Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

Night had finally settled over the town. It was time for his mission. The dark blanket of sky lit only with a handful of stars and a sliver of moon offered the perfect cover. And he was ready. So ready. Pulling the hood of the dark cloak tightly around his face, he tiptoed to the door, carefully lifted the latch, and slipped through the portal. Pausing on the stoop, he furtively glanced to the right and left, studied the neighboring houses, searched for signs of people milling about. No one. The neighborhood was silent, still. Good. Quietly closing the door behind him, he hurried down the street, making a quick turn into an alley at the sudden sound of approaching voices. He didn’t want to be seen. Couldn’t afford to be recognized. Wasn’t interested in the possible consequences of being followed. Winding his way around buildings and down alleys, Nicodemus finally reached his destination, squared his shoulders, and prepared himself to find the truth. 

Slipping up to the door, Nicodemus knocked and held his breath. He forced himself to stand tall and still as he waited. It didn’t take long. As Jesus’ face appeared around the open door, Nicodemus released his pent-up breath. He had made it. Safely. No one had seen him. No one had questioned his movements. No one knew where he was. Except Jesus. And it was safe here. Safe to ask questions. Safe to find understanding. Safe to place his faith in what he believed to be true, in what all the evidence suggested was the truth. Because there was more to Jesus than everyone thought. He wasn’t just a miracle worker with special dispensation from God. He wasn’t only a gifted teacher sent from Heaven. Those were the things everyone believed. Everyone knew from the visible evidence that Jesus had been sent to earth by God. There had been no subterfuge, no effort to hide the fact. There was also no arguing with his miracles. Proof right before their eyes. A mountain of evidence manifesting that Jesus was absolutely heaven-sent. God-given. A gift to mankind. A teacher full of spiritual revelation. They all knew it. Nicodemus knew it. But he also believed there was more. 

Perched on the edge of his seat, his head full of questions and his time limited by the few remaining hours of darkness, Nicodemus plunged right to the heart of his visit. There was no reason for small talk. He didn’t care about the weather or what type of flowers were blooming out front. He wanted to get to know Jesus. Really know Him. So he started by stating what he already knew and believed. What everyone already knew. What the physical evidence had proven to be true. God had sent Jesus. To them. Everyone knew this to be true. It was irrefutable. His miracles had given Him away. He was sent by God. The question remained, was He the promised Messiah, or simply a teacher, a prophet, a person with the gift of healing? 

The facts of His power spoke for themselves. No one could do the things Jesus did unless they were authorized by God. Everyone knew that. Whether or not they chose to publicly admit it, they knew it. It was undeniable. No one had come along with healing power since a handful of old prophets centuries ago. Even John the Baptist, with all his preaching and baptizing, hadn’t performed miracles. Only Jesus had done that. But it wasn’t just the miracles for Nicodemus. It was more than that. It was the way He taught. It was the things He taught. It was how He confidently referred to God as “my Father.” It all held an air of more. More presence. More power. More authority. And Nicodemus was starving to know if he was right, if there was more. More to know. More to experience. More Jesus for mankind. 

Nicodemus’ instincts were spot on. There was more to have than simple knowledge about Jesus. There was a relationship. With Jesus. In fact, relationship with Jesus was imperative. He needed it. He needed to repent and be born again. He needed spiritual life breathed into his soul. He needed to believe that Jesus was the Son of God and place His faith for salvation and eternal life in Jesus alone. Not in knowledge. Not in tradition. Not in religion. Not in all the laws he could quote or his own obedience to them. No. Nicodemus had to know Jesus. Personally. He had to obey Jesus. Daily. Eternal salvation was available, but only to those who believed that Jesus was God’s Son, who obeyed His commands, who daily lived in relationship with Him. Though many others chose not to, Nicodemus believed. (John 3:1-21)  

Jesus wasn’t alone in telling His story and calling people to Himself. In another town, John the Baptist was preaching the same gospel. Inspired by God, he was busy teaching that Jesus was God’s Son. The miracles were from God. The teaching was about God. The Teacher was God. His own Son. The fulfillment of prophecy. God in human flesh. Over and over, he pointed out the truth. Jesus was God. The Messiah. They still weren’t getting it. Refused to believe it. He had no idea what it would take to make them believe. Finally, in words that could not be misunderstood, he told them. “Anyone who believes that Jesus is the Son of God and enters an obedient relationship with Him will have eternal life. Everyone who denies Him will experience eternal death.” It couldn’t have been plainer. No one could miss the facts. They were as obvious as Jesus’ miracles. Everyone who had seen the miracles and heard the teaching knew how to find eternal life. They all knew. Still, not everyone chose to find it. (John 3:22-36) 

