Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

The outlook was terrifying. Appalling. Horrifying. It literally stopped him in his tracks, raised the tiny hairs on the back of his neck, sent chills ricocheting down his spine, and tightened the fingers of panic clawing at his throat. He’d seen them almost immediately. Their presence was so obvious it would have been impossible to miss. They were brazen. Fearless. Clearly on a mission. His stomach sank. His heart raced. His eyes told him the house was surrounded. Soldiers, horses, and chariots had lined up on every side, a determined, reckoning force. The king of Aram’s wrath would soon be assuaged. Both servant and master were surely going to die. They had no defense. No guard. No army. No weapons. They were alone. Sitting ducks on a deceptively placid pond, hunted by skilled marksmen, destined for death.  

Spinning on his heel, the servant rushed back indoors urgently calling for Elisha. Surely the prophet of God who had known every move the king of Aram made before he made it would have some special insight now. Surely God would protect him the way he had used his foreknowledge to protect the king of Israel. Surely this wasn’t how it all ended. Elisha’s predecessor, Elijah, had been taken up to Heaven in a chariot of fire. Surely Elisha deserved something more than death at the hands of an angry king. And surely, after all his service, the man who served him deserved a less torturous death than being struck through by a sword, beheaded, or torn limb from limb. 

Appearing in answer to his servant’s desperate cry, Elisha responded with the peace and calm of one whose gaze is constantly trained above rather than on the things of earth. There was no need to fear. They weren’t actually alone. His servant simply needed to look up. Elisha prayed for such a moment. An immediate opening of his servant’s eyes, an elevation of his gaze, a window through which he could see what Elisha saw. And God answered. Lifting the chin of Elisha’s servant, He trained his eyes on the encircling hillside.The army surrounding them was also surrounded. By God’s army. Horses pulling chariots of fire. Nothing was getting past God’s army to harm His people. The servant would have known it from the beginning. If only he’d been looking up. (II Kings 6:15-17) 

King Saul’s army found themselves in similar circumstances. The outlook from their encampment in the Valley of Elah was petrifying. The roar of the giant seemed to shake the ground beneath their feet. Twice a day the enormous ogre came lumbering out to offer his arrogant challenge. The sight alone made them hide in terror. Nine feet tall. Thighs the size of full-grown tree trunks. Arms resembling the thickest branches. His spear appeared to weigh a hundred pounds, yet he lifted it as though it were a child’s toy. His face, what you could see around the wildly ill-kempt beard, was pockmarked and scarred. His laugh was raucous and evil. His venomous words coupled with his astounding size struck abject horror in even the strongest warrior’s heart. Instead of lining up in battle array and going out to fight, they milled about in quickly erected campsites discussing the options, raising suggestions, and casting ideas aside. 

David found them like that. Worriedly whispering in small groups. Discussing what would happen to themselves, their families, their people as a whole, if they couldn’t find a way to dispatch this giant. Young David was appalled by their cowardice. He’d expected better. Of soldiers in general, but most certainly of his brothers stationed among them. Why weren’t they doing anything? Why were they all frozen in fear, staring at Goliath, listening to his mocking diatribe, and shaking in their shoes? Why didn’t someone stop him? Shut him up. Permanently. Stop listening. Stop giving him space in their heads. Stop worrying about the outcome. Why didn’t they stop staring at the giant, look up, and focus on God instead?

It would have been impossible for him to simply deliver his parcel and head for home. He had experience fighting off daunting creatures larger and stronger than himself. He wasn’t just a silly shepherd boy. He was a warrior in his own right. With his own bare hands and the power of his God, David had dispatched both a lion and a bear when they had unwisely attempted to attack his flock. This situation was really no different. These people, his people, were God’s people. God’s sheep. God’s flock. That giant roaring in their faces was really just another lion marking his territory, another bear looking for a little lunch. But David knew, from previous experience, that the God who had given him strength to dispatch the enemies of his flock then, absolutely held the power to delete the enemy of His own flock now. But they had to get their eyes off the giant in front of them, the army facing them, and look up to the God who could rescue them. (Psalm 100:3; Exodus 6:7)

Only God could deliver them. David knew that. He knew all human strength would be useless against that giant. David also knew his God. Knew His power. Understood His might. Recognized His sovereignty over all things. Impossible giants included. Nothing was too difficult for God. He boldly said as much to King Saul. Volunteered his services. Listed his accomplishments. Gave credit to His God. Israel’s God. The God they could trust to deliver them. If they would just look up. (Jeremiah 32:17; Psalm 103:19)

Desperate times require desperate measures. Against his better judgment, Saul gave David his blessing to go into battle. It worried the king. The boy wasn’t an acknowledged soldier, was too small for any available armor, had only a handful of stones and a homemade slingshot for weapons. It was possible his stories of defeating a lion and bear with his hands were all figments of an imagination made overactive by too much time alone with sheep. But the kid was the only one who seemed unfazed by the massive man, the hurtling insults, the ridiculously large spear. David was the only one whose eyes were fixed on things above rather than things on the earth. He was the only one brave enough to trust God when things on earth were decidedly dicey. 

