Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

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)

The words rained down like echoes from the past. Words so similar to those spoken to another prophet in another time concerning other people in another land. Strong words. Hard words. Words so heavy it felt nearly impossible to squeeze them past his tightened throat and parched lips. Words the hearers had no desire to hear. Necessary words. Words of warning. Words of repentance. Words of change. A call for the people to lay aside their own willful desires and return to their God in humility and obedience. A cry for them to hear and learn and embrace God’s truth as their own. Without these words, the people would continue to wander, continue to stray, continue to sin. They would die that way. In their sin. Eternity stretching before them in a long, dark, hopeless night. Unless he spoke the words. The unpopular, unpleasant, unwelcome truth of God. He wasn’t excited about it. Wasn’t thrilled with the possible deadly results. Jeremiah might even have taken the long way to the house of the Lord that day. His reluctance obvious. His internal struggle intense. Just like the hesitant prophet before him. (Jeremiah 26:1-6)

Jonah had found himself in a similar situation. God’s call to warn Nineveh of impending disaster due to their scandalous ways found him hopping a nearby ship and sailing in the opposite direction. For as far as it took him. As the sea kicked off and the boat rocked and swayed, Jonah found himself face to face with the consequences of his own disobedience. It wasn’t pretty. Options for escape were limited. His overboard route took him on a tour of a large fish’s intestinal tract and brought him face to face with himself, his sin, and his God. It was a time of soul-searching. A time of repentance. A time when Jonah made the choice to really sell out to God, no matter the cost. A time when Jonah was determined to speak God’s truth. To himself. To others. In Nineveh. (Jonah 1-3:3)

Had there been a way to hop aboard a nearby ship and sail away, Jeremiah might have followed Jonah’s lead. An ocean getaway seemed highly preferable to his current contentious position, even if the accommodations were the cramped quarters of a fishy stomach. He’d also happily accept the response Jonah received when he finally reached Nineveh and began to speak God’s truth. That had been truly miraculous! The people listened! They repented! They dropped everything, abandoned their hedonistic lifestyles, set aside their rampant sin, and fell to their knees in fasting and prayer. They believed God! It was a response Jeremiah would have been thrilled to receive. But the people of Judah were of a different mindset. The only truth they wanted to believe was that of their own misguided hearts. Speaking the words here, to a people so deeply entrenched in their own manufactured ideals, would no doubt end much differently than Jonah’s mission. 

Jeremiah wasn’t wrong. As he’d known they would, the words he had spoken in obedience to God had fallen on wilfully deaf ears. Everyone was angry with him. Livid, really. Priests. Prophets. People. Their rebellious hearts, convicted by the truth of his words, twisted and writhed inside them. The ugly mess within erupted in rash actions without. Snatching Jeremiah by the arms, they dragged him to the gate, stood him before the officials and raised their complaint. 

The allegations were ugly. Jeremiah was a charlatan, a liar, a traitor. He was against them. Spitting out ugly threats of coming disaster and demise for their city and themselves. Telling them to change their ways. Saying they weren’t right before God. They called heresy! Refused to believe him. Resented the fact he’d even say such things about them. Called loudly for the officials to take their side, rebuke Jeremiah, and send him to his death. 

It was Jeremiah’s moment. His time to speak. His opportunity to defend himself, his words, his God. His option to take it all back, succumb to the alleged truth the people wanted to hear, candy-coat God’s words, soft-sell the coming judgment. He chose the first option. Looking squarely in the face of those able to condemn him to death, Jeremiah spoke God’s truth. The city and the people therein were a mess. Selfish. Disobedient. Headed for certain destruction. His words were their warning. Their lifeline. Repent. Change. Obey. Be saved from certain disaster. Simple words. Honest words. Words that could send him to an early grave. He spoke them anyway. At a time when God’s truth was unwelcome, unpleasant, unheard of, Jeremiah bravely, staunchly spoke it anyway. 

Waiting for the official decision must have felt interminable. His heart thundered in his chest. His breath lodged in his throat. His instincts urged him to break free and run. It must have taken all his strength to calmly stand and wait. His life hung in the balance. There was nothing more he could do to swing the vote in his favor. He’d said everything God told him to say. Yet knowing he’d been completely obedient didn’t stop his mind from running away with his thoughts. How long does it take to die from stoning? Or would they simply run him through with a sword? Drag him out into the wilderness alone to die? Would death be slow and torturous or painfully quick? It didn’t matter. He’d do it all over again. Jeremiah would speak God’s truth again and again. Because he deemed obedience to God worth anything, worth everything. Even death.  

