Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

The prayer meeting had been impromptu. They could just as easily have banded together in prayer from the relative safety of their own homes. Desperation laced with fear had brought them creeping out of darkened doorways, sneaking down alleys, slipping around corners, quietly knocking at the door of their established meeting place. The need to be together felt urgent. The current social climate demanded the strength and support of being physically present with one another. The necessity of presenting a united front against the impending onslaught of persecution was obvious. Things were changing for the worst. King Herod was on a rampage. 

Like a cat with a mouse, Herod batted and swiped at the church members. Harassing. Taunting. Terrorizing. James had been beheaded. Peter had been imprisoned. Rumors of his impending murder were not exaggerated. It was only a matter of time. Herod was having a heyday and society was loving it. The general population heralded his success. His group of devotees was growing. His actions were widely applauded. It was a terrifying popularity contest. At least for the church. Unpopular because of their faith and teachings of the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of sins, each member knew their names were somewhere on the growing list of offenders destined for the edge of the sword. (Acts 12:1-4)

It made them jumpy. Edgy. Anxious. Trepidation had them constantly checking over their shoulders. Peeking around corners. Taking the circuitous route to avoid being followed. So when the knock sounded on the door of their meeting place, fear-filled gazes met across the room. Lips previously engaged in earnest prayer fell silent. Stomachs clenched. Hands turned to ice. Hard lumps formed in throats. They weren’t expecting anyone else. No one knew they’d gathered. At least they didn’t think so.

Shaking in her sandals, the servant girl, Rhoda, bravely tiptoed her way to the front of the house. No one polite would call around after dark except in case of an emergency. The knock could mean nothing good. Resting her hand on the cool wood of the door and drawing in a fortifying breath, she calmly requested the caller’s identity. Who were they? What did they want? Caught up in the terrified imaginations of her own mind, she completely forgot to open the door when the responding voice shot joy through her veins. Peter was back!     

Whirling around, her face split in a radiant smile, Rhoda raced into the prayer gathering, interrupting their intercession with news she was certain would turn their mourning into exaltation. Screeching to a halt in the doorway, she gushed the news that Peter was there. Peter was safe! Peter was free! Their prayers had been answered! It must have felt like the wind was completely stolen from her sails when the prayer warriors stared back in skepticism. They didn’t believe her. Not one of them. No one believed God had done the miraculous. In spite of their prayers. No matter their begging. Regardless how worn their knees had become. Not one person in that prayer meeting, who had spent the last several days or hours bent before God, asking Him to work, believed He had done so. Begging the question, why were they even praying in the first place? (Acts 12:12-17)

If they didn’t believe God would answer, if they didn’t think He would bless them with a miracle, if they were teetering on the brink of unbelief, why had they invested so much time and energy in prayer, asking God to do something they didn’t actually expect Him to do?  In such dire circumstances, why had they engaged in “wait and see” praying? When their faith so clearly needed the boost, why did they refuse to believe Rhoda, the servant girl, was right? Why did Peter have to keep knocking? Why did he have to stand outside for so long? Why did they have to go and see him for themselves before believing? If they weren’t expecting an answer, why were they even praying in the first place? 

Perhaps it wasn’t that they were expecting no answer, but that they believed the answer must fall within the parameters they themselves had erected. Perhaps they prayed for Herod’s demise and an end to all persecution. Maybe they requested the enhancement of Peter’s fortitude as he remained imprisoned. Perhaps they begged for a quick and painless transition from earth to glory for their beloved apostle and friend. Maybe they simply asked for God’s will to be done, for guidance and direction through the social and religious minefield of their day, and for protection in such treacherous times. Maybe their tired faith couldn’t conceive a miraculous midnight rescue. But they got it, because when God’s people earnestly pray, God answers. Exceedingly. Abundantly. Miraculously. The proof was at the door. (Ephesians 3:20)

Earlier that night, as Peter lay heavily chained and closely guarded, the angel of God came on a rescue mission. Striding past the sentries at the prison doors, he walked down the hall to Peter’s cell, entering without a key. No one moved. Not the soldiers left to guard duty. Not another inmate. Not Peter. Even as light flooded the room, they slept on. Impatiently poking Peter in the side, the angel urged him to action. “Get up. Get moving. Get dressed. Get out of here.” 

In a near comatose state, Peter did as he was told. Struggling to his feet, he stared at his hands in amazement as the heavy chains fell away. Snatching up his clothes, shoes, and cloak, he fell in step behind the angel. Confidently they walked. Past the first guard. Past the second guard. Straight up to the iron gate that led to the city. It would be locked. It always was. Except it wasn’t. Without a squeak or groan it opened on their approach. All alone. No one was there. No one opened it. No one had accidentally left it unlocked. The wind wasn’t blowing. Just as He had for every step of Peter’s miraculous prison break, God had opened the gate to the city, completing his escape. 