We all know how the story ends. David verbally spars with the giant. Points to the God of Heaven on Whom he has fixed his hope, and slings a rock right between Goliath’s eyeballs. Pressed by the hand of God, that one stone sinks through skin and flesh and bone, dropping the giant of Gath to the ground, defeated in death. Seeing their greatest warrior dead, the rest of the Philistines turned tail and ran. The Israelite army gave chase, leaving a trail of slain enemies and a plundered enemy camp in their wake. We tend to remember the awful giant, the kid swimming in someone else’s armor, the five stones, and the handcrafted slingshot. We talk about the soldier’s fear, Saul’s doubt, and David’s faith. We sigh and wish for faith so great. But to have faith like the shepherd boy, we have to choose to do what David did. Just look up. (I Samuel 17:1-33)  

Excitedly flipping his leg over the side of their boat, Peter pivoted on his seat, pulled his other leg over and slid down to stand on the water. It held. Amazingly. Locking his eyes on Jesus’ face, he carefully stepped toward Him. One step. Two. Then three. He’d nearly forgotten about the boat, the water, the waves, and the impossibility of what he was doing when a gust of wind whipped his robe around his ankles. Glancing down, the reality of his surroundings flooded back into his brain. Terrified by the elements, Peter’s fear capsized his faith. Water crept up his ankles. He started to sink. Was forced to cry out to Jesus for a rescue. I wonder how long Peter would have walked on water if he’d just kept looking up. (Matthew 14:28-30)

Seated on the unforgiving floor of a prison cell, backs cut and bleeding from an undeserved beating, feet uncomfortably locked in stocks, Paul and Silas gazed at one another in silence. The outlook was decidedly dim. It would be so easy to focus on their discomfort, the mildewed stone of the prison walls, the insane cries of another prisoner, the clank of chains, the clunk of the lock turning in the door. It was tempting. But it wasn’t for them. They weren’t men of this world. They were men of Heaven. God’s men. His people. The sheep of His pasture. Their eyes weren’t fixed on things of the earth, they were steadfastly set on things above. In spite of their disgusting circumstances, the disconcerting noise around them, the discouraging turn their mission trip had taken, their focus wasn’t on those things. It was on God. They were busy looking up.  

Their voices exhibited as much With a sparkling gleam of unspeakable joy in their eyes, those bruised and aching men lifted their souls above the mess their bodies were in. Songs of praise flowed from their lips. Joyful noise to God on whom their focus rested. If they’d looked around them, they’d have been wallowing in discouragement and distress. But they didn’t. They chose to look up. To God. The One from whom their help would come. And it did. In a glorious act of almighty power, God shook the earth. Rattled the prison. Flung the doors wide. Loosened chains. Freed the prisoners. Brought salvation to the jailer and his entire household. An event everyone would have missed if Paul and Silas hadn’t chosen to just look up. (Acts 16:22-28)

As society slips and slides into the abyss of spiritual decline and moral decay, the outlook around us is decidedly dark. If you choose to focus on current events, social trends, or worldwide disasters, you will find yourself drowning in a pit of worry, despair, anxiety, and fear. You don’t have to do that. There’s no reason to. You can simply look up. To Jesus. He’s both the Author and the Finisher of your faith. He wrote the beginning and the ending of the story. Your story. My story. The story of time. Nothing catches Him by surprise. He’s already walked these pages of time. He knows what’s going to happen tomorrow, next month, next year. And He’s already there. No matter the ugliness of your circumstances, the complexity of your situation, or the darkness of the world around you, Jesus is already there. He knows your needs, your fears, your cares. He has the answers. When you are tempted to be distracted by the news, the pundits, the local fearmongers, don’t give in. Straighten your spine. Lift your head. Remember Who wrote the story. And just look up. (Hebrews 12:2; Romans 15:13; Proverbs 19:21; II Corinthians 4:17-18; Isaiah 46:9-10; Psalm 90:2; Revelation 1:8; Colossians 3:2)

They’d been wondering about it for forty years. Wondering while wandering. It seemed supremely unfair. The decision made 40 years ago wasn’t their fault. They hadn’t chosen not to invade Canaan. Their fear hadn’t overcome their faith. No one had asked their opinion. They weren’t offered a vote. The choice had been left to the adults then. The consequences had been left to them now. Forty years of their lives that could have been spent in the lush lands of promise had instead been wasted wandering the wilderness. The old had died. The young had aged. They’d married, had children, raised families. They were still wandering. And wondering. Why? Why were they paying for sins they had no part in committing? Why were they being punished? What possible reason could there be for this aimless, homeless, unsettled season of their lives? (Deuteronomy 8:2-6; Numbers 13:17-14:35)

Moses had the answer. He’d lived through the deliverance from Egypt, the original wilderness travel, the backsliding, the punishments, the complaints, the fear that made their ancestors shrink back from entering the Promised Land. It had been a lot to endure. He’d been tested and tried. Even failed himself. He wouldn’t live in the Promised Land, either. But God’s grace had kept him around long enough to impart God’s words of wisdom to the descendants of the previous defectors. Words that must surely have soothed the frustration built over the last 40 years. There was a reason for their wandering and it wasn’t about their dead ancestors. 

It was about them. It was about their hearts. Their humility. Their ability to rely on God. Their devotion to His commands. Their resolution to walk in His ways. It was a test. Not to set them up for failure but to increase their odds of success. It was meant to strengthen them. To solidify their resolve to stay the course outlined by God. To ensure their hearts were sold out to follow Him. Because, even in the Promised Land, things would not always be easy. Hardship would come. Temptation would constantly be hovering at the doors. The urge to lean on their own understanding would batter their hearts. This season was to try them, to prove them, to test their allegiance to God and their dependence on Him so that when their souls approached a crossroads, they would keep His commands, follow His ways, and reap the benefits. They would truly be God’s people. He would be their God. It was the reason for their season. (Deuteronomy 8:2-20) 

Carefully surrounding his meticulously wrapped body with herbs and fragrances, the sisters backed out of the cave. Their heads were bowed. Their arms linked. One motioned for the stone to be rolled over the gaping entrance. Everything that could be done had been. It was over. No more cool clothes to soothe his fever. No more broth to nourish his body. No more healing remedies. No more hope. Their brother felt no more pain. Now the pain was theirs alone.  

