Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

The sounds of exuberant rejoicing reverberated throughout the encampment as the people relished the miraculous victory of a silent march and a carefully timed shout. It was music to his ears. The edges of Joshua’s lips lifted in the semblance of a smile. The people were right to rejoice. Loudly. It had been an astonishing victory. The strongholds of Jericho toppled as though constructed of parchment and ill-prepared paste, proving to the people both within and without that God was intent on giving His people victory. 

Courage was born as Jericho fell. Men who had worn their concern like armor into battle now readied themselves with confidence. Absolute faith that the God who brought victory through marching and shouting would bring victory to His people again and again. Joshua believed it, too. He always had. From the time Moses sent him as a spy to gather intel on Canaan, Joshua had believed with every fiber of his being God would always come through for his people. It was this belief that had him wasting no time dispatching spies to assess the susceptibility of Ai. 

Situated just a short journey outside of Jericho, Ai was a tiny town by comparison. No towering, fortified walls. No mighty, valiant army. It would be an easy battle. A skirmish really. Quick. Clean. Successful. Riding the festive emotions of their recent win, no one thought this battle would be more difficult than the previous one. No one believed they could lose. Not the spies who had taken stock of the town. Not the military leaders. Certainly not Joshua.

Tumbling back into camp, the spies reported their findings and offered their advice. It was a small task. They could scale back their forces. Sending an entire army to route this little burg would be overkill. There were few people, no strongholds. Two or three thousand should do it. Easily. Everyone else could stay home, rest up, sharpen their swords for the next battle and await the message to come collect the spoils of war.  

The message never came. It seemed the soldiers had hardly marched out to battle before they were rushing back into camp. Some wounded. Most winded. All wondering what had just occurred. Their easy battle had taken an unexpected turn. It was the strangest phenomenon. As they approached the city of Ai, their stalwart confidence had begun to flag. Fear gripped the hearts of seasoned warriors. Their footsteps became uncertain. The steady beat of marching feet slowed. As they stared at the easily breachable line of Ai’s forces their hearts became faint. Instead of lifting their swords and taking the town, they lifted their feet in a vigorous sprint toward home. 

Standing at the ready, the army of Ai watched them come with silent aplomb. Not one muscle moved. Not one eye twitched. So focused were they on the approaching army that they noticed every changing nuance of their foe. The less than confident cadence to their march. The restless movements of their hands. The darting fear in their eyes. And the men of Ai stood up just a little straighter. Their spines stiffened with resolve. This would not be Israel’s day. Taking advantage of the palpable fear and obvious hesitation in the oncoming troops, the men of Ai advanced. As they charged, the Israelite army took to their heels. Some to their homes. Some to their death. All to a crushing defeat. 

Like a dousing of water suffocating the dancing flames of a joyous campfire, the jubilation bubbling in the camp of Israel was instantaneously smothered as their men were unceremoniously defeated by an army they should have handily deposed. The people were overcome by fear. In spite of the unexpected loss of husbands, fathers, brothers, friends, solemn silence reigned. Confusion warred against reason. Questions bombarded the mind of every elder and military leader. They had been so confident when they set out for battle. What had happened out there? Where was the God who had given them victory over Jericho? Was He not still the same God? Were they not still His people? Or had He abandoned them there to be prey for the enemies surrounding them?

Clearly Joshua wondered the same things. He knew his men. He would never question their readiness for battle. They were fighting men. Men who knew how to wield a sword and shoot an arrow. Men who had no trouble blackening an eye or brutally taking a life. He’d sent them out with utter confidence they would come home victorious, waving the spoils of war high above their heads. But they hadn’t. Some hadn’t returned at all. The weight of those casualties crushed his heart. His mind couldn’t obliterate the sight of his troops hurriedly hobbling back over the hill winded from their cowardly backtracking. In bewildered desperation, he did the only thing his baffled brain could think to do. Joshua hit his knees. 

