Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

It must have been a terrifyingly amazing moment to be hawking doves in the temple complex when Jesus decided He’d had enough. Enough of people not taking the temple seriously. Enough of folks being about their own business instead of the business of the Father. Enough of individuals willing to risk their eternity on a paltry sale, a quick dime, a change of coins. (John 2:13-16)

I wonder how long it took between Him seeing the mess they had made of His temple, His house of prayer, and the braiding of that whip of cords. A few minutes? An hour? Or just a moment? It doesn’t matter. Jesus stalks into the temple, outrage turning His face to stone. He wields the whip with authority. Mayhem ensued. Oxen immediately begin clumsily lumbering toward the exit. The sudden tension filling the yard sends a sense of urgency rippling over the animals. They react. Their eyes roll wildly. They pick up speed, fighting one another to get through the gate. Terrified shoppers leap out of the beasts’ way. Horrified parents grab their children from under pounding hooves. Cattle owners, breaking free of their frozen astonishment, race to rescue their frantic livestock. Jesus isn’t done.

As He passes the money changers’ table, His free hand upends their coin holders. The clink and tinkle of falling, scattering, rolling coins mingles with the bleating of sheep busily making good their escape. A flip of his wrist overturns a table. A random chair goes skittering across the floor. In a voice rife with authority and censure, He braces His feet, squares up His shoulders, and bellows, “Leave! Stop using My Father’s house for a two-bit flea market or yard sale! This is a house of prayer, a place to meet with the Father, you are making it a den for thieves to conduct their nefarious business practices!” (John 2:13-16; Matthew 21;12-13; Mark 11:15-19; 19:45-48) 

If He said this to the people of that day, I wonder what He’d say to us now. Not about our church buildings. I’m certain God takes no offense to our buildings of wood and stone or the beautiful windows of stained glass. I doubt He’d be offended by our carpet color or choice of seating. We are not in the habit of holding yard sales or cattle auctions in our pristine sanctuaries. It is likely not the music, our coffee cups, or slouchy state of dress to which He takes offense. No, God is not offended by the manmade temple we visit once a week. If there is an offense, it stems from the way we are treating the temple of God within us. Our hearts, our minds, our souls. The way we live our lives.

You see, we have settled in. We attend church on Sunday, read our Bibles when we remember, say a prayer when circumstances are desperate, but we are not the devoted people of God we should be. We are not so focused on being holy as God has called us to be, as we are on being esteemed by those around us. We’ve become enamored by the world to the detriment of our souls. We have made excuses to stray. Our doctrines have suffered. We have used our technical acumen to cut and paste the Bible, taking out what we dislike and reinterpreting it to something more palatable. We have made sacrifices that have nothing to do with holiness, cleansing or salvation, but have brought starvation and death to our souls. Our church buildings might be immaculate, but our temples are in appalling disrepair.  

The Old Testament people of Judah were in a similar situation. They had wandered so far from God. Completely abandoned Him. Rejected His statutes, His will, His commands. So engrossed in their sinful practices, they left the temple of God to fall into disrepair. They didn’t offer sacrifices or burn incense as they had been instructed. They had blown out the lamps, closed the doors, and danced off down the path of selfish unfaithfulness. They, too, needed a wake-up call. 

They got one in the form of a new king. A 25-year-old named Hezekiah. He was heartbroken by the mess his people were in. Their fathers were killed in battle. The remnant held in captivity. The only way to rectify their current circumstances was to assuage the much-deserved anger of God by returning to Him in repentance and reconsecration. The temple needed repair and reconsecration. The people did too. So desperately, in fact, the need evoked this cry from Hezekiah, “Return to God. Don’t be unfaithful and obstinate like your ancestors and those around you. Choose God alone. Follow Him. If you return to God, His grace and mercy will compel Him to return to you.” Thankfully, they listened and found it true. (II Chronicles 29-30) 

Thousands of years later, nothing has changed. Not the predicament of the people. Not the requirement for rectification. Not the necessity of hearing the same message. The temple of God is in miserable disrepair. Not the Sunday gathering building, the 7-days-a-week temple that lives in you. The temple so ridiculously riddled with besetting sins, unmitigated cowardice, and unreserved unfaithfulness. The temple that loudly claims Heaven with its mouth, but earth with its actions. You are that temple. So am I. (I Corinthians 3:16)