It’s such a familiar story. Not the one about Nicodemus. The one about humanity making poor choices. The one where people seek book knowledge and degrees and titles and status, but never seek eternal life. The story where the activities and pull of the world are more important than sitting at the feet of Jesus. The one where full church seats on Sunday are not indicative of full obedience on Monday. The tale where selfish humanity begs God for physical and financial miracles, but offers nothing of themselves in return. Not their time. Not their money. Not their resources. The deeply disturbing narrative so prevalent in our day, where everyone knows the truth in their heads, but denies it in their hearts, because the social construct is to serve yourself, love yourself, care for yourself above everything else. It leaves no time, no space to follow the command of Jesus to love God with your entire being and love others as you love yourself. It is a story that allows no place for an obedient relationship with Jesus Christ. No matter what you know. It is a story about humanity, a depiction of the human heart, that hasn’t changed since the dawn of time. What you know doesn’t matter. Who you know does. (John 17:3)

You see, knowing about something means nothing unless you employ that knowledge. You can know all about Jesus, His miracles, His teachings, His promises, but if you choose not to take it a step further and actually know Jesus Himself, your knowledge is useless. It will gain you nothing. Not forgiveness. Not peace. Not eternal life. You can quote the entire Bible in the original language, pontificate on the historical meaning of every passage, interpret the words of Jesus to the best of your ability, but unless you choose to enter a relationship with the Author, all you know is the Book. A collection of stories. A list of ancestors. A tome of teachings. Unless you know Jesus, you know nothing. But when you know Jesus, you know everything you need to know. 

This was the whole point of Jesus’ conversation with Nicodemus. The man came to Him, an avid student of Jesus’ teachings and miracles, knowing all about Him. He had listened to every religious leader’s opinion regarding Jesus. He had listened to his neighbors and friends ideas. He had gathered as much information as possible. He knew everything he could about Jesus. It all meant nothing. Until Nicodemus came to know Jesus personally. That personal knowledge was the point of all the miracles and signs. The sole purpose. To draw people to Jesus. To bring them near. To foster a relationship. Proper relationship. Obedient relationship. Jesus wanted to bring people, all people, to a place where their sins were forgiven and their eternity was settled. Jesus came to know people and to be known by people. He came to be in relationship with us. All of us. It is the reason He came. Relationship with God the Father. Peace through the blood of the cross. Erased sin. Evaporated guilt. Eternal life. We can all have it. We can all know Him. Not just about Him. We can have more than knowledge. We can have a relationship. We can know Jesus. He is everything we need to know.  (John 14:15; Deuteronomy 5:33; I Samuel 15:22; I John 5:12; Colossians 1:20; 2:14) 

Decorously watching from her place at the front window, she smoothed a hand down the front of her robe and tucked a stray hair back into place. Excitement had her heart beating wildly in her chest. He was here! Coming down the path to her house. She could hardly stand the wait. She loved His visits. Cherished them. These moments when Jesus stopped to visit and spend time teaching in her living room were the highlights of her life. Nothing mattered more. Not the cleaning. Not the cooking. Not the dozens of tasks that normally filled the hours of her day. When Jesus was there, things were different. The dusting could wait. The sweeping could stop. The elaborate cooking could be replaced with simple bread and cheese. There was nothing so desperately in need of attention that Mary wouldn’t gladly set it aside to spend a few hours at Jesus’ feet. 

It was exactly where her sister found her. Decorum gone, she had plunked herself down nearly on top of His feet. Her legs were obviously criss-crossed under her robe. Elbows rested on her knees. Chin in her hands. Body leaned forward at the waist. Eyes trained on Jesus’ face. Ears tuned to every word. Mind filing every truth for later contemplation. Mary sat entranced, completely oblivious to the fact that Martha had plans. Big plans. Elaborate plans. Plans that required help and hands, scurrying and scuttling. Plans that left no time to sit and learn and lean. 

Martha didn’t have time to hang about listening to stories and lessons. She didn’t even have time for a proper visit with their guest. Not that she didn’t want to do so. She did. But she was busy doing the work. All of the work. Enough for two. Too much for one. She very much needed Mary to pull her head out of the clouds and help. There was still cleaning to finish. The table needed to be arranged. The food wasn’t completely prepared. And someone was going to have to help serve. No matter how adept she was at juggling tasks, a girl could only do so much on her own. Yet there sat Mary, enraptured by Jesus’ words, heedless to the havoc her absence in the kitchen was causing. 