Huddled together there before his resting place, their shoulders shook with barely restrained sobs. Streams of tears flowed from their eyes. For days sleep had eluded them. In the aftermath of his final breath, words failed them. Over and over again their hearts broke. Shattered. Coherent thought was made nearly impossible by the grief racking their brains. Yet the deepest parts of their souls were swarming with questions. Not about life. Not about death. Not about life after death, the resurrection, or who would rise. They knew all those answers. They knew Jesus. They believed He was the resurrection and the life. They weren’t uncertain about any of that. No. The accusatory question plaguing their minds was different. It was personal. If Jesus had been there, if He had come when they’d sent the message Lazarus was ill, their brother wouldn’t be dead. So why hadn’t He come then? 

It wasn’t like they hadn’t contacted Him. It wasn’t as if He couldn’t have simply spoken words from a distance. It wasn’t so far that He couldn’t have arrived before the final air quietly left Lazarus’ lungs. He didn’t come. Not the day they sent the message. Not the next day. Or even the next. Jesus didn’t show up until Lazarus had been dead for four days. And the girls couldn’t understand it. His lateness boggled their minds. Everything they believed they knew about Jesus was called into question. They believed they were friends with Jesus. They thought they were His people. Their home was a frequent stop on His travels. They knew they loved Him. They thought He loved them back. But if He did, why had He stayed away when He knew Lazarus lay dying? When He knew he could heal him. When he knew death wasn’t the only answer. When He knew they were desperate for His help, waiting for His arrival. Why hadn’t He come when they asked? What possible reason could He have for allowing this wretched season of agonizing grief? (Luke 10:38-41; John 12:1-3) 

Hardly would Jesus’ sandals hit the dirt of their town before they sought His answer. First Martha. Then Mary. Jesus was late. Lazarus was dead. If Jesus had been there, their brother  would be too. Their hearts wouldn’t ache. Their eyes wouldn’t leak. Their mourning would be dancing. So what had kept Him away? There’s something beautiful in Jesus’ answer. Not the words He spoke, but the reason He gave. He wanted to show them the glory of God. He wanted their faith in Him to become sight. He wanted to do something miraculous for them. And not just for them. Others needed to see it too. The disciples. The group of mourners. The curious onlookers. Many people present that day needed sight to find their faith. Jesus wanted to give them that sight. Commanding the stone be rolled away, He called Lazarus to come out. And He did. Strips of burial cloth streaming from his hands and feet, Lazarus’ came forward. And many people believed in Jesus. See, Lazarus’ death had nothing to do with Mary or Martha. It wasn’t about what they had or hadn’t done, who they were or where they’d been. It was not a barometer of their worth to Jesus. No. It was a moment for God to display His power and draw people to Himself. The reason for their season wasn’t about them at all. It was about reaching the lost. (John 11:1-44)

Just like the man born blind. Ecstatic to give birth to a son, it took only a short while for his parents to realize something wasn’t quite right with their newborn. A series of doctor visits later, their hearts were wrecked by the news he was blind. Always had been. Always would be. Their minds swirled with questions. What had they done wrong? Had they accidentally violated the law? Was one of them hiding sin? Did God hate them? Did He not care for their little boy? 

They weren’t the only ones with questions. Upon seeing the man, the disciples asked Jesus a similar question. Who was the sinner that caused this man’s illness? Who was to blame? What was the reason for this situation? In carefully worded rebuke, Jesus corrected their thought process. No one was to blame. No one sinned. The man’s unfortunate condition was not the result of some heinous deed, some ridiculous action, some horrendous inaction. The reason for his blindness had nothing to do with sin at all. It had to do with light. The Light of the World. The works of God could be revealed in Him. And they were. 

Spitting in the dirt and swirling it to make mud, Jesus smeared it on the blind man’s eyes and told him to go wash his face. He did. As the water dripped off his chin, he opened his eyes and blinked. He could see. Trees and sky. Birds and flowers. People and places. He could travel on his own. Go where he liked. Get a job. Care for himself. Get married. Have children. The world was his oyster. But first, he was dragged before the Pharisees. They wanted to hear all about it. And he told them. More than once. They didn’t believe him. Kicked him out of the temple. But not before they heard what Jesus had done. Not before they saw the glory of God on display before them. It was the reason for his season. (John 9:1-34)

These are not the only accounts we could list. From cover to cover, account after account, we can read the stories of people who traversed unpleasant, uncomfortable, undesirable seasons through which God amazingly worked. Joseph was sold into slavery, falsely accused, wrongly imprisoned, had no idea why any of it happened until years later when he was doling out grain in a drought-ravaged land and saving lives in the process. Only then did he know. God had brought him there, put him in just the right place at just the right time to provide a rescue for his family, his people, many people in need. (Genesis 37:1-50:20) 

