Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

As the darkness separated from the light, an audible exhalation rippled through the congregation only to be sharply indrawn again as widened eyes waited for earth’s waters to part, making room for the formation of land. Hands crept over mouths as they struggled to keep silent while the Artist worked. It would prove impossible. Being quiet, that is. It was all so exciting! So amazing! So powerful! As plants and trees sprang up on the land, angelic eyes danced in radiant joy. When the waters filled with living creatures of every color, their elation could barely be withheld. As the land teemed with cattle and goats, lions and bears, emu and ostrich, they bounced on their toes in exhilaration! He had done it! Done all of it! Simply with the sound of His voice. They could barely contain their jubilation. 

They didn’t have to. Gazing over His newly formed masterpiece, the face of God split in an incredible smile and His voice boomed out the announcement that it was good. Very good. All of it. Not one part had gone awry. Nothing was amiss. It was altogether perfect. It was beautiful. It was good. As the words left His lips, the angelic host broke into joyous celebration. 

Singing erupted. Applause broke out. Shouts of triumphant joy echoed across the expanse of Heaven. He had done it! All of it! Every word He had spoken had come to pass. Their absolute amazement was overwhelming. Without lifting a hand, nodding His head, or pointing His chin. Without a pattern, a blueprint, a trial effort. Without help, a team of experts, a squad of underlings. God. Had. Done it. Alone. And it was good. Wonderfully good. Amazingly good. Brilliantly so. (Genesis 1:1-24; Job 38:4-7; Psalm 29:3-9; Psalm 33:6) 

It wouldn’t last. The peace and serenity of the place God created for mankind would be broken by the selfishness and sin of those same humans. Drawn aside by temptation and lured into wanting what was not theirs to have, the people God had placed in the perfect garden of Eden would choose to opt-out. Choose disobedience. They would choose to leave His generous care to walk in their own paths of pain and suffering. Perfection would give way to error and evil. Even the earth God created would age and change, yet one thing would remain the same. God would still be speaking. (Genesis 3; Job 33:14-18)

Never would God sit in silence and ignore the horrific state of the people inhabiting His earth. Regardless of the mess in which they entangled themselves, God would still speak. No matter how far they strayed. Despite their disobedience, emotional upheaval, age, rank, or spiritual space. God would speak. Frequently. His words might not always come in a booming voice from Heaven. They would not always be preceded by rolling thunder and flashing lightning. The ground wouldn’t always shake at the sound of His voice. Yet God would never stop speaking, His voice echoing from the least likely places. Like the lips of a donkey. 

Caught in the crossfire of his own disobedience, Balaam saddled his donkey and headed off on an ill-advised mission. God tried to stop him. Sent an angel to stand in his way. He didn’t see it. So blinded was Balaam by his own determination, that he missed the angel, the drawn sword, the whole message. His donkey didn’t. One look at that avenging angel sent him bouncing off into a field to save their lives.  

Balaam didn’t notice the mercy. Didn’t recognize the deliverance. Didn’t appreciate the effort. He was absolutely not in the mood to have his plans foiled. Filled with irritation, he raised his stick and beat the donkey, persuading it to leave the safety of the field and return to the open road. Not once do we read that Balaam looked to see what had spooked his animal. He didn’t look for snakes in the road. Didn’t cast a wary eye around the area to look for lions or bears. Didn’t even apologize to the beast for whipping it unjustly. So intent was Balaam on his own agenda, he missed it when God tried to speak. It wouldn’t be the last time.

Twice more God would send His angel to stand in the path of Balaam’s donkey. Twice more the donkey would act out of character to spare Balaam’s life. Balaam would never catch on. Never feel the danger. Never notice the angel. Not until God spoke. Through the donkey. There’s something about a donkey turning its head and giving you a scolding that gets your attention! Or at least it should!