Knowing he’d need to leave the city entirely, Peter made one stop before leaving town. A stop even more necessary than him preaching at his next destination. Mary’s house. People needed to see the answer to their prayers. They needed to know that even when their faith wavered and their hope sagged, God was still hearing and answering their prayers in ways they could barely believe. Peter needed to make that final stop on his way out of town to live out one final message to the believers there. Don’t stop praying. Ever. No matter what. God is listening. God is working. Even if the outcome doesn’t look the way you thought it should or hoped it would. Keep praying. God will answer at just the right time, in just the right way. Steady faith or faltering hope. Don’t give up. Just keep praying. (Acts 12:6-12, 17; Colossians 4:2; Psalm 66:19; Romans 12:12)

There’s never been a more timely message. As the cold shoulder of society turns more and more against those of true faith and following Christ, our earnest prayers shoot heavenward with greater urgency than ever before. For ourselves. For our children. For our nation. For our world. Those prayers are often teeming with desperate ideas and meticulous plans of what and where and how God needs to act. Sometimes we get so focused on begging God to adhere to our prescribed course of action, we miss the miraculous work He does instead. We don’t see His plan in the delayed paperwork. We can’t trace His hand in the unfortunate accident. We find ourselves literally scared to trust His heart in the situations closest to ours because we can’t imagine they are as important to Him as they are to us. Yet they are. God cares about every nuance of your life. Every circumstance. Every situation. Every. Single. Thing. And He is working. Constantly. Tirelessly. Endlessly. Even when you can’t see it. Even when your heart fails to believe it. Even when your head says you should just give up. Don’t stop praying. Don’t give up. Steady faith or faltering hope. God will answer. Just keep praying. (Luke 18:1-8; James 5:16; Jeremiah 2:12; Psalm 91:15; I John 5:14; Philippians 4:6; I Thessalonians 5:17; Psalm 37:7; Lamentations 3:5; Micah 7:7; Romans 8:25)

She could barely stand the sight of him. Angry, red, seeping sores covered every inch of visible skin. Pus oozed. Blood trickled. Scabs formed. Pain radiated from his eyes. Horror emanated from hers. Her stomach churned as she determinedly forced herself to look at him. Bile rose in the back of her throat as he scraped the pottery shard down his skin again, wiping the drainage on an overused rag at his side. Desperately she wanted to look away. Avert her eyes. Turn from the abominable scene before her. She couldn’t. This was absolutely the last straw. The final terror. She had to make him listen to reason. God had made His point. Stripped them of everything earthly they held dear. The only thing left to lose was their lives. It had to be enough. She couldn’t take it anymore. Job needed to relent, admit he was no match for the atrocities that overtook them. He needed to give in. Give up. Bow to the pressure. Curse the God he’d served so well. Renounce his faith. Rescind his integrity. Surrender himself to the illness ravaging his body. And die. 

Death would surely be better than the abject humiliation they had suffered. It couldn’t possibly be worse. Her mortifying walk to Job’s new living quarters outside the city had proven the fact. One would expect folks to show more compassion for a woman who had lost everything in such a short period of time, yet no one seemed impressed by her enormous loss. Flocks and herds they’d worked so hard to raise. Servants they’d acquired. Wealth and social status upon which she’d relied. Children she’d carried, painfully birthed and carefully raised. All of it was gone. The shock was overwhelming. The grief literally stole her breath. It seemed her heart would break. Yet still it wasn’t over. 

Before she’d had time to absorb the whole of her grief, her husband, the last precious thing she had, was stricken with boils and forced to take up residence outside the gates. In spite of her cleanliness, her obvious wholeness of health, people gave her a wide berth as she walked through town. Teenagers watched and whispered behind their hands. Men glued their backs to walls as she passed. Anxious mothers protectively swept unsuspecting toddlers behind their robes. Unsupervised children, curious by nature, followed at a distance to gawk through the gates at the gut-wrenching mess her husband had become. She knew they carried tales back into town. She’d overheard the exaltation of her enemies, the celebratory stories of how the mighty had well and truly fallen. 

She wasn’t having it. It had to stop. All of it. The horrors. The grief. The gossip. Feeling much as the remaining servants had felt as they breathlessly ran up to bear their awful news, she marched through the gates to face her disgraced husband. She had some things to say. Stopping beside his piteous form, forcing herself to gaze directly into Job’s blotchy, oozing face, she spoke the words she’d been carefully rehearsing. Words that had been running over and over again in her brain. Words that came from a place of emotion and loss, frustration and anger, fear and hopelessness. Words she probably didn’t even mean, but couldn’t stop herself from saying. Enough was enough. God was clearly not impressed with Job or his faithfulness. He obviously wasn’t going to come racing to their rescue. The seething rage riding just below the surface finally bubbled to the top. Job needed to face the facts, be honest with himself. He needed to quit God, give way to the illness, and give himself up to death.

