Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

Slumping down beside the spring, she dropped her face to her hands and rubbed her tired eyes. She hadn’t been planning to make this journey. Not now. Not alone. Not in her condition. Of course, she hadn’t planned to be in this condition, either. It was the disheartening story of her life. Not once had she been given choices, options, or a voice in how her life would go. She hadn’t eagerly waved her hand to volunteer when the opening for a traveling maid came along. She wasn’t even interested. At all. She had no desire to leave Egypt and traipse around the country with no map, no destination, no endgame in mind. She didn’t want to move a dozen times, never settling down. Given the choice, Hagar would have stayed in Egypt forever. Except she hadn’t had a choice.

As much as Hagar would not have chosen to be a maid, she was even less likely to willingly bear a child to an octogenarian. Not one part of her found Abram attractive. Seriously. Eww! Weathered, wrinkled skin darkened from long hours in the sun held no appeal. His penchant for wandering all over creation did not enhance her interest. She certainly wouldn’t fight Sarai for him! He didn’t appear to be attracted to her, either. Thank goodness!! He didn’t seem delighted with gazing at her. Never tried to engage her in conversation. She wasn’t even positive he remembered she was part of his encampment. She’d absolutely never have chosen to enter his tent or let him enter hers. Except she hadn’t been given the choice. 

Desperate to actuate God’s promise to Abram and grant her own heart’s desire, Sarai took matters into her own hands. They needed an heir. Now. And it clearly wasn’t coming from her. Well beyond her childbearing years, Sarai wasn’t lying to herself. Having a baby of her own was impossible. She’d failed. Or maybe God had. Either way, her barrenness stung. It broke her heart. Wearied her soul. Troubled her mind. So she fixed it. On her own, with no guidance from God, no pushback from Abram, no feedback from Hagar, Sarai found a way to have a child, forcing her servant to become her surrogate. 

Entering Hagar’s tent, her arms full of supplies, Sarai got to work setting the stage for success. She dressed her maid in the best garments they had. Adorned her hands, arms and ears with jewels. Fetchingly arranged her hair. Dabbed expensive perfume on her neck and wrists. Laying out an array of embroidered silk bed pillows, she seated Hagar in the center and stood back to survey her work. Very nice! It would surely do the trick. All they needed now was Abram. 

It didn’t take much to get him in there. With little to no hesitation, Abram capitulated to Sarai’s bazaar idea. He offered no other options. Didn’t back up God’s “wait” with one of his own. Didn’t even argue. Not vehemently, for sure, but not even weakly. Abram puts up no fight whatsoever to Sarai’s efforts to manipulate the timing of God’s plan and promise. Either in an attempt to appease his wife or out of real attraction to the maid, Abram enters Hagar’s tent. The rest, as they say, is history.

Forced into a pregnancy she never wanted, Hagar’s abused, broken heart stored up the injustices. Torn from her home. Pressed into slavery. Compelled into surrogacy. Never had anyone seen her. Never had anyone cared for her. Never had she been more than a bargaining chip in someone else’s life. The overwhelming bitterness built from watching her dreams die at the hands of another’s desires erupted from Hagar’s core. She snipped at Sarai. Treated her badly. Disrespected her. Perhaps the hormones played a part. Maybe the insecurity of her situation overtook her. Perhaps she developed an unexpected attraction to Abram and wanted to keep him for herself. Maybe she’s always blamed Sarai for her unceremonious exit from Egypt and used this situation to act out her anger. We really don’t know the entire impetus behind Hagar’s actions. We do, however, know the outcome. After all her machinations appeared to be coming to fruition, Sarai found she didn’t like the results. She felt insecure. She felt replaceable. She threw a tantrum. 

Angered both by her maid’s quick pregnancy and impudent attitude, Sarai casts herself as the victim and runs to Abram, demanding something be done. Now. The other woman needs to be put in her place, pregnant or not. Disappointingly, Abram seems to still be missing his spine. Abandoning the woman carrying his child, he tosses the situation back on Sarai. He simply doesn’t care. She can do whatever she chooses with Hagar. He’ll back her up. It’s exactly what Sarai wants to hear. 