Several times Martha had snuck to the doorway and tried to get her attention. She’d waved her apron. Whispered her name. Snapped her fingers. Cleared her throat. Nothing worked. She seemed to be invisible. Or Mary was really good at ignoring her. Disgruntled, Martha finally approached Jesus. He was reasonable and fair. He could judge between them. Considering the unfairness of the workload, Jesus would surely tell Mary to get off her seat and help her sister. Mary needed to pull her share of the load. Surely Jesus would agree with that! Except He didn’t. 

In loving and gentle words of rebuke that would repeat in Martha’s mind over the coming days, Jesus declined. Mary needed to be right where she was. Martha was welcome to be there as well. Jesus didn’t visit so He could judge the cleanliness of the house or the quality of the food set before Him. He didn’t care if the table was elaborately decorated. He wasn’t interested in a four-course meal with all the trimmings. No. That wasn’t why He came. Jesus came to visit so He could teach them more about God. He stopped to encourage their hearts and feed their souls. He was not at all interested in sending Mary out to be distracted by the things of earth. He was happy to have her where she was. Learning. Leaning in. Completely distracted by the things of Heaven. (Luke 10:38-42)

Jesus knew there would be plenty of time for the things of earth, the ideas of the world, the pressures of life to creep in and distract Mary. Things would happen to make her question her faith and what she knew about God. She would be shaken to her core. Her brother, Lazarus, would die an untimely death that Jesus wouldn’t arrive in time to prevent. Not because they wouldn’t send for Him. They would. He simply wouldn’t arrive on time. Mary wasn’t going to understand His tardiness. In her angst and grief, her heart would be tempted to believe He had removed His love. Her grief would lay blame because the pain in her heart would overwhelm her memory of the lessons she’d learned at His feet. Her soul would be tempted to wander as she wondered how Jesus could withhold His presence when they so badly needed Him. Yet none of her wondering would keep her from going back to Him. Back to her place at His feet. The place where she learned to lean on Him and trust His word. 

For all the time Mary spent sitting at Jesus’ feet, soaking in His lessons, she learned one thing well. Lean in. Lean in to Jesus. Lean into His love. Lean into His promises. Lean into His commands and teachings. Listen and learn and lean. Don’t let the mundane things of life sneak in and rob you of your time with Jesus. Hear His words. Sit in them. Contemplate their meaning. Apply them to your life. Lean in to obedience and reverence and relationship. Know Him. Really know Him. Know His nature, His character, His heart. Know that He loves you. Know that He is working for you. And, when life takes an unexpected turn, lean in to His sovereignty. Sit there. Stay there. Trust His heart.  

It is what Mary was doing when she went to see Jesus as He sat on the outskirts of town. Leaning in. It didn’t change what happened when she got there. She didn’t become some docile being who couldn’t formulate words to exhibit the searing pain in her heart. Rather, Mary did exactly what she knew she could do. Spoke her heart to Jesus, painful words pushed through a throat tight with unshed tears. “If You had come when we sent word, my brother would still be living.” It sounded like an accusation. It wasn’t. Not really. It was more a statement of faith. For herself. A reminder to herself that she knew Jesus. She knew who He was. She knew His character, His nature, His heart. She knew that He was always working for the good of His people. And, even if she couldn’t understand why things had happened the way they did, why He was tardy, or what had been more important than her brother’s life, she knew she could still lean in and rest in His wisdom and love. (John 11:1-43)

We all need the reminder. As the world implodes around us, we need to remind ourselves of what we know about Jesus, what we have learned at His feet. His love. His care. His heart. As wars and hate and fear explode both far and near, we need to find ourselves back at His feet. Leaning in. Listening. Learning. We need to spend time in His Word. Really reading. Not just putting in time to check a box or brag at the next Bible study. We need to dig in deeply. Sit in His teachings. Search our own hearts. Allow ourselves to be challenged and changed. We need to pray. Really pray. Pour out our hearts to the Lord. Our needs and requests, yes, but our cares and concerns as well. We need to talk to God. About everything. Even if it doesn’t seem very flattering to Him. Tell Him anyway. He wants to hear what you have to say. No matter what it is. Then let Him answer. Sit in His presence as He addresses your words. Let Him speak. Let Him reveal His heart. Let His words of love and kindness, tenderness and care, wash over your soul and heal your heart. Stay there. Knowing this. Through every storm and trial and care of life, when you don’t understand, when it doesn’t make sense, when the timing seems off, when you are scared, shaken, or spooked, the great heart of God for His people never changes. He is always the same. He is sovereign. He is love. You can trust Him. Just lean in. (Hebrews 4:16; Lamentations 3:40: Psalm 62:8; 91:15; 139:23-24; 145:13; Job 42:2; Isaiah 45:6-7; Proverbs 21:1; Matthew 10:29; I John 4:16; John 15:4-7)    