Ripped from her family and friends, forced into diets and beauty treatments, sent to please a king she wasn’t interested in pleasing, Esther most certainly wondered at the reason for this particular season in her life. After the stunt he’d pulled with Vashti, she wasn’t inclined to marry that particular king. She wasn’t interested in being queen. Yet she found herself wed to him anyway. Perhaps her idea was to take one day at a time, hope the king never called for her, pray she could somehow fade from his mind. But God had a reason for her presence in that palace. He had a plan to rescue His people from destruction. And Esther was in that particular palace at that specific season for the incredible reason of saving God’s people alive. (Esther 1-9)

Physically battered and emotionally broken by a tragic series of enormous loss and intense illness, Job unmistakably wondered what possible reason there could be for this season of his life. Although we are not offered direct answers as to why God allowed Job to be tested and tried so heavily, we know that Job learned things about himself and about His God. In the final chapter of Job, he speaks to God, acknowledging His greatness, His sovereignty. He speaks of seeing God. What He previously thought He knew about God paled in comparison to what He now knew. His relationship, his dedication to the Almighty exited that season of hardship in a stronger, more determined place. Job came out of his hardships knowing God better than He ever had before.  (Job 42:1-6)

So will you. Whatever you are facing, working through, or enduring right now, there is a reason for it. God’s reason. It might be about you. Increasing your faith. Honing your understanding of who He is. Drawing you into a deeper, closer, more exclusive relationship with Almighty God that remains secure through the fire of any test. But maybe it’s not about you at all. Maybe it’s about others. Maybe it’s about highlighting God’s sufficiency in the midst of human deficiency. Maybe it’s about illustrating God’s glorious ability in the light of impossibility. Maybe it’s about lifting Him up so He can draw mockers and scorners to Himself. Maybe it’s about saving souls, restoring hope, reigniting faith. Your faith. Someone else’s hope. Whatever the case, there’s a reason for your season. Even if you can’t see it right now. Even if you never figure it out. Know in your heart, believe in your soul that He works all things together for good to those who love Him. So don’t stop loving God. Don’t stop following Him. He will get you through this. Trust His heart of love for you. And know He has a reason for your season, no matter what it is. (Ecclesiastes 3:1-8; Philippians 4:13; II Corinthians 12:9; I Peter 1:7; James 1:3-4; Job 23:10; Zechariah 13:9; Matthew 19:26; John 12:32; Jeremiah 31:3; Romans 8:28; Psalm 30:11; Psalm 27:14)

Creeping along in the inky predawn darkness, she furtively glanced around to ensure no one had followed. She didn’t need company as she picked her way down the unfamiliar way. Didn’t need any distractions as she searched her memory for the next turn, next tree stump, next jutting rock. She’d come this way only once before, following men who knew the path well. Chasing them down, really. Desperate to know where they were taking the lifeless body of her Lord. On the heels of an atrocious day full of agony and anguish, her heart painfully squeezed again at the thought of not knowing where Jesus would be buried. She wanted to know. Needed to know. She was going to need to visit. Often. Bring new spices. Add flowers. Sit and think and reminisce. Talk to Him. Confide in her Friend, her Redeemer, her Savior. So she followed the men as they carried Jesus’ body to the tomb, stumbling over rough ground, twisting her ankle on partially protruding stone, attempting to quickly memorize landmarks and turns so she’d know just where to go. What had been a challenging task in the evening light was even more difficult in the darkness.   

She probably should have waited another hour. Waited for the approaching dawn to send its orange fingers of light across the sky. She hadn’t. She couldn’t. While most people were still asleep in their beds, waiting for the rooster to crow out his morning announcement of dawn, Mary was already awake. Wide awake. Not because she was waiting for that arrogant rooster to sing his song. She didn’t care about his announcement. She already knew another day was dawning. She knew the day of rest was over. She knew there was nothing to stop her from racing to the place where Jesus’ body lay. She knew her patience was exhausted. She could no longer bear the wait. She couldn’t stay in bed a moment longer. She had to go. Had to be there. Had to be near Him. Her soul would suffocate if she didn’t. 

Silently slipping out of bed, Mary quietly dressed. Swirling her cloak around her, she tiptoed out the door, carrying its weight until the very last minute to ensure no noise was made. It wouldn’t do to be caught. After days of intermittent weeping, her face wasn’t fit for human consumption. She didn’t have the emotional energy to answer questions. Absolutely didn’t care to be the local gossip fodder. Couldn’t possibly explain to the naysayers and doubters the depth of her undying dedication to the Man presumed dead. 

Only a handful would understand it. Her dedication. The reason she had left home and family to be among the group of women that followed Jesus. Only those who had been endangered, diminished, nearly destroyed by demons could ever comprehend her unceasing devotion. She’d been in the worst place when Jesus found her. Possessed by seven demons. Socially outcast. Constantly scared. Never knowing what new terror they’d inflict on her mind, her body, her spirit. Life was a misery. She felt unloved, unwanted, undesirable. Then Jesus came. He saw her as loveable, desirable, useful, worthy. His heart swelled with compassion and, in simple, authoritative words, He sent the demons packing. All of them. He rescued her, redeemed the mess of her life, saved her from the horror she’d been living. He awarded her freedom. Freedom to choose her life path, where she would go, what she would do. And Mary freely chose to follow Jesus. (Mark 16:9; Luke 8:1-3)

Scurrying along the path as quickly as the lack of light allowed, Mary thought of that day even as she worked to remember every turn of the path, every unfriendly rock, every encroaching bush. That day of deliverance had been the best day of her life. Friday had been the worst. Friday she’d watched her best Friend, her Lord, her Savior, murdered for things He hadn’t done. Her sense of desolation was overwhelming. She didn’t know where to go from here. How to keep living after the One who saved her life was dead. This pilgrimage was about finding out. Finding answers. Finding hope in the midst of the smothering darkness. Finding meaning and direction for her life after His death. Perhaps sitting at His tomb, being in His presence would bring clarity. Maybe she would hear His voice. Maybe she would find the peace her soul so desperately needed in the aftermath of Friday. 