Admit it. On the inside, many of us are a mess. Decades ago we prayed a sinner’s prayer and decided we were good to go. It went great for a while. Our dedication to God never waivered. Our conscience was always followed. Our Bible reading and prayer never suffered because something earthly seemed more important. Over the years, we’ve rather let things slip. We haven’t kept our eyes on Jesus. We haven’t listened solely to His voice. We haven’t held our convictions when pressure from outside has become overwhelming. We have let up a little here, a lot there. We’ve changed our ideas of sin. Altered our adaptation of God’s requirements. We have followed our untrustworthy hearts that so desperately want to match the world, fit in, blend. We have found so many things we love more than we love God. Tangible things. Socially acceptable things. Things that draw us aside and cause us to pay more attention to our own earthly business than our Father’s business. Yes, our temples are egregiously in need of cleansing. (Isaiah 53;6; Revelation 2:4; Revelation 3:15-17; James 1:14-15)  

It will not be easy or painless. The uncomfortable scene from II Chronicles 29 comes back to mind. After the priests and Levites have spent days cleansing and reconsecrating themselves and the Lord’s temple, Hezekiah and the city officials roll up out front toting sacrifices. Twenty-eight sacrifices, to be exact. 

The bleating of goats and sheep broke the early morning silence, underscored by the annoyed lowing of oxen. They resent the rousting from their fields and stables. They have no idea what’s ahead. No inkling they are being led to slaughter. No knowledge that by the end of the day their blood will splatter the altar and run in rivulets across the ground. No clue they will be the beginning of the cleansing of God’s people. 

But the people knew. They knew how far they had strayed from God. They knew the totality of their sin. They knew retribution was coming if rectification didn’t. As they watched the atrocious sight of innocent animals being slaughtered, listened to the final cries of dying lambs, smelled the metallic odor of blood filling the air, saw the priests splatter blood across the altar, they knew a choice was being made. A choice to put away the idols. A choice to turn from sin. A choice to stop chasing the world and run after God instead. It wasn’t beautiful. It wasn’t painless. It wasn’t easy. It was necessary. They had to go back to the old ways if they wanted to be in proper relationship with God. And they did. (II Chronicles 29-30) 

It is no different with us. We have developed loves we shouldn’t have, deep desires for things of the world, absolute affections for selfish pleasures. We have developed a profound affinity for all the things the world promises. We are addicted to chasing them down. We are convinced we still have Jesus because we attend the church building on Sunday, all the while failing to acknowledge the fact we have abandoned Him for things of much less worth. But it is time to let those things go. Time to return to the old paths. Time to find peace and joy in wholly following Jesus. Time to throw out the temporal and embrace the eternal even if it is hard, even if it is a sad parting, even if you have to leave some things behind. You’ll have to do it if you want to be in proper relationship with God. (Jeremiah 6:16; I John 2:15-17; John 14:27; Luke 9:23; Colossians 3:1-25) 

As you settle in your church pew this Sunday, I hope you do some soul searching. How clean is your temple? How deep is your need for cleansing? How far have you slipped off the old paths? How much change and turning and reconsecration do you need? Because you are called to be the temple of God. You are the light of God in a world gone frighteningly dark. You are the salty savor of God in a decidedly tasteless society. You have been instructed to be holy, just like He is holy. So I’m asking, how’s that going for you? Are you as dedicated as you were at first or does your temple need a cleansing? Have you grown lukewarm? Have you put your hand to the plow and looked back? Which have you decided is more profitable–gaining the world or saving your soul? (I Peter 1:15-17; Matthew 5:13-16; Luke 10:3; I Peter 2:5; Romans 12:1; Mark 8:36; Luke 9:62)

They told him everything would be fine. A little skirmish. A few arrows. Some drawn swords. No problem. They told him to go to battle with Ramoth-Gilead. They said God was with him. They said Ahab and Israel, with the help of Jehoshaphat and Judah, would win the day. Four hundred men agreed. Four hundred men encouraged. Four hundred men speaking without consulting God. 

It was the way Ahab wanted it. He didn’t want to hear from God. He wanted results skewed in his favor. He wanted his own way. He didn’t want to hear what the true prophet of God had to say. He had purposely surrounded himself with worthless advisors and “prophets” that would tell him only what he wanted to hear. Men who wouldn’t call him on his sin. Men who would condone his impulses and desires. Men who wouldn’t dare impede his waltz down the path of impending doom.  

Not so Jehoshaphat. As much as the marriage alliance with Ahab made him feel compelled to join the battle against Ramoth-Gilead, his allegiance to God made him ask for one important favor. He wanted to know God’s will before they went into battle. Did they have God’s approval? His presence? His favor? Or should they just stay home? 