 The man was too stubborn for his own good! Sitting there, aching and irritated by his physical issues, he still had the nerve to defy her, correct her, deny her. In fact, he had the audacity to compare her to the foolish women in town, ruled by their emotions, allowing anything and everything to roll from their lips. He’s clearly appalled by her suggestion. Curse God? Give up? Die? Not a chance! Job doesn’t even consider it. Doesn’t make a note. Doesn’t promise to think about it. No. He just strikes it down. Why? Because whether or not Job would eventually waver in his belief in God’s fairness and sovereignty, at that moment, covered in seeping, disgusting, agonizing boils, his belief in both remained firm. If God causes the rain to fall on both the good and the evil, should they not expect both pleasantness and adversity to affect everyone as well? (Job 1-2; Matthew 5:45)

This is obviously not an answer Job’s wife is prepared to accept. There must be a boil on the man’s brain! Foolish woman, indeed! Huffing in disgust and whirling around, she appears to walk away without a backward glance, leaving his care to the lamenting buddies that come to keep him company. Never again is she mentioned as visiting, bringing food, clean clothes, or soothing ointment. Perhaps her stomach couldn’t handle the sight or her anger remained kindled for the entirety of his illness. Either way, beyond a passive mention in one of Job’s responses, his wife gets no more ink in the remaining forty chapters of the book. Not even an honorable mention when Job acquires ten more children! So what’s the point of memorializing her tantrum in the first place? Is it about showcasing Job’s integrity? Is it about comparing her attitude with his? Or is it a looking glass for every soul who reads this account? (Job 31:9-10)

For the first time in my life, I tend to think it’s the latter. After all the times I’ve read the book of Job and pondered its words, after sitting through college discussions of the recorded events, after reading the thoughts of commentators and historians and people of far greater intellect than myself concerning the content of Job, I find I cannot stop hearing the voice of God and seeing His finger underline the few lines dedicated to Job’s wife. There’s a lesson for us in her words and actions. There’s a mirror in which to see ourselves. We have only to look. 

We rarely stop and feel the emotions behind the words of Job 2:9. We fail to feel her grief. We are deaf to her pain and fear, humiliation and hopelessness. We are indifferent to the aching, raging pain of losing every single one of her children at the exact same moment. We remain blind to the fact that she is a victim of the same set of circumstances that have us deeply pitying Job. We feel no sympathy, no empathy for the woman who is suffering alongside him. We have not one care about what her future looks like in a day when women had no rights without a man to stand for them. We ignore her obvious feelings of impotence, awarding her only passing attention as we celebrate the grand story of a great man. We read her rash words and judge her with a harshness we would never want used on ourselves. Yet if we look closely, answer honestly, we see a recognizable reflection staring back from the frustrated words she spoke to her husband outside the city gates. We see ourselves. Because we’ve all been there. 

At some point in our lives, tragedies, trials and tribulations have bombarded our souls in relentless attacks. We find ourselves peeking around corners, surreptitiously glancing at the sky, jumping every time the phone rings, anxiously waiting for the other shoe to drop. As we sit there, draped in grief, surrounded by fear, steeped in anxiety and frustration, the claws of panic squeezing ever more tightly around our throats, the evil one has come in for the kill. He’s put thoughts in our minds and words in our mouth that sounded much like the ones Job’s wife uttered centuries ago. Temptations to quit serving God because we didn’t get our way, because tragedy struck, because our hopes and dreams aren’t happening as quickly as we hoped. He happily highlights how we can make our own wants and wishes happen in a timely manner while downplaying the pitfalls of our best-laid plans. He points to a pretty, rock-free path, easily trod that looks so lovely but takes us far away from God. So often, our grief-clouded minds follow. Our desperate hearts, grasping at the last strands of our dilapidated dreams, get distracted and we run down that pathway. We believe the lies. About God. About ourselves. About the future we could have if we just try a different, lesser, easier way. 

It will never work. There is no pathway that will avoid pain and suffering, grief and woe. The Bible never promised or promoted that. The only one who ever said it is the evil one himself and we all know he’s a liar. But God is honest. Honest about the trials, temptations, and tribulations that would beset us. Honest about the tragedies and troubles. Honest about the discomforts and unpleasantness of this fallen world. And He was honest about where He’d be through them all. With us. He is not aloof or untouched by our infirmities, upsets, agonies. He is not ignorant of our fears and worries and cares. God is not standing far off waiting for our lives to even out and be pleasant again. He is right there in the trenches with us. He feels our grief. He hears our cries. He collects all our tears in a bottle, meticulously recording them in His book. Why? Because God never forgets His children. He never abandons us. He never leaves us alone. He is our Emmanuel. He is with us. Always. And you can trust Him. (John 8:44; Matthew 1:23; Hebrews 4:15; Psalm 139:13; Psalm 34:17-20; Psalm 56:8; Isaiah 53:4; Hebrews 13:5)

Wherever you are today, whatever you are facing, I hope you remember Job’s wife. Remember the woman steeped in horrifically tragic circumstances beyond her control. Remember that she was bereft of hope and help. Remember how the evil one took advantage of her vulnerable state. Remember that he’ll do it to you too. When things go epically wrong, when tragedy strikes, when your hopes and dreams lay in ashes at your feet, the evil one will start yammering in your head about haring off on your own, handling things better than God. Don’t fall for it. Don’t believe it. It’s all lies. You’ll end up down some dead-end road you never intended to follow, brokenhearted and lost, desperately in need of a rescue, missing out on the future blessings God has for you. So stay faithful. Don’t abandon the God who has proven Himself true over and over again. Don’t remove your faith from Him or take your hand from His no matter your circumstances or situation. Trust Him to be with you. Speak His name and know it is true. Emmanuel. God is with you. Always. (Deuteronomy 31:6,8; Matthew 28:20; Psalm 139:7; Psalm 145:18; Isaiah 41:10; Romans 8:35-39; I Peter 5:8; Psalm 37:3-5)