Rounding the final turn, she picked up the pace, straining to see ahead. Trying to pick out the now stone-covered opening. The tomb should be directly in front of her, but it didn’t look right. Something was off. Maybe she was in the wrong place. This tomb was open. The stone was rolled away. It looked like a gaping cave, not a sacred resting place. For the hundredth time in three short days, her heart accelerated. Icy fingers of fear slithered around her. Her stomach clenched. Eyes she thought could not possibly hold any more tears, again released their floodgates. Someone had stolen her Lord away! They had moved His body. Changed His resting place. Panic clawed at her throat as she realized Jesus was gone and she had no idea where He was! 

Wheeling around, Mary’s feet acted when her mind wouldn’t. Pounding back down the path into town, she raced to the place Peter and John were staying. Her fists pummeled the door in desperation. They had to come. Now. They had to do something. Quickly. They had to talk to someone. Immediately. Mary needed answers. She couldn’t wait. She needed someone to tell her where Jesus was. So did Peter and John. 

Scrubbing sleep from their eyes, the men quickly donned their sandals and ran out the door. They didn’t wait for Mary. She was fine with that. The faster they got answers, the better things would be. But she wasn’t staying behind to wait, either. She was going back. Even if she couldn’t keep their pace, Mary was absolutely heading back to that tomb. Not that it would matter. Peter and John weren’t a lot of help. Their assessment was very similar to hers. Jesus wasn’t there. 

The men headed home, but Mary couldn’t. She couldn’t make her feet walk away. She couldn’t stop the tears that flowed unchecked down her face. Again. Gathering her courage, she bent down to look into the tomb. See the space. View what the disciples had seen. But Mary saw more. Mary saw two angels sitting where a body would normally lay. And they spoke to her. Asked why she was crying. She gave them the same answer she’d given the disciples earlier in the morning. Jesus was missing. She didn’t know where He was. They were about as helpful as Peter and John. They had no answers. Backing out of the tomb, Mary stood, squared her shoulders, drew in a fortifying breath, and came face to face with the gardener. 

How fortuitous! The gardener would certainly know who had been meddling around his space. Who moved what to where. Which flowers were trampled in the process. On whose authority they acted. Before she could fire her questions at him, the gardener asked his own. Why was she crying and who was she looking for? Recognizing her opening, Mary begged for answers around the lump of tears clogging her throat. She just wanted to know where Jesus was. She wanted to find Him. She wanted to be near Him. Grief-stricken, afraid, and alone, Mary urgently needed to be near the One who gave her life. Dead. Alive. It didn’t matter. Mary simply needed to be with Jesus. 

Thank God He was alive! Even if she couldn’t see Him. Even if she didn’t feel Him. Even when Mary didn’t recognize His presence, His face, His voice. Jesus knew her. He knew her name, recognized her face, read her heart. He saw the pain and confusion, the anxiety and panic. He saw the uncertainty and indecision. He saw her overwhelming grief and intense aloneness. And Jesus came to her. Met her where she was. Let her hear His voice. Gently spoke her name. Showed her she was not alone. Because the Lord knows all those who are His. He knows their tears, their fears, their consternation. He knows the cries of their hearts, the searching of their souls. God knows His children, and He comes to where they are to speak to them in dulcet tones of peace. (John 10:10; 20:1-16; II Timothy 2:19)

In a world filled with treachery and uncertainty, maybe you, like Mary, are desperately seeking Jesus. Urgently needing to be near Him. The upheaval in your life is overwhelming. The circumstances around you are threatening. The issues you face are terrifying. If so, I can think of no greater reassurance than this. You belong to God. He knows you. His eyes are on you. His ears are open to your cries. He understands the things your heart wrestles with, struggles over, aches about. He is with you. When the valley is dark and terrifying. When you can’t feel His presence. When you can’t see Him working. When you don’t hear Him speaking. When the floodwaters rise and threaten to capsize your faith. When fiery trials surround your soul and it feels you are all alone. He is there. He knows you. He knows you are at the end of your rope. He knows you are exhausted. He knows you are out of ideas, your plans have failed, your future seems bleak. He knows the enemy has told you to curse God and die. He also knows you haven’t. You haven’t stopped seeking Him. You haven’t stopped running after God. You haven’t stopped trying to be as close to Him as you can. You are still hoping and praying, trusting and believing. You know you need His strength to survive. He knows it too. And He comes to you. Right where you are. Right when your desperate heart needs Him most. Into the darkness of your shattering world, in reassuring tones, Jesus speaks your name. Reminding you that you belong to Him. He knows you. Inside and out. You are His. (I John 3:1; Isaiah 43:1-2; Psalm 23:4; Psalm 121:5-8; Psalm 34:18; I John 4:4; Romans 8:16; Galatians 3:26; Psalm 139:1-2; Psalm 56:8; Isaiah 41:10; John 14:1; I John 5:1)