It’s the exact situation Hagar must have feared all along. Sarai became an unbearable taskmaster. Her treatment cruel. Her words cutting. After being offered as a type of sacrifice to the head of the house, Hagar is despised, rejected, abused, and helpless. There was no one in her corner. No friends. No family. Not even that colossal jerk Abram protects her! Knowing she is carrying his child, he still abandons her to Sarai’s wrath. The situation is untenable. The options are scarce. The idea of staying, toughing it out, is unpalatable. At the end of her rope, Hagar is forced to choose what she believes is safest for herself and her child. Weighing the dubious security of the encampment against the obvious uncertainty of the desert, Hagar chose the desert.  

 No one followed her. Sarai did not go to Abram, wringing her hands, concerned that the maid was missing. Abram did not assemble a search party to look for the mother of his child. Not one soul seems to notice Hagar is no longer with them. No one but God. Because God notices everything. Indeed, He’s been watching from the beginning. Not one hellacious moment of Hagar’s existence is lost on Him. Nor are the feelings raging in her soul. The hurt and betrayal of forced servitude. The torment of abuse. The ache of dismissal. The agony of abandonment. Sitting there by the well, rejected and alone, the whirling eddy of emotions tugging her soul in every direction, Hagar hears a voice she never thought she’d hear. The voice of an angel speaking words from God. Words she never thought a worthless slave girl would hear.

He sees her. He knows her name. He is aware of her situation. He comprehends every nuance of her unenviable circumstances. God knows exactly where Hagar has come from and where she is intending to go. He knows why, too. He’s heard it all. Seen the whole sordid affair. He knows none of it has been her own choosing. The great God of the universe looked down from His heavenly throne and saw the misery of a helpless, abused servant girl. He felt the weight of her circumstances, the hopelessness tearing at her soul. His great heart of love ached at the sight of Hagar bent in despair beside that desert spring, and, although we have no indication they were on speaking terms before, the God who sees it all, speaks. (Genesis 16)

It wouldn’t be the last time God found Hagar sitting in the desert mired in despair. Fourteen years later, God would once again find her there with the child she’d born to Abram. Sarah’s rage had sent her running. Again. Certain they would both die, Hagar leaves her son and sits down a distance away, not willing to watch his demise. Tears fall. Sobs shake her body. Her son cries, too. And, once again, God sees. God hears. God speaks. It is the redeeming story of the inexcusable offenses in Hagar’s life. God sees her when no one else does. He comes to her when no one else will. He speaks her name when everyone else forgets it. He does the same for you. (Genesis 21:8-20)

Whether your story is riddled with abandonment and abuse, darkened by browbeating and bullying, or a veritable wasteland of consequences for one poor choice after another, know this. God sees you. All of you. Every. Single. Part. Your circumstances. Your pain. Your fear. He sees exactly where you are. Physically. Emotionally. Spiritually. The God who sees it all has come to redeem it all. Every single horror of your life. No matter where you are, where you’ve been, or what’s been done to you, the great God of the universe has seen it all, yet still He calls you. By name. Not the ugly things people call you, the mean words hurled at your head, the vicious names whispered on the wings of darkness. No. The God who sees you when no one else does and comes when no one else will, is calling your actual name. He’ll never forget it. It’s the one He gave you. The one engraved on His hand. The one that echoes through the desert of your life to say you are not alone, worthless, hopeless or useless. The name by which you are known to Him. Precious. Priceless. Beloved. Friend.  (John 15:15; Isaiah 43:1, 4; Job 34:21; Hebrews 4:13; Proverbs 15:3; Psalm 34:18; Psalm 103:2-5; Psalm 91:15; Isaiah 49:15-16; Zephaniah 3:17; I John 3:1)

Unaccustomed to the pitch and yaw of their newly acquired vessel, the enormous draft horse sidestepped in an effort to keep his footing. Birds squawked and fluttered their wings to keep steady on their perches. An unsecured basket of wheat slid across the floor. Three women raced to rescue it, nearly falling over one another as the vessel righted itself. They were immensely unprepared to live like this. Heaving and rolling. Surging and swaying. Tossed about by winds. Crashed upon by waves. Every moment lived to the tattooing rhythm of torrential rain. Gazing out over his family and the gathered animals, Noah smoothed his beard and let loose a heavy sigh. They were all still adjusting. The change was enormous. New spaces. New neighbors. Less privacy. More noise. 

