the boat was left alone. Tied to their dock. There, but forgotten. Owned, but not tended. Missing, yet not missed at all. Rather a lot like Solomon’s heart after the wisdom, wealth, and wives.

For a man who had everything, Solomon died as a man who had nothing. He didn’t have to. It was a choice he made. A gradual drifting. A progressive turning. An incremental lack of attention to the things he had learned. A dulling of his senses–intentional or accidental–that caused him to drift away from God. We don’t talk about it much. It isn’t the part of Solomon’s story we like to hear. We prefer to discuss his astonishing request for wisdom, his extensive kingdom, amazing wealth, bustling palace, overflowing pastures, and bursting barns. We like to talk about his accomplishments in building and poetry, his equitable judgments. We have plenty to say about his enormous harem and multitude of wives. What we rarely address is how complacent he became with all the things he had. How distracted he was by the foreign wives he accrued. How he let things go. How he slowly allowed his soul to drift. It is so subtle, we almost miss it. But God doesn’t. (I Kings 3:5-28; 5:1-7:51; 9:15-28; 10:14-29; 11:3)

After the arduous task of overseeing the Temple construction, after his own opulent palace is designed and built, Solomon largely rests on his laurels. There are no wars to fight, no military strategies to discuss. No other king is silly enough to come against him in battle. The money is flowing. The crops are growing. His fame is spreading. His name is known. There is peace all around him. Solomon’s life is good. Very good. Easy, even. He had time to spend with his wives. His foreign wives. The ones God explicitly said not to marry. Ones from Egypt, Moab, Ammon, Edom, Sidon, and among the Hittites. The ones God warned would draw him away from his God to follow their gods. Solomon had heard the warning. He didn’t heed it. Drawn in by their beauty, he married them. A lot of them. They influenced him, changed him, turned his head, and swayed his heart. Away from God. To other gods. (I Kings 4:24-30; 10:1-11; 11:1-2; Deuteronomy 7:3-4)

From every place Solomon accepted a wife, he also accepted a new god. Whether he immediately bowed in worship to it or not, he didn’t forbid them. He didn’t reject them. He didn’t eradicate them. There were no rules surrounding the gods brought into his kingdom. With his immense God-given wisdom, Solomon had no excuse to allow such an invasion. Yet he did. For his women. Each one was allowed to worship in the way she chose, follow the god she chose, and observe the religious rituals she chose. And one by one, little by little, Solomon’s head was turned. Not by the gods. By the women. By begging him to build a shrine for one god, an altar for another. By pleading for him to attend their sacrifices. By asking him to make allowances, offer space, give his blessing for them to worship gods that weren’t God. Held captive by his love for foreign women, Solomon drifted into worshipping their gods and grieving the heart of his own. (I Kings 11:1-10)

Watching the scene unfold, God saw what humans couldn’t. He saw Solomon’s heart. He saw the initial devotion to God. He knew the heart of Solomon was for Him. He heard the prayers and petitions prayed before the newly constructed Temple, the requests that God would always hear and answer His people. God answered. Affirmatively. He gave clear guidelines for integrity, godliness, and adherence to His laws and regulations. He gave the promise of His continual presence in response to their obedience. If they lived in accordance with His commands, God would take care of them. He would lead and guide and protect. He would answer their prayers and prosper them. And God did. He kept the bargain. He never budged or swayed, drifted or changed. They saw peace and prosperity. They knew God was with them. They felt it. They lived it. Before Solomon drifted away. (I Chronicles 22:9; I Kings 5:4; 9:3-9)

Somewhere in the 40 years of Solomon’s reign, he drifted. Away from God. Away from surrender. Away from the rules, regulations, and laws put in place to safeguard his soul. Maybe it started with the first foreign wife he accepted. Maybe it started before that, when his traitorous heart convinced him he could look at the foreign women but not touch them. It doesn’t matter. It happened. Over time, his foreign wives, the ones God warned him against, compromised his devotion to God. His resolve weakened. His determination wavered. His focus shifted. Solomon became more self-absorbed, prioritizing his own desires over the heart of God.  His hobbies changed. His interests turned. He prioritized his current loves over the past ones. His attention started wandering. His heart started drifting. And Solomon’s soul floated out to sea. Just like the little boat on our lake. (I Kings 11:4-8)

Before it began drifting around the lake, that boat had to get loose from its moorings. The rope holding it safely at its own dock had to decay, fall apart, break away. It didn’t happen overnight. It took time. Days of rain and sleet and sun. Weeks of alternating heat, cold, and humidity. Maybe it took months. Perhaps it took years. The timing doesn’t change the result. The boat drifted because the owner wasn’t keeping track of it anymore. They weren’t cleaning and caring for the vessel. They weren’t going for a sail on the weekends. They weren’t checking the health of their mooring rope. Before that boat drifted away, the owner, the keeper, the one responsible for housing and tending that vessel, stopped doing their job. If they had kept earnestly giving their attention to that boat, it wouldn’t have drifted away.  