It wasn’t the weirdest thing God had ever asked him to do. Not by a long shot. That had to be a tie between hiding his underwear in a hole in the rocks and publicly wearing a yoke attached to his neck with leather straps. It wasn’t the most difficult command God had given him, either. There had been more harder, more gut-wrenching things. Not praying for his people in a time when they so clearly and desperately needed his prayers ranked at the very top of the list, followed closely by the command to forego marriage and resign himself to childlessness. It certainly wasn’t the most dangerous instruction he had received. Standing before kings and priests and peers, calling out their sin and pronouncing God’s impending judgment was the most terrifying thing he was ever asked to do. His knees shook. His heart pounded. People hated him. Wanted him dead. In light of that, buying a plot of land in a country destined for destruction seemed ridiculously simple. Silly, even. Still, Jeremiah did it. (Jeremiah 13:1-11; 14:11; 16:1-4; 27)

Not without questions. Jeremiah still had queries about the purchase. He knew what was going to happen to the land. He had already spoken God’s words to the king. The Babylonians were coming. Not for negotiations. They were coming to take over the land. Everything would soon belong to them. Every acre of land. Every blade of grass. Every home, hotel, and hostel. Even the field Jeremiah was currently weighing out silver to purchase. It would all belong to the invaders. Begging the question, why was he doing this? Why was he buying land he would most certainly lose? More importantly, why was he sealing up the documents in a pottery jar?  

The questions surely flashed across Baruch’s face as Jeremiah issued God’s instructions. Seal these up in a pottery jar. Put them in a safe place. Why? Because someday, people will own land here again. Someday they will buy the houses, own the vineyards, purchase the fields. Someday, things will return to how they used to be here. So put the documents in a jar. A jar of hope. Hope for the people now and for the generations to come. Hope that God would once again reconcile His people to Himself. Hope for the day when God’s people would turn from themselves, their sin, their idols, and follow God with all their hearts. Hope that peace would once again reign.  

It did not immediately reign for Jeremiah. He had more questions than answers. His faith was fraying a little at the edges. Not that he would change what he had just done. He wouldn’t. Long ago, he learned not to base his obedience on personal comprehension of God’s reasoning or plan. But Jeremiah was confused. Not about God. He knew God. Knew His power. Knew His character. Knew His voice. Jeremiah knew God had created the heavens and earth and everything in them by His amazing power. He knew God could do anything. Nothing was beyond the scope of His power to perform. He knew that God was love. For everyone. Those who followed Him. Those who didn’t. God loved humanity, but His love did not equal approval. God was not one to silently overlook sin. In love, He would chasten and punish in an effort to bring His people back to a place of relationship with Him. A place of blessing. A place of hope. He knew God could do anything. God could do everything. He had done amazing things over the preceding generations. What Jeremiah didn’t know, what he couldn’t quite understand, was why, with the siege ramps built against the city walls, the impending famine and war and disease, and the conquering by the Babylonians, why did God ask him to spend his good money on a field he couldn’t keep? 

Speaking directly to Jeremiah, in words he understood then, and we understand now, God said, “Do you know who I am? I am God. The Lord. Almighty. Invincible. Is anything too difficult for me?” In other words, do you really believe God would ask you to do something this crazy and have it mean nothing? Do you even know God’s character? Do you trust God’s judgment? Do you believe, from your head to your heart, that nothing is too hard for your God? 

Nothing Jeremiah was told to prophesy was incorrect. The Babylonians were coming. They would capture the city. Set it on fire. Burn houses and altars and places where sins were repeatedly committed. Everything would be destroyed. The people deserved it. As frequently as God had tried to teach the ways of holiness and truth, they had just as frequently turned from His teachings. They had angered God with their rebellion. Their sins had piled up against them. Their punishment was well deserved. But it wouldn’t be the end of them. There was still hope. In God. That’s what the land and the deed and the jar were all about. Hope. Hope that God would forgive their sins and restore them to their land. Someday. 

It was God’s plan to do so. In His grand plan, He would bring them back to that place. He would make them live in peace and safety. Their fields would flourish. Their families would grow. He would make them His people and gladly be their God. They would live like it. Their hearts would long for it. They would be devoted to worshipping Him without turning aside to idols. God had chastened, but He would heal. He promised. In the middle of all the disaster crashing down on their heads, there was hope for the future. Sealed up in Jeremiah’s jar. (Ezekiel 32)

Seems hope is often found in jars. Centuries before Jeremiah’s feet touched earth, another prophet whispered hope in a similar way. Through jars. Empty jars. A lot of them. Approached by a desperately poor and indebted widow whose sons would soon be taken as slaves to pay off her debt, Elisha told her to collect as many empty jars as she could find. Ask friends. Beg neighbors. Check every house in town. Once she had collected every available jar, she was to enter her house with her sons, shut the door, take her own little flask of oil, and start filling those jars. 