Admittedly, it was touch and go for a few minutes. The officials seemed to be at a bit of an impasse. It could go either way. Micah of Moresheth had prophesied similar words. When he entreated the Lord, disaster had been averted. Uriah had also prophesied similar disasters. They had sought him down and killed him. The weight of responsibility sat heavily on their shoulders. They could keep him alive and hopefully avert disaster or give him over to death and take future responsibility for the coming onslaught. They needed to choose carefully. Their decision would be final. If death were the choice, it would be immediate. The priests, prophets, and people would happily lob stones at Jeremiah until he breathed his last right there at the gate. 

The people’s thirst for blood was destined to go unfulfilled. One man on the council stood with Jeremiah. Shielded him. Kept him from death. It was a near miss. It wouldn’t stop the preaching. It wouldn’t end the sharing of God’s words, His warnings. It wouldn’t stop Jeremiah from risking his life to speak God’s truth in a social construct that encouraged each individual to speak their own truth. Verbalize their own opinions. Follow their own paths. Demand validation of their actions whether godly or not. They simply weren’t interested in hearing from God unless it was a pat on the head and a blind eye to their sin. Nothing has changed in the intervening centuries. (Jeremiah 26:7-24; Jeremiah 11:8)

We live in the exact same society. People happily traipsing through life seeking their own way. Twisting the Bible to approve their actions. Underlining the words they like. Lining through the parts they hate. In anger and conviction over their obvious sins, they rail against those upholding God’s laws, assigning them names similar to the things people called Jeremiah. Bigots. Hypocrites. Liars. Haters. And God’s people stand in fear, holding the line, but wondering how long it will be before these same people call for discrimination and death to those who hold fast to the true teachings of God’s Word. (II Timothy 3:2; Galatians 5:19; Romans 8:7; Deuteronomy 4:2)

It’s so tempting to join the club. So tempting to simply smile and nod as the people around us spew out corrupt interpretations of Scripture that allow them to sin and follow their own inclinations. We dare not do it. God’s Word, His laws, His expectations never change. You can count on them. No matter which voice is the loudest in the room. Regardless which argument falls the nicest on your ears. In spite of how persuasive the voices of the world can be. Do. Not. Give. In. You can’t afford to. Your soul is worth more than that. Your eternity is so much more precious than the baubles and trinkets the world is selling. Even when it feels treacherous and terrifying, obedience to God is worth everything, worth anything. Even social rejection, discrimination, and hate. (Matthew 5:11-13; Luke 6:22; Exodus 23:2; John 15:18-19; Matthew 7:13-14; Romans 12:2)

So be obedient. In a society that extravagantly celebrates speaking your own truth, I challenge you to speak God’s truth instead. To yourself. To others. I challenge you to grab your Bible and study it. Old Testament. New Testament. Genesis to Revelation. Lean in to every account, every proverb, every parable. Listen to God as He speaks to you. Let Him teach you His truth, the only truth, the eternal truth. Learn His requirements for living. Understand His desires for humanity. Know God’s truth. Then go speak it. Boldly. Even when it is unpopular. Even when it is uncomfortable. Even when it flies in the face of the current social agenda. Speak it anyway. In Jonah’s place. In Jeremiah’s stead. No matter the outcome. Be faithful. Be courageous. Preach the message. Speak God’s truth. (Ephesians 4:15, 6:10-16; James 1:22-25; Zechariah 8:16; II Corinthians 2:17, 4:2; Galatians 4:16; John 17:17; Joshua 1:8; Psalm 119:105)

Her announcement came as a surprise. It shouldn’t have. He should have seen it coming. Even at his advanced age he should have recognized the lust for power in Adonijah’s eyes. He should have done something about it before things reached this chaotic state, before the boys had chosen sides, before the rift in his family became irreparable, before a portion of his faithful men broke off to form a different alliance. He should have made the decree, named a successor so much sooner. He hadn’t. 

Until he’d actually found himself in such a helpless state, it had been difficult to accept his own mortality. So hard to picture someone else in his place, on his throne, ruling his people. His mind still wandered back to the warrior he’d been. More active. More fit. His eyes had been clearer, his mind sharper. He’d spent very little time imagining the day when he couldn’t or wouldn’t sit on the throne. Unfortunately, with no permission from him, David’s health had declined. His body transitioned from fit to frail. And his boys were fighting among themselves. Again.

From the moment David’s body had begun to show signs of aging, Adonijah had been planning his own succession. Plotting a coup. Preparing a takeover. As the beautiful Abishag attended the ailing king, Adonijah rallied his troops. Gathered horsemen and chariots. Conferred with his military advisor. Spoke with Abiathar the priest. Summoned the royal officials. Offered a grand sacrifice of sheep, oxen, and fattened calves. Exalted himself to rule over the people. Celebrated with all his brothers. Everyone except Solomon.