He wasn’t willing to leave the decision up to 400 imposters, either. He wasn’t looking for silver-tongued yes-men. He didn’t want to hare off on an ill-advised suicide mission. He wanted to hear what God had to say. He wanted to know that God was on his side. He wanted to hear words from a true prophet of God. So he asked Ahab to consult one.

Reluctantly, with much whining and moaning, Ahab called Micaiah, God’s prophet. True to form, the news was not what Ahab wanted to hear. He wasn’t going to win this battle. In fact, he wasn’t even coming home. Disaster was about to befall him. A lying spirit had entered the mouths of his advisors and he chose to listen. Not to the voice of truth spoken through Micaiah, but to the siren song, the pleasant words, the adulterated affirmation of a lie. The result was calamitous. 

No matter how hard he tried to hide, change his appearance, or order his men to fight on his behalf, Ahab couldn’t change the results of his poor choices. While God covered Jehoshaphat with his protection, Ahab chose to remain on his own, to fight his own battles. He thought he could change the outcome in his favor, prove God’s prophet wrong. He actually believed the lies he wanted to hear. Because he did, he was in the wrong place when a man randomly shot an arrow into the melee, striking Ahab between the joints of his armor. 

Knowing he was badly wounded, aware that death was imminent, Ahab sat propped up in his chariot at the edge of the battlefield, writhing in pain, watching the battle, waiting as his life ebbed from his body. For the rest of the day, he sat there, his eyes glued to the battle before him. At sunset, he exhaled his final breath, his life wasted because he chose a comfortable lie over an unpleasant truth. (II Chronicles 18)

 Although there is nothing in the account to indicate such, it has crossed my mind to wonder if Ahab regretted his choice. Did he sit in that chariot, his life slipping away, and wish he’d stayed home? Did he wish, instead of listening to 400 men trained to immediately bless his choices, he’d have listened to the one who didn’t? Did he regret not seeking God before it came to this? Did he wish he hadn’t chosen to learn the hard way? In the final moments of his life, as the truth he rejected became reality, did he wish he’d lived differently? If he had, perhaps then I could admire him. 

As it stands, there is little to admire about Ahab. His laudable qualities are few, if indeed he had any at all. Yet as I read the accounts of his life, I find it impossible to miss how like him all humanity is. We are selfish, arrogant beings desperate to have our own way, hear only the things we want to hear, do only the things we want to do. We want to believe we are right when we choose the path of least resistance, the shortcut, the plan that doesn’t seem to require approval from God. We are highly susceptible to the voice of the liar. It’s the voice we want to hear. It gives us the answer we seek. It says we are right even when we are wrong. It enables us to block out the voice of truth and encourages us to wholly seek our own desires. And we do. 

If you are reclining in your easy chair skim-reading this because you believe it can’t possibly apply to you, look again. Be honest. Re-evaluate. How often do you decide something God calls sin can’t possibly be sin because “everyone else” is doing it? How frequently do you decide His Word doesn’t apply in our day and age? Do you repeatedly allow the voices of the world, the lies of the 400 advisors, to obscure the voice of truth? Do you continually find yourself treading water in the shoals when you could be cruising in the deep? You could be, but you chose to believe the agreeable lies and ignore the objectionable truth. 

We aren’t the first generation to do this. Believe lies instead of truths or seek our own way instead of adhering to God’s perfect plan. It’s been happening since the dawn of time. Eve believed a lie and ate the fruit for which she lusted. Their consequential ejection from the Garden of Eden and introduction to a life of hardship, illness, and pain hardly seems worth that taste of forbidden fruit. How much joy and peace and blessing did Adam and Eve sacrifice for just a moment of their own way? (Genesis 2:15-3:24)

A group of the children of Israel, angry at the lack of amenities in their wilderness experience, begged for some creature comforts until God gave in. They got their wish but paid a steep price. With the first bite of quail, as they began to chew, a severe plague struck. People became ill. People died. Those who lived would testify to the fact that the results of their badgering, complaining, and discontent, were absolutely not worth the reward. (Numbers 11) 