Oddly, Balaam seems completely nonplussed by his talking equine. In less than righteous indignation, he stood there and talked right back. Balaam doesn’t seem to be even a little surprised by the donkey’s newfound talent. It doesn’t phase him even a little bit. He keeps running his mouth until God intervenes, opens his eyes, and illuminates the reason for the hold-up. God wants to speak with Balaam and He wants him to listen. Really listen. Hear God’s words. Hear His heart. Balaam needs to understand some things. Serious things. Spiritual things. Things about the reckless path he has chosen to follow. Insights into repentance and obedience. Things Balaam would never have considered had God not chosen to speak through a list of pit stops, a terrifying angel, and the mouth of a donkey. (Numbers 22:31-39)

This wouldn’t be the last time God would speak. Over and again through the ensuing centuries, God would continually contact His people. Those ignoring Him. Those seeking Him. Those desperate to find Him, hear His voice, see His face. People like Elijah. Mentally, emotionally, and physically exhausted from the list of draining events that brought him running to that cave on Horeb. He’d had enough. The last three years had sapped every ounce of courage and strength from his soul. Pronouncing a prolonged drought. Running to hide at Cherith. Traveling to Zaraphath. Facing Ahab. Fleeing Jezebel’s wrath. Feeling alone, defeated, rejected, useless. Yet, as the darkness and depression threaten to conquer Elijah’s mind and take over his soul, God speaks. Not in lashing wind, a rattling earthquake, or a blazing fire. No. Elijah didn’t need the powerful, majestic, awe-inspiring theatrics in that moment. He needed peace, comfort, calm, and healing. And God gave it to him. In a gentle whisper. (I Kings 18-19:13)

Dedicated and abandoned to God at a delicate age, Samuel lay on his bed slowly succumbing to sleep when he heard his name. Bolting upright, he threw off the blanket and rushed out to see what Eli, his teacher and mentor, needed. Arriving at Eli’s side, he was met with confusion. Eli hadn’t called. It must have been a dream. So he went back to bed. Again, as his eyes began to drift closed in slumber, his name sounded through the darkness. Again he dashed to Eli’s side. Again, he was sent back to bed. A third time he heard his name and ran to Eli, but by now Eli had figured it out. God was calling Samuel. By name. Audibly. To be His prophet. To speak His words to people who chose to ignore His words, His ways, His commands. Sending Samuel back to bed, Eli gave instructions for the next time he heard his name. He must listen. Listen to God. Hear His words. Heed His call. No matter how young or inexperienced Samuel was, God was speaking. To Samuel. It was imperative that he listen. (I Samuel 3:1-10)

You see, God always speaks. To everyone. No one walks this earth never hearing from God. He comes to us in the way we will most pay attention. Some of us need something cataclysmic to break our selfish compulsion to sin. Some need a wake-up call that jolts them out of self-destructive habits and addictions. Like Elijah, some of us need a voice of peace and hope in an existence that seems worthless, hopeless, bleak. Like Samuel, all of us need to learn to recognize God’s voice and listen intently when He speaks. Because He will speak. It is the most powerful thing God does. 

Yes. You read that correctly. Speaking is the most powerful thing God does. He speaks and things happen. We know it is true. We have read the Biblical accounts. We have seen the modern-day miracles. Sins are forgiven. Hearts are changed. Those dead in trespasses and sins are resurrected to new life in Christ. So, knowing this, why is it so infrequent that we simply ask God to speak? To the sinner, the straggler, the saint. To the disappointed, the despondent, the distant. To those in great need and those able to provide for great needs. Instead of hemming and hawing and hinting around, what if we just ask God to speak?!? What if we don’t give Him pointers about what to say? What if we ask Him to speak and trust Him to figure out the words?  What if we fall on our knees and cry out wholeheartedly, “Speak, Lord!”? What if we get quiet enough to listen? (Ephesians 2:1-10; Jeremiah 10:13; Mark 7:24-30; John 4:46-54)

In the noisy hubbub of our society, I hope you can find a place to get alone and ask God to speak. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere away from all the distractions. Somewhere God’s voice will be the only voice you hear, the loudest voice in the room. And I hope you listen. Listen to what God has to say to you, for you. Hear it. Heed it. Then stay there. Hang out in that quiet place and ask again. For the straying loved one. For the struggling friend. For your sidetracked child. For anyone. For everyone. Ask Him to speak. Ask Him to help them listen. Then leave Him to it. (Luke 11:9; Matthew 21:22; John 5:24-28; Psalm 85:8)

The garish sign caught my attention, piquing my interest as we slow-rolled through yet another nearly desolate town. We’d already driven through a dozen similar ones. Memory towns, I call them. Their days of thriving hustle and bustle have long since passed. Storefronts are abandoned. Buildings are rundown. Population has dramatically dwindled. With the exception of established farmers, residents have chosen to move closer to the cities where things are more accessible, educational opportunities are greater, career options less exhaustible. The only thing left in these now nearly uninhabited towns are memories of what used to be. Memories and real estate signs. 

