Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

Jubilant incredulity engulfed the army as they rolled back into town toting the most fabulous spoil of war any warrior, past or present, could ever dare to bring. They couldn’t believe their good fortune. Couldn’t believe it happened. Couldn’t believe they’d won the battle. If the deafening cries of more than thirty thousand men shouting in expected triumph were to be believed, they should have been dead. They weren’t. They were very much alive and well. Triumphantly so. They were still reeling from the unexpected turn of events. 

As the ark of the covenant came into the camp, the warriors of Israel let loose a battle cry that sent shivers snaking down the spines of even the bravest Philistine warriors, making their blood run cold. Having recently trounced Israel in battle, they weren’t worried about this skirmish. They weren’t concerned the tables would turn. Until now. Until the confident shout of Israel filled the air. Until they found out what caused the sudden shot of courage. Until they realized Israel’s God had arrived in the camp.

The Philistines knew all about Israel’s God. Everyone did. He was legendary. His reputation for victorious deliverance of His people preceded Him in every army camp, every battlefield, every tale of abysmal defeat. Passed on from generation to generation, not one man among them could claim ignorance of the stories concerning Israel’s God. He was a force to be reckoned with. They knew it. They knew how things had gone in Egypt. About the plagues. About the deliverance. About the demise of Pharaoh and his men in the engulfing waters of the Red Sea. In that moment, knowing the accounts, hearing that cry, it almost felt as if they were standing on that same shore themselves, destined for defeat, destruction, even death. (Exodus 1-12)

Fear settled over the troops, threatening to send them scattering in premature defeat. A battle against Israel’s God would be lost before it had ever begun. As the mood in camp nosedived, a craggy-faced warrior who had seen more than his fair share of battles, shook his shaggy-haired head, stomped among the troops, and delivered a speech that would bring them to their feet with a resounding battle cry of their own. They weren’t interested in being defeated. They had no desire to be slaves to Israel. Were they going to let this sudden boost of their adversaries’ confidence throw them off course? No! They needed to fight! No matter the weirdness of the situation. No matter the terror coursing through their veins. In spite of the enormous possibility of a sweeping defeat. No one had ever tagged a Philistine warrior as a coward. Now wasn’t the time to start. They needed to get up. Gird their loins for battle. Get their swords at the ready. Go fight like men. And they did.

Covering their fear with feigned confidence, the Philistines streamed onto the battlefield to face the Israelites. Swords glinted in the sunlight as they rose and fell, clashing with opposing weapons. Arrows silently pierced the air, in flight to their fatal mark. To their own shocked amazement, the Philistines won. They had no idea how. They didn’t know why. They had no way of knowing that it wasn’t their superior fighting skills, cunning strategies, or brute strength that won the battle. It was an act of God. He was busy teaching a lesson that would only be learned through defeat. A lesson of repentance, returning, realigning their lives to follow God alone. (I Samuel 7:3)

It was an incredibly difficult lesson to learn, an even more devastating one to teach. See, Israel hadn’t toted the ark of the covenant out onto the battlefield because their faith in God was so strong. No. Their faith wasn’t even really in God. It was in the ark itself. They literally talked among themselves and came up with the plan to bring the ark out “that it may be among us and save us.” Not God. Not God’s power. The ark alone. The result was horrific. The defeat was catastrophic. Man after man fell to Philistine swords. Thirty thousand men would never make it back to their loved ones. Those left took to their heels. Fled back home. Abandoned the ark of the covenant like useless spoil for the Philistines. They were happy to take it. (I Samuel 4:3,10)

Joyfully gathering up the ark, the Philistines hauled it home. Hoisted high on their shoulders, they carried it through the streets of Ashdod to the ebullient sounds of rejoicing. The warriors had returned! They had been victorious! The God of Israel, with a fantastic repertoire of abilities, was now in their hands. Parading up the steps of Dagon’s temple, they gave their new God a place beside their old god. Surely the two would get along famously. Work together nicely. After all, doesn’t every hero need a sidekick? 