They won’t be for you either. You can enjoy the pleasures of sin for a time. You can choose to believe you are entitled to Heaven and God would never allow a being He loves to spend eternity in Hell. You can hope you are right. You aren’t. You can blindly follow the world as it races to destruction, condoning what God calls sin, arguing to mitigate or change God’s commands, telling you to trust yourself above all things. You can adhere to their philosophy, and hope they are right. They aren’t. You can ignore all the people who come to you in love and ask about your relationship with Jesus. You can tell them it isn’t their business. You can brush aside their concern. You can even pretend to listen and adhere. You can attend church, sing the songs, nod your head and say, “Amen.” You can tell yourself it is enough. It isn’t. (Isaiah 5:20-21; Romans 1:18-23; James 1:22)

The only “enough” there will ever be is the wholehearted following of the true words, commands, and statutes of God. They might be uncomfortable. You might struggle over following them when no one else is doing it. You might not even see the point. The evil one won’t make it any easier. The voice of that liar will come to you and whisper that it is okay to let up, change, ignore those soul safeguards. Don’t be deceived. Don’t scorn God’s words. It didn’t work for Ahab, it won’t work for you. The wages of sin are still eternal death, no matter what the world is trying to tell you. (Deuteronomy 30:19-20; John 8:44; Galatians 6:7; Romans 6:23) 

It is unfortunate that Ahab didn’t have or chose not to adhere to Proverbs 14:12 in his day. It perfectly sums up the answer to the conundrum of choosing palatable lies over unappealing truth. The writer simply pens these words, “There is a way that seems right to a person, but it ends in spiritual, eternal death.” The bottom line? You can use all your human powers of deduction, selection, logic, and reasoning, but unless you are following God’s way, listening only to His voice, you are headed for destruction. It’s unavoidable. (Romans 6:16; Proverbs 30:12)

So seek the Voice of Truth above all other voices. If you desire human advice, choose your advisors with caution. Choose your inner circle, your closest friends with prayerful care. And listen. Listen when you feel the prick of conscience, the subtle leading in a direction you wouldn’t necessarily choose. Listen when your godly advisors steer you down a path paved with Scriptures even when it isn’t what you want to hear. Examine yourself when trusted friends gently, lovingly point out signs of gathering resentment, bubbling rebellion, or necessary restitution in your life. Listen. Adhere. Remember this. As uncomfortable as all these things may be, as much as you don’t want to hear them, don’t want to admit them, don’t want to follow them, the reward will certainly be worth the adherence. Peace in your soul. The smile of God’s approval. The guiding care of His hand. The joy of a Heavenly eternity. There is nothing more valuable than these! (Psalm 119:105, 133; Proverbs 12:26; Galatians 5:16; Romans 12:2)

It was impassable. They’d rushed out of Egypt on foot, taking everything they could carry. Infants and toddlers were strapped to mother’s backs. Young children were clinging to their father’s legs. Behind them, Pharaoh and his army were thundering down on horseback and in chariots, breathing out threats of re-capture and increased workloads. Before them, roaring and swirling was the Red Sea, too deep to wade, too wide to swim. Without looking, they knew there was no bridge, no side route, no alternate path to safety. The only way out was across. They had to ford that sea. 

But how? How could they cross a river with lumbering herds and tiny children? Could the wives carry each household’s possessions as the men managed the herds? Was it even possible to cart the elderly across those waters? There was no time to build rafts. No time to put their heads together for ideas. No time to weigh options. Every moment brought recapture by Pharoah closer. They needed to cross that river now, but it was utterly impassable. 

Just when it seemed like all was lost, their defeated return to Egypt a certainty, the God of the impassable showed up. “Stretch your staff out over the sea,” God commanded Moses. Immediately he obeyed. And, like a scroll, the waters of the sea rolled back revealing dry land. A path ahead. A walkway through the water. No boats necessary. No rafts needed. No soaked oxen. No drenched toddlers. They crossed completely on dry land because, with God, the impassable becomes passable. (Exodus 14)

Judah’s victory was improbable. Their predicament was horrific. They were surrounded. Death or capture seemed certain. Before them stood the army of Israel and Jeroboam intent on mayhem and destruction. Behind them, much to their surprised astonishment, was an ambush team sent by Jeroboam. There was no way out. No escape. The time for negotiations had passed. Terrified at the turn of events and worried about the improbability of escape, Judah does the only thing they know to do, the only thing anyone can do in improbable circumstances. They call on God. 

They know they can. They know He will hear. They know He will help. They know this because they have been following His commands, doing His will, walking in His ways. They know the improbable is probable because they have not abandoned Him. Resting in the knowledge He never abandons His people, they call out to Him and wait for His response. 