The same holds for Solomon’s heart. And ours. Our hearts. Our souls. Our priorities. The writer of Hebrews tells us to earnestly keep track of and adhere to the things we have learned and been taught in the Scriptures. Follow them closely. Remind ourselves of them frequently. Keep them foremost in our minds. So we don’t slip away. So we don’t drift. So we don’t break free from our moorings and drift out to aimlessly float in the sea of life. Stay focused on God. Stay surrendered to God. Stay in connection and communication with God. Don’t throw your soul in autopilot, assuming it will be fine without supervision while you run off chasing the latest thing that captured your attention. It won’t. You need to stay alert. Be watchful. Temptation is everywhere. Distractions surround you. You need to be on guard. Pay attention to the warning signs, red flags, and indications of imminent danger God places along the path. Don’t ignore them. Diligently keep your feet walking in the path of God. Stay devoted to Him, focused on him. Just like you were in the beginning of your relationship. Watch yourself. Be diligent. Be careful. Because our hearts don’t drift on their own. (Hebrews 2:1; 4:12; Matthew 26:41; II Peter 3:17; Proverbs 4:23)     

As busy as we are, putting such great store in the passing things around us–tangible things, visible things–it stymies me that we put so little effort into what never passes away. Our souls. Those we let drift. We have become comfortable with our wealth, our lifestyle, our people, our culture. We don’t want it to change. Yet we have changed. We have become complacent, careless, convictionless. The people we were when we first surrendered to Jesus have aged, lost their edge. Yet we are still trying to claim that space without expending the necessary effort of diligently keeping our hearts from sin. And things have happened. Weather has happened. Storms have occurred. Busyness, responsibility, leisure, and work have taken more and more of our time and required more and more space in our hearts. So comfortable have we become in our social circles, so busy in our careers, so hurried in our personal lives, that we have failed to do the necessary upkeep. We haven’t spent time in Bible study and prayer. We haven’t sat in the quiet and waited for God to speak. We haven’t stood up for right and truth in a world of perversion. We have tried to alter, reword, rewrite, or simply erase the laws and regulations God put in place to safeguard our souls. We have allowed other things, other idols, to become our gods. And our vessels, the hearts that once shone with the brightness of Jesus, are now dull, dirty, in desperate need of repairs, aimlessly drifting, unmoored, on the lake of life. (Ephesians 6:18; I Peter 5:8; I Thessalonians 5:6; Romans 12:2; Deuteronomy 4:2; I John 2:15)

It seems we need our own letter from the writer of Hebrews. One made out specifically to us. One that says, “Before you drift away…”. Before you drift away, remember what you have been taught by faithful people, what you have read in the Bible, what you have heard in church, and discussed in Bible study. Before you drift away, spend time in prayer, both speaking and listening to God. Before you drift away, weigh the ramifications of your choice. Ask yourself questions. Are the things you are sacrificing your soul to chase really worth it? Are they worth the end result? Are they more important than the presence of God in your life? Are the people, professions, profits, and praise of this world, in all their passing glory, worth more to you than Jesus? Are they worth more than your eternity? Would you exchange them for your soul? Or do you choose Jesus? Full surrender. Complete obedience. Total adherence. Every day. All day. Before you drift away. (Mark 8:36-37; James 4:4; Psalm 49:8-9; Philippians 3:7-8; Matthew 6:19-21)

Chuckling to himself, he shook his giant head and wondered what the guys on the other side were thinking. They must have a death wish. It was the only plausible explanation for bringing child-sized weapons to a giant-sized battle. Seriously. Their tiny arrows could never pierce his heavy armor. Their little swords and spears would never penetrate his enormous shield. If, for just one moment, they believed they could stand and fight against him, possibly win, they were delusional. One swoop of his oversized hand would fell them. A single-handed squeeze of their throats would send them to their grave. His spear could easily take down several men at once with the swing of its shaft or the stab of its head. Ignorance had made them gather. It was the only logical answer. They obviously had yet to hear his name or know his fame. He was happy to introduce himself. 

Piece by piece, Goliath strapped on his massive bronze armor. Helmet. Leg armor. One hundred and twenty-five-pound coat of mail. A smaller man would have fallen beneath the weight. Goliath did it with one hand. Grabbing his bronze javelin, he placed it in the carrying place on his shoulder. Hoisting his impressive spear with its 15-pound head of iron, he stood to his full height. Shaking out his limbs, the nine-foot and a few odd inches of menacing warrior squared his shoulders, settled his face into grim lines, and strolled out to confront Israel. It was time to rattle the boys. 

Stopping on the hilltop overlooking the valley of Elah, Goliath glowered at the men gathered on the opposing side. They looked like ants. Normal men. Tiny. Puny. Squashable. He could probably finish this battle in minutes, barely breaking a sweat. But there was no fun in that. He would play with them first. Taunt them. Torment them. Terrify them. It was more fun that way. For him. He took pleasure in seeing them run scared. Enjoyed watching them hide in fear. Found humor in seeing them actively choose to stall as if they could outwait him, outwit him. It wouldn’t work. He was infinitely patient. He had nothing to lose by waiting. He had never been defeated. He wasn’t going to be now. But it was unending fun to watch them try. 

Finished with the staring part of his challenge, Goliath opened his mouth to begin the first phase of his attack. The mental part. Roaring across the valley, he questioned the sanity of their decision to come out and fight him and his army. What did they think they were doing? Why were they there? How, exactly, did they think this was going to turn out? Were they hoping for a miracle? They were unarguably going to need one! They should take a good look at what they were up against. Him. Goliath. He was undeniably a champion. Enormous in stature and build. Broad shoulders. Thick neck. Huge arms. All covered in corded muscle. Even when he wasn’t flexing. He was a champion. The champion. Of the Philistines. He won all their battles. He never lost. He wasn’t planning to lose now. Why would he? They weren’t champions. Didn’t even have a champion. They were just the feeble servants of Saul. 