Had someone suggested to him as a young man that he’d be here, locked in a floating contraption with his family, tending an enormous menagerie and waiting out a devastating flood, Noah would likely have laughed. He’d never planned to live on a houseboat. Hadn’t even dreamed it was possible until God slipped blueprints into his hands. He’d never had lofty dreams of greatness, prestige, or fame. Never thought of himself as a missionary. Never imagined being a preacher. Never dreamed he’d be the guy God chose to rescue part of His creation from utter devastation. He had been content with his life. Family. Flocks. Fields. Pleased with the choice he’d made to follow God. Thankful his sons had chosen to follow suit. Blessed to be chosen as a survivor of the catastrophe to come. 

It was a fact he’d have to remind himself of over and over again. As he watched the spectacular parade of animals file onboard, the birds fly in to nest in the rafters, his family assemble with the meager non-essential belongings they were able to take, Noah felt blessed to be a part of the grand plan of God. It was amazing. It was exciting. Anticipation for the upcoming adventure crackled down his spine. An unchecked smile crept across his face. Laugh lines crinkled at the edges of his eyes. A joyous chuckle bubbled from his lungs. It all seemed like such a fantastic escapade! Until God shut the door. 

As the solemn thud of that sealing portal echoed through the ark, Noah’s laugh subsided. The smile faded. Things got real. The adventure had seemed grand, but the reality was rough. Animals are needy. They argue like children. They smell. Bad. They make noise. Constantly. Feathers ruffle. Hooves shuffle. There’s sneezing and snorting, snuffling and chewing. And Noah hadn’t built for acoustics. Every noise seemed to echo. Bounce off the walls. Ping from the rafters straight to his ears. There was no way to hush the multitude of beasts. Not a moment of silence could be borrowed or bought. 

His family wasn’t much better. Man, he loved them! Wow, he sure wasn’t used to living in their space! He had no idea they had the capacity to be quite so annoying in continuous doses! A guy couldn’t find five seconds of peace and quiet. There was no peaceful deck on which to quietly relax and read a book. No plush easy chair stuffed in a calming corner where he could rest in solitude. There was literally nowhere he could go to gain respite from the noisy animals, his nattering family, the sound of pounding rain. Regardless how large their floating conveyance or the careful preparations they had made, Noah felt cramped. Hemmed in on every side. People in front of him. Animals surrounding him. Walls encasing him. A sealed door rescuing him. But where was the God who’d sent Him there? 

For forty days the rain pounded and the waters rose. For one hundred and fifty days the earth flooded. The angel of death visited every living, moving, breathing thing on earth. Beasts. Birds. Humans. For months Noah plodded through the monotony of his new responsibilities. Feed the animals. Clean up after the animals. Eat. Sleep. Float. Surely, as the days grew long and tempers short, Noah wished there was someone else, anyone else, with whom to converse. Family conversations had long since grown tedious. Plans for life after exiting the ark seemed like such faraway dreams. Hope dwindled. Fear threatened. Faith faltered. And God seemed oddly silent. (Genesis 6:9-8:14)

After all the direction and guidance God gave Noah in building and gathering and preaching prior to the flood, it seems odd there is not one indication of God speaking to Noah while he was cooped up on the ark. As the rains pounded, the waters rose, the ark bobbed and swayed, God seemed to remain silent. When the water began to recede, the ark rested on Ararat, the mountains again became visible, God still appears aloof. As Noah counted out forty days, opened a window, sent out a raven, then a dove, Heavenly quiet remains. In fact, the next record we have of God speaking to Noah is more than a year after He swung the door of their safety ship shut. A year of confinement. A year of questions. A year of faith. 