We saw plenty of those too. Real estate signs. Nearly every deserted town had them. Signs of distant hope posted in front of old houses, closed restaurants, vacant shops, and run-down hotels. Beautifully crafted signs with specific attention to detail. Elegantly scrolling fonts. Eye-catching color schemes. Largely printed phone numbers to call and websites to visit. Every sign beckoning, or begging, passersby to come take a look, consider a purchase. Every sign, except one. 

On the middle of main street, across from yet another row of abandoned storefronts, a different type of sign had been hammered into the yard of yet another building no longer in use. It lacked the finesse of the signs placed by professional real estate agents. There was no beautiful lettering. No advertising logo. No tantalizing declaration of a beautiful view, spacious living area, or large yard. There was only the sign. Unquestionably purchased at the hardware store, nailed into a rough-hewn piece of leftover firewood, and hammered into the overgrown lawn of a once beautiful church, the orange letters screamed out from the black background, “For Sale.”

I can’t seem to forget that sign. It haunts me. Troubles me. Causes concern to settle like a rock in the pit of my stomach. In spite of every logical reason for that church building to be on the market, the words ring in my mind like a screaming indictment of our spiritual condition, our riff on Biblical truths, our inaction toward the complacency blanketing our congregations. It highlights the unavoidable truth that the church, called to be dedicated and sanctified to Christ alone, is so clearly for sale. To the lowest bidder. To the fewest requirements. To the easiest way. 

Perhaps you haven’t noticed. Perhaps you have missed the obvious bent toward a more palatable path. Perhaps you have turned a blind eye to the wandering, unwilling to acknowledge that the church of our day has become nearly indistinguishable from the world. There’s nothing there to remind us of the powerhouse churches commemorated in the Book of Acts. There’s nothing to encourage us to seek the old paths of righteousness and absolute surrender. There’s nothing that points us to the largely unused, narrow gate that leads to eternal life. No. The mainstream church of our day is busy selling a gospel that requires little and pays even less. Mimicking our society, we’ve become enthralled with cheap grace, assuming that the sinner’s prayer we prayed as a child is sufficient. It’s not. Ask Solomon? (Jeremiah 6:16; Matthew 7:13-14; Colossians 2:6-7; I Timothy 4:15-16; James 4:17) 

He was clearly a man blessed by God. His wisdom was legendary. His wealth was immeasurable. His fame spread across the ancient world like wildfires covering ground in a drought. His intelligent organization and oversight built the temple of the Lord that his father David only dreamed of being able to build. It built a lot of other things too. Lesser things. Earthly things. Ungodly things. Like temples of worship for the false gods of his many wives. Wives he shouldn’t even have had. Foreign wives with pagan gods, pagan beliefs, pagan practices. Wives he’d taken in spite of God’s direct command not to do so. Wives that would eventually turn his heart from fully following the God who had blessed him beyond measure, removed his enemies, and given him peace on every side. (I Kings 1:28-11:13)

With the laying of every foundational brick, the raising of every wall, the building of every altar in those pagan houses of worship, Solomon was effectively hammering a “for sale” sign in front of the temple he’d erected to God alone. His heart had drifted away. He’d placed his own soul on the auction block. Others would follow suit. It wouldn’t be only the building essentially up for grabs. The hearts of the people would be too. Not for the first time, God’s people would be placed in a position to choose. Good or evil. Right or wrong. Life or death. Heaven or hell. (Deuteronomy 30)