In fairness, Saul had won some battles. Not because his army was strong and well-equipped. They weren’t. His wins were more strategy than strength. Sneaking around. Staging surprises. Unfortunately, they had never completely defeated the Philistines. Their battles were fierce and frequent. Or they had been. Goliath was planning to put an end to that. Right here. In the Valley of Elah. He could be sneaky himself. Confidently planning a slaughter, he wrapped it up in a challenge. If Israel would send someone, just one man, to fight him, he would make them a deal. Losers become the winners’ slaves. It was a lopsided challenge. He knew it. He knew they would never win. Not against him. They knew it too. They had no man as large and strong and intimidating as this giant. Their fear radiated across the valley in nearly palpable waves, resulting in clandestine meetings and hushed fireside conversations. The Israelites were worried. They didn’t want to serve the Philistines. They were happy serving Saul. Apparently, they forgot they served God, too. Terrified and shaken, they kept to their tents, hiding out, anxiously refusing to face the inevitable. 

Forty days passed that way. Every morning and evening, Goliath stalked out to present his challenge again. Every time the Israelite army hid in fear. No one moved. No one strategized. No one tried anything. Fear consumed them. Their minds were muddled. Their limbs felt paralyzed. No one wanted to move forward, yet they couldn’t go back, either. To retreat would signal acceptance of defeat. So they stayed. Still. Until a kid from the country came to bring rations to his brothers and carry a report on the battle back to his father. A brave kid. A kid of inner strength. A kid who wasn’t afraid of giants. A kid who knew who he served. And it wasn’t Saul. 

Listening to the terrifying challenge issued by the Philistine giant, David understood the fear saturating the camp. The man who chose to fight the giant wouldn’t be fighting only for himself. He would be fighting for the lives of the entire nation. Innocent babies. Young children. Women. Aged. Infirm. Harm would envelop them all if he failed. It was a heavy responsibility. Huge. And it wasn’t going away. They couldn’t just flank the Valley of Elah forever. Something had to give. Someone had to step up. Someone had to put their faith in more than their battle skills, verbal warfare, or brute strength. Someone had to realize they weren’t just servants of Saul. They were servants of Almighty God, Captain of Heaven’s Armies, Champion of Israel. He was on their side. His presence was with them. His power went before them. This was God’s battle, and He would win. Goliath’s biggest misstep had already been made. He assumed they served Saul. He was wrong. They served God. He was their champion. And He had never lost a battle, either. David believed.    

Rushing to King Saul, David offered to fight the giant. Saul almost laughed out loud. The very thought was ridiculous. This kid was courageous, but crazy. Goliath would eat him alive. In seconds. David pressed on. He could do this. God would help him. God had never let him down. Standing between predators and his herds, God had given David the strength and courage to kill lions and bears with his bare hands. He had protected David against the enemies of his flock. God would do it again. David was certain. God, their protecting Shepherd, would stand with David between the predator spewing hate and lies at His flock, and He would do it again. God would dispatch their enemy. David was sure of it. With no other options, Saul relented. 

Leaving armor, sword, and spear behind, David slipped a few smooth stones into his shepherd’s bag and slung it across his shoulder to rest on his hip. Grabbing his staff in one hand and a sling in the other, he straightened his shoulders and confidently began the trek across the valley to confront the Philistine in his own space. Behind him, the Israelite army held their breath, waiting for the slaughter. His brothers mentally prepared themselves for the conversation with their father. The opposing army stood, mouths agape, watching the kid purposefully striding toward them. And Goliath grinned. Then chuckled. Then laughed.  

Wild, whooping laughter boomed through the valley, echoing off the hills and ricocheting from the rocks. By the time David arrived at the place of confrontation, the entire Philistine army was cackling. They found the scene hilarious. A tiny teenager with a slingshot walking toward their giant like he was a threat. They had rarely seen anything more humorous. Goliath’s ugly laughter joined theirs, but still he walked out to battle. They didn’t join him. He wouldn’t need them. He could do this with one hand behind his back and his eyes shut. Victory would soon be theirs. 

In his most terrifying voice, Goliath boomed out a question at the kid walking toward him. His voice would have sparked fear in a lesser individual. David’s spine just straightened, his chin raised. He wasn’t afraid. Not of the giant. Not of his insults. Not of his threats. That menacing scowl and growling voice might terrify other men and send them scurrying off, but it didn’t budge David. At all. He knew who he served. The God of Heaven’s Armies. The One who had never failed him, never let him down. He wasn’t walking into this alone. God was with him. This was God’s battle. God’s war. God’s victory. And that is what he told Goliath. “You walked into battle loaded down with weapons. Sword. Spear. Javelin. I came with one. God. My God. The One I serve. You defy Him, but He defines me. His power is with me. We will win this battle because we don’t serve Saul, we serve God. And the God we serve rescues His people. Every. Single. Time.” And God did. With one smooth stone, thrown with the accuracy of Almighty God, the Good Shepherd rescued his flock. His people. His servants. Safely walking them out of the shadow of the valley of death and setting a table for them in the very presence of their enemies.