They should have known better. They should have learned from past experiences. The Philistines should have understood that one victorious battle did not a won war make. They hadn’t learned that lesson. Not from the historical accounts of the plagues on Egypt and the miraculous rescue of the Israelites. Not when they entered their temple and found Dagon in pieces on the floor before the ark of God. Not even from their own experiences with tumors and death as they held the ark captive. They had taken away nothing from these experiences. Instead they assumed that because they had defeated Israel and held them in subjection, they would always be triumphant. They wouldn’t. Far from it. 

Arrogant from their victory at Aphek and the capture of the ark of God, the Philistines oppressed the Israelites in every possible way. Not once were they permitted to forget they were subject to their enemies. For some Israelites, it smacked strongly of the time their ancestors spent in Egypt. Their Temple was dismantled. There was no set time for worshiping their God. Even though the ark had been returned to them, their wandering hearts weren’t in the place to reap the rewards of God’s power. They had been drawn aside by foreign gods, pagan practices. If they had been hoping the false gods would somehow offer a rescue the true God had yet to enact, they were headed for disappointment. Staring down the tube of time, they must surely have wondered if it would ever end. (I Samuel 4-5)

Twenty years passed before it did. Twenty years of straying. Twenty years of hardship, oppression, frustration. Twenty years of Samuel working, hoping, praying for God’s people to turn back to Him. Twenty years to comprehend that their only hope, their only help, their only possible means of escaping their current circumstances was to lay aside their idols and turn back to God. Relinquish control of their lives to Him. Become His kingdom on earth, the people in which His will could continually be done. (I Samuel 6:1-2)

Recognizing that the moment he’d been relentlessly bombarding Heaven for had finally arrived, Samuel gathered the people together and laid it out for them. This couldn’t be some partial turning. It couldn’t be half-hearted. There could be no wishy-washy efforts. They had to be all in. They had to return with their whole hearts. The idols they had collected must be eradicated. Their allegiance must solely be to God alone, their gaze on Him, their ears tuned to His voice, their hearts obedient to His every command. Always. 

Exhausted from twenty years of effort to find their own way out of their mess, the people agreed. Readily. They removed the pagan gods and goddesses. Quit their ritualistic worship of idols. Cleaned up their lives. Settled their hearts on God. And headed out to meet Samuel at Mizpah. Much to the dismay of the Philistines.

Unfortunately, human memories are incredibly short. It didn’t take a lifetime for the Philistines to forget the power of Israel’s God. The fear and tumors and death that had ravaged their land at the capture of His ark were long forgotten. Negative memories wiped clean, they raced down to once again beat them into submission. It never crossed their minds that they might lose. Based on previous battles, they fully believed they could win. Their confidence couldn’t be higher. They were in for an enormous surprise. 

The Israelites they had so handily defeated in the past were nowhere to be found.  No longer were they led by priests who had spurned God and failed to keep His commands. They weren’t up against people who had left God’s laws and followed idols. No. These people were different. Changed. They had returned to the Lord with their entire hearts. They were God’s people, God’s kingdom on earth, the place His will would be done. And it wasn’t God’s will for the Philistines to vanquish the Israelites again. He absolutely wasn’t going to have His people destroyed. Not that day. Not any day. 

From Mizpah, their cries had come up to Him. He’d heard their repentance. He’d seen the changes. He’d watched them demolish the idols and false gods they had collected. He saw their fear as the enemy perched on their borders, waiting to strike. And He heard their prayers. Their cries to be delivered from the evil literally waiting on their doorsteps. And God acted. The Biblical account literally reads, “and the Lord answered…” (I Samuel 7:9)

Not because they were doing so well on their own. Not because they deserved it. Not because He didn’t want to look incapable. No. God answered because the people had chosen to go back and allow Him to rule in their midst. They chose Him over all other gods, over everything that turned their heads. They chose to be His people. People of obedience. People who surrendered to His will. All day. Every day. They were His people, His kingdom, and God positively wasn’t about to surrender His authority, His kingdom, His people to evil. So He didn’t. (I Samuel 7:3-9) 

As the Philistines crept in close, swords raised, spears at the ready, God moved. From the heavens a mighty sound thundered. There was no explanation. No one knew what it was. Terrified and disoriented by the disconcerting sound, the Philistines became confused. A feeling with which the men of Israel were not afflicted. They were not confused. They knew exactly what had happened. They knew Who was behind it. They knew why it happened. They knew that when people choose to wholly be God’s kingdom on earth, the place His will is done, choose obedience to Him over all the attractions of the world, and call on Him to deliver them from temptation and evil, God answers. Enormously. Extravagantly. Expeditiously. (Psalm 91:15)