There are no words to express my personal, abject joy upon hearing those words. Upon reciting them. Personalizing them. I am His. So are you. If you have chosen to follow Jesus, allowing Him to rescue you from the wreckage of your past and change your future, you belong to Him. Nothing can alter that. No one can pluck you out of His hand. The evil one can’t touch you. Even if you don’t see God in your circumstances. Even if you don’t feel Him in your surroundings. Even if you can’t see Him actively working in your situation. Those things don’t change the facts. You are His. He knows you. Your name is engraved on His hand. So don’t stop trusting. Don’t stop believing. Don’t stop striving to walk as close to Jesus as you can. Keep listening for His voice. He will speak. He always does. To those who are His. (John 10:27-30; Romans 8:35-39; Isaiah 30:21; 49:16; II Corinthians 1:21-22; Psalm 100:3)

Holding his white-haired head in his hands, the elderly man heaved a deep sigh as a stray tear traced a path down his wrinkled face. His heart was shattered. His soul ached. Nothing had turned out the way he thought it would. The lessons he’d carefully taught his sons about reverence and honor for God had fallen on deaf ears. The high standards and strong morals he’d spent years instilling in them had been flung aside as they found the things of the world more enchanting, more exciting, much less binding. Their selfish, darkened hearts turned away to chase wealth through dishonest practices. They readily accepted bribes. Were happy to turn a blind eye to perverted justice. Had been known to engage in its perversion themselves. Their defection made his stomach churn, his heart sink, his soul weep. They weren’t the godly leaders Israel needed. God knew it. Samuel knew it. (I Samuel 8:1-3) 

The elders of Israel knew it too. Approaching the aging prophet, they confronted him with the facts. His sons weren’t going to cut it. They weren’t leadership material. Unlike Samuel, they weren’t hearing or listening when God spoke. So embedded in their own illicit actions, no one wanted them to be the next leaders of Israel. They wanted someone new. Someone strong and fearless. Someone courageous in battle. Someone who would proudly stride out to fight on their behalf. They’d been shopping around, peeking over the fences, chatting up the folks in the neighboring towns. They wanted what everyone else had. They wanted a king. 

Everyone did. From the highest elder to the lowest peasant, the people fell in line chanting a demand that violated God’s plan. They had looked around at the nations with kings ruling over them. They seemed idyllic. Security and contentment appeared to blanket their communities. Courage and strength flowed from their palaces. No visible fear or concern marred their existence. This king thing seemed like a sweet deal. He would be responsible for all the tedious running of things. He’d have to make the decisions. He could be blamed for anything they didn’t like. And it would be his duty to take care of them. Make sure there was food. Remedy social issues. Keep peace with neighboring nations. Go before them and fight their battles. They could rest at ease, live their lives, work the land, and raise their families while the king kept peace across the land. Life would be better, simpler, more pleasant, if they could just have a king! (I Samuel 8:4-5, 19)

Rightfully upset and even hurt by their obvious rejection of the ways he’d so carefully taught them, Samuel hit his knees in prayer. No part of this seemed like a plan God would condone. God was their King. The One who fought their battles. Provided. Protected. Mere men, no matter how wise, courageous, or strong, could not do for them what God had historically done. How had they been so hoodwinked as to believe such an outrageous notion? Could no one read the lies between the lines of the rhetoric? They didn’t need a human king pompously riding through town on his destrier, bedecked in robe and crown. They didn’t need to be like the nations around them. They needed to follow God alone. He would be their conquering king. If only they could see the truths before their very eyes. 

Samuel wasn’t blind to the truths before him. He wouldn’t live forever. His sons were not proper leadership material. He understood the people were uncomfortable with the idea of his passing, leaving no one to take his place. Yet still, this urgent demand for a king felt much like a slap in the face. It felt like all the years of his labor had been in vain. Every moment invested in leading the people to follow God’s heart was wasted. Every effort to keep their minds focused on Him misspent. Every hour of prayer, word of encouragement, message of exhortation, and moment of leadership soundly ignored. His devotion to God’s work and God’s people amounted to nothing. Today it felt like all his efforts had been useless. He felt dissed and dismissed. The people were demanding a king, and God’s answer was not what Samuel expected. 

He was giving them what they wanted! God was answering the people’s demands with capitulation. He was going to grant them a king. One of His own choosing. One who would start well, but whose path would turn highly suspect. One who didn’t even want the job. It wasn’t the choice Samuel would have made, but then, it wasn’t about Samuel. None of it was. It didn’t reflect on his character, his abilities, his sufficiencies. He hadn’t failed. He wasn’t worthless. His life’s work hadn’t been in vain. Not one part of this event had anything at all to do with Samuel. The people hadn’t rejected him from being their prophet and judge. They hadn’t rejected his leadership. No. They were rejecting God. Their true king. The One who led their ancestors out of Egypt. The One who had given them victory in battle against the Philistines. The One who answered miraculously when they cried out to Him. The people were tossing everything God had done for them aside and chasing after what all the other nations had. They wanted a king they could see and touch and blame. They didn’t want to live by faith, they wanted to live by sight. But before God gave them the desires of their straying hearts, Samuel was tasked with warning them just how having a king would look. (I Samuel 8:6-9)