My heart feels the pinch as I picture her hopeful obedience. Hurriedly collecting the jars. Carefully lining them up. Standing back to survey the lines and take a stabilizing breath before she began the work. Her stomach is in knots. Her heart is burgeoning with hope. Her lips are moving in silent prayer that her hope is not misplaced. Her brain registers the truth. There is not enough oil in the flask to fill even the first jar. Not even close. Still, she steps forward. Tips the flask. Begins to pour. Tentatively. Watching the stream of oil flow into the jar, she waits for the flask to lighten, to empty. Except it doesn’t. Ever. The oil keeps flowing until there are no empty jars. Not in her house. Not in the town. Every empty jar sat in her house, full of hope.   

Relief raced in tears down her cheeks as she went to Elisha with her news. She had oil. Lots of oil. More than she could use. Ever. She didn’t know what it meant, or how it helped, but those empty jars, originally full only of hope, now held oil. Miracle oil. And her tentative hope was merging with her faltering faith. Elisha couldn’t scientifically explain the multiplication of the oil, but he did know what to do with it. Sell the oil. Pay the debt. Live off the rest. Remember this day, this moment, this time when all you had was a jar of hope and your willing obedience. Remember to always obey God. Do whatever He asks you to do–the ridiculous as well as the reasonable. Because hopeful obedience will never leave you in shame. (II Kings 4:1-7)  

Mary spoke similar words to the panicked servants at the wedding in Cana. Their wine jugs were empty. A search of the cellar came up dry. There was nothing to offer the guests except water. It wasn’t their fault. They weren’t in charge of meal planning and supplies. They would still be blamed for it. Fear gripped them as they rock/paper/scissored to see who would get the odious task of informing the master of ceremonies that their wine supply had expired. No one wanted the task. They needed their jobs. Needed their paychecks. Overhearing their terrified whispers, Mary pulled Jesus to the servants, explained their problem, and left them with one instruction, “Just do whatever He tells you to do.” 

They hoped she knew what she was talking about. Their jobs were on the line. Listening intently so as not to miss an instruction, the servant’s faces filled with questions at His simple command. Fill the six empty stone water jars, the ones used for ceremonial washing, with water. Plain water. No residual wine. No juice. Nothing extra. Just water. Confusion turned to disbelief. The command was ridiculous! Water, they had. Wine, they didn’t. More water wasn’t going to fix their problem. But they didn’t have a better idea. Right now, they just needed to be obedient and do what Jesus told them to do. And they did. 

Gallon after gallon, they poured their hope into those jars. Hope that they were doing the right thing. Hope that they wouldn’t be publicly humiliated. Hope that their jobs would be saved, their paychecks complete. Hope that Jesus could make a miracle happen. Right there. Right then. In those jars. And He did.

 When the final gallon entered the last jar, Jesus issued His next instruction. Serve the master of ceremonies. The head guy. The one who hires and fires. Bravely, the servant sucked in a deep breath, ladled the wine, and stepped forward to offer it to the head of the banquet. Watching from the sidelines, the servants’ hearts pounded even as their breath caught in their throats. Their entire hope for the future rested on the water in the jar. It rested in the promise of Mary that Jesus would fix the situation. It rested in their own act of obedience. And it paid off. Taking a sip from the cup, the man went back for a second, and a third. The wine was excellent. Better than the first. Relieved, the servants glanced at the jars. Normal jars. Always there. Full of water. Now brimming with hope. (John 2:1-11)

You see, friend, hope should stir you to obedience. When you don’t understand. When it doesn’t make sense. Whether it seems ridiculous, risky, or reasonable. Hope should breed obedience. Hope in the power and presence of God should move you to obey Him no matter what He tells you to do. Hope in His faithfulness should make you obey when it isn’t convenient, isn’t popular, isn’t profitable. Hope in His promises should reinforce your faith and prompt your following. But not just yours. Hopeful obedience isn’t just about you. It’s about others. Your family. Your friends. Your community. You are their jar of hope. You are the one they are watching. You are the one who can model hope in God through obedience. You are the one who can prove it is worth it. Worth it to hope. Worth it to obey. Worth it to follow God no matter what He asks you to do. Silly or solemn. Because He is asking. Every one of us. Every day. Be filled with His Spirit. Be obedient to Him. Be jars of hope to the world. (Jeremiah 7:23; 29:11; Isaiah 1:19; I Peter 1:13-14; John 14:15; Matthew 5:16; Deuteronomy 28:1; Acts 5:29; I Samuel 15:22)