Racing out on the heels of the confused and running Philistines, the men of Israel chased them down and went to work. In the very place the Philistines had defeated them twenty years prior, they returned the favor. It was a resounding victory. Why? Because when you live the words Jesus taught us to pray, when you mean them with your entire heart, when you truly become the kingdom of God on earth, His magnificent power will go to work on your behalf to steer you away from temptation, to deliver you from evil. Because God is always working to preserve His kingdom. On earth. In you. (I Samuel 7:10-11)

See, there’s nothing you can do in your own power. Nothing worth doing, anyway. You can’t save yourself. You can’t fight your own battles. You can’t dispel the gloom of evil or chase away temptation. You can’t make informed choices about your life because you can’t see the future and know what will work best. On your own, you are impotent. But when you choose to be God’s kingdom on earth, to surrender to His will in every way, then you become the recipient of His power. Wonder-working, miracle-doing, life-changing power. The only way to tap into that power is to be His kingdom on earth. (Psalm 46:1-3; Exodus 15:2; Deuteronomy 31:6; Habakkuk 3:19; Isaiah 40:29)

Perhaps you have noticed that we have spent the past few weeks journeying through the words of The Lord’s Prayer. We could have spent much longer. As we arrive at the final lines of the prayer, we find the words, “Thine is the kingdom. Thine is the power. Thine is the glory. Forever and ever.” It is the same truth the Israelites learned. It’s all God’s. We are His people, His sheep, His kingdom. It is only through His power that we succeed at anything. We dare not forget it. And the glory must always be His. Now and forever. A fact Samuel was prepared to indelibly etch on the minds of every Israelite man, woman, and child present. (Matthew 6:13 KJV)

As the men jubilantly flowed back into town, Samuel set up a stone between Mizpah and Shen. Not just any stone. An Ebenezer. A stone of help. A stone of remembrance. A place they could look back on, visit, take their children to see and recount the events of God’s leadership, guidance, and victory. They could there remind themselves how surrender and obedience pay off. In times when they were tempted to follow the siren call of the world and chase after idols,  they could look at that Ebenezer stone, remember all God had done for them, and encourage themselves to continue being His kingdom on earth, continue surrendering to His will, continue trusting Him for strength, courage, grace, and deliverance. And they could give Him glory for all He had done. Every battle He fought. Every victory He brought. Every ounce of protection or added layer of strength. They knew those things all came to His kingdom alone, through His power alone and the glory must be given to God alone. (I Samuel 7:12; I Chronicles 29:11; Isaiah 42:8; Jude 1:24-25)

We all have a similar story. A time, or times, in our lives when we can unarguably trace the hand of God. Looking back over the past you can remember moments when the enemy had all the cards stacked against you, yet God delivered you from the clutches of temptation, the detriment of evil. So look back, even if you aren’t going that way. Raise your Ebenezer. Get it up there. Designate a stone of remembrance. Write a journal entry. Stitch a sampler. Just do something! Something to help you remember that your hope is in the Lord. Your strength comes from Him. You can do nothing on your own, and praise God, you don’t have to! God will fight your battles. Don’t forget it. You are His kingdom. His power is working in and through you. So give Him the glory. Out loud. Tell your story. Talk about it with your children and grandchildren. Let your friends know. Whisper it to the lady at the supermarket. Shout it to the congregation at church. Raise your Ebenezer and encourage others to do the same. Be His kingdom. Run by His power. Giving Him the glory. Now and forever. Amen. (Job 5:19; Psalm 91:14; I Chronicles 16:12, 23-25; Luke 8:39; Psalm 78:4; Philippians 4:13; Ephesians 3:20-21)

They were on the move again. They had no idea why. Camped by the twelve springs of water and seventy palm trees at Elim, the travelers would have been quite happy to stay for an extended period of time. Weeks. Months. Years. Maybe a lifetime. It had been a much-needed reprieve for their tired selves. The journey to Elim had been a less than comfortable excursion. The whirlwind exodus from Egypt, plunging them into an independence they weren’t entirely prepared to undertake. The narrow escape through the Red Sea proving there could be no turning back. The waterless three-day trek through the wilderness of Shur posing the question whether or not they’d make it out alive. The bitter, undrinkable waters of Marah, although perfected by the miraculous work of a stick, pressing home the fact that things were not as they had been in Egypt. Yes. They were absolutely interested in an extended stay at Elim. (Exodus 12:23-36, 14, 15:22-23)

It was not to be. Stretching and yawning, they cautiously peered through their tent flaps. Hopes were immediately dashed. Countenances fell. The pillars of cloud and fire were ready to move again. Their barely awakened ears would soon be assaulted by the voice of Moses as he traversed the camp, urging readiness for travel. It was time to move out again. They already knew the drill. Collapse and roll the tents. Stuff your belongings back into your packs. Collect your children. Gather the livestock. Get a move on. It’s time to move out. (Exodus 16:1)

Sighing, they obeyed. Packed up camp. Fell into traveling formation. Casting one last wistful look at the plentiful water and restful trees, they set their steps to follow. As they walked, they surely wondered. How long would the trek be this time? Days? Weeks? Longer? Remembering past events, some surely worried. How long would the water collected at Elim last? Would there be a spring or stream along the way? And what about food? What would they do when their stores were completely depleted? Surely the question on everyone’s mind, yet crossing only the bravest of lips, asked exactly how far it was to this Promised Land? They’d thought it was closer. With this amount of time on the road and no final destination yet appearing, would their weakening faith ever truly become sight? 