Well, no, actually. The omnipotent God who spoke stars and planets, seas and continents, plants and animals into existence needs no voiceless, sightless, powerless sidekick. The One who carefully fashioned humanity from dust needs no second-in-command. The Giver of Life who daily sustains His creation needs no help in answering prayers, meeting needs, changing lives. He doesn’t need a suggestion box, helpful hints, or a book titled, “Running The World for Dummies.” He is sovereign. He is God. Alone. Had Dagon been real, he’d have immediately knelt before God of his own volition. As it stands, his graven image fell on its face before the God of eternity in a reverberating message to the Philistines that the Lord is God. Alone. He shares His position and glory with no one. He needs no one to back Him up, cover His six, lend Him a hand. He is absolutely capable of handling anything, everything. He is God. Alone. (I Samuel 4:1-10, 5:1-12; John 1:3; Isaiah 37:16; Genesis 1; Isaiah 42:8)

It took the Philistines an inordinate amount of time to admit their egregious error. They should never have toted the ark of God off the battlefield, through their town, into their temple. They should have dispatched it back to Israel the first time Dagon bowed down to Him. They should have bowed before Him themselves. They should have admitted that the God of Israel was the one true God. The only God. The sovereign, omnipotent God. God alone. They weren’t the only ones. (Isaiah 44:6; Isaiah 46:9; 

As much as we admire Job and call his staunch commitment to God an act to be studied and followed, God had some serious things to say to Job, too. Sobering truths. Soul-searching questions. When Job finally hushed his self-righteous lament, God thundered back. Who, exactly, did Job think he was? Was he present, handing out advice when God formed the world and everything in it? Did he plan Earth’s dimensions, assign star placement, draw a line in the sand to hold back the sea? Does he know how to provide meat for hungry lions, food for starving birds? Can he tell the time mountain goats will give birth and cows will calve? Is it by Job’s power the horse gets his strength, the hawk soars, or the eagle builds his nest in the height of the trees? Is Job willing to stack up His arrogance against God’s sovereignty? Has he given God something that must be repaid? Does Job understand, does He comprehend that the God to whom He must currently give account can do all things and no purpose of His can be thwarted? Does Job know, really believe, truly accept that God is God? Alone. (Job 38-41)

Do you? Do you bring desolate situations, broken circumstances, devastated lives to God and trust Him to move and work in the way He sees best? Do you wait before Him, either patiently or impatiently, and allow Him to answer in His time? As your faith falters and you start to think He’s forgotten your dire request, do you blame Him for being tardy, insensitive, uncaring? When the answer comes but doesn’t match up with what you had in mind, do you still believe He is God alone or do you think He possibly needs your help, your manipulations, your machinations, your imagination? When you are all suggestion boxes and helpful hints, when your prayers sound more like dictates instead of humble requests, when you are frustrated because you think you aren’t getting answers or you don’t like the answers you are getting, know this. God isn’t failing to answer your prayer because He’s stymied by it, because He’s out of ideas, needs your input, or could desperately use a sidekick. He’s not failing to answer your prayer at all. He is working. Constantly. Even when you can’t see Him working. Even when it takes longer than you wish. Even when His method isn’t the one you think is best. God is still working. Still answering. In His time. In His way. You can trust Him. He is God. Alone. (Psalm 40:1; Matthew 7:7; John 9:31; Isaiah 55:8-9)

In Psalm 46:10, the Psalmist pens the now uber-familiar words, “Be still and know that I am God.” I hope you can hear them. Achingly tender. Beautifully poetic. A siren song of love that draws you into a place of absolute faith that our God is sovereign, that He is God. Alone. He needs no help, no sidekick, no inspiration board. He is everything you need. Always. So be still. Stop worrying. When your prayers are slower to be answered than you hoped. When they are answered in a way you wish was different. When you are tempted to get up and try something, anything, to fix the issue yourself. Repeat the words of the Psalmist. Remember the period at the end of the sentence. Remember to be still, to relax. Rest in the knowledge that you can trust Him because He is God. Alone. (Psalm 37:7; Psalm 62:5; Psalm 18:31-50; I Peter 5:7)