And it comes. As the priests blow the trumpets and the soldiers shout their battle cry, God fights their battle for them. His magnificent power miraculously routs the enemy forces. Although they flee, God hands them over to Judah and Abijah, over to the people who have been observing His commands and following His ordinances as if their lives depend on them–because they do. They successfully subdued their enemies because they depended on God, with whom the improbable becomes probable. (II Chronicles 13)

  Humanity was in a damnable state. Infested with the intrinsic sinfulness of their own selfish souls. Infected with the far-reaching effects of evil hearts and devious minds. Squandered souls adrift on the sea of life. Darkened hearts perilously hanging over the edge of a lost eternity. Desperately in need of redemption. Urgently searching for hope. Critically in need of help. Starving for salvation that seemed impossible to reach.

The blood of bulls and rams couldn’t save them. The offerings of birds and grain couldn’t buy their pardon. Their souls cost so much more than that. More than they could sacrifice. More than they could give in exchange. Far more than they could ever hope to afford. The overwhelming hopelessness of the impossible situation would have been a crushing blow. It would have been if it hadn’t been for the God of the impossible. (Matthew 19:26; Jeremiah 32:27)

 As humanity bobbed on the perilous waters of spiritual death and destruction, the God of the impossible heard their cries for help. Their desperate anguish and horrifically sinful circumstances had Him erupting off the throne of Heaven, giving orders, enacting a plan. A plan to save humanity, to give them a chance at the peace they crave, the Heaven for which their hearts so fiercely long. A plan to send His Son, Jesus, as a final, eternal sacrifice, offering forgiveness for sin, redemption, and peace. A plan to make the impossible become possible. 

And so it was. Jesus took on the form of humanity. He was born to earthly parents with human nature and fallibilities. People with whom many things were completely impossible. He lived among people who didn’t believe in Him, wouldn’t befriend Him, and tried to trick Him. Eventually, one of His closest friends betrayed Him, offering Him up to be brutally murdered for absolutely no reason. No reason except you. Except me. Except all humanity. When everything seemed lost and worthless and pointless and hopeless, God, through Jesus, showed up to save the people He so deeply loves. (John 3:16; Romans 5:8; I John 4:9-10; Romans 8:32) 

It’s what He does. God shows up for people. People in impassable, improbable, impossible circumstances. People who have lost hope, lost courage, are lost in sin. People who, without His grace, would be glumly staring into the shadows of a lost eternity. People facing circumstances so difficult, so dark they seem impassable. People who need a rescue, a refuge, a redemption. People who need deliverance from all the “imps” hanging over their pathways, discouraging their progress. (Habakkuk 3:2,13-19) 

The truth is this. The evil one has a lot of imps in his employ. He sends them out, armed with fear and doubt, to test, torment, and try to derail humanity. His sole goal is your spiritual destruction. He’s desperate to steal your eternity. So those imps come to you with incredible tales of “imp”assable, “imp”robable, “imp”ossible circumstances. They tell you God won’t get you through your horrible situation. They say God will probably fail when you need Him most. They say you are too far gone, too lost to be a recipient of the grace and mercy He so lovingly extends. I know. I’ve heard them. You’ve heard them, too. (II Corinthians 11:14; I Peter 5:8)

Just because you’ve heard the voices, because they’ve been the loudest in the room, doesn’t make them accurate. They’ve never been more wrong. At your cry of agony, angst, apprehension, God shows up. He comes to those enslaved by the chains of sin, fear, anxiety. He shows up for those condemned to eternal death. Our conquering God steps on the scene of impish impossibilities and things change. For saints, absolutely! For repenting sinners, without a doubt! When you cry out to God, no matter your circumstances, God shows up. He never abandons those who walk uprightly before Him. (Psalm 102:19-21; Psalm 9:9-10; Psalm 50:15; Acts 3:19; Proverbs 28:13; II Chronicles 30:9b) 

I don’t know what’s going on in your life right now. Perhaps you are beset by a path so blocked by obstacles it seems impassable. Perhaps you are facing situations where the likelihood of a positive outcome is improbable. Perhaps you are overcome with doubt and fear, hopelessness and despair. Or maybe you find yourself so deeply steeped in sin it seems incredible, unbelievable, impossible that God could ever enact a rescue great enough to give you Heaven, or that He’d ever even want you there. If any of these are you, and even if they aren’t, listen up!