There’s something about the silence of traveling that wreaks havoc with your brain. It makes the thoughts in your head seem louder, more emphatic. As you ruminate over the angles of your current situation, the evil one leaps at the opportunity to whisper in your ear delivering possible problems, catastrophic circumstances, fatal futures. In a swirling eddy, they tumble over and around one another raising questions to which you have no answers. Worry clogs your throat. Fear settles like a rock in the pit of your stomach. Anxiety haunts your every move. Feeling helpless and desperate, it becomes easy to lash out. At yourself. At others. At God. 

It seems this is the exact place the Israelites found themselves. They were tired of traveling. They’d run out of things to talk about days ago. Silence reigned. Their minds roared. All they had now was their thoughts to keep them company. Thoughts of the eventful journey behind them. Thoughts of what might lie ahead. Thoughts of the hunger and thirst they had already endured. Thoughts of Egypt, its overflowing meat pots, plenteous bread, and abundant water. And they again had something to talk about. With Moses. 

Arriving in yet another wilderness, Sin, they sounded off their mouths at the ones they deemed responsible for all their troubles. They’d been fine in Egypt before Moses and Aaron came along pronouncing plagues on their taskmasters. Had they wanted freedom? Of course. Had they cried out to God to rescue them? Absolutely! But this wasn’t what they had in mind. They’d imagined something instantaneously victorious. Blindly schlepping through the wilderness wasn’t it. Day after day of walking, hauling, camping. No map. No ticking off miles. No stops for sightseeing. What was the point of this excursion anyway? Death in the desert and burial in an unmarked grave? They could have comfortably died in Egypt of natural causes with hydrated bodies and full bellies. Who did Moses and Aaron think they were? What were they up to? Had they brought them all out to the desert in a campaign of genocide? Had the people misplaced their faith to their detriment? More importantly, was God even in this or had He abandoned them too? (Exodus 16:2-3)

He hadn’t. Abandoned them, that is. God was still with His people. He was still leading them by the pillars of cloud and fire. He was still providing for their needs. He always would. In His time. They didn’t die from dehydration. They didn’t starve for lack of sustenance. In fact, their clothes didn’t even wear out in the entire time of their wandering. No, God hadn’t abandoned them. Moses and Aaron weren’t out to get them. No one was responsible for their current mental whirlwind except themselves. They had taken their eyes off the Leader and fallen into the myriad pitfalls of evil around them. Whining. Complaining. Worry. Fear. Longing for the treats of Egypt when God was offering them the buffet of His provision. Lashing out at Moses or God or anyone they thought should be able to change their circumstances. None of which would have happened if they had just kept focused on God, kept their faith fully resting in Him. If they hadn’t given the evil one space in their heads. Temptation and evil and sin wouldn’t have lured them in if they’d stayed focused on their Leader. But they didn’t. (Deuteronomy 29:5)

We can hardly fault them. So often we are guilty of the same. It must surely be why Jesus taught us to pray the words, “Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.” Admittedly, at first blush it seems like a ridiculous statement. Over and again the Bible reiterates that God doesn’t tempt His people. That’s not His gig. It’s our own sinful desires that get us distracted by the neon sign flashing over our besetting sins, tempting us to come in for a taste. It’s our own inability to stay fully focused on our Leader as we navigate the pathway through temptations, trials and downright evil. It’s the little piece of us that continually caves to the evil one. It’s us. Not Him. God will never lead you into temptations. He won’t. He will lead you past them, through them, around them. But He will never lead you into the middle of temptation and have you pitch your tent. That’s a choice you make yourself. (I Corinthians 10:13; James 1:13-14; Matthew 6:13; Hebrews 2:18; Ephesians 4:27)

Time after time the Israelites would trade their faith for fear at the temptation of the evil one. They’d scream for food and meat and water. They’d act like God couldn’t be trusted. They’d build an idol and rescind their covenant to be His people alone. And God would allow it because God is a gentleman. He will never force you to do His will. He will never manipulate you. He will offer you a choice and accept the choice you make. Even if He knows it will turn out badly. Even though He sees how it will affect your future. Even when He understands how unhappy you will be in the end. God will never force you to go His way, follow His advice, or abandon all to be His disciple. The choice is always yours. Temptations to go haring off down a different path will be plentiful. Evil will beckon you from every side, calling you to be the king of your own kingdom. If you choose them, those things will destroy your relationship with God. They will steal your faith, your trust, your confidence in your Leader and have you throwing tantrums as big as the Israelites when things don’t go your way. But only if you choose them. (Matthew 26:41; Mark 10:17-27)

At a time when we are vigorously encouraged to take charge of our own destiny, to be our own leader, it feels achingly impossible to find the words to express how desperately we need to pray the words Jesus taught us to pray. Daily. Hourly. We need to pray for wisdom to make proper choices. We can’t trust ourselves. Our human hearts are incredibly fickle. The things of the world are so alluring. The bright lights and baubles of temptation have such capacity to distract us and draw us aside. The inky darkness of impermeable evil shrouds every tempting sideroad. We’ll be lost and wandering a spiritual wilderness if we don’t pray the words.