Since the days their ancestors had traversed the wilderness with Moses, they’d been hearing about choices. Easy choices. Understandable choices. Eternal choices. Moses had gathered the people before him and laid it out in words even a child could understand. Words that echoed in every household throughout every generation. They knew the options. They knew to do good. They knew to obey God. They knew their obedience would reap life everlasting. They knew it was their choice. Completely up to them. But they couldn’t ride the fence. They couldn’t claim the rewards of full surrender and obedience to God while gleefully indulging in the sins of the world. They knew their choice was the same as the one presented by Joshua decades before, “Choose who you will serve. Now. Today. God or gods.” For sale or sold. Show your hand. Pick which you are and hammer a sign in your yard.  (Deuteronomy 30:11-14; Joshua 24:14-15)

In comparison to the surrounding buildings of that decrepit town we traveled through, the church for sale did not appear to be in terrible disrepair. The red brick facade had no obvious deterioration. The corners were intact. The mortar was uncompromised. The windows, though coated in dust and grime, remained unbroken. Although the yard needed mowing and the shrubs trimming, it was nothing a few hours and some lawn equipment couldn’t set to rights. From the outside looking in, that church appeared to be in fine condition. Perhaps the trouble was within. 

Perhaps there had been a deluge of rain and high winds that loosened the shingles and poured water into the sanctuary, damaging walls and carpet and pews beyond repair. Perhaps the pipes had frozen in an unusually cold winter storm and the plumbing repairs were far beyond what the budget could afford. Perhaps mold had been found in the basement, rodents had infested the storeroom, or bats had invaded the belfry. Maybe. Maybe not. I really have no idea. I do know this. When we choose to hammer a “For Sale” sign in the yard of our soul, the trouble is always inside. We are wavering between belief systems. We are questioning right and wrong. We are being tempted to sell out to a form of substandard godliness that will have us choosing spiritual death over eternal life. (James 1:8; Ephesians 4:14-16; II Timothy 3:1-5; Matthew 7:15)

In his first letter to the church at Corinth, the Apostle Paul states we are all part of the body of Christ. Together. You see, before the church building is built, before the congregation is formed, individual people must consciously make the choice to be God’s people. Part of His body. Members of His kingdom. Personally. Individually. You. Me. Through that one commitment, we are the church of Christ. The one He wants to present, holy and blameless, without spot or wrinkle. It seems we have some work to do. Some heavy questions to ask. Some sobering answers to choose. Will we hold fast the profession of our faith without wavering, without selling out to lesser convictions, without lowering our standards, without compromising our morals? Will we resist the urge to give way to a more socially acceptable religion? Are we even marginally interested in accepting a watered down version of “Jesus lite” or embracing cheap grace for which we never feel the pinch of sacrifice, the sting of surrender? Are we devoted to God, sold out to His Word, committed to His commands, His laws, His ways, no matter how unpopular they may be. Have we hammered a sign in the yards of our souls that unequivocally states where we stand? Does anybody know? Does everybody know? Are you sold out to God or for sale to the world? (I Corinthians 12:12-27; Romans 12:5; Ephesians 5:27; Hebrews 10:23; James 4:7)

It wasn’t their first day. They’d been here before. Often. Every time the doors were open. Everyone knew them. Recognized them. Had at least heard rumors of the message they preached. Resurrection. Repentance. Forgiveness of sins. Baptism. The blessing of the Holy Spirit. For adults. For children. Those at home. Those far away. Anyone. Everyone. All could come. All could be saved. It was a straightforward message. (Acts 2)

They’d never made promises of cheap grace. Never resorted to manipulation. Never lured people in with wild schemes and twisted verbiage. There had been no offers of a painless existence filled with carefree luxury, popularity, or financial stability. Not one moment of their time had been wasted creating a pretty packet presenting the carefully camouflaged idea that there would be no opposition, no adversity, no misfortune. They couldn’t. They knew better. Trials, trouble and tribulation would hound them incessantly. Time and again they would come against harsh resistance. They would face criticism, heckling, arrest, abuse. At no time would following Jesus be considered easy, comfortable, or lucrative. Their sandals would wear out. Their garments would fray. Like everyone else, they would have daily needs. Sometimes they wouldn’t have the means to meet them. Following Jesus was still worth it. They knew it. They believed it. They preached it. So often they thought everyone knew where they stood. Most people probably did. Except the lame man. The guy who hung out by the temple gate day after day had somehow missed the memo. Peter and John didn’t have any money. All they had was Jesus. 