Falling to the ground, Joshua bent double, his face literally in the dirt, and cried out the questions violently battering his soul. Had God brought them out of Egypt, through the Red Sea, over the desert, and across the Jordan just to deliver them up for death and destruction by the Amorites? And yes, their cowardice was inexcusable, but did God realize the inhabitants of the surrounding enemy territory would hear of this defeat and come in droves to kill them? His people, and thus His name, would be extinguished from the face of the earth. Was this God’s plan all along? Was He going to stand by and let this happen? Had God brought them through hell and high water only to allow them to be slaughtered between Jericho and Ai? Of course not. Joshua knew that. But still his desperate heart cried out one last question. “What then are you going to do to preserve the greatness of your name, Lord?” (Joshua 7:6-9)

If Joshua was expecting a pat on the back and some heavenly mollycoddling, he was in for a grand surprise. God’s answer was all business. “Get up! Get busy. There is sin in your camp.” Joshua’s mouth must have gaped in surprise. He had no way of knowing what Achan had done. He didn’t know they were housing a thief and liar sitting on goods taken from the forbidden spoils of Jericho. But he did know what covering sin would do. It would make them weak and fearful, susceptible to attack, unable to stand before their enemies. They would lose, not just their battle acumen, but their spiritual acuity as well. The God who had walked with them, delivered them and prospered them would no longer dwell among them. Because God cannot, does not, will not share His holy habitation with covered sin. (Joshua 6-7)

Perhaps Joshua sucked in a fortifying breath as he arose to begin the monumental task of ridding the camp of sin. Surely he faced the process of separating the tribes, the households, the individuals with reticence. Surely he dreaded commencing the commands that must be followed. No man of his godly stature would relish the spiritual demise of another. Yet it had to be done. Sin had to be evicted. Having God remain in their midst was worth so much more than a few baubles and trinkets of unauthorized goods. As much as it must have pained Joshua to order the demise of Achan and his household, he knew with surety that the presence of sin would always equal the absence of God. (Proverbs 28:13; Psalm 5:4; Matthew 6:24; Joshua 7:12) 

It still does, you know. The addition of sin always results in the subtraction of God. He doesn’t live where sin abides. We tend to act like it isn’t so. We hold onto our grudges, our hurts, our hate. We tend little gardens of ill will, anger, and bitterness. We whisper gossip, tell tales, spread falsehood. Somehow we manage to convince our wayward hearts God doesn’t see, doesn’t know, doesn’t care. Then, when hardships and horrors come our way, we flop on our faces and cry out to God begging Him to do something, change something, fix everything. Casting a blind eye at our bulging sack of pet sins, we cry out words similar to Joshua’s, “What are You gonna do about this, Lord?” (Isaiah 29:15; Psalm 44:21; Jeremiah 16:17; Proverbs 6:16-19; Psalm 66:18)

Friend, if there is a duffle bag of secret sins tucked in the closet of your heart, God’s answer is going to sound very similar to the one He gave Joshua. “Get up. Get busy. Get rid of your sin.” All of it. Because God sees them. He sees your secret sins. He hears your whispered words. He reads your vengeful thoughts. All the things you hide from the public, the things you think no one knows. God knows. And He says they have got to go if you want Him to stay. But God will never force you. The choice will always be yours. Salvation or sin. Victory or defeat. God or satan. Heaven or hell. As you stand at this crossroads, staring at your options, weighing the outcome, I pose to you the question you have likely asked God a thousand times, “What are you gonna do about it?” (Psalm 94:7-11; Joshua 24:15; Psalm 90:8; Ephesians 5:11; Luke 16:13)

For the past two weeks I have been trekking through the book of Leviticus. It is an annual pilgrimage. A marathon more than a fun run. A journey more than a vacation. Still I persist. Short on stomach strength and long on mental imagery, it seems I am often up against some verbal depiction I am hesitant to read. Or fully comprehend. Bloody sacrifices. Growing, discolored skin lesions. Bodily discharges. Child sacrifices. I often reach the end of the book with a sigh and heartfelt gratitude that I’m not hauling the little black bull affectionately dubbed “Snuffles” to the slaughter for no fault of his own. That and the fact that I live on this side of the New Testament. 

Leviticus is a much more comfortable read from our 21st-century vantage point. We have 63 additional Biblical books to read along with it. Books that complete the story. Books that tell us how Jesus came to be the ultimate sacrifice. Books that record the tearing of the temple veil giving humanity direct access to the Father. Books that tell us we don’t have to sacrifice animals and grain to nullify our sin. Oh, yes, Leviticus is a much better read from where we now sit.