So pray them. Pray. The. Words. Pray that your eyes never stray from His face, that your feet never leave His path. Even when it’s tempting. Even when it’s hard. Even when everyone else is doing it. Pray for strength to keep the faith, to trust His heart. Pray for protection and deliverance on the mountaintops of life as well as the dark valleys. Cover your path with prayer. The path for today. The path for tomorrow. Then, when the bright lights flash, when the siren call sounds, when the darkness crowds your pathway you can walk safely through, unscathed by the virulent evil around you. Pray the words, trust your Leader, and rest in the knowledge that God preserves the souls of the faithful and delivers from evil all those who call on His name. Pray the words. (Psalm 121:3,7; Jeremiah 17:9-10; Psalm 25:15; John 17:15; II Thessalonians 3:3)

The eerie sound of grief stricken men openly weeping ricocheted off the fortress walls as Ziklag was plunged into dark mourning. At the announcement of the young Amalekite, daily business screeched to a halt. Clothes were torn. Meals were foregone. Waves of bereavement rolled over David as he absorbed the pain of personal loss. King Saul had met a gruesome end. His son, Jonathan, had died in battle. The sharp lance of grief seemed to pierce his very soul. 

His people understood the intensity of his mourning. The impenetrable bond between David and Jonathan was legendary. A friendship never affected by distance, never stunted by interlopers. Friendship that never failed. Not once. Not when jealous Saul commanded his son to kill David. Not when angry Saul demanded Jonathan deliver David to him for execution. Not even when the spear previously thrown at David was hurled at Jonathan instead. Their friendship never faltered, never faded. Adversity knit their souls in brotherhood. The deep love between them made the loss more incredible. It was as if David had lost a part of himself, so deep was his mourning. His people understood. They grieved with him. For Jonathan. (I Samuel 19:1; I Samuel 20:30-34)

Less understandable was the obvious grief David felt over the loss of Saul. The history between them was no secret. A history littered with valiant wins and violent jealousy. David had been an unknown shepherd boy before he walked onto the battlefield in the valley of Elah. No one of importance knew his name. No one even cared whose son he was. No one thought for even a second he was a warrior. David probably didn’t think he was either, but he also hadn’t expected such cowardice and lack of faith from their own men. Quickly assessing the situation, David realized it was no different than the lion and bear he’d dispatched to save his flock. When your faith lies with God and your strength comes from the Lord, anyone can be a warrior. Even a shepherd boy. 

Gaining permission from Saul to approach the giant, David boldly walked to the front of the battlefield with five little stones, a leather slingshot, and enormous faith in his God. With the spin of his arm and the flick of his wrist, the gargantuan everyone feared fell to the ground, forever silenced. He didn’t need all five stones. He didn’t need a sword or spear. He didn’t even need to be fitted out in armor. God was fighting his battles. God was bringing victory. God was working out His purpose to save His people. And He was using a shepherd boy to do it. The people were ecstatic. At least most of them were. (I Samuel 17:40-54)

Riding back into town after this most phenomenal victory, the women lined the streets to welcome their warriors home. Their celebration was loud and exuberant, filled with singing and dancing, tambourines, songs of joy, and an ensemble of musical instruments. The resounding strains of their joyous chorus rang out the truths, “Saul has struck down thousands, and David has struck down ten thousands.” But the perfectly blended harmony of their beautiful voices struck a sour note in Saul’s soul. The words lodged in his mind. Ugly jealousy rose up within him, twisting his heart. He would not, should not be placed below some previously nameless shepherd boy! He would not relinquish an ounce of glory to some barefaced kid! He wouldn’t give up his kingdom without a fight! Fueled by fierce anger and burning hate, from that day forward, Saul would make it his life’s mission to take David’s life. (I Samuel 18:6-9)

Over and again the traps would be set, the command would go out, the attempts would be made. More than once David found himself the target of spear practice as he sat playing his harp to soothe the king who hated him. Purposely he was sent to battle the Philistines in hopes one of them would do Saul’s dirty work and end David’s life. In desperation, Saul would even go so far as to command his servants to simply take any opportunity to kill David. Lie in wait outside his house to capture him and bring him to Saul to be executed. No reason required. No offense necessary. Eventually, Jonathan delivered the devastating news. Saul would never relent until he saw David dead. There would be no returning home. David must run for his life. (I Samuel 18:9-11, 17-25, 19:1-2, 9, 18-20, 20:1-42)

Several years passed that way. Running from cave to cave, city to city. Constantly seeking God to know if those in his current hiding place would surrender him up to his death. It must have been exhausting. The constant looking over his shoulder. The endless covering of his tracks. The incessant moving from place to place. It seems if someone had a reason to hold a grudge, feel resentment, harbor bitterness, surely it would have been David. But he didn’t. Not once is there any indication that David held an ounce of ill-will toward Saul or sought revenge. He never laid a hand on him even when he could have.

