Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

It is January. I would know it even without the benefit of a calendar. I’ve walked the shops, read the sale advertisements, heard the commercials, seen the billboards. It is absolutely January. The gyms are running membership deals. Diet plans are offering fabulous results. The shop aisles that just weeks ago were cluttered with cookie tins and a thousand bags of prettily wrapped chocolates are now laden with protein drinks, dietary supplements, and low-calorie snacks. Endcaps fetchingly display workout clothes, weights, and yoga mats. Their pristine beauty beckons to shoppers. It all seems like such a good idea. A great start to all those resolutions you made but are so reticent to keep. 

Perhaps it is obvious, but, for the record, I am not a New Year’s resolution maker. That is not to say I have never made one. I have. I’ve simply never kept one. Not because I haven’t started well. I’ve done that too. Yet somehow, as the shine of the new year dulls, so does my ambition to keep my resolutions. As I watch the heavily panting joggers in brand new spandex traipse past my windows, change lanes for safety while passing the brightly attired bicyclist on the street, and see the religious gym-attendees exit after their hour of cycling, strength training, and yoga, I straighten my spine and cling more tightly to the first line of I Timothy 4:8, “Physical exercise profits little.” 

Yes, I do realize Timothy was not exhorting us to sit on the couch, watch endless reruns on television while popping bonbons and crunching potato chips. But we have settled into that type of lifestyle nonetheless. Not physically. (I hope!) Spiritually. So many of us have been enticed into a religious lifestyle of relaxed complacency that encourages us to sit back, relax and enjoy the ride. You prayed the sinners’ prayer when you were five, were baptized when the preacher said you should. You attend church most Sundays, often take your Bible, and frequently manage not to glance at your cell phone more than a couple of times during the sermon. You’ve been faithful to your spouse, haven’t killed anyone, have taken excellent care of your family. Surely you deserve to relax and wait for Heaven.

Unfortunately, that’s your bonbons and potato chips talking, not God. Your flippant, devil-may-care attitude has played your soul right into the evil one’s territory. He is extremely good at what he does. Mesmerizing tricks. Comfortable lies. Enticing sideroads. Your unguarded heart falls prey to his evil devices with barely a glance. It will likely be much later before you notice how far you’ve strayed, how lost you are, how many idols you’ve erected.  

It happened to the Children of Israel. A lot. Even though they were God’s chosen people. Even though they had sworn a covenant to be His and His alone. Even though their very history proved them susceptible to straying. They didn’t keep their guard up. Over and over again they become complacent. Their heads are turned by the things around them. Earthly things. Strange practices. Enchanting promises. Strange gods. Time after time they find themselves far from the God they are sworn to follow, trailing after gods of wood and stone who have no power, no wisdom for guidance, no ability to save. Often it takes something enormous, oppression, affliction, or battle, to bring them running back to the God whose omnipotence they so desperately needed. 

I’ve read and heard the accounts of their multitudinous returns dozens of times, yet I am still busily fist-pumping the air every time I read they have turned back to God. Again. I am excited when they choose to re-dedicate themselves to God. I am thrilled when they renew their covenant to be God’s people. God’s alone. My excitement is barely contained as they clean out, tear down their idols, and throw them out on the heap. The eviction is exciting. The eradication of uncleanness from places reserved for holiness brings a cry of joy to my lips. And, as they throw themselves on the unending mercy of the God who is full of compassion and loving-kindness, who doesn’t keep His anger forever and who turns to listen to those who come to Him in penitence, I am there too. My cries mingle with theirs as, from the bottom of my heart, I covenant with them to be His. Fully. Completely. Only. Always. I mean it every time. (II Chronicles 23:16-17, 29:5,10; Isaiah 54:7-8; II Chronicles 30:9; Lamentation 3:22-23)

You probably do too. Every time you realize the extent of wandering you’ve done. Every time you hear a compelling sermon or read a convicting quote. Every time you suffer circumstances that turn your thoughts toward eternity. In those introspective moments, when your mind clears and you see where your complacency has led, you take stock of your life, check your spiritual temperature, and bring yourself back to God for cleansing. You cry out in reconsecration, rededication. You vow He will be the only God in your life. You make a covenant to be His and His alone. And you mean it every time. 