Fear gripped the Philistine soldiers as their champion fell lifeless to the ground. Their confidence fell with him. All faith in a victory died. Goliath had led them in a gross error of judgment. He thought they were fighting servants of Saul. They weren’t. They were fighting servants of the Almighty God. Scared, trembling, a little cowardly. Still servants of God. They were His people. His power was behind them. He was never going to let them down. God always takes care of His people. Victory was theirs not because of who they were or how much strength they had. No. Victory was theirs because of who they served. Not the king of Israel. The King of Heaven. Victory relies on who you serve! (I Samuel 17; Psalm 23)

That truth never changes. It matters who you serve. The evil one doesn’t want you to realize that, but the moment you do, the victory is yours. See, the evil one uses the same things against us that Goliath used against the Israelites. Taunts. Torments. Terrors. He plays with our emotions. Laughs at our fear. Keeps us living in that space as long as we let him. He doesn’t need to do anything else. If the evil one can keep us living in fear, frozen in the same space, not growing, not working, not flourishing, he can stop us from ministering, sharing, laboring for Jesus. He can stop the spread of the Gospel if he can make us afraid and keep us from remembering who we serve. Because the second we remember that we serve the sovereign God of the universe, we will stop being afraid and fight like the warriors of God we are! We will live in the awareness that our God is with us and goes before us. We will find strength and courage there. We can’t lose. Not with God on our side. We aren’t even fighting our own battles. God is fighting them for us. And He will win. He always does. That’s why it matters who you serve. (Exodus 14:14; Deuteronomy 3:22; Psalm 34:17; Proverbs 18:10; 21:31; Ephesians 6:12; Isaiah 54:17; Luke 10:19; I Corinthians 15:57; II Corinthians 2:14; Romans 8:37) 

At the end of Joshua’s life, he posed his own challenge to the people of Israel. “Choose. Now. Today. Who will you serve? God or something else. Anything else. Popularity. Possessions. Profits. People. And he followed it up with his own personal declaration, “I choose to serve the Lord.” Today, centuries later, in times far removed from what they were in Joshua’s day, we all need to answer his challenge again. Individually. Communally. We need to make our choice and stand firmly in it. The evil one has not stopped his attacks of fear, hate, and aggression. He has not stopped raining terror on the people of God. He has not quit tormenting us. He never will. So it matters who you serve. Now more than ever. You need to know that answer. Live by it. Stand on it in every circumstance or situation. Because your victory tomorrow depends on your choice today, it matters who you serve. (Joshua 24:14-15; Psalm 18:32-34,39; I Kings 18:21: Matthew 5:24; Deuteronomy 20:4; John 12:26; James 1:12; Revelation 2:10)

Towering over the grey-haired prophet, the younger man stared at the older one in shocked disbelief. The man had clearly gone round the bend. He was talking crazy. Him? King? Of these people? No thank you! The very idea was preposterous! He wasn’t interested. Not even a little bit. That wasn’t why he had sought an audience with the man of God. Not at all. He wasn’t here to place himself in the running. Didn’t even know there was a campaign. Certainly wasn’t interested in being appointed. Publicity wasn’t Saul’s thing. He wasn’t used to it. Had no experience with it. Didn’t want any of it. He was much more comfortable on the sidelines. Working behind the scenes. Avoiding the spotlight. Chasing lost donkeys.  

It was the merry chase of those donkeys that had him standing here talking to a crazy man. The silly beasts had taken a field trip. To someone else’s field. No one could figure out how they escaped, but they were well and truly missing. Saul and his servant had been searching for days. Three, to be exact. Not one hoofprint had been found. Not one sighting had been recorded. Not one extra donkey had turned up at a stranger’s barn. Saul was over it. Done searching. Done wandering. Done with the donkeys. They had more. These weren’t that special. Saul was tired. He was hungry. Their provisions had long since run out. His father was probably concerned for his safety by now. All signs pointed to it being time to go home, with or without the runaway equines. And Saul was absolutely ready to go. 

His servant had a different idea–or a deep affinity for those donkeys. He didn’t want to give up. Not yet. Instead, he wanted to take their problem to the man of God who lived in the area. He’d heard good things about him. Heard people trusted him. Heard his answers were always right, his predictions always fulfilled. It wasn’t even out of their way. They could just try it. See if he knew anything. It wouldn’t harm their search or lessen their chances of recovering the animals. It was definitely worth a shot. Nothing ventured, nothing gained and all that. Convinced there could be no harm in asking, Saul agreed. 

Never had he been so wrong. Not in his entire life. Harm had, in fact, occurred. Was currently occurring. This man of God, Samuel, wasn’t interested in the lost donkeys. At all. The fact they had mysteriously returned home after exhausting the enchantments of the countryside was simply a footnote to the conversation. He had a much bigger agenda. One that shocked Saul to his very core. One he was loath to believe. One he hoped wouldn’t materialize. God had heard the moaning and groaning of the Israelites enviously wishing for a king like other nations. He had held out for a long time, knowing it wasn’t in their best interest. Finally, God was relenting. They were getting what they wanted. Sort of. They didn’t get to choose their leader. God did. God was selecting. God was appointing. God was placing the exact person he wanted in the position he wanted. No campaigning. No election. No selection by the people. God had it covered. God was choosing. And God had chosen Saul.  

The very idea was ludicrous. Ridiculous. Bizarre. Had God even looked at the other men in Israel? There was no way Saul was the best choice. He could count a dozen men more qualified than him. Men from large, influential tribes and prominent families. Men skilled at battle, trained to lead. Saul had none of that pedigree, none of that training, none of that clout. The tribe of Benjamin, his tribe, was the tiniest one in all of Israel. They’d nearly been wiped out in a civil war among the tribes. They were not well-respected enough to have a king selected from their number. His family had some wealth, and his father had some influence, but none of that gave Saul the pedigree of a king! He literally had nothing going for him when it came to ruling a nation. And he didn’t want the position. Seriously. No, thank you! Nothing about being king appealed to him. He literally wanted nothing more than to just go home. Back to his life. His family. His farm. Back to the donkeys who got him in this mess in the first place! (Judges 20-21)