God lives to rescue people. To saints facing deplorable, discouraging, desperate situations, He comes to bring hope and help, comfort and peace, direction and guidance. To sinners, no matter the depth of their disgrace, desertion, defection, He offers pardon, redemption, peace, and cleansing. So call on Him. Ask Him into your impassable, improbable, impossible circumstances and know that when you call, He answers. And when He answers, the imps of hell disappear. They can’t stand against His power. Our God is the Conqueror of the “imps” who makes all things passable, probable, and possible. And no matter your circumstances, you can trust Him. (Isaiah 25:4; Psalm 91:1; Jeremiah 33:3; Psalm 17:6; Acts 16:30-31; Ephesians 2:8-9; Isaiah 41:10; II Corinthians 12:9-10))

At least once a year our family takes a road trip. These are not small events. We have been known to cover up to fourteen states at a time. The trips require meticulous planning and preparation. Miles to be“ driven each day. Attractions to visit. Nightly accommodations. Clothing for every possible event and circumstance. Things for the kids to do as they ride. Candy and beverages to keep me awake as I drive. Things for the sections of road not lined with billboards.  

I’m rather addicted to reading signs. Road signs. Church signs. Business signs. Billboards. The billboards always catch my eye. Yes, I know. That’s their purpose. I get it. It works. Although I rarely adhere to their words, or run out to purchase the advertised products, I do read the signs. Some make me shake my head. Some of them remind me to keep a check on my blood pressure–an interesting choice as I impatiently sit in traffic! Some tempt me to take the next exit for ice cream–an enticing option instead of sitting in traffic! Other signs are only good for comic relief. It matters not. Whatever they’re advertising, I’m reading.  

We recently embarked on one of our notorious road trips upon which I was again reading signs. In this particular city, apparently, you can find anything. A dentist claims the ability to give you a perfect smile, thus increasing your chances of attracting the perfect mate. A weight management specialist can get you from consultation to weight loss surgery in only two weeks. Money management companies and personal injury lawyers can help you gain and manage your funds. Hospitals, doctors, and medical companies want to remind you to take care of your heart, your diabetes, and your colon. Rehabilitation facilities remind you their services are available should you need them. All of the signs beg you to choose their services in an effort to enhance your current life and prepare you for a fabulous future.

The truth is, the signs might be encouraging you to do something good. I hope you do it. I hope you take care of yourself, let go of your vices, watch out for your health. I hope you are wise with your money, plan for the future, and buy life insurance. Most of all, I hope you already know and live by the lesson of the one billboard I read that was truly worth my time. The one that imprinted in my mind and put all the other billboards in perspective. The one that simply read, “Are you prepared to meet God?” 

It was tucked in the middle of all those signs encouraging folks to prepare for life. Enrich your wallet, your hair, your health, your body, your mind. It looked like another medical sign. A green line zigzagged across a dark background like the lines on a heart monitoring machine, the universal signal of life. Yet there, instead of another reminder to check your blood pressure, check your heart function, check for diabetes, were those all-important words, “Are you prepared to meet God?”

We rarely hear that question. We should hear it more. We should hear it from the pulpit, from our parents, from our friends. We should be asking it of one another. We should constantly be reminding our family, friends, neighbors, even strangers, that there is something more important than this old world for which we must be preparing. 

It is so easy to forget. Advertising has taken over our lives, swaying the way we think, behave, spend and save. We busy ourselves following all the things we see advertised on television, read in pamphlets at the doctor’s office, or see on a billboard while we sit in rush hour traffic. We follow the stock market like it’s our savior, carefully choosing when to invest or sell. We budget and save, throwing every unused penny into a savings account, hoping to ensure a comfortable retirement. We lose weight, do yoga, exercise, take handfuls of vitamins, diffuse essential oils, and follow the advice of every new health guru. That is all well and good. Maybe it will enhance your future. Maybe it will change your life. None of it will salvage your eternity. (I Timothy 4:8)

And right now is the time to do that. Prepare for eternity. In Matthew 25, Jesus tells a parable of 10 virgins awaiting the bridegroom’s arrival so they could go in and partake of the marriage feast. They didn’t know when he would arrive. They had no idea he would be delayed. They only knew they wanted to be present and ready when he came. Five of them made meticulous preparations. They trimmed their lamps, filled them with oil so they could light the way should he come at night. Then they took up their post to wait. 

Not so the other five. They simply rushed out to stand in line. They wanted admission to the feast. They wanted to greet the bridegroom. Yet they made no preparations. Their lamps were haphazardly assembled. The wicks were ragged. The oil was low. They had put little to no effort into preparing for the wedding feast. It showed. 