At least it usually is. Until this year. This year, Leviticus took me by surprise. Nearly buried at the end of chapter 2, tacked almost as an afterthought to the meticulous instructions for grain offerings comes a command that tangled the thought lines of my 21st-century brain. It inextricably mixed my Old Testament commands and my New Testament teachings, although it seems not to easily fit in either place. The verbiage is reminiscent of a frequent kitchen reminder.  In common colloquialism, it would likely read, “Don’t forget the salt.” 

Immediately my mind had questions. My logic asks why. Why salt a sacrifice? God isn’t going to eat it. He’s not going to taste the acrid smoke of burning bread floating up to Heaven. It seems such a strange addition to the exacting instructions for the handling of acceptable offerings. And they were exacting! So detailed were the requirements, it is clear the method mattered as much as the sacrifice. Perfect, spotless animals. Carefully prepared grain offerings. Bread baked following precise instructions. Flour. Oil. Hold the leaven. Don’t forget the salt. 

When God’s words projected from Moses’ mouth into the ears of the people, they must surely have had a response similar to mine. Questions arose in their minds. Eyebrows went up. Someone sucked in a sharp breath. Salt was a treasured commodity. Useful for multiple things. Food preparation. Preservation. Medicinal properties. It didn’t come easily. They didn’t cultivate it in their fields or rear it in their barns. They likely were not excited about tossing salt on every sacrifice. 

They would do it. It was non-negotiable. God required it. And God always has a reason for His requirements. They are never just whims He thought up to push or press us to our wit’s end. He spends not one moment thinking up ways to annoy, irritate or frustrate His children. No. There is always a reason for God’s requirements. Salting the sacrifice was no different. God wouldn’t taste the sacrifice, but it would still make His taste buds dance. Why? Because every time they tossed that liberal pinch of salt on their sacrifice it was a reminder to themselves and a statement to God that they were still aware of the covenant they had made with Him. They were still willing to do what it took to be His people. They still accepted Him as their God above all other gods.

It was also a reminder that they were still in covenant with God Himself. He was at work on their behalf. He was fighting their battles. He was moving behind the scenes to protect and prosper His people. When they stood in places where things seemed impossible, the God who had entered into covenant with them was the same God with whom nothing would ever be impossible. They could trust Him. Not just to rescue them from unfavorable predicaments, but to hold up His end of the covenant. Because God had never, could never, would never renege on His word. That salt reminded them that no matter where they were, no matter the circumstances they were up against, their covenant-keeping God would never leave them or forsake them. He would always hold up His end of the bargain. (Isaiah 41:10; Luke 1:37; Genesis 18:14; I Kings 8:56)

Little has changed in the intervening centuries. We are still called to offer sacrifices to God. Not blemishless bulls and rams. Not precisely prepared birds and grains. Just ourselves. God wants us. All of us. Every. Single. Part. Minds and bodies. Time and talents. Thoughts and words. Resources and relationships. God wants it all. Every part of us. He wants us to come out from the world. Be different. Be changed. Be renewed. He wants us to enter into a covenant relationship with Him that cannot be undone by persecution, trials, frustrations, or fears. He invites us to fully lean into our covenant-keeping God. He wants us to trust Him. And He wants some salt on it. (Romans 12:1-2; Matthew 22:37; Luke 14:26; Proverbs 3:5-6)

More than 1,400 years after Moses spoke God’s words to the Children of Israel, at a different place, in a different time, to different people Jesus was still asking His followers to salt their sacrifice. Not in the same words. Not in an identical context. But salt just the same. At the end of the beautiful blessings we know as the Beatitudes, Jesus reminds us that we are the salt. The salted living sacrifice presented to God for His use. We are His ambassadors. We are His likeness. We are the presence of God in the middle of a nation far from Him. The preservation of godly principles in a world that is quickly tossing them over. We are the covenant keepers, the life preservers, the salt shakers. (Matthew 5:13; II Corinthians 5:20; II Timothy 2:15-25; Romans 6:13)