Samuel wasn’t having it. In spite of the relative truth to those arguments, he wasn’t done with Saul. He knew God wasn’t, either. See, Samuel believed God could make something from nothing. He believed that was God’s speciality. He believed that in Heaven’s measurements, less meant more. Where human strength and ability was lacking, God’s power would more than make up the difference. Where Saul had no military power, no political pull, no party supporting his election, no pride in his own ability, no constant craving to be famous, fawned over, or financially flush, God had space to move and work and build. When Saul looked at himself, he saw Saul. Son of Kish. Tribe of Benjamin. Seeker of lost donkeys. Minder of his own business. When God looked at Saul, He saw untapped potential and uncluttered space waiting to be filled with His presence and power. And that is what He did. (I Samuel 9:1-4; I Samuel 9:22-10:1)

God moved into Saul’s heart and life. Filled him. Saturated his being. Changed him in ways he could never have imagined. Like prophesying with the prophets in Gibeah. That wasn’t on his bucket list. It wasn’t something he had always wanted to do. It wasn’t something he had ever wanted to do. It wasn’t necessarily something he would purposely choose to do again. It was simply part of the new heart God was building in him. A heart tender toward the voice of God. A heart open and obedient to the spirit of God. A heart capable of leading the people in the ways of God. The prophesying was an outward sign of the inward work. God was busy filling the space in Saul’s heart so there would be less of him and more of God. 

The people missed the truth of what was happening. Not because they weren’t looking. They were. Onlookers lined the road. They couldn’t believe what they were seeing. They were surprised. Skeptical. Judgmental. Was that Kish’s son? A kid from the tiniest tribe in the nation? That boy was prophesying? His Daddy wasn’t even that big of a deal. Certainly not enough for him to bust out into prophecy. Who did he think he was, anyway? Shaking their heads in disgust, they commented among themselves. Apparently, anyone could become a prophet now, no significant parentage or tribal affiliation necessary! (I Samuel 9:9-13) 

Imagine how they must have felt when Samuel presented Saul as king. Over them. The same Saul. Kish’s kid. The one with no pedigree or formal training. He was going to be their king. They were shocked. Not everyone was excited. Not everyone wanted a king. At least not to have Saul as king. Some people complained. Doubted his ability. Questioned his skills. Countered that just because he was tall and handsome didn’t mean he could lead warriors into battle, judge disputes, or rule in the best interest of the people. Saul had nothing to recommend him for the job. But God wasn’t looking at resumes. He was looking at hearts. Like He always does. (I Samuel 10:27)

This wouldn’t be the last time God sent Samuel out to anoint a king, then surprised everyone by who He chose. Saul wasn’t even off the throne when God sent Samuel to Bethlehem, to the house of Jesse, whose son was meant to take Saul’s place. One son out of eight. The first looked good to Samuel. Tall, good-looking, strong. God disagreed. He wasn’t thrilled with the second one, either. Or the third. He wasn’t impressed with any of the boys Jesse lined up before him. Confused, Samuel asked Jesse for clarification. These were all the boys, right? No. There was one more. The youngest. The smallest. The least likely to be chosen. Best suited for tending sheep. Best skilled at playing the harp. He wasn’t as tall as Eliab. He wasn’t as strong as Abinadab. He didn’t have the leadership skills of Shimea. Surely David couldn’t be the one. But he was. Because God wasn’t looking for the one who seemed to have the most physical presence, the biggest muscles, or the sharpest intellect. God was looking at the hearts, searching for the one that would chase hard after Him. (Psalm 63:8; I Samuel 16)

You see, friends, God isn’t a talent scout. He isn’t looking only for people who are prominent, prosperous, polished, or pedantic. He’s not comparing resumes, past experiences, or education status. No. God chooses those who are eager to learn, willing to serve, and anxious to obey. Him. His Word. His commands. His regulations. He carefully picks those who will place their faith in His power when they can see only improbabilities rather than possibilities. He is searching for those who will make room in their hearts and lives for Him to inhabit. Places for Him to renovate and dwell. Spaces for Him to work out of. God is not looking for people full of themselves, their things, their ideas, their desires. God is looking for people who are willing to empty themselves and be filled with His Spirit. His wisdom. His will. His way. God is looking for those who are willing to decrease so His kingdom can increase. People like John the Baptist. (Ephesians 5:18; Psalm 81:10; 107:9; Mark 9:23; Zechariah 4:10) 

John deserves enormous respect from us. He is an incredible example for us. Surrounded by his own megachurch of disciples who thought perhaps, just maybe, he was the Messiah, John never once led them astray. Didn’t present himself as something he wasn’t. Didn’t take advantage of their naivete. Never failed to be honest with them. Even when his follower count dropped. Even when church attendance slumped. Even when people started choosing to be baptized by Jesus instead of him. He could have taken umbrage. Could have been upset. Could have become confrontational. He didn’t. He understood the mission. Less of him meant more of Jesus. He was happy to simply be part of the process. (John 3:22-36)