It is what we notice most about the account. Noah’s faith. In the face of obvious adversity, struggle, and frustration, Noah’s faith never fails. His obedience to God never wavers. Even when there was no one to impress with his devotion. Even though he already knew he’d be saved from the flood. Even when things were difficult, the family was arguing, the animals were inordinately restless. Not once did Noah, frustrated with God’s silence and their confinement, grab an ax and begin to hack an escape route in the hull of their ship. Not when he knew the waters had greatly subsided. Not when the raven left home. Not when the dove brought back the olive leaf. Not even when he saw the surface of the earth was completely dry. No. Noah stayed obedient and faithful until God spoke again, even though the only people who would see his disobedience were the people behind closed doors.

 Noah was the same man behind closed doors as he was when he was building the ark and warning others of the oncoming destruction. He didn’t change when no one was looking. Didn’t treat his sons differently. Didn’t rage at his wife. Didn’t ogle his daughters-in-law. Noah remained faithful to God and what he believed God required of him. In public and in private. We’d have heard about it if he had. It would be recorded for our edification. Many times in the Old Testament, the closed-door offenses are highlighted. Lot’s daughters took advantage of him behind closed doors. Amnon abused Tamar in privacy. Potiphar’s wife tried to seduce Joseph when no one else was about. David used his position to pressure Bathsheba to visit his bed. The list could go on. They are all there. The unimaginable things done behind closed doors are all eventually brought to light. Yet in all the days spent in frustratingly close quarters with temptation to speak, think and act ungodly, not one allegation is laid to Noah’s charge. Why? Because Noah remained consistently faithful to God. (II Samuel 13:1-16; Genesis 19:30-38; Genesis 39:1-20; II Samuel 11:1-12:9) 

Nothing about Noah was different in the privacy of the ark than it had been publicly in town. His faith wasn’t a front to gain respect and prestige. Noah was the same man, day in and day out. His family could count on it. His actions didn’t change. His attitude didn’t nosedive. His tone didn’t sharpen. Noah remained unchanged because the God he faithfully served was unchanged. No matter how stressed, frustrated, anxious, or annoyed he felt, Noah’s family knew exactly what to expect from him. Steady faithfulness. In front of a watching, impressionable world or behind closed doors with only an audience of animals, Noah didn’t change. Didn’t abandon his beliefs. Didn’t mismatch his words and actions. Noah followed God. Faithfully. 

We should all live so carefully. So authentically. So honestly. We should all be so rooted in faithfulness to God that our life never changes. Our families should know that the response the neighbor publicly gets from us will be the same response they privately receive. Our children should be able to trust us to privately practice what we publicly preach. Our friends should know we will lean honest even when it is unpleasant, uncomfortable, or upsetting. Our faith in action should be as unchanging as our God–in the middle of a group or behind closed doors. (I Corinthians 15:58; Proverbs 21:21; Galatians 6:9; Ephesians 4:25; I Timothy 4:12)

So is it? Is your faith, your religion, your alleged value system the same at home as it is at work, at church, at coffee with friends? Are the pretty words you staunchly claim in public a mirror of your actions in private? Are you a blessing at Bible study but a beast at home? Are you truly living the life or are you faking it for the sake of your reputation? Are you the same faithful servant of God both in the middle of town and behind closed doors? Is your relationship with Jesus authentic enough to withstand the temptation to change depending on your surroundings? Do you live for Jesus at home the same way you do in public? (James 1:22, 26; Titus 2:7; Luke 6:41; Proverbs 10:9; I John 3:18; Proverbs 6:16-20; Proverbs 11:3; II Timothy 4:1-2)

I hope you do. I hope I do. In fact, I pray it over us. May we model our lives after Jesus. His love. His mercy. His grace. In public. In private. No matter where we are or who is around. May our lives, our words, our actions continually resonate with the unchanging faithfulness of obedience to our unchanging God. (I John 2:6; Micah 6:8; John 13:15; Proverbs 21:3; Ecclesiastes 12:13)

Three years had passed in his absence. Hellacious years. Bloody years. Years of starvation and death, turmoil and terror. On the heels of Elijah’s proclamation of drought came Jezebel’s proclamation of death. Every prophet of God had a bullseye on their back. Methodically she hunted them down. Slaughtered them. Made every effort to extinguish the voice of God from every edge of the kingdom. She might have succeeded, too, if it hadn’t been for Obadiah. 

