Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

Startled awake in the wee hours of the morning, he lay there pondering the alarming images so vividly displayed in his subconscious mind. Standing proudly in the center of the earth stood a magnificent tree. Its height was unmatched. Its sweeping branches bedecked with vibrant foliage and beautifully ripened fruit extended an invitation for all to come and stand in awe of its greatness. Animals sought its shade. Birds flew to the comfort of its plush, leafy branches. Food for all creatures, large and small, could be found in this one place. The scene was breathtaking. 

The next scene stole his breath. Literally. Fear gripped him. Sleep eluded him as the images played over and over in his wakeful mind. A heavenly messenger appeared. His order was appalling. The great tree was to be cut down. Its branches were to be lopped off. Its gorgeous leaves and enticing fruit would be scattered and squashed. The animals and birds would be forced to flee. The resplendent scene would be destroyed. All of it. Except the stump. 

Odd things were to be done to the stump after the initial cutting. It would be bound with iron and bronze and left to live a humble existence along with the rest of nature. Grass would grow up around its base. Dew would coat it. It would feed off the earth around it. That tree, clearly signifying a man, would think like an animal, eat like an animal, live like an animal. For seven long years. Nebuchadnezzar had every reason to be alarmed. 

Urgently calling all his wise men, Nebuchadnezzar frantically sought answers. What could these things mean? Who or what was that tree? Himself? His kingdom? Was the kingdom coming under attack? From without? From within? Was his reign coming to an end, his death imminent? What, exactly, did the tree represent? And what did the stump say about his future?

They didn’t know. Not one of the king’s magicians, astrologers, or other allegedly wise men had any idea, not even an inkling, what the dream could possibly mean. In desperation, Nebuchadnezzar did what he should have done in the first place. He called for Daniel. Surely, through the power of his God, he could do again what he had done before. 

It was not a task for the faint of heart. The interpretation was unpleasant, messy. Even Daniel, regardless of his relationship with the Most High God, felt keen alarm at the explanation, a reticence to speak the message to the king. Urged by the king to speak no matter the message, Daniel begins. It was as Nebuchadnezzar had feared. He was that tree. The chopping, lopping, scattering, and squashing would indeed happen to him. He would lose his human sensibilities, be driven from society, and live in the fields with other grazing animals. For seven periods of time. 

One would think the knowledge he was destined to bovine proclivities for seven years would be enough to make the king change his habits, re-evaluate his goals, alter his choices. Maybe it did. For a bit. If so, the change didn’t last. Twelve months later, Nebuchadnezzar walked the roof of his palace, overlooking his vast kingdom, congratulating himself on all he had done. His arrogance couldn’t be contained. Why should it? Look at all he had accomplished! The city was magnificent! His residence was resplendent. His power unarguable. His belief he’d done it all on his own would be his undoing.

Standing there, basking in his own glory, boasting of his own strength, Nebuchadnezzar unwittingly signed the lease on a prime piece of pastureland. The voice of God sounded from heaven, assuring him the contract was good. He made his move from silks and wine to grass and dew that very hour. Why? Because Nebuchadnezzar forgot that his prestige, power, and prosperity were never his in the first place. They were simply borrowed from the One who created all things, sustains all things, rules all kingdoms, and holds all power on heaven and earth in the palm of His hand. (Daniel 4:1-33;  Colossians 1:16-17; Acts 17:28; I Chronicles 29:12)

After Nebuchadnezzar moved out to pasture, when his hair was long and wild and matted, his nails grown out like talons, in a moment of clarity, he realized the error of his ways. Nothing had ever been his in the first place. None of the authority, accomplishments, or acquisitions were his. Nothing he had earned, won, built, or bought was anything other than a borrowed gift from the generous hand of a magnanimous God. The God whose kingdom is eternal, whose authority is unsurpassable. The Most High God, whose omnipotence deserves all the praise, honor, and glory for His bounteous gifts. It had been a difficult lesson to learn. (Daniel 4:25, 33-37; Psalm 145:13; Romans 13:1; Revelation 4:11)

It is no less difficult for us. We hang on so tightly to the transient things of this world. Prestige. Power. Prosperity. In smug satisfaction, we sit in our comfortable homes gazing out over manicured lawns and congratulate ourselves on the acquisition. In arrogant self-glorification, we sit in corner offices perusing carefully framed accolades, certificates and degrees hung in perfect precision and applaud our intelligence and business acumen. In spiritual ignorance, we take the glory for ourselves. Claim the power as our own. Live as though our lives, our possessions, our world, are purchases we made instead of things we borrowed. 

We couldn’t be more wrong. It’s all God’s. He created heaven and earth and all that is in them by the words of His mouth alone. He separated darkness and light, sea and sand with only the sound of His voice. Volcanoes erupt, thunder resounds, earthquakes rattle, winds rage, simply by the power of the magnificent God who chooses who will sit in positions of power, who will be given authority, and whose pride will bring them low. (Daniel 4:25, 37; Psalm 50:10-12; Psalm 74:13-17; Psalm 82:8; Deuteronomy 10:14)

The sustaining breath you just inhaled, the thumping beat your heart just tapped, the thoughtless blink with which your eyelids cleansed your eyes, every single one a gift from God’s hand. You did nothing to deserve them. You couldn’t earn them. You don’t own them. They are borrowed from the God who daily loads you down with benefits you claim as your own purchased by your own power for which you take the glory. (Genesis 2:7; Psalm 68:19; Acts 17:28; Isaiah 46:4)

As you pull into the driveway of your suburban palace with its manicured lawn and lavish pool, remember–it’s all God’s. As you stare at your bank balance and greedily consider your next vacation, investment, or automobile purchase, don’t let your selfish mind forget–it’s all God’s! As you revel in the pull of muscles in exercise and the good health you enjoy, don’t allow your arrogance to make you forget–it’s all God’s! Nothing you are or have or use or enjoy is owned by you. It all belongs to God. (Job 1:21; Hebrews 3:4; I Chronicles 29:12; Job 41:11)    

Ponder the thought. Consider it. Ruminate upon it in the wee hours of the morning when dreams waken you and fears stalk your mind. It all belongs to God. Everything. From the air you breathe to the car you drive. You own not one thing. Bask in it. There’s freedom there. Freedom to hold tightly to heavenly things and loosely to earthly ones. Freedom to let go of fear and anxiety and trust God. Freedom to let peace rule in your heart and leave everything with God. It’s all His, anyway. Simply borrowed, not bought. (Ezekiel 18:4; Isaiah 50:2; Job 1:21; I Corinthians 6:19; Colossians 3:15-17)