Nothing was going to turn out the way they thought it would. They wouldn’t get the carefree, abundant life they were imagining by trading the leadership of God for the leadership of man. Samuel tried to tell them. Attempted to warn them. This was going to go badly. The appointed king would take their children for his servants. They would plow his fields and reap his harvest. Their sons would fight his wars. Their daughters would be his servants. This long-desired king would take the best of what they had. Fields. Vineyards. Olive groves. He would take his tenth off the top of all their harvests. He would require the best of everything they had. Servants. Cattle. Donkeys. The people who cried out so desperately wanting a king would regret it. Abused and unhappy under the iron rule of their desired king, the miserable people would cry out to God for relief from their poor choices. Unfortunately, God would not be quick to answer. (I Samuel 8:10-18)

The warnings fell on deaf ears. All of them. The people refused to believe them. Wouldn’t contemplate the possibilities. Declined weighing the options. Unconcerned with their rejection of God, they steadfastly set their focus on the faulty desires of their sidetracked hearts. They badly wanted to be like the rest of the world. They desperately wanted the peace, protection, and prosperity they imagined came with that choice. Convinced it was the choice that would grant them the things they always wanted, they stalwartly demanded a king. They unequivocally weren’t taking “no” for an answer. Not today. Not any day. They were done hearing and listening to God. They wanted their own way. They were choosing a king, and it had nothing to do with Samuel. (I Samuel 8:19-20)

It’s an incredibly difficult lesson to learn. Not everything is about you. When the people we have prayed for, preached to, discipled, and loved decide Jesus isn’t enough for them, it hurts. When the family we’ve raised to walk after God chooses to take a different track, our hearts break. When the church we’ve poured ourselves into, physically and financially, opts for an alternate interpretation of God’s Word, we feel devastated. When, no matter how hard we pray, how loud we speak, how firmly we stand, the people around us choose a lesser path, our communities follow lesser gods, our country races wilfully toward certain destruction, it makes our souls recoil in nearly physical pain. Our heads hang. Our tears flow. It feels personal. It isn’t. It’s not about us at all. It’s about God. 

Friend, every single human has to make a very personal choice about what they will do with Jesus. His words. His ways. His will. It’s their choice. You can pray all the prayers. Say all the words. Teach all the lessons. Preach all the warnings. When it’s all said and done, the choice to accept or reject Jesus is theirs. It’s not about you at all. It’s not your glory if they accept Him. It’s not your fault if they reject Him. Not one part of that decision is about you. Even if it feels like it. Even if the evil one camps out on your shoulder saying it is. Even if the blame game he’s playing sounds plausible. Even when he says you should have prayed harder, lived better, spoken more clearly. When he says you’ve failed. Your work is useless. Your best is worthless. Your efforts have been completely in vain. Tell him to shut up. It’s not about you. It’s about God. (Deuteronomy 30:19; Joshua 24:15; Romans 14:5-12; John 3:3; Matthew 22:14)

Not everyone is going to heed your warnings. Not everyone is going to be interested in changing their ways. Not every soul to whom you witness, for whom you pray, with whom you share the Word of God is going to choose Him. Some will scoff. Some will scatter. Some will select an earthly king over an eternal One. That is their choice. They aren’t rejecting you. They are rejecting God. It’s not your failure. It’s not your fault. It’s not about you. So don’t stop. Don’t stop praying. Don’t stop preaching. Don’t stop teaching, caring, sharing, believing. Don’t give up. That’s what the evil one wants you to do. That’s why he whispers discouraging words of guilt and shame and regret in your ear. Don’t listen to him. Rather, know this, nothing you do for the sake of the Gospel is in vain. God’s words never return to Him void. Neither the work nor the outcome is about you at all. It’s all about God. (Matthew 5:16; Proverbs 14:25; Jude 1:23; Matthew 10:1-22; II Timothy 4:2-5; I Corinthians 15:58; Isaiah 55:11)

It was one of the darkest times in their history. The saddest of days.The most bereft they’d been in recent memory. The heavens were silent. God wasn’t speaking. Not in verbiage. Not in visions. No one seemed to notice. The people weren’t listening. They hadn’t been for a long time. They were too busy with other pursuits. Ungodly pastimes. Unchecked evil. Unhindered corruption. Unbridled sin was the order of the day. For everyone. Including the priests. His very own sons. He’d talked with them. Pointed out the error of their ways. Warned them of God’s wrath. Hinted they should change. Hoped they would. It hadn’t happened. Nothing had changed. Neither priests nor people seemed concerned about the heavenly silence. Content to slide deeper into their moral and spiritual decline, they failed to notice the resonating voice of God no longer penetrated their sin-saturated hearts. (I Samuel 3:1)

Eli wasn’t getting messages from God either. Not anything recent, anyway. Since the condemning prophecy against himself and his sons, the heavens were silent, a brass sky over a gloomy existence. The decision concerning his family line was made. There was nothing left to say. God had spoken. He wasn’t prone to changing His mind. Because nothing had changed on earth, Eli was certain nothing had changed in Heaven. Destruction was coming. He knew it. Heard it in the lines of conversation rolling over and over in his mind as he rested his aging, exhausted self in the usual place. The ramifications of their choices weighed on his spirit. The coming onslaught of consequences saddened his heart. The fact he hadn’t done enough to quell the evil nosedive plagued his conscience. As his eyes slid shut and sleep began to overtake him, he idly wondered what would happen to the boy in his care. (I Samuel 2:12-36)

How well he remembered the day Hannah had desperately sought the Lord for a child. He’d never forget it. Anguish etched across her face. A torrent of tears rained down her cheeks. Her lips moved at a frenetic pace. At first he’d believed her inebriated and made his way to sternly confront the woman, considering a possible ejection necessary. Instead, he’d found a completely sober, deeply broken woman pleading with God to answer her prayers. Compassion welled in Eli’s heart. Kindness flowed from his lips in words that asked God to grant whatever it was she so urgently desired. Little did he know the answer to her prayer then would be the key to unlocking God’s voice now. Yet it seemed it was so. (I Samuel 1:9-17)