Quietly gathering the remaining prophets of God, Obadiah had smuggled them out to the hillside and given them refuge in two secluded caves. It wasn’t exactly comfortable. Fifty men stuck in each cave. No lights at night. No safety in the day. No certainty of how long they would remain undiscovered. As their lives had depended on the quick thinking and actions of Obadiah, their survival now depended on his ability to continually provide them with food and water. It was an enormous responsibility. As the drought dragged on, the rations became even more limited, and Elijah continued to remain elusive, it carried with it an increasing amount of danger. 

It had been a wildly risky move from the beginning, hiding those men of God. Risky for anyone. Doubly so for Obadah. He was no ordinary citizen. No run-of-the-mill carpenter or farmer. He was the palace administrator. Daily he spoke with Ahab and Jezebel. Daily he listened to the threats against God’s people. Daily he heard Jezebel rant and rave against God. Daily he endured Ahab’s ceaseless moaning over Elijah’s pronouncement, his disappearance, and his annoying ability to remain undetected. Daily Obadiah guarded his secret, his religious stance, his moral scruples for fear of death. His own death. The prophets’ death. The spiritual death threatened to overtake the land. Knowing only one slip would be their undoing, Obadiah tightly clamped his lips, and did his job.

He’d been keeping the secret for years now. He’d always keep it. But how long was he going to need to do so? He was beginning to wonder the same thing as Ahab, only with different intent. Where, exactly, was Elijah? How long was he going to play this crazy game of hide and seek? Did he not realize their resources were nearly depleted? Had it not occurred to him the loss of life, both human and animal, was growing every day? Had they not suffered long enough? Wasn’t it time to come back and fix the mess, no matter what the fix looked like? Wasn’t it time for God to send Elijah back to do something?!

As he walked the land, searching for grass to hopefully keep the last of the animals alive, Obadiah ruminated over the situation. Each frustrated step reeked with desperation. Every trail led into yet another parched field. Every turn opened into another once-green meadow now yellowed from drought. Not one sound of trickling water fell on his ears. Not one blade of green grass met his eyes. Not one drop of dew dampened his sandals. Not one sight made his hopes soar. Nothing except the sight of Elijah.  

Dejectedly rounding yet another bend into another dead-end field, Obadiah found his path blocked by the man topping Ahab and Jezebel’s most wanted list. He hadn’t changed a bit since he’d last been in town. Hadn’t lost a pound. His face wasn’t leaner. He’d barely aged a bit. From the look of Elijah, one could easily deduce he hadn’t suffered in the drought and famine he’d pronounced. It almost seemed as if he’d been somewhere no drought or famine had ever touched! 

 Obadiah couldn’t imagine where that would be. The king had gone to unimaginable lengths to find Elijah. Searching every conceivable place in the kingdom. Contacting surrounding nations. Forcing them to swear he was not among them. Breathing out threats if he found out they’d lied. Exhaustive efforts had been spent attempting to find Elijah. Incredible angst ensued when it failed. Yet here, plain as day, no efforts or threats required, stood the object of their search. Obadiah had found something better than grass! Elijah was back.

Shocked and awed by the sudden appearance of the man every soldier in the kingdom sought, Obadiah fell to his knees. This had to be it. The answer to their urgent prayers. Elijah could now reinstate rain and get everything back to normal. Perhaps then a truce could be reached. Maybe then the remaining prophets of God could be released from the confinement of the caves. Perhaps the people would turn from their spiritual hijinks and follow the true God. As Obadiah’s mind began to celebrate, the words of Elijah sliced through the air and halted his rejoicing. Elijah wasn’t back to simply speak some words and right the world. He was back for confrontation. He wanted an audience with Ahab. And he wanted Obadiah to arrange it. 

Well. That answer was a strong “no.” It was not Obadiah’s first day. He knew the last time Elijah came to town he’d simply spoken down a drought and disappeared for three years. He had watched Ahab’s rage. He’d seen the effects of Jezebel’s tantrum. He had no intention of being the recipient of either. He wasn’t interested in running off to tell Ahab that Elijah had returned, only to come back for Elijah and find him gone again! The answer was “no.” Absolutely not. Unequivocally. Unmistakably. Obadiah had no wish to die, no wish to condemn the hidden prophets to starvation and death. The risk was too great! He was not about to be the one who announced Elijah’s return. Thanks, but no thanks! 