Solomon’s name was conspicuously missing from the guest list. As was that of Nathan the prophet. Neither was invited to share in the celebration or bless the self-appointed king. Why? Because Adonijah knew he had no business engaging in such activities. He clearly knew that Solomon was destined to ascend the throne. Perhaps he’d been told of his father’s promise to Bathsheba. Maybe everyone knew. Perhaps God’s decree that Solomon rule and build His temple had gone out among the people. Or maybe  Adonijah had a habit of skulking the palace halls, eavesdropping on conversations not meant for his ears. It really doesn’t matter. He knew his actions were outside the scope of blessing. Apparently, he also thought he wouldn’t get caught. (I Chronicles 28)

Humanity is silly like that. Busy rushing about thinking no one will notice our machinations to get our own way over God’s or our epic tantrums when what we planned is thwarted. The people around us look on and wonder at our antics. Question our motives. And weigh in their hearts if following Jesus is worth it based on the actions and reactions they see from us. 

The people of Israel weren’t ignorant of the hullabaloo Adonijah was making. They knew he’d gone to a lot of fuss to convince them he was the logical choice for king. Clearly he believed they would follow along without asking questions or waiting for guidance. He was wrong. They were watching David. They were waiting for his decision. They weren’t going to switch their allegiance until their king gave the signal. Every eye was on David. Watching for his next move. Waiting for his next decree. Everyone except Bathsheba. 

She didn’t have time to sit about waiting with bated breath to see if the aged and ailing king would remember his promise. She couldn’t take the chance that he’d breathe his last before he remembered to name her son his successor. She wasn’t in a position to sit and wait and watch. Bathsheba needed action. She needed David to speak up. Their lives depended on David keeping his promise. Without it, they would be deemed offenders, destined for death. Adonijah wasn’t bent toward compassion. He wouldn’t set her up in a little hillside cottage to live out her days. He wouldn’t give her son the opportunity to quietly farm a small plot of land. No. Bathsheba knew what would happen if David didn’t act. She didn’t have time to wait. 

Desperation had her acquiescing to the plan Nathan presented. Approaching the king’s sickbed, she outlined in vivid detail the recent happenings in town, the division between his sons, the confusion of the people, the alleged kingship of Adonijah. She didn’t mince words or soft-sell the dire situation outside the confines of his bed chamber. Things were a mess. Out of control. Sick, dying, only partially lucid, it didn’t matter, David needed to do something. Bathsheba was there to make sure he did. In carefully respectful words she issued the reminder David needed to raise him from his rest and set things to rights, “All eyes are on you, waiting to see who you endorse as king.” (I Kings 1:1-21)

There’s something in the desperate words of Bathsheba that should screech our minds to a halt as we read them. Make us read them again.  Force us to personalize them. Consider who might be scrutinizing our lives. Stir our hearts to examine every word before it leaves our lips. Rethink every action before it moves our hands. Because nothing has changed from then until now. The eyes of the people are on us. They are watching those who call themselves followers of God. They are waiting to see where our allegiance lies and if it will stay there when tough times come, in the face of trials and troubles, in the throes of persecution. The people around you–family members, friends, co-workers, neighbors–are watching your every move, waiting to see if Jesus is truly your king or if you are embracing an interloper on the throne of your heart. Believe me, they know the difference. (I Timothy 4:16; Colossians 3:1-4, 4:2-6; I Thessalonians 5:11, 13-22)

No matter what faith they claim or eschew, the people watching your life know who is on the throne of your kingdom. It speaks more loudly from actions than words, screaming out of every facial expression, every derisive snort, every compassionate act. What you do for Jesus is so much more impactful than what you say about Him. Why? Because all eyes are on you. Watching. Waiting. Wondering how you will respond to the situations that happen in every person’s life. The disappointments. The surprises. The frustrations. The concerns. All eyes are on you to show them who to choose, who to serve, who to let rule their lives. (Ephesians 5:1-2; John 14:21-24; Luke 6:36; Philippians 2:5-15)

As the anointing oil landed on Solomon’s head, running down his face to trickle off the end of his beard, he must surely have felt the heavy mantle of responsibility fall on his shoulders. The eyes of the people would be on him now. He would have to lead them in righteousness and truth. He would have to steer them to follow God. It was an enormous responsibility. Overwhelming. Unsettling. Heavy. Exactly the same things you should have felt when you read the words of Bathsheba to David and internalized them. All eyes are on you. Your actions. Your words. Your expressions. So live like Jesus. Every day. All day. Act like Jesus. Make your life glorify God and announce to all the onlookers that you have chosen Him to be king of your life. Live in a way that encourages others to crown Him king of their lives too. If everyone is watching, what are they learning from you? (Ephesians 4:22-24, 32; I John 2:6; II Corinthians 5:17; I Kings 1:39, 3:9)