Just as the salt on the sacrifices of those Old Testament people cost them, being the salt of the earth might cost you. Not everyone will be enamored with or excited by the accuracy of your moral compass or your map that takes the high road. Do it anyway. Don’t break the covenant you made with God to be His person, His salt, His messenger in a world fraught by fainthearted, indecisive, amoral opinions. Don’t waver when persecutions, falsehoods, and evils come against you either. The God who entered a covenant with you has never left, will never leave, His people alone to fight on His behalf. He will be with you in trouble to deliver you. You can trust Him. Stay the course. (Romans 8:28; Philippians 1:12; Matthew 5:10-11; James 1:2; Deuteronomy 31:8; Psalm 91:15; Exodus 14:14)

Admittedly, the social climate of our day is violently unrelenting in its endeavors to turn you away from following God. They tell you a God of love wouldn’t ask you to sacrifice your own wants, whims and wishes to follow Him. They try to convince you the Bible can’t possibly mean what it clearly says. They say God doesn’t care what you do. They live like they believe it. They press and pressure you to do the same. Don’t do it. God always has a reason for His requirements and that reason is always in your best interest. Don’t fall to social pressure. Be the salt. (II Timothy 2:15-25, 3:1-5; I Corinthians 2:14; II Corinthians 4:4; James 4:4)

In a time when you are pressed on every side to forget who you are in Christ and become something you were never meant to be in the world, remember who you are. You are a finite, flawed human being in a covenant relationship with an infinite, impeccable God. Be awed and amazed by that. The great God of the universe who needs nothing and relies on no one chooses to enter a binding, indissoluble covenant with mere humanity. A covenant of loyalty and friendship. A covenant that promises His presence and protection through every circumstance on your earthly journey. The requirements are few but exacting. Offer yourself a living sacrifice to God. All of you. Every. Single. Part. And don’t forget to be the salt! (Colossians 3:2; Ephesians 4:24; Acts 17:24-25; Isaiah 42:5; Psalm 89:34; Hebrews 13:5; Matthew 28:20)

Her reign continued for six full years. Six years of anxiety, worry, and fear. A reign of terror if ever there had been one. Roiling just below her well-composed surface, violence and bloodlust strained to be unleashed. Ice ran through her veins. She would hesitate at nothing to retain her queenly status. Her stony countenance invited no questions, no opinions, no options. Her word was absolute, her judgments final. She ruled with an iron fist–the same fist with which she had stolen the throne six years ago.

Ascending the throne at the passing of his father, Ahaziah was only twenty-two when he began to reign. His time on the throne would be short-lived, however, what time he spent there, was under the steely, micromanaging eye of his mother Athaliah. From her position as the king’s counselor, she kept abreast of every decision, monitored his every move, manipulated his thoughts. Her desire to take his place, do his job is nearly palpable. It is almost as if she was just biding her time, waiting for the perfect moment to ascend the throne. And no moment was more perfect than the one in which her son was pronounced dead. 

Without so much as a momentary pause to mourn the untimely death of her son, Athaliah narrowed her dry eyes and sprang into action. The competition must be vanquished. The throne would be hers at all costs. Orders flew off her lips in rapid succession. Men raced to do her bidding. By the end of the day, she and she alone would be heir to the throne. Staring at the growing pile of royal corpses, Athaliah felt satisfaction. She had accomplished her goal. She was now queen of Judah. 

 Everyone else was dead. Rewriting a page from her husband’s acts, she’d had them all dispatched. Except she hadn’t just killed the men. She’d killed them all. Every. Single. One. Male. Female. Young. Old. Her daughters. Her sons-in-law. Her grandchildren. People she should have protected. People she should have preserved. People she should have loved more than her own life. Every member she could find was selfishly sacrificed in the pursuit of her own promotion. So desperate was the darkness of her soul that she was willing to sacrifice everyone, everything to have the one thing she wanted more than anything. Athaliah reigned over Judah.

It wouldn’t last. The task she assumed had so efficiently been undertaken had fallen short of the mark. In her haste to crown herself queen, Athaliah had failed to count the bodies stacked up at her door. She had missed one. Sheltered in the bowels of the temple, protected by a God-fearing priest, lay a little boy who would one day reclaim his rightful throne.  

Years would pass with no one being the wiser. The growing Joash would spend his time learning to obey God and walk in all His ways from the priest Jehoiada. He would purposely be raised to lead his people back into service of the one true God of heaven and earth. Their God. The God whose preserving hand they could trace throughout their own heritage. The God who had delivered them over and over again from mess after mess of their own making. The God who had never failed to keep one word of all His promises. The One who had promised to be their God if they would simply be His people. 