Three times the child for which Hannah had prayed rushed to his bedside tonight. He’d heard a voice. Genuinely believed it was Eli’s. Came running to his side, eager to help. Except it wasn’t Eli. Failing though his memory was, he knew with absolute certainty he hadn’t called the boy. Had no idea what he was doing there. Was fairly certain he’d been mid-snore when the child awakened him. The first time. He had just started to drift off when he arrived the second time. When Samuel arrived the third time, Eli had an epiphany. Finally. God was speaking. Calling out to Samuel. Deigning to speak for the first time in a very long time. And Eli badly wanted to know what He had to say. 

Before sending the boy back to bed, Eli gave him strict instructions. The next time he heard his name called, there would be no need to come running back. Eli wasn’t calling him. Wouldn’t be calling him. God was calling. It was imperative for Samuel to answer. Immediately. In words indicating his undivided attention and readiness to receive the message.  “Speak, Lord. Your servant is listening.” Right now. I recognize Your voice. I know who You are.  I understand the message you have to give is of utmost importance. My ears are strictly tuned to hear your voice. I am your servant. And I. Am. Listening. 

It was crucial for Samuel to answer. Say exactly what he had been told to say. When God called again, Samuel needed to respond in a way that allowed God to speak. A way that welcomed His words. Samuel needed to listen. Hearing God call him was not enough. Knowing God was speaking wouldn’t suffice. Samuel needed to listen. Intently. Intentionally. Memorize the words. Take notes if necessary. Not one word should be left to possible misinterpretation. When God called Samuel again–and He most assuredly would–the boy needed to answer. “Speak, Lord. I. Am. Listening.” And he did. (I Samuel 3:1-9)  

Lying on his mat, silently staring at the ceiling, Samuel waited for the voice to call again. He didn’t move. He barely breathed. Eli had ensured he understood the abject importance of this task. He absolutely didn’t want to miss the moment if God called his name again. He wasn’t disappointed. God didn’t just call. He came. Stood there in that space. Called Samuel by name. And Samuel heard His voice. This time there was no confusion. No jumping up and running to Eli. No misunderstandings. No misgivings. Samuel was ready for it. Waiting for it. He heard God’s voice the very moment He called. Recognized it. Responded with confidence. I. Am. Listening. (I Samuel 3:10-11)

Having read the message imparted by God and Samuel’s hesitance to repeat it to Eli. It stands to reason, the words Samuel heard were not exactly what he thought they would be. They didn’t match what he hoped God would say. It wasn’t a message of hope and forgiveness. But it was a moment. A gateway moment in which Samuel proved that when God spoke he would hear His voice and he would listen, absorb the message, speak it to the one for whom it was intended. He wouldn’t shirk his duty. He would hear. He would listen. He would share the words of God with the people God had chosen to be His own. Easy words. Hard words. Words of encouragement. Words of rebuke. God’s message to God’s people. Through Samuel. Because he was listening. (I Samuel 3:12-21)

There’s a significant difference between hearing and listening. Hearing often lacks the intentionality of listening. It can be accidental, casual. It is often inattentive, disinterested. Listening, on the other hand, speaks of interest, investment, and importance. It is indicative of your level of care concerning the subject. And the speaker. Your respect for the speaker is evident in whether you distractedly hear them or actively listen to them. Friends. Co-workers. Family. God. Yes. God. He is still speaking. To you. Often. Words of wisdom. Gentle direction. Careful warning. Boundless love. If you are listening, you will hear Him. (John 10:27-28)

Unfortunately for us, there are so many voices sounding off around us that it sometimes becomes difficult to hear God speak. They aren’t all bad voices, either. Some of them have nothing but love and good intentions toward you. Admittedly, others wish only to see you cut off at the knees. It doesn’t matter. You can’t fully rely on mortal voices alone. Why? Because no person’s voice can replace the true voice of God. No human wisdom can supersede the wisdom of God. No mortal thought or reasoning will ever trump the mind of God. You can get all your advice from the finite mind of a pastor, teacher, brother, friend. It might work for you. It might not. The only advice that will ever work and never fail is the word you get from God when you are absolutely, intentionally listening. (Matthew 7:24; James 1:5; 3:17; Romans 11:33; Isaiah 40:6-8; 55:8-9; I Corinthians 3:19)  

So are you? Are you listening? To God. As the world around us sits in the exact same deplorable, sinful, debauched state it was in Eli’s day, we are blessed by the fact that God is still speaking. In spite of an egregiously wilful society, recklessly and happily headed for destruction, God has not shut up the heavens. He still has things to say. To us. To me. To you. Just as He did to Samuel, in the middle of the chaos, God is calling you to hear His voice, respond to His call, be still in that space, and listen. Attentively. Intentionally. Absorb the message God has for you. His direction. His wisdom. His discipline. His love. Share the message as applicable. Encourage someone else with His words. Caution others with His warnings. Spread the news of His love and mercy and grace. Refuse to trade your active listening for passive hearing. When God calls your name, may your response echo that of Samuel. “Yes, Lord. I. Am. Listening.” (Psalm 119:105; Isaiah 30:21; John 8:47; 16:13; Luke 11:28; Psalm 85:8)