Hiding in the shadows of a cave in Engedi, David had the perfect opportunity to seek revenge when Saul entered the cave to relieve himself. He wouldn’t have come in with his entire army. He didn’t need help. He didn’t suspect the man he sought was hiding within. David’s men encouraged him to act. Surely this was silver spoon service from God Himself. Surely this was an indication to end the chase. It wasn’t. David had no intention of killing Saul. Not then. Not ever. In fact, he stepped out of the cave and called out to Saul to prove that exact point. He wasn’t looking for vengeance or revenge. He wasn’t trying to mete out his own style of justice. He was leaving judgment up to the Just Judge. (I Samuel 24:1-15)

Hunkered down in the wilderness of Ziph, still on the run for his life, David would once again face the opportunity to strike down his enemy. Creeping into Saul’s camp with Abishai, he stood over the sleeping king and weighed his options. Abishai strongly encouraged him to strike. In fact, David didn’t even have to do it himself. Abishai would be happy to act on his behalf. Without even a second to consider, David declined. Saul’s life and times were in God’s hands. His demise would come by natural causes or in the heat of battle. It wasn’t David’s job to enact retribution, it was his job to forgive and move on. Even if he had to work at it every single day. (I Samuel 26)       

 Apparently, he did. Forgive Saul. Truly. Completely. Profoundly. If the intense mourning and kind words of lament are any indication, David still deeply cared for Saul. He didn’t allow the undue hatred and jealousy, the constant harassment and danger to turn his heart to retaliation, bitterness, and ill-will. In words he wanted the people of Judah to learn and remember, he sang the praise of Saul, extolled his military prowess. He called the daughters of Israel to weep over Saul, giving him credit for all the prosperity they knew. Their luxurious clothes and golden jewels were results of a king who had done well for his people. At a moment when David had the platform, the whole attention of the people around him and could say anything he chose, sway people to whichever side he desired, David withheld any disparaging remarks and lauded praise on the man who spent the last few years seeking his death. Without ever hearing Jesus utter the words, “Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us,” David understood the concept. Forgive and be forgiven. (I Samuel 1:11-12, 17-27; Matthew 6:12)

Rarely do we put the two together. We see our own forgiveness independently from our ability and willingness to forgive others. Jesus says it isn’t. It’s all wrapped up together. Jesus commands us to forgive. It’s not a suggestion. Not a hope. Not a flight of fancy. It’s not even up for discussion. It’s an absolute command. Why? Because harboring ill-will, bitterness, anger, hurt or hate in your heart will edge out Jesus. He won’t be your King. You’ll be your own emperor. God’s kingdom can not, will not be a place where evil intent and ugly desires are entertained. That’s what unforgiveness is. Refusing to forgive allows seeds of bitterness to take root in your heart. They grow and expand, taking over the space until there’s room for nothing else. Consumed by resentment, you find yourself unable to think of anything but revenge. You waste valuable time dreaming up all manner of vile and harmful things to wish upon your enemy. Through the haze of your anger, Jesus is calling. He’s calling you to lay it all down. Give it to Him. Return the reign of your kingdom to Him so you can find rest for your soul, peace for your heart, and forgiveness for yourself and your sworn enemy, too. You just have to choose. Will you be His kingdom, on earth? (Hebrews 12:15; Ephesians 4:31-32; Mark 11:25; Matthew 6:14-15)

It will not be easy. We all have someone who has taken advantage of us, abused us, harassed us, belittled us, bullied us. So evil have they been toward us that we find it nearly unbelievable that even God could love them. Or require us to do the same. Yet He does. Before Jesus taught us to properly pray for our own forgiveness, He gave strict instructions to His listeners concerning the treatment of their enemies. In words that must have shocked them into tomb-like silence, Jesus commanded, “Love your enemies. Pray for your persecutors.” He didn’t instruct them to jump right back into relationship with people who had hurt and mistreated them. He isn’t telling you to do so, either. Jesus is telling you this isn’t even about them. It’s about you. It’s about letting go. It’s about healing. It’s about going to God in prayer about the things that hurt and humiliate you, the people who abuse and abandon you, those who use words like swords and your heart like a punching bag.  It’s about bringing it to Him and allowing His great love for you to heal your heart. It’s about coming to a place of security in Christ where you harbor no feeling of resentment or bitterness against anyone. It’s about freedom. It’s about allowing the reverberations of forgiveness to heal your heart, free your soul, and change your life. It’s about relationship–yours and God’s. It’s about God’s kingdom. On earth. In you. (Matthew 5:11, 43-48; Matthew 6:10; Colossians 3:13; Proverbs 28:13; James 5:16; Mark 11:22-25; Luke 6:37; Luke 17:3-4)