They had failed. Miserably. They had followed kings and leaders who were drawn aside by false gods and idol worship. They had engaged in horrific acts of spiritual whoredom. No matter how offensive they found their sitting leader, no matter how distressing their current situation, they had no one to blame but themselves. They had let evil in. They had failed to stand up against the status quo. They could have chosen as a whole to turn back to God, but their fear of the cold-blooded queen had them cowering. Man. Woman. Child. Everyone. Except the priest. 

As the seventh year of Athaliah’s reign dawned, Jehoiada knew things had to change. They couldn’t continue to live under the dark pall of royal menace and idolatry. Their souls were dying. Something must be done to turn the people back to the proper paths. Someone had to step out and eradicate the evil growing unhindered among them. Someone had to summon the courage to gather the troops, appoint a new ruler, destroy the idols, and lead the people back to the God of their fathers. 

Being the sole protector of the seven-year-old boy who was key to the mission, Jehoiada found himself in the unenviable position of leading the charge. He did not take the responsibility lightly. The situation was too grave for heroism and showboating. He would need help, men he could trust, people willing to risk it all for the sake of their souls. 

He found them in the commanders of Judah, the Levites scattered throughout the cities of the land, the priests who carried with them faith like that of Jehoiada. Men who believed God was still willing to honor His covenant with His people. Men who weren’t afraid to gather in Jerusalem, right under the callous eye of Queen Athaliah, and crown the rightful king of Judah.  Men who were so tired of the prevailing sin and evil and wickedness that they were unconcerned with the fallout. Because, should things not go according to plan, there would be fallout.  

Noting the commotion and hearing the word “king” floating on the breeze, Athaliah hurriedly walked the unfamiliar path to the house of the Lord. Her thoughts hurtled over one another. What heresy could this be? She’d killed them all, hadn’t she? How could anyone have survived that bloodbath? Yet there he was, standing beside his pillar sporting a crown. The likeness was unmistakable. Her stomach lurched and dropped to her toes. Anger shot through her veins. There had indeed been an oversight. Some inattentive dunderhead had left a child behind. 

It was an indescribable betrayal. Unexplainable treason. Everything she thought she had attained and accomplished now lay in ashes at her feet. It was over. The legacy she planned to leave was nothing now but a telltale list of “would have beens” after her death. A declaration of her impotence. What had begun with a bloodbath ended the same. The blood of Athaliah ran into the gate by the king’s house. The idols and altars and temples to Baal were obliterated, his priest killed. Burnt offerings to the Lord were re-instituted. Singing resounded throughout the land. The people rejoiced. The land was finally quiet. Why? Because the absence of sin is the presence of peace. (II Chronicles 21-23; Mark 3:22-27) 

See, nothing has changed in the intervening centuries between Athaliah’s demise and our current situation. Evil is still rampant in the world. Wickedness is alive and well. Sin is celebrated. People everywhere seem to be searching for peace. Attending retreats. Practicing yoga. Diffusing essential oils. Camping. Hiking. Unplugging from electronic devices. They are all harmless things and they may bring a semblance of peace for a time. It won’t last. Sooner rather than later you will find yourself again seeking relief from the turmoil in your soul. You can try a thousand things. There will be only one answer. Stop sinning. Destroy your selfish idols of pleasure, prosperity, and prominence. Covenant with God to follow Him alone. Knowing this truth–Peace can only reign when evil is removed. (II Chronicles 23:16; I Samuel 7:3; Joshua 24:23; Matthew 6:24; Romans 8:6) 

So why do we have so much trouble doing it? Why does it take such concerted effort for us to let go of the things that bring turmoil and upheaval into our lives? Why do we beg for peace with our mouths, but hide sin in our hearts? How can we possibly love something so much when it brings only struggle and striving and stress?