 Day turned to night as the 10 waited for the bridegroom to come. They grew drowsy, dozed off. Suddenly, in the middle of the night, he arrived. They all jumped up and readied their lamps. But the five who had not prepared earlier found themselves without oil to burn, with no light for their way. They rushed off in hopes of replenishing their oil in time to slip in the door before it was closed. They didn’t make it. 

In desperation they banged on the door, begging entrance. The groom wasn’t having it. Their lack of preparation had shown him the place he held in their lives. Their knocking resulted in the response, “No admittance. I don’t know you.” If only they had filled their lamps and gathered extra oil before they left home. If only they had trimmed their wicks. If only their lamps had been brightly burning when the bridegroom arrived. But they weren’t. Instead of preparers, they were procrastinators. It didn’t work for them. (Matthew 25:1-13) 

It won’t work out for you either. You can’t wait until the last minute. You can’t waste your life chasing down the billboards and trends and preparations of the world when you should be preparing for Heaven. You can’t put your hope in a deathbed repentance. You have to prepare ahead of time. Right now. This is the time. Today is the day. You need to prepare for eternity now.  (Hebrews 3:15; II Corinthians 6:2)

And you need to do it every day of your life. You need to live every moment as if it is preparing you for entrance into Heaven, because it is. Every word needs to pass the test of acceptability before God. Every thought must be brought into obedience to Christ. Every action should imitate Jesus. Every part of your heart must be pure if you wish to enter Heaven and see God. The fact that you haven’t seen it advertised or plastered on a billboard makes it no less important. Does your life reflect your preparedness to meet God? (Psalm 19:14; II Corinthians 10:5; Ephesians 5:1-2; Matthew 5:8)

Jesus has gone to prepare a place for us. A holy place. A place for those who take the time from their busy earthly schedule to prepare for Heaven. He wants you to be there. It’s your choice. You can choose to prepare solely for the things the world says you should and hope you have time to prepare for Heaven later. Or you can choose to prepare now. Seek God’s kingdom to reign in your heart and life. Trust Him to add the earthly things you need. Make Heavenly preparations and rest in the confident knowledge that you can affirmatively answer when asked, “Are you prepared to meet God?” (John 14:3; Matthew 6:33; I Corinthians 16:13; Romans 13:11-14)

It seems like an incredibly strange time to ask such a ponderous question. Solomon had to be exhausted, his brain in overdrive. The maelstrom of recent events surely had his mind asking questions, but finding no definitive answers. Before his death, King David had assigned Solomon the tremendous task of building the temple. In spite of all the preparations already in place, where, exactly, does one start such a daunting task? He’d attentively listened to the speeches and blessings and prayers of his late father, mentally storing the words for later recall. So why couldn’t he remember them now? He could barely remember his own coronation and speeches, sacrifices, and offerings. The mantle of kingly responsibility now rested heavily on his shoulders. The people were depending on him. His abilities. His guidance. His leadership. In the morning he’d be expected to act like the king, but how does a king act? How do you rule fairly? On what do you base decisions? How do you judge between people?  What do you say when you don’t have a ready answer? 

Because we know the rest of the story, it is often difficult for us to see King Solomon, the wealthy and wise, burdened by a heart full of indecisive questions. It is unlikely he wasn’t. Sequestered in his room that night, pacing the floor, attempting to sleep, or gazing out a window lost in thought, Solomon got a visit. I wonder what he expected to hear when God showed up. Words of advice? A list of choices and consequences? A reiteration of the law? I don’t know. However, it is unlikely a stretch to think Solomon was surprised when the Lord said, “Ask me for anything. What do you want me to give you?” (II Chronicles 1:7)

Surely his human mind scrambled for the right answer. What should he say? Was this a trick question? What was the catch? Was it a test? Would he really get whatever he asked? And for what should he ask? Is this request for himself or for his entire kingdom? What was something they all needed and would benefit them for years to come? 