They were surrounded by a pall of angst. Worry and anxiety were their constant companions. Every man was constantly on guard. The enemy was always lurking. For nearly three years, there had been war between Israel and Judah. Their kings hated one another with a fiery passion. Fear was a way of life for the people. Fear that their husbands and sons would die in another skirmish. Fear that their daughters would be harmed in the aftermath. Fear that Jeroboam and his men would be triumphant over them. Slaughter them. Enslave them. Every battle felt like a march to their demise. This battle was no different. 

Standing on Mount Zemaraim, the soldiers of Judah gazed out over the mass of warriors Israel presented and wondered how they would ever prevail. They were outnumbered two to one. And those weren’t just able-bodied men who could do a little swordplay. Those were select troops. Trained men. Soldiers laser-focused on fighting, killing, winning. This would be a fight to the finish. Likely Judah’s finish. Their minds flashed back to the homes and families they had left behind. Their hearts pinched at the probability they would never return. Then they snapped their minds back to attention. Their king was speaking. Giving an actual speech. Not to his own men. To the opposing king and army. His words were astounding. 

From the top of the hill, Abijah called out to counterpart. He had things to say. Things no one ever thought they would hear him say. He didn’t have the best track record when it came to following God. He wasn’t bothered much with following the laws and commands passed down through Moses. He didn’t care who the people worshipped, where they worshipped, or what they worshipped. He had always led with a loose hand. Everyone was allowed to follow the god of their choosing. Many. Few. False. True. It didn’t matter to him. Yet the words that spilled from his mouth in that moment sounded as if he had spent a lifetime in devotion to God alone. 

With words that left their mouths agape, Abijah called out Jeroboam. He ticked off Israel’s transgressions like a laundry list. They had completely abandoned God. They had created golden calves to replace Him. Their priests were not from holy lineage. Anyone with the ability to pay could become a priest. They were busily and blatantly embracing pagan practices. Not all of it sounded unfamiliar to the men of Judah. They weren’t exactly devoted to God, either. Abijah hadn’t turned the kingdom from the evil of his father. He hadn’t walked with God himself. But. Their king was on a roll, and he did have a few good points. They might not be as devoted as they once had been, but they hadn’t completely done away with God, either. They were still following His instructions. Burnt offerings. Incense. Proper priests in the temple. They still claimed God as their leader. His priests still blew the trumpets as they went into battle. They still trusted Him to help them. As for them, they chose the Lord to be their God and bring them victory. And he did. Followed by peace on every side. (II Chronicles 12-13) 

It was into this peace that Abijah’s son came to power. Standing firmly on the words his father had bellowed out over the battlefield that day, Asa hit the ground running. He was determined to live out those words. They were going to do exactly what his father said they did. Choose the Lord. Only. They weren’t going to be split between religious beliefs anymore. They weren’t going to worship God some days and idols another. The foreign altars, pagan shrines and sacred poles had to go. All of them. They had to be demolished. Smashed. Cut down. If they wanted to live in the peace of God, the people had to seek God. They had to obey His commands. They had to be God’s people, chasing God’s heart, following God’s laws, all day, every day. It was the only way they would ever keep themselves surrounded by peace on every side. 

This was not to say trouble would never come near them. It would. It did. After 10 years of peace during which Asa built up and secured his towns, trained and armed his warriors, an attack came. It was massive. With an army nearly twice the size of Asa’s, it reverberated with memories of another battle, another time, in another place, under another king. Tensions were high. Nerves were taut. Fear ran along the edges of every soldier’s mind. They knew they didn’t stand a chance on earth against this army. But the God of Heaven did. Their God. The God they faithfully served. The God for whom they had cleaned up their towns and cleaned out their lives. The only God they now served. This was His battle. His war. His outcome. They were in His hands. 