Obadiah’s strong answer was lost on Elijah. There was a lot at stake for Obadiah. His career. His family. His life. The lives of the cave-dwelling prophets. Watching Obadiah scratch his head in frustrated contemplation, Elijah laid all his cards on the table. God had sent him. He wasn’t going anywhere. He wasn’t stupid either. He knew Ahab’s reaction could turn out to be deadly. He knew that if Jezebel got wind of it, his life would be worthless. He knew the majority of the residents throughout the kingdom had less than pleasant words for him. Elijah also knew God had sent him to see the king. Today. No matter what. 

No matter the possible reaction from Ahab. Regardless of the fallout from Jezebel. No matter the excuses offered up by Obadiah. Elijah was going to talk to Ahab. Today. Obadiah could take it to the bank. He wouldn’t disappear completely. They wouldn’t have to hunt him down. He wouldn’t fail to show up at the established meeting place. He would be there. Rain or shine. Peace or a sword. No excuses. No matter what. (I Kings 17:1; 18:1-15)

How easy would it have been for Elijah to shrug his shoulders, accept Obadiah’s refusal and decide to come back another day? Seriously. It seems doubtful he’d spent the last three years running from pillar to post, begging God to let him go back and talk to Ahab. Not once is there a record that he made any attempt to post a letter, contact a friend, test the waters to see if the people’s hearts were softening. Elijah spent three years in self-preservation mode. By now, he had to be tired of running, tired of trying to keep his identity secret, tired of seeing the damage the drought was causing. His heart had to hurt for the hidden prophets, for the people, for the land. Yet still, not one passage of Scripture indicates he was excited to get back and converse with Ahab. He wasn’t really interested. At all. Until God said, “Go.” 

When God sent Elijah back to speak with Ahab, Elijah was all in. Immediately. No matter what. Obedience to God was his first priority. Even if no one thought he should do it. Even if his life was at stake. Even if he had to do it alone. Elijah was going back to speak to Ahab because God said so. No excuse would stand in his way. He would go. He would be obedient. Right then. That very day. Because Elijah understood the concept the Psalmist would later allude to, obedience is a right-now activity. Before you have time to decide it’s uncomfortable. Before your friends can talk you out of it. Before you have time to second guess yourself or find excuses to delay. Obedience to God is something you do now. Today. No matter what. There is nothing more important. (Psalm 119:32,60)

You will find nothing more difficult. In our world of excuses and opinions, social rationales, and lopsided ideals, it is so easy to tell ourselves we need some time to work through actually doing what God has asked us to do.  We say we need time to decide if we are really hearing God. We need to determine the proper course of action. What about just obeying God? Stop the excuses. Stop the nonsense. Stop being disobedient. Right now. Today. Even when the thing God has called you to do has your head snapping up, your knees shaking, and a kaleidoscope of butterflies doing gymnastics in your stomach. Go do it! Enter that ministry. Pray with that person. Speak those words. Write that message. Obey God. Right now. Today. No matter what. (I Samuel 15:22)

In the book of Acts, Peter and the other apostles were offered the perfect excuse to take their preaching to another town, tone it down, stop speaking altogether. Jail is a pretty convincing experience. Death threats seem like a good reason. Beatings make for a decent deterrent. Not one of these things worked on these devoted men of God. They were there to obey God. Right then. No matter what. So are you. (Acts 5:17-42)  

God has not placed you in this abhorrently dark and evil world to hide in a corner refusing to share His love and grace. He has a plan for you. A purpose for the place He’s put you. He has a job for you to do. Right now. The choice is yours. Will you do it? Will you follow Him? Will you be obedient to His voice when it’s uncomfortable, unpleasant, uncommon? Will you obey God when there are a million seemingly legitimate excuses not to do so? Will you do God’s will, God’s way? Right now. Today. No matter what. (Philippians 2:15; Matthew 5:14-16; Luke 9:23; I John 5:3)

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)