It wasn’t his first day, either. Not to be lame. Not to be begging. Not to be at his post outside the Beautiful Gate at the temple. Certainly not the first time he’d seen Peter and John there. He made it his business to know everything about everyone, and he’d made certain to know about these guys. He wasn’t sure how he felt about them, though. His cynical eye swept over them every time they passed through the gate on their way into the temple. He couldn’t get a good read on them. The gossip grapevine was his sole source of information. They were preachers. Evangelists. Sellers of a nearly unbelievable gospel. Their follower base was growing. Wildly. He wasn’t sure why. They sure didn’t look like much. 

Decently clean and mostly well-groomed, their clothes were dusty and clearly well-worn. The hems and cuffs were fraying. Spots were threadbare. A few awkwardly applied patches could be seen in spite of the valiant attempt to make them blend. Their sandals weren’t new, either. They walked carefully, as if the bottoms were more holes than soles. Yet, in spite of their apparent lack of earthly prosperity, Peter and John exuded a joy and confidence that implied true happiness. Contentment. Peace. All the things he wanted, they had. If only he could figure out how to get them.

Shaking his head and calling himself daft for even dreaming of uncovering their secret, the lame man chose instead to settle for a monetary donation tinkling into his nearly empty cup. What else could he do? His legs, ankles and feet lay useless and twisted beside him, pushed out of the way by his handlers so as not to be a tripping hazard to those passing by. And most of them did. Pass by, that is. He wasn’t living the high life on the plenteous donations of the wealthy. He was barely scraping by on the tiny donations of the sympathetic. A penny here. A crust of bread there. His clothes were in worse shape than the evangelists. He looked pathetic. People thought he was. It was all so humiliating. Shaking his cup with a bare minimum of enthusiasm, the man cast his eyes downward and forced himself to speak up, asking the approaching preachers for a donation to alleviate his plight. He was absolutely not expecting what they gave. 

Stopped in their tracks by the lame man’s request, Peter and John stared at one another. Had he looked at them? Had he noticed their threadbare apparel and worn sandals? They had nothing of this world to give him. No food. No money. But the one thing they had in abundance, they were happy to share. Faith in Jesus Christ. It would be more than enough. More than just enough coins to buy bread for one day. More than the crusts someone thoughtlessly donated. Infinitely more than the piteous looks and sympathetic glances he regularly received. Through the power of Jesus Christ, the lame man would rise to his feet. He would stand unaided. He would jump up and down. And he would walk. Right into the temple to praise God. 

People stopped in shocked amazement. Whispers ran through the gathered crowd. They knew that guy! Some of them had ignored him on the regular as they walked into the temple. Some had purposely entered through a different gate to avoid the awkwardness. Some had religiously donated to his cause, hoping it would somehow enhance their heavenly standing. Not one of them could believe their eyes as the lame man from the gate spryly strolled into the temple, full of rejoicing in the miraculous power of God. Gathering around, each inquisitive soul listened to the man tell the story over and over again. They couldn’t grasp it.  Couldn’t understand how it happened. They needed an explanation. Peter had one. 

In typical evangelist style, Peter saw the opportunity to preach and grabbed it with both hands. Addressing the people, he spoke truth. God’s truth.  Absolute truth about resurrection power. Facts about eternal life. Honest words of mercy and grace, redemption and pardon for people who had ridiculed, rejected, denied, and murdered the Son of God who came to save them from their sins. He preached a message so passionate, so full of the Holy Spirit that the people reveled in his words. Believed them. Repented. Chose Jesus. For life. (Acts 3)

Except the Sadducees. And the priests. And the captain of the temple guard. They hated it. The speech. The speaker. All of it. They wanted nothing to do with the resurrection of Jesus Christ. They didn’t want their parishioners to hear it or believe it, either. Those men had to go. Now. To prison. To another country. To death. They really didn’t care. They just didn’t want them there, polluting their carefully taught way of life and religion. So they fixed it. Snatched up Peter and John and unceremoniously escorted them to jail. (Acts 4:1-4)