Asa put them there. Falling to his knees, he cried out to God for a rescue. A routing. Their trust was in God. Alone. The battle was His. Alone. The victory was up to Him. Alone. There was nowhere else for them to place their faith. They had diligently destroyed and eradicated the idols that stood between them and God. They weren’t leaning on anything else. God was it. He was all. Their souls were completely His. He was the only One on whom they were depending for victory. For peace. And He gave them those things. Victory and peace. Why? Because when God’s people clean out their hearts, straighten up their lives, and repurpose the space for God to dwell, He does. Individually. Communally. Globally. That is what Lent is all about. (II Chronicles 14-15)

Contrary to what you may have heard. Lent is not a diet program. It is not a time to drop a few pounds by limiting your caloric intake or practicing intermittent fasting under the guise of self-denial. Lent isn’t about food at all. It’s about your relationship with God. It is about going deeper with Him than ever before. It is about introspection and self-evaluation. It is about repentance and change. It is about complete renovation of a heart, repurposing of life, and regeneration of the soul. It is about being completely His. Only. It is about learning to remain faithful when it isn’t easy, when the outlook is dark, when the news is scary. Lent is about renovating a heart space for your soul to be so hidden in God that you are surrounded by peace. Peace that keeps you focused on Jesus. Peace that gives you rest. Peace that the world cannot give, understand, or take away. The imperturbable peace of God. Reserved for the people of God. Thanks be to God. For the peace that comes from Lent. (II Corinthains 13:5; 6:16; Lamentations 3:40; Ezekiel 14:6; Jeremiah 4:1; I Samuel 7:3; Philippians 4:7; Psalm 29:11; 139:23-24)

A smile stretched across his face as the quill flew over the parchment. He couldn’t stop it. The words erupting from the depths of his heart evoked strong emotions. Unleashed exuberance. Unabashed celebration. Unquestionable truth. Unlike some of the unpleasant things it had been necessary to write in other letters, these words came easily, flowed beautifully. Exciting words. Joyous words. Celebratory words. Powerful affirmations to his readers of a truth he personally knew to be absolute. Infinite love. From God. To man. Deserving or not. Paul had experienced it, yet could think of no one less worthy. (I Timothy 1:15)   

His resume was not a glowing endorsement of his qualifications for candidacy. It didn’t even have the same name. He’d been Saul, then. A thug. Misguided. Disillusioned. Menacing. His job was hunting down Christians to torment and kill. He had been ignorant, arrogant, and malicious, traveling from town to town, issuing threats against the nonconformists. Tirelessly, Saul worked to discourage, disband, and utterly destroy the newly forming church of God. 

The work had been never-ending. Regardless of where he travelled, how terrifying his arrival, how menacing his threats, how brutal his arrests, the people of God kept preaching. Everywhere. Philip, Peter, and John travelled and preached and healed, always a step ahead of him as he blazed a trail of religious hatred. Their words and works resonated in every town, leaving behind a nucleus of people changed by the infinite love of God. So changed, in fact, that they were willing to sacrifice themselves for the cause of Christ. It was enraging. His anger burned. His zeal ignited. He aggressively sought to thwart the spread. Armed with letters from the high priest in Jerusalem urging the synagogues in Damascus to aid in fulfilling his mission, Saul raced out of town on the biggest assignment of his life. 

He almost made it, too. Would have made it if his horse hadn’t been spooked on the outskirts of town by an extraordinarily bright light and the sound of a voice speaking from the heavens. Dropping from his steed, Saul hit the ground as the voice spoke directly to him. Called him by name. It had questions. Serious questions. Questions that sounded more like accusations. Questions for which Saul had no answers. Not good ones, anyway. His motives were not something to proudly flash before the great Lord of the universe, whose voice this assuredly was. His timid answer gained him nothing but rebuke. God called him out. The God who loved His people so dearly and lived close enough to feel their joy and sorrows, also felt their persecution, their fear, their anxiety. He saw what was going on. He heard their cries for help. He had come to rescue them. He had also come to rescue Saul.

Done with the current conversation, God issued a command. “Get up. Go to Damascus. Wait for instructions.” It wasn’t difficult. Until Saul tried to do it. Rising to his feet, he immediately noticed he had a problem. He couldn’t see. At all. Not his men. Not his horse. Not the road. He needed help. A guide. A leader. Someone to hold his hand and take him where he needed to go. It was humiliating. His ego took an enormous hit. For three days. Three days of being led where he needed to go. Three days of being treated like a child or an infirm old man. Three long, tedious, anxiety-filled days of waiting and wondering what would become of him. Three days of acknowledging that the hand of God had stopped him in his tracks. Three days of failing to realize that God’s hand had not struck in anger, but out of His great heart of love. 