Are you? Are you happy to be part of the process? A small part. A big part. Without recognition, accolades, or applause. You should be. That God chooses to involve you in reconciling the world to Himself is the greatest compliment you could ever receive. It means God noticed you. Personally. Not your education level. Not your eloquent speech. Not your talents or abilities. Not your ravishing good looks. Your heart. When no one else looked past your foibles and failures and faux pas, God looked at your heart. He noticed how you made time for Him in your day, left room for Him in your heart, made space for Him in your decisions. He saw your worth. And God chose you. When everyone else chased the prominent people, the megachurch pastors, the monied parishioners, the silver-tongued palaverers, the pretty, the poised, the perfect, God didn’t follow the crowd. He chose you. To be filled with Him. His love to saturate your heart. His presence to inhabit your life. His work to fill your days. No matter who you are or how your background reads, when there is less of you and more of Jesus, He offers you the opportunity to have a part in reconciling the world to Himself. There is no higher accomplishment, no better accolade, no greater achievement. But you can only reach that pinnacle when there is less of you and more of Jesus. (Jeremiah 17:10; Proverbs 21:2; Psalm 44:21; I Peter 3:3-4; 5:6; James 4:10; I Corinthians 3:5-7; Colossians 1:18; Galatians 6:4)    

It was nothing like they thought it would be. Not like they planned. Not what they imagined. Not how they believed it would happen. They thought it would be more instantaneous. More immediately complete. More conclusively resolved. After years of settling down only to pack up and move again, this was supposed to be it. The last move. The final acquisition. The culmination of all their hopes and dreams. There weren’t supposed to be more battles, more moves, more work. This was to be the end of their journey. The promised land. The place God had sworn to give their ancestors decades ago. Everything. Right now. Or so they thought. 

Eagerly packing up their household goods, they had gathered their flocks and herds, loaded their little ones, and climbed onto the seats of their wagons. Expectantly, they held the reins in their hands, poised and ready for the final leg of this arduous journey. Excitedly, they chatted about what they would do when they got there. Kiss the ground. Pitch their tents. Mark their property lines. This moment had been a long time coming. But God was fulfilling His promise. Finally. They were entering the Promised Land. Soon. That entire swath of fertile land would be theirs. They could settle down. Put down roots. Never move again. They were excited. Ridiculously so. God’s good promise would be fulfilled with the gift of this land and the life they would have there. Good gift. Good land. Good life. No enemies. No opposition. No effort. At least that was how they heard it. 

It wasn’t what Moses had said. Not exactly. To be fair, he had said a lot of things. They really were headed to a new land. Their final destination. It really would be breathtaking–the fulfillment of God’s promises always are. And this was one magnificent promise. The place they had been gifted was both beautiful and comfortable. More so than any other place they had seen. Abundant in natural resources. Flowing with clear, potable water. Fields of wheat and barley waving in the light breeze. Established vineyards, heavy with grapes for harvesting. Flourishing groves of figs and pomegranates. Trees heavily laden with olives for oil. Honey to be found in great supply. Every need they had would be met beyond their greatest expectations. Someday. Someday, they would own all of the land God had promised them. Someday, they would be able to spread out and truly inhabit the area. Build towns and cities. Own farms and vineyards. Someday God would give them everything He had promised. Someday. Not today. (Deuteronomy 7:22; 8:7-9)

Moses’ words had come as a bit of a surprise. Both when they heard them and when they lived through them. God would take them into the land He promised. He would give them everything He said. He would bless them and multiply them and protect them and prosper them. He would give them land to spread out and build a great kingdom. But it wouldn’t happen all at once. They wouldn’t cross the Jordan River into the land God promised them and find everything move-in ready. There would still be things to do. Battles to fight. Foes to conquer. Obstacles to face. They would gain the land little by little. City by city. Town by town. It was best that way. They would see if they just stayed the course and fearlessly trusted God. 

Faith over fear was the encouragement Joshua gave the people every time they faced another battle, another foe, another obstacle. And there were a lot of them. Fortified cities. Intimidating warriors. Daunting armies. Impossible places like Jericho, with its impressive retaining wall. Ai with its gates. Gibeon’s deceitful ambassadors. The five powerful Amorite kings. The terrifying Northern armies. Yet every time Israel faced another knee-buckling army, God would send a message through Joshua. “Don’t be afraid. Don’t give up. Be strong. Have courage. God’s got this.” A reminder that they weren’t fighting alone. They had a weapon greater than any other army. Their battle was God’s. And He won. Every time. Battle by battle. Town by town. Inch by inch. Little by little, God gave them the land He had promised. Not all at once. Not in one day. Not even in one year. Little by little. Just like Moses said. (Joshua 1-13:7)

God didn’t have to do it that way. He could have wiped out the other nations before Israel arrived. He could have made the land empty of kings and kingdoms, armies and soldiers. He could have moved the Israelites in straightaway. Easy peasy. No battles. No arguments. No struggles. Just empty land. Lacking inhabitants. Teeming with wild animals. Lions and bears. Wolves and jackals. Leopards and wild boars. God knew the people couldn’t handle that. The good gift of the promised land would soon become a horror to inhabit. The animals would multiply and mature far more quickly than humans. They would endanger their lives, decimate their livestock, and threaten their children. If the Israelites were to walk into a lush land already devoid of human enemies, it would be full of animal ones. And the people wouldn’t be able to handle that. 

From our side of this account, it is easy to see the wisdom of God in this decision. His plan makes sense. His reasoning is sound. It is clearly based on His great love for His people. A plan for them to thrive rather than simply survive. I wonder if the people of Israel saw it. When they were staring at the huge walls around Jericho, did they remember that God had a plan to give them the land bit by bit, and this was the bit He was giving now? When Achan screwed up and brought crushing defeat at Ai, did they remember that God was good, His plan was wise, His reasoning was sound, and His heart was full of love for them? As they crawled across the land, fighting battle after battle, did they sit around their campfires at night and remind one another that God’s wisdom is greater than man’s, that His view of the future is clear, that His reasons for the inch-by-inch victories were based on their ability to survive and thrive in the land He gave them? Did they remember that every step forward put them that much closer to the complete fulfilment of His unbreakable promise? As they were ready for it. When they could handle it. Little by little. 