I truly don’t know; I simply know we do. I also know this. We need to stop it. Stop being silly. Stop playing around. Stop lying to ourselves. Stop looking for peace in places we know it can’t be found. We need to clean up our act, clear out our hearts, cleanse our souls in the blood of Jesus Christ. We need to eradicate sin. All of it. Large. Small. Public. Private. Every single one has to go. Only then can we know the peace that transcends all understanding, pervades every circumstance, permeates every fiber of our being. Only in the absence of sin can true peace reign. (Romans 6:12; Philippians 4:7; I Corinthians 14:33, 15:34; Colossians 3:5; Proverbs 12:20; James 4:8; Isaiah 1:16-18) 

Another frustrated sigh pushed its way from Adam’s lungs as he attacked the unforgiving ground with his makeshift shovel. He’d been at this particular project for days, struggling to eke out survival from a land to which he was unaccustomed. No fruit hung readily from trees. No vegetables grew in lush corners. No perfectly clear water bubbled joyfully in a winding stream through their dwelling place. They were struggling for every bite. The work was backbreaking. He was exhausted. And his mind simply wouldn’t let up.   

He was consumed with regret. Constantly running mental scenarios that would have ended differently. He could have stayed closer to Eve, kept her from conversing with the serpent. If he’d been there, he could have stayed her hand when she reached for the fruit. He could have been stronger, stiffened his spine, chosen not to eat the fruit himself. He’d known the truth from the beginning. As soon as Eve extended her hand to offer him that fateful bite, he’d known it was “the fruit.” The forbidden one. The one about which the command had fallen directly from God’s lips to his ear. “Do not eat fruit from the tree in the center of the garden.” No matter how hungry you are. Regardless of how good it looks. Despite who says differently. Do. Not. Eat. That. Fruit. 

In retrospect, Adam couldn’t quite remember what had made him take that fruit from Eve’s hand and sink his teeth into its perfect flesh. Was it the sheer beauty of her face? Was it her mesmerizing eyes? Was it the musical lilt to her voice that cajoled him into capitulation? Was it the eternal masculine urge to please and impress their female counterparts? Whatever it was, Adam wished it had never happened. Wished he’d had more self-control. Wished he’d doggedly followed the path he knew to be true. 

Eve wasn’t without regrets herself. The hard lifestyle was punishment enough. Scraping and working for every bit of shelter, every stitch of clothing, every bite of food. It was ridiculously difficult. Then she gave birth. Twice. No painkillers. No sterile facility. No soft beds. No doting medical staff. No promise she’d live to raise the babies she labored so hard to birth. But she did. Eve lived to tell future generations that when God said there would be pain in childbearing, He hadn’t been soft-selling one thing! When God speaks, His directions, His promises, His commands are absolute.

It had been so easy to cast blame for their current situation. The words had flown off her tongue the moment God had asked the sharply pointed question, “What have you done?” Excuses poured out in a spew of verbal retching. It was the serpent’s fault. All the serpent’s fault. He had beguiled her. Tricked her with silky tones and soothing words. Taken advantage of her obvious enchantment with the tree. Told her there would surely be no harm in eating its fruit. Tormented her with the idea that God was keeping something from her. Holding out on her. Keeping back good things. Wisdom. Knowledge. In silver-tongued descriptions only the evil one could use, he painted a vibrant picture of God as a tyrant, holding her back, pushing her down, choking out her progression as a human being. And it wasn’t fair. (Genesis 2-4)

We are often right there. Short-sightedly gazing at our imminent future, we see things we love and want. Things that look good and beautiful. Things that look like the fanciful icing to our drably decorated cake. Acceptance to that college. An offer from that job. A proposal from that man. Things we want with every fiber of our being. Our hearts long to go after them. Chase them down. But in the midst of the chasing, the still small sound of the Voice of truth speaks something different than we want to hear. “No” when we want to hear “yes.” “Wait” when we want to hear “Go.” “Stop” when we’ve ill-advisedly embarked on a venture we should never have begun. Broken-hearted, we sulk. Lay blame. Ask why. We become enraged that God would be so unfair. Not unlike Eve, we give place to the evil one. (Jeremiah 17:9; Romans 12:2; Isaiah 53:6; Psalm 14:3; Luke 6:46) 

He happily takes that place. Preening as he spouts flowery words of deceit. He tells us that if God really loved us He’d allow us to have the things we want so much. He says that if God really cared, He’d grant us that lifestyle we crave, the fame we desire, the sought-after number of zeroes on our bank balance. The evil one says love equals approval. Blanket approval. Carte blanche to do our own thing, walk our own way, chase our own dreams and still salvage our eternity. Clearly, the evil one is just as short-sighted as we are. 