Frankly, it didn’t change the outcome. The account literally reads that “many” who heard believed. The outcome wouldn’t change in the morning, either. Nor would the message. Dragged before elders, rulers, teachers of law, the high priest and members of his family, Peter and John were asked who they served and from where such great power had come. Peter had a Holy Spirit-given answer for that, too. Jesus Christ of Nazareth. Did they remember Him? The Guy they had dissed and dismissed? The One they had casually crucified? The only One to ever resurrect from the dead after three days? Did they remember Him? Did they know, were they aware, that the way to salvation and eternal life could be found only through the powerful name of the resurrected Jesus Christ? Did they know it? Did they care about it? Were they interested in hearing the message?

Not really. No. They weren’t interested in hearing what Peter and John were saying. They didn’t want them preaching their gospel around town. Yet, no matter how much they wanted to quell the message of Jesus’ resurrection power, this group of learned and powerful men were forced to grudgingly admit one thing. These men had truly been with Jesus. It was obvious. Not because their words flowed in a perfectly spoken, excellently formatted, epically persuasive speech. No. There was still a bit of the fisherman twang floating about in their accents. Their words weren’t polished like those of educated men. Their clothing and bearing indicated they were nothing more than mere ordinary citizens. It was their courage that gave them away. In the face of possible dismissal, discouragement, even death, these men unapologetically preached Jesus Christ. Crucified. Buried. Resurrected. Son of God. Savior of man. The truth was impossible to overlook. These men had been with Jesus! (Acts 4:5-22)

Of all the compliments I’ve ever heard bestowed on those around me, of all the compliments I’ve personally received, none has ever been so grand, so breathtaking, so humbling as this one given in such an offhand manner so many centuries ago. It was obvious these men had been with Jesus. Ordinary, common men. Uneducated. Simple. Socially unacceptable. Financially unstable. Lacking a five-year plan or retirement portfolio. Yet none of that mattered. Their hearts and lives were so surrendered, so dedicated, not to a doctrine or religious theory, but to Jesus Christ Himself, that it was obvious they had spent significant time in His presence. Could the same be said of you?

In a world where there is such great importance placed in the letters after your name, your rank, your social status, your financial portfolio, I feel compelled to ask, is it obvious to the watching world that you have spent time in the presence of Jesus? Do you confidently, courageously stand by the principles and commands of His Word in the face of opposition? Are you unwilling to compromise your God-given convictions and standards regardless who chooses to unfriend you, unfollow you, undermine you? Do you spend enough time in His presence that anyone can tell, everyone can see, you have been with Jesus? Without the flowery words and condescending religious phraseology, would anyone realize you have been with Jesus? Is it obvious you have been in His presence? When things go wrong, your efforts fail, the unpleasantly unexpected happens, does your response indicate with Whom you’ve been spending your time?  In public. At home. Does He show? Is the face of Jesus reflected in your words and actions? Can they see Him? Have you spent enough time in His presence that, in the worst of times, in the best of times, at every time, those looking on can recognize that you have been with Jesus? (Matthew 5:16; I Corinthians 15:58, 16:13; Romans 12:2; I Timothy 6:12)

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)

Determination alone had him placing one foot in front of the other as he ascended the mountain. It had been an incredible day. Incredibly long. Incredibly emotional. Incredibly miraculous. From the moment he’d spoken to Ahab, arranging the confrontation with the prophets of Baal, things had been non-stop. People had been gathered. Altars had been built. Bulls had been butchered. Offerings had been arranged. Impotent chants and cries of Baal’s followers had crescendoed, destined to go unanswered. After hours of increasingly wild antics, they’d been forced to admit their god wasn’t planning to answer, wasn’t even capable of doing so. 