How about you? Do you ever wonder why God doesn’t just dump that bucket of earthly blessings out on your head all at once? Why your name never goes up in lights, your efforts go unnoticed, your work goes unappreciated? Ever wonder why, after God has made you a promise, He doesn’t fulfill the entire thing at once? Doesn’t give you all of the blessing immediately, but strings it out over years, decades, your entire life? Probably the same reason as the Israelites. You couldn’t handle the results. 

Just like the Israelites, the wild animals would come in. Not the ones that kill the body. The ones that kill the soul. Pride. Complacency. Arrogance. They would take over. Your mind. Your heart. Your soul. You would long for the things of the world. Money. Accolades. Power. Praise. You would do anything to attain them. Those wild animals of lust and greed and selfishness would overtake your love for God. Your motives would change. Your heart would stray. You would lose your soul for nothing. And God isn’t interested in losing even one soul to the world. (Ephesians 6:12; II Peter 3:9; John 10:10; Matthew 10:28; I John 2:16)

You see, God isn’t withholding His goodness out of unkindness. He is withholding your downfall out of grace. Because He doesn’t want the wild animals to eat you alive. He wants you to survive the skirmishes and battles and wars, and to thrive in the areas you conquer. He has a plan to make that happen. A perfect plan. A sensible plan. A wise plan. A plan to protect, preserve and prosper your soul. A plan to give you every good gift, every perfect gift, every single thing He has for you. So wait patiently for it. At the right time. In the right way. When you are ready for the responsibility. When you can handle the privilege. God will fulfill His promise. All of it. Little by little. Bit by bit. In His time. (Ecclesiastes 3:11; Joshua 21:45; I Kings 8:56; James 1:17; Numbers 23:19; II Corinthians 1:20; Jeremiah 29:11; Isaiah 55:8-9)

Glancing back at the tiny figure clinging tightly to the old priest’s hand, she drew in a stabilizing breath, straightened her shoulders, and kept walking. Slowly. One foot in front of the other. One step at a time. It was the best she could manage under the circumstances. Her hands shook. Her knees wobbled. Her heart felt like it was being ripped from her chest. The pain was nearly unbearable. Tears clouded her vision, rolled down her cheeks, dripped off her chin. It was the hardest day of her life. Harder than realizing the truth of her barrenness. Harder than seeing her husband choose another woman to bear his sons. Harder than all the years of taunts and abuse at the hands of that same woman. This was the most difficult day of Hannah’s entire life.

For years, she had been travelling to Shiloh with her husband, Elkanah, to offer sacrifices and worship the Lord at the Tabernacle. They never missed a year. Never failed to bring the appropriate sacrifice. Never skipped the sacrificial meal. They were faithful. Dutiful. Obedient. They were also childless. Hannah had been unable to produce a child in all the years of their marriage. It broke her heart. Especially as she watched Elkanah’s other wife, Peninah, birth multiple children. She wasn’t greedy. She didn’t need as many children as Peninah had. Hannah simply wanted to present her husband with a son. One. It was the cry of her heart. The request she brought before the Lord year after year. The prayer that seemed destined to forever go unanswered. 

Slipping away after the sacrificial meal, Hannah would make her way to the Tabernacle to pray. In tears and fasting, she would beg God for a child. Every year. Her request never changed. Not when her faith faltered. Not when her hope dimmed. Not when the heavens remained silent, her womb still. She never gave up. She kept coming. Not just to Shiloh. Not just to the Tabernacle. Not just for the sacrifice. Hannah kept coming to talk to God. 

That year had been no different. Arriving in Shiloh, Hannah had gone through the motions of everything they did there. Sacrifice. Worship. Meal. She barely made it through. Peninah was especially spiteful this year. Her snide remarks were more barbed than usual. It was all Hannah could do to stay at the table, stomach the food, survive the acerbic jabs. She wasn’t hungry. At all. Her heart hurt. Intensely. Her soul felt battered and bruised by every unanswered prayer she had ever prayed. Doubts and fears and hopelessness wrecked her being. Excusing herself as soon as possible, Hannah fled to the refuge of the Tabernacle. She needed to talk to God. 

 Once there, a volley of words erupted, punctuated by ragged sobs and an outpouring of pent-up tears. Hannah had things she wanted to say to God. She couldn’t take this anymore. The pain. The sadness. The sorrow. She couldn’t handle another unanswered prayer. She didn’t have the emotional strength to endure another year of empty arms and a perpetually broken heart. So she proposed a deal. Made a promise. Offered an exchange. A son for her. A servant for Him. If God would bless her with a son, she would give the child back to Him. Completely. Physically. Literally leave him at Shiloh in the service of the Lord. From the time he was weaned to the end of his life. Her son would belong solely to God. His boy for His purpose. And God said, “Deal.”

Hannah didn’t mention her promise to Elkanah. Not at first. Not until the conversation became necessary. It must have been an enormous shock to Elkanah. What did she mean they weren’t keeping the boy at home?! They were his parents! She had done what?! Promised who?! Resting his face in his hands, Elkanah dragged in a deep breath and sorted his thoughts. Accepted reality. There was nothing he could do to change the situation. As unimpressed as he was with the bargain, he was no less duty-bound to fulfill it. The promise was already made. To God. The terms were already set. There was no negotiating. What was done was done. When their son, Samuel, was weaned, Hannah would take him to the Tabernacle and leave him there. Elkanah wished her good luck with that. He honestly wasn’t sure she could make herself do it. He said as much. Said he knew God would have to give her the strength to keep that promise.  Because Elkanah knew what we are all so loath to remember or admit. Promises are easy to make, but difficult to keep. Even promises to God. Elkanah suspected that would be the case with this one. He wasn’t wrong. 