It took a while for Paul to put that piece of the puzzle in place. Nothing about sitting around in sudden blindness feels loving. It doesn’t feel good or kind or caring. It doesn’t feel like a rescue. That is exactly what it was. On his current trajectory, Saul was headed for destruction. Spiritual demolition. Eternal death. So loudly was he playing his own tune that he couldn’t hear the loving voice of God calling him to come away from that abyss. He hadn’t heard it as he stood happily watching Stephen’s demise. He hadn’t seen it as men and women refused to abandon their faith and follow his. He didn’t understand it because he never took the time to investigate it. He was too busy with the business of a zealot. Hunting, arresting, and killing Christians who refused to turn from the Way. So God brought him face-to-face with it. Convinced him of its reality. The infinite love of God for humanity. Even in their sin. (Acts 9:1-9) 

It was the message he was continually trying to share. The amazing love of God. It had changed Saul’s life. Rewrote his resume. Changed his name. Gave him a new occupation. It had taken a hot minute to move past his old reputation, but, all these years later, hardly anyone remembered his past. Except Paul. Not once had he lost sight of that. He knew he was a horrible sinner. A recovering persecutor of God’s church. He knew who he was and what his heart was capable of becoming if not completely engulfed in the presence and power of God. Every day, when he looked in the mirror, saw his reflection in the wash basin, or saw his image in the stillness of a lake, Paul saw himself for who he was. A sinner saved by grace. The chief of sinners, by his estimation. But he also saw who he was in Christ. Beloved child of God. Loved beyond measure. Embraced, encircled, encased in the love of God that could never be taken away. It was the space in which he lived his life. It was also the truth that carried him through every twist and turn of his journey. 

Things hadn’t exactly been easy since Paul found himself engulfed in the infinite love of God. As quick as he was to go about sharing and preaching and teaching, he was also quick to learn that not everyone was open to hearing the good news of God’s love for sinners exhibited through the plan of salvation. People weren’t excited to admit their sins. Not everyone wanted to change. There were plenty of naysayers. Many stood against him. Some wanted him dead. The evil one wanted him silenced. Things happened. Bad things. Beatings. Stonings. Arrests. Imprisonments. The list could go on. Unfortunately. But one thing never changed. God’s enveloping love. No matter what came against him, how alone he felt, how often he wanted to give up, Paul rested in the absolute truth of God’s unfailing love. He was convinced of it. He knew it. Believed it. No matter what was going on around him, Paul was persuaded that God’s love surrounded him, walked with him, went before him. Always. Nothing could separate him from it. Not his former sins. Not his present situation. And he penned these words to the church of Rome so the people then, and you and I now, could be just as convinced as he was. (II Corinthians 11:23-28; Acts 13-28; Romans 5:8; Hosea 11:4)

I don’t know about you, but something in the words that flow from Paul’s nib at the end of Romans 8 reaches out and catches my soul every time I read them. God is for me. Because He loves me, He takes up a stand beside me. No one and nothing can stand against me. No one can accuse me. No one can condemn me. And nothing, absolutely nothing, can separate me from His love. Ever. God’s love is permanent, not passing. It can never be taken away. Troubles will come. Issues will arise. Stress will abound. But the love of God in Christ Jesus will never be taken from me. I am victorious because of it. I believe it. I am convinced of it. I stand on it. Paul did. You can too. (Jeremiah 31:3; Isaiah 54:10: Romans 8:31-39; John 16:33)  

No matter how difficult you find it to believe, God loves you. Right now. Right where you are. In your sin. In your situation. In your unbelief. God loves you. From the boardroom to the bordello, the pulpit to the prison, God loves you. On your worst day. On your best day. When family abandons you and friends fail you, when people speak evil about you and turn the world against you, God’s love remains steady and strong. It is unshakeable, there today, tomorrow, and always. Nothing will ever change that fact. Nothing in life or death. Nothing on earth or heaven. No human. No angel. No evil power sent from hell to trouble and challenge you. Not even your own ridiculousness. Nothing can separate us from the love of God. Nothing is greater than the power of His love for us. Everything around us may crumble and fall. Everyone around us may walk away. But God’s love will always be there. It will never leave. Paul was convinced. So am I.

I don’t know where you are today. Maybe you haven’t had your Damascus road experience. Maybe you have. Maybe you are currently bogged in difficult circumstances that have you wondering if God’s love has worn out, grown tired, or expired. It hasn’t. It never will. It can’t. God’s love is eternal. Unfailing. Steadfast. Strong. Nothing can separate you from His love. Not earthly chaos. Not emotional upset. Not spiritual missteps. God’s love is not tempestuous and temperamental. It is transcendent. Over your sin. Over your circumstances. Over yourself. Over the temptations, trials, and troubles you are facing today. Over the fears of tomorrow and the failures of yesterday. God’s love covers it all. Your past. Your present. Your future. Do you believe it? Are you persuaded? Are you convinced? (I Corinthians 13:8; Psalm 33:22; 103:8; 136:1; Lamentations 3:22-23; I John 3:1; 4:19)