Interestingly, Solomon didn’t answer the Lord immediately. He had to find his faith. Mulling over his options, he verbally ruminates on the exhibitions of the great and faithful love of God. It seems like he’s reminding God. He’s not. Solomon is reminding himself. He’s reassuring himself that God is trustworthy and keeps his promises. His own coronation was a case in point. It was the fulfillment of God’s promise to keep David’s descendant on the throne of Israel. That remembrance was the moment faith dawned. You can almost see it when you read the passage, almost audibly hear the click as faith takes over the wheel. He knew the God who had kept all those promises to His people in the past would follow through on His word this time too. God would give him whatever he asked. And ask he did! Not for greater power, more money, or higher status among the surrounding nations. No. Solomon asked for the one thing he needed most. Wisdom. (II Chronicles 1:7-10)

Perhaps you have no trouble believing wisdom was the first thing that crossed Solomon’s mind. Me? I’m not so sure. He was human, after all. There were a million other things he could have asked for. Things we’d all think about before we considered wisdom an option. Wealth. Health. Power. Safety. Better behaved neighbors. The list is pretty much endless. Yet, after a quick mental tally of things he needed and wanted, Solomon had the wisdom to ask for wisdom. God’s wisdom. The kind that trumps human thought processes, deductive reasoning, and common sense. Solomon asked for wisdom to hear God’s speaking voice, see His guiding hand. And his request was granted. (II Chronicles 1:8-13)

Solomon earns my respect on this request alone. I’m afraid I wouldn’t handle the opportunity so well. I’d be tempted to blurt out the first thing that came to mind. I most certainly would have to reign in my humanity. I’d have to block out the silly, temporary, earth-focused matters. I’d have to sift through all the things that seem so important and necessary and impossible to live without because I desperately need wisdom. Not just for parenting, or problem solving, or choosing a career path. I need wisdom to ask for the proper things. Wisdom to guide my request choice. Wisdom for asking.

So often we are guilty of accosting God like the mythical genie-in-a-bottle. We adamantly pray for our wants and wishes. The new car when our old one is fine. A bigger house when the one we live in is sufficient. Three hundred dollars for a new designer handbag, pair of shoes, or tickets to a ballgame. We ask for silly things. Beg for them, really. Things we don’t need. Things that aren’t useful. Things that fail to enrich our spiritual journey. Requests that wildly cry out how desperately we need wisdom prior to asking. (James 4:3)

Sensing this deficit in the human mindset, James was compelled to write, “If you find yourself lacking in wisdom, ask God for more.” (James 1:5) Perhaps it would have been more accurate to use the word, “when”. “When you find yourself lacking in wisdom”…because we all find ourselves there. You. Me. Everyone. Admit it. Wits’ end is a place with which we are all very, very familiar. The truth is we rarely know what to do, how to handle things, where to turn. We are often confused, conflicted, confounded. But God is not. He is never left wondering what to do. And He is willing to share His wisdom. Liberally. (James 1:5; “God gives wisdom liberally to all who ask.”) 

 Isn’t that the best word? Liberally. I love it in this context. Not every translation uses it. They should. It speaks of more, of excess. Like the enormous layer of cream cheese on my bagel. Like the overflowing pile of whipped cream on my daughter’s ice cream. Like the copious amounts of coffee I consume. Like the faithful love of God poured out on us over and over and over again. The word “liberally” speaks to the overabundant generosity of God when granting us wisdom to ask for what we truly need, for what will benefit our souls most, for what will positively impact our eternity. Wisdom that knows the difference between wants and needs, desires and demands, earthly and heavenly. Wisdom for asking and faith to believe it will be so. 

Because faith is a vital part of the equation. Solomon had to summon the faith to believe his request would be granted. James reiterates that need. “Ask in strong, unwavering faith. Believe God will grant your request for wisdom. Do not doubt.” (James 1:6) Don’t be timid. Don’t be embarrassed. Don’t be afraid. Come boldly before God. Make your request. Ask for wisdom. Believe you will receive it. Liberally. And you will. (Hebrews 4:16)

I don’t know what you would ask for if you were in Solomon’s shoes. Perhaps you are so composed and mature you wouldn’t just blurt out the first thing that came to your mind. Perhaps you would take some time to think, ponder, reflect, weigh the pros and cons of your options. Perhaps you know yourself so well you would automatically ask for something sensible. Bless you!

But maybe you are like me. A little rash. A bit quick to choose. Maybe it takes all of your strength to zip your lips and contemplate the asking before you do it. I hope you do. I hope you use your strength that way. I hope you wait and ask God for direction in prayer. I hope you ask Him for wisdom. Wisdom for circumstances, choices, chances. Wisdom for life and love. Wisdom for every situation you face. Wisdom before you ask, as you ask, and after you ask. I hope you experience the liberal outpouring of God’s faithfulness, love and wisdom every day, all day, in every circumstance. (Proverbs 2:1-6; Proverbs 3:13; Ecclesiastes 7:12; James 3:17; Ephesians 1:16-18)