Keeping that promise had to have cost Hannah. Deeply. Childhood milestones would pass without her being part of them. An annual visit was not the type of mothering her young self had thought she would do. The temptation to make up an excuse, find a reason to rescind, or delay the fulfillment of her promise must have been overwhelmingly strong. But Hannah didn’t. Instead, she enjoyed every moment of his infancy and toddlerhood until he was weaned. Then, she packed his tiny clothes in a bag, gathered his favorite blanket, clasped his tiny hand in hers, and walked him up the path to the Tabernacle. His new home. Forever. Fulfilling her promise to God. 

Scholars believe Samuel would have been 3-4 years old when Hannah left him at the Tabernacle, some 15-20 miles from her home in Ramah. It doesn’t seem so very far away to us. A quick drive. A phone call. A door dash away. Except Hannah had none of those options. There were no cars, no trains, no rapid transit systems. There were no telephones, no cell phones, no internet. She couldn’t drop by once a week, call every night, or dash dinner to his door. She wouldn’t know if he fell ill, caught a cold, skinned his knee. Unless it turned into something life-threatening, no one would notify her. Even then, by the time a messenger came to get her and she travelled to him, she might not make it in time to hold his hand as he expelled his last breath. When she threw that final glance back at her little boy, Hannah knew it might well be the last time she saw him.

Leaving her son to be raised by Eli may well have seemed risky to Hannah as well. His own sons were an indictment of his child-rearing abilities. They were wretched sinners. Flat out rebellious. Men of distinct ill-repute. Their violations of God’s laws were known far and wide. Relishing their sin, they were not the type of men Hannah would choose to influence her son’s life. But she realized something. She wasn’t leaving her son with Eli. She was leaving Him with God. The same God who had heard her gut-wrenching cries for a child, accepted her bargain, and given her strength to keep her promise. None of that had been done on her own. It wasn’t her own strength now. It was God. The same God who helped her keep her promise.

Transferring Samuel’s worldly goods into Eli’s hands, Hannah placed her son in the elderly priest’s care. Running her hand through his soft hair one more time, she kissed his cheek, hugged him close, and she walked away. A torrent of tears ran down her face as she placed one foot in front of the other. Not the same type of tears that flowed in the Tabernacle years before. These were different. Mingled with her tears of sadness were tears of joy. God had done it! God had answered her prayer. He had given her a son. He had done such amazing work in her heart that she was able to find the strength to give that child back to Him. He had done exactly as Elkanah had said. The Lord had helped her fulfill her vow. He had done marvelous things! (I Samuel 1-2)

Walking away from her son, Hannah again went to pray. She had things to say to God. Again. Good things. Triumphant things. Exultant things. Not just because God had answered her ragged prayer from the past. Not because she now had a son. Not even because Peninah had been forced to shut her mouth. Of all the things Hannah had to be grateful for, she praised God for sharing His strength. With her. For the entirety of her life. Strength that carried her through years of barrenness. Strength to endure Peninah’s obnoxious taunting. Strength to finally carry and give birth to a son. And strength to help her keep her promise to God. When it was hard. When her heart was breaking. When fear overtook her. When her humanity wanted to find a way out of it. God did exactly what Elkanah said he hoped God would do, He helped Hannah keep her promise. (I Samuel 2:1)

On some level, we all identify with Hannah. We are all intimately acquainted with making promises to God. We do it regularly. In an attempt to achieve our desired outcome, we rashly vow to do something, give something, sacrifice something in return for the granting of our requests. Unfortunately, when the moment comes to follow through, we often fail. We make excuses. Create caveats. Find ways to renege on our promises. We simply do not have the internal fortitude to keep our promises to God. Not regularly. Not on our own. Not without His strength to carry us. Because promises are easier to make than to keep. Especially ones that cost us, make us uncomfortable, or force us to place ourselves fully in His care. Yet in God’s care is the safest place to be. (Psalm 91:1-2; 32:7; 46:1; Proverbs 3:5-6)

Hannah found that out. Walking away from Samuel, fulfilling her promise to God, was the hardest thing she had ever done in her life. But Samuel wasn’t alone. He was with God. He grew up in God’s presence. Every year, when Hannah came back to visit, she saw her son. She watched as he grew up to be a man of God, fully committed to following God no matter what anyone around him was doing. She watched as God blessed him and people loved him. And, as every mother proud of her son would do, surely Hannah broke into praise again. Praise for all God had done in Samuel’s life, His protection, provision, and preservation. Praise that God had heard her prayers. Praise that He had answered. Praise that God had given her strength to keep her promise, no matter how many reasons her mind offered not to.  

May praise be your answer, too. When everything is said and done, when the answer to your prayer is before you, may you keep your promises to God. All of them. Even when you would rather not. Even when you plain don’t want to. Even when you don’t think you have the courage or strength to fulfill them. You do. You can. Through God. When it is hard. When it is painful. When it isn’t what you wish it was. God will pour into you the strength to keep your promises to Him. Strength like Hannah. (Philippians 4:13; II Corinthians 3:5; Matthew 19:26; Romans 8:37; Ecclesiastes 5:4-5; Deuteronomy 23:23; Psalm 76:11)