But crises don’t last forever. Pithy quotes are forgotten. Words from the pulpit fade. Over time you forget your covenant. The complacency returns. Your guard drops. Things begin to go pear-shaped. The world becomes more attractive. The place that once was reserved for holiness becomes cluttered with the unholy. It might not have even been a conscious choice, just a subtle drifting, a quiet parting, the choice of a path just off the truth. If, through the ungodly haze of worldliness, you happen to gain a moment of clarity, you will notice you have breached your covenant. You have abandoned your commitment. You have checked your resolve to belong solely to God at the door of earthly pleasures. Around your feet, you will notice the ashes of your good intentions. 

Someone, somewhere once stated, “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.” I have no idea where the phrase originated. I’ve only heard one person use it. No one before them. No one after. In fact, I’ve only ever heard it said one time. No one seems to use it. No one except myself. I use it. Regularly. I need it. I need reminded that the evil one is constantly throwing things in my path to turn my head, capture my attention, and draw me away from being fully consecrated, completely covenanted to be God’s and God’s alone. My intentions cannot be saved for another day. I must do them now. I must constantly be watching, guarding, keeping my spiritual house cleared of idols, my heart uncluttered by the unholy.

This task is not for the faint of heart. It requires extensive vigilance. Those idols will surprise you. We think we know what they are. Things like cars and clothes and houses. We picture them as physical–looks, money, prestige. Maybe so. Maybe not. Idols can be other things as well. Less visible things. Less noticeable things. Secret things. Deadly things. Things like envy and hate, bitterness and unforgiveness. Things like lust and pride. Things like fear. Things that bind us spiritually and keep us from living in the beauty of the covenant God makes between Himself and His people. (Philippians 4:6-7; Colossians 3:5,8; Proverbs 6:16-19; Hebrews 13:5)  

Like the ancient Israelites, we desperately need to clean house. Not just once a year. Not simply when hardships come. Not only in January when we are considering resolutions. Our commitment to the covenant we have made to be God’s people must be stronger than that. We must constantly be on guard against the things the evil one brings against us. Whether as a roaring lion bringing fear and desperation, or an alleged angel of light tempting us down the path of least resistance, the evil one doesn’t take time off. Neither can we. If we want to be covenant people, we must continually be watching, guarding, checking every spirit, every voice, every thought against the Word of God. (I Peter 5:8; II Corinthians 11:14; I John 4:1-5; Proverbs 4:23; Romans 12:2)

If we continue reading Timothy’s passage beyond the alleged negating of exercise, we will find this truth, “Godliness is the most profitable thing you can cultivate. It will give you spiritual strength, the greatest necessity for time and eternity.” So lay everything else down. Bag up all the things that hinder your relationship with God and throw them in the bin. Discard the excess that weighs you down, draws you aside, turns you away from following God. Cleanse your heart of the clutter, the complacency, the sin. Consecrate yourself to God. His service. His work. His plan. And covenant to be God’s alone. (I Timothy 4:8; Hebrews 12:1; Romans 13:12; Job 36:11; Isaiah 1:16-17)

I hope you will. January or June. Good times or bad. Feast or famine. I hope you make this covenant. A covenant with God to be His. Only His. A covenant to eradicate every unholy thing from the spaces of your heart and life and dedicate those places to holiness. A covenant to consecrate yourself for time and eternity to Christ. A covenant to leave the things of the world, the cares of the world, the pleasures of the world behind knowing that you will gain Christ, the greatest gain, for time and eternity. I hope you keep that covenant. Today. Tomorrow. Next week. Next month. Next year. Forever. In a world of broken promises, breached contracts, and nullified covenants, I hope you choose to be God’s covenant people. People sworn to be His alone, to do His will alone, no matter what. Covenant people of God. (Isaiah 43:1; I Peter 2:9; Ephesians 4:20-5:21: Colossians 3:1-3; Isaiah 5:3)