But he isn’t stupid. He is slick and sly. The creator of lies and traps. His every move is intent on your spiritual demise. His favorite tool is deceit. Why? Because it works so well. We love to hear what we want to hear. As soon as we hear it, we often quit seeking true direction because we aren’t interested in the alternative. We don’t actually want to hear God speak unless He agrees with our desired course of action. So we tightly clutch our hell-manufactured answer in our grubby little hands and swear it’s the gospel. In doing so, we end up in the same place as Adam and Eve. (II Corinthians 11:3, 14; John 8:44; I Timothy 2:14; Daniel 8:25; II Corinthians 4:4)

Affronted and insulted by the perceived slight, Eve marched up close to that tree, stood on tiptoe, and indignantly snatched a glowing fruit from the branch. In arrogant defiance, she sunk her teeth into its soft flesh. The fruit was delicious! And, look at that! She wasn’t struck dead! Indeed, nothing happened except she indulged in a lovely piece of fruit. She had to tell Adam he’d been duped. He’d passed along misinformation. One could eat the fruit and live! Plucking another luscious fruit from a heavily laden branch, Eve raced off to find Adam. 

The moment she held out her forbidden offering, Adam should have turned away. He had to have recognized that fruit. He had to have realized the magnitude of the situation. He had to have known that his moment to choose obedience was right then. Yet, instead of refusing, instead of following the command of God, Adam hesitantly reached out and took the fruit. Raised it to his mouth. And ate. Even if he wasn’t hungry. Even though he knew he shouldn’t. Even knowing the consequences of his actions would be dire. Adam ate anyway. Because, in that moment, the power of suggestion from someone he loved overrode the Voice of truth that had originally spoken. Eve, quoting the misleading statements of the enemy, made Adam doubt what he knew to be true. And, in the midst of that cloud of doubt, Adam ate too. The ramifications were life-altering. (Genesis 3)

Ushered from their paradise by their own choices, they embarked on a less-than-idyllic existence. One of hard labor, difficulties, and pain. Surely many were the times they wished, if even for a moment, they had chosen to obey God. No matter what the great deceiver said. No matter if it seemed unfair. No matter if that tree had been the only food left in the Garden. Surely they wished they would have simply obeyed God.

Perhaps you are there too. Perhaps you have found yourself choosing the path of least resistance because the alternative seems too difficult, too painful, too unpleasant. It probably isn’t panning out too well. Failure to follow God never does. It reeks with constant striving, endless stress, debilitating doubt, and immense fear. The only way to find the peace and rest and contentment you seek is to follow the Voice of truth. God’s voice. His words. His commands. 

Friend, you can chase down all the things of the world. You can follow every whim and wish and dream and plan your finite mind can imagine. You can attain fame and fortune, friends and followers, but you cannot attain Heaven unless you choose to solely follow the Voice of truth. No matter who says differently. No matter what looks easier. Regardless of what offer comes your way. Choose truth. Choose obedience. Choose God. For today. For tomorrow. For forever. (Mark 10:29-31; I Samuel 15:22; James 4:7; Luke 11:28; Romans 8:28; Matthew 7:14; Ephesians 6:6)

From the first moment the softly thudding echo of his footsteps resounded in those esteemed halls of learning, Saul had been all in. Avid learner. Devout follower. Zealous enforcer. So deep was his devotion, he welcomed the orders to confront and arrest those who failed to follow the religious edicts of the high priests and elders. Gladly he went from house to house indiscriminately arresting men and women who pledged allegiance to Jesus Christ alone. Having exhausted his orders for nearby areas, he requested papers giving him permission to do the same in Damascus. Seek out those following the teachings of men like Peter and Stephen, drag them back to Jerusalem, and stand by while they were appropriately punished. (Acts 22:2-3; 8:3; 9:1-2)