Elijah’s God was. Both capable of and planning to answer. In an astounding answer to the sincere words of repentance that echoed across the silent assembly, the fire of the true God fell from Heaven, consuming the sacrifice. A sacrifice soaked in gallons of water. Not once. Not twice. Three times. When Elijah finally stopped the water brigade, nothing in that sacrifice was dry. It couldn’t have been. So utterly soaked was the entire altar that a rivulet of excess water ran down to fill the trench at the altar’s base. 

The people watched in skepticism. Murmurs went through the crowd. Wet wood doesn’t burn. Normally. But this wasn’t a normal day. As the prayer of Elijah lifted toward Heaven, God’s fire fell on earth, igniting the soggy sacrifice. Before their astonished eyes, it all burned. Every. Single. Part. Wet bull. Wet wood. Wet stones. Even the dust and excess water were consumed by the cleansing fire of Almighty God. It was amazing. It was awe-inspiring. It would have been a magnificent high point on which to end Elijah’s day. But it wasn’t a stopping point. There was still more to do. The prophets of Baal had to be dispatched and the prophet of God had a consultation at the top of Mount Carmel.

It was to this divine appointment Elijah was currently headed. Hiking up the mountainside, the aftermath of that enormous victory set in. Although blessed beyond measure to be part of God’s work in his day, Elijah was tired. Physically exhausted. Mentally spent. Emotionally drained. Faith alone carried him up that path. Confidence in God’s promise to end the drought had him continually moving forward. Deep-seated knowledge that torrential rain was gathering in the distance kept Elijah going until he reached the top of Mount Carmel. Once there, he collapsed to the ground, dropped his face to his knees, and began the next phase of God’s plan. Elijah prayed. Again.

There seems to be no record of the words Elijah prayed as he knelt prostrate before God. Our humanity having only a certain amount of usable energy leads one to believe his words were direct. A simple request for the actuation of the promised rain. He believed it was coming. The power of his faith could hear it building. As the words left his lips, his expectant heart thought for sure the skies would immediately darken. They didn’t. No sound of abundant rain met his ears. Thinking perhaps the clouds were still forming on the horizon, he sent his servant to check. Look toward the sea. Search the sky for clouds. Come back and report. Is the rain coming yet? 

How disappointed must Elijah have been when the first answer was negative. He’d spent an entire day building up to this grand event, yet his prayer had apparently fallen on deaf ears. Rain did not immediately start falling when the request left his lips. Floods did not roar in from the sea. The sky didn’t even begin to darken. According to human standards, not one thing happened when Elijah uttered his initial prayer. He didn’t give up. Couldn’t be persuaded to do so. His faith that the answer was coming kept him on his knees. Praying. And praying. And praying.  

Five more times Elijah’s servant would come back sadly shaking his head in response to the unasked question. Elijah kept praying, kept entreating Heaven for the promised result. His faith didn’t falter. His courage didn’t wane. His belief that what God promised would be performed didn’t tumble to the ground when he didn’t immediately see the answer. He didn’t give up in defeat when it seemed God had dashed off to help someone else. No. Elijah stayed right there. In the same spot, the same position. Face buried in his knees. Sobs wracking his body. Tears flowing. Heart-wrenching. Desperately willing God to answer in power and might with something tangible. Right there. Right then. Send rain. Not just because the earth was dry and barren and cracking. Not simply because crops and cattle were perishing. Elijah’s prayers weren’t all about ending the horrific drought. No. Elijah’s prayers were for the people. People who had spent the last several years buried in idol worship, following the desires of their own hearts, doing what was right in their own eyes. People who were constantly swaying between two different opinions. People who clearly needed sight before they were willing to cast their faith. As much as the earth needed to drink water for life, God’s people needed to drink the Water of Life. The plight of their souls depended on it. 

On his seventh trip to gaze over the sea, the servant’s shocked gaze landed on something different. Something new. Something unexpected. He hadn’t anticipated a cloud, small or otherwise. Somewhere between the second trek and the seventh, his faith had wobbled. He’d felt concern that God wasn’t going to answer, perhaps He’d had a change of plans. His heart ached for his faithful, fearless leader who believed God would send rain. It appeared his fervent prayers would go unanswered. Had he been the one doing the praying, the servant would have long since given up. Told himself he’d done enough. He’d prayed. He’d hoped. He’d believed. Now he could descend the mountain and go to bed. He’d done all he could do. It was up to God. Elijah would vehemently disagree. 

With every negative report, Elijah remained unmoved. His prayers for rain continued to ascend. He didn’t walk away and hope God would answer someday, whenever He chose. No. With every “no” answer, Elijah beseeched more. He refused to stop praying until the answer materialized. And it did. In a pounding, blinding, torrential rain, God responded to the prayers of Elijah. Fervent prayers. Faith-full prayers. Unceasing prayers. All met with abundant answers in God’s time, in God’s way, for God’s glory. Why? Because Elijah didn’t stop praying, didn’t stop believing, didn’t stop hoping and his faith became sight. (I Kings 18:41-46) 

Some days we pray the same way. We approach Heaven with the fervency and tenacity of Elijah asking God to send rain. Like the persistent widow in Jesus’ New Testament parable, we keep coming back, asking over and over again. refusing to give up. Our hearts twist and pull with the urgency of seeing God move and work and do the things we’ve so desperately been asking Him to do for such a long time. Racing to the window of our lives, we expectantly check the horizon, looking for a sign, a cloud, a drop of rain. When our searching gaze is met with nothing and we find ourselves suspended in the tension between our urgent prayers and God’s wise delay, the evil one swoops in and suggests we just give up. Quit praying. Stop hoping. Abandon our faith. It would be so easy to do so. 

Don’t you dare do it. Don’t you dare give up, throw in the towel, or surrender to the whining voice of the evil one filling your head with lies. Keep praying. Keep hoping. Keep believing. Keep the faith. Like Elijah bowed before the Lord in consistent, desperate, intercessory prayer for the people and land around him, keep praying for the people and situations that burden your soul. Even when you can’t see the answer. Even when you don’t see progress. Even when it feels like God isn’t listening. He is and He rewards those who seek Him in faith, believing that what He has promised He will unfailingly do. (Hebrews 11:6; I John 5:14; I Peter 3:12; Psalm 66:17-20)

At the end of Jesus’ parable of the persistent widow, He asks a question we often overlook, but shouldn’t. A question that should make us evaluate ourselves, our prayer lives, our approach to the throne of God. Jesus asks, “When the Son of Man comes, will He find faith on earth?” Well, will He? If it rests on you alone, will He find faith that He will answer your prayers? Will He find consistent asking, seeking, knocking? Will He find your heart constantly bowed before Him in petition for rain. Spiritual rain. Drenching downpours of His Spirit. Showers of blessing on our lives. A deluge of the water of life on the parched landscape of our world. Will He find you praying still for the answer you’ve sought for a week, a year, a decade? If the Son of Man made His grand entrance into your prayer closet today, would He find your faith intact, your belief in His promises strong no matter how tired you are, no matter how worn you’ve become, no matter how many times you’ve looked for an answer and found none? Like Elijah, are you an example of faith on earth? (Luke 18:1-8; Ezekiel 34:26-27; Isaiah 55; Matthew 7:7-12; Zechariah 10:1)

I hope you are. No matter what you are praying for today, what you’ve been weeping over for the last week, what’s broken your heart and driven you to your knees for the last month, year or decade, I hope you are still praying. I hope you’re still actively watching for the answer. Why? Because I know our God. Our soul-saving, miracle-working, victory-bestowing God is still at work today. Just like He was for Elijah.  His power hasn’t depleted. His strength hasn’t failed. He’s still the same mighty God in whom Elijah placed every ounce of his faith. And He’s asking you to place your faith in Him too. Cast your cares on Him and let Him care for you. Call on Him and let Him answer. Cry out to Him and let Him find you, help you, heal your soul, meet your needs. No matter how many times you’ve prayed the same prayer, made the same request, laid the same soul at His feet. Keep praying. Keep believing. Be faithful to keep the faith today, tomorrow, always. When the Son of Man comes, may He find you faithfully faith–full. (Jeremiah 33:3; I Peter 5:7-10; Isaiah 59:1; I Chronicles 28:9; Romans 12:12; Psalm 55:16,17; Mark 11:22; Psalm 145:13)