He’d been there the day Stephen preached that fateful sermon. Listening. Watching. Biding his time. Inwardly he’d seethed at the words. Eagerly he’d waited for Stephen to get his due. Stoically he’d watched while stone after stone landed with ominous thuds on the unprotected head of the preacher. There was no sympathy, no remorse. The punishment was well deserved. As he strode through town after town strictly enforcing a religious law that fit the teachings he’d heard since he was a child, he was all in. Every fiber of his being believed he was enacting right and defeating wrong. It seemed nothing could change his mind. (Acts 7)

Leaving for Damascus in a cloud of snarling threats of torturous punishment and terrifying death toward the followers of the man called Christ, not one onlooker expected him to change. Ever. He’d return the same as he left, if not even more zealous. He was Saul, the devoted, driven, dangerous man who sent Christians scattering throughout Judea and Samaria, who ravaged churches and brought grown men to their knees. His horrifying reputation preceded him. No matter how evil, how ugly, how brutal he was. Hope that Saul would change seemed silly. He would never defect from his devotion. Saul would always be the scariest man in the room. Because he was all in. (Acts 9:1-4)

It must have been quite a surprise for his entourage when a brilliant light sizzled out of the heavens, bringing their fearless leader to his knees in the middle of the road to Damascus. They’d thought him invincible, untouchable. Seeing him huddled there, blind and helpless in the middle of the road carrying on a conversation with a faceless voice, forced them to re-evaluate their opinion of Saul. They had never seen him like this. Dependent. Needy. Wanting. In pity, they helped him to his feet, took his hand, and led him into the city to a house on Straight street. (Acts 9:1-4)

Strangely, we never hear of those men again. Perhaps they straggled home under cover of darkness, embarrassed that their much-hailed mission had been a bust. Maybe they raced home with tales of Saul’s demise, stories of a blinding light from heaven and a voice they didn’t recognize. Perhaps they returned, each jockeying to fill the now empty shoes in the religious realm of their world. Whatever the case, it would seem their sudden departure from the story indicates a lack of devotion to Saul and his mission. A lack of dedication to their cause. An obvious inability to remain all in when things became unsettled. 

Ananias hovered there himself. His heart longed to be all in, but his flesh knew the odds. And God was calling him to follow his heart. Normally he wouldn’t hesitate, wouldn’t question, wouldn’t struggle with the command. This wasn’t a normal command. This was a command to walk into likely entrapment and possible death. He knew Saul of Tarsus–at least by reputation. Anxiety compelled him to remind God how evil the man was, how much damage he had done to the body of Christ, how dangerous it was to boldly walk in and reveal his religious standing. It didn’t change the command. Nor did his anxiety, his humanity, or his alleged inferiority change his response. He went to do God’s bidding. Because no matter what it cost him, Ananias was all in. (Acts 9:10-18) 

Whatever Ananias had been expecting to see, it wasn’t the sight that greeted him. The man once labeled as evil and terrifying sat motionless, tired and unshaven, staring blankly at the wall. No threats. No anger. No danger. Slowly approaching, Ananias reached out to tentatively place his hands on Saul, speaking the words that would restore his sight, reconcile his soul, and restructure his devotion. And Saul, the once zealous persecutor of the church, was all in. (Acts 9:17-22)

It had taken three days to sort through the wreckage of destroyed beliefs he’d thought infallible and perceived truths he’d believed inerrant. Three days of darkness. Three days of fasting. Three days of introspection and questioning. Three days of silent pondering that question for which he’d originally had no answer. Why was he persecuting the people of God? What had started the vendetta? Was it a power trip? Was it the fame his thuggery had gained him? Or was it simply something to believe in? More importantly, in all the good he’d thought he was doing, had he missed the mark? Had he missed the truth of the risen Messiah? Had he been all in on single-handedly persecuting Jesus Christ, the Savior of the world? (Acts 9:4-9)

With the answers to those questions came the turning of the tables. The hunter became the hunted. The persecutor became the persecuted. The hater of the church became its biggest champion. No matter the hardship. Regardless of the abuse. In spite of the arrests and affronts.   

He would spend the rest of his life on the receiving end of ugly capers he’d been known to pull himself. It didn’t matter. Because Saul (who later chose to be called Paul) was all in. (Acts 13:9)

Five times Paul would receive 39 lashes at the hands of the Jews. Three times he would be beaten with rods. He’d suffer stoning, shipwreck, being lost at sea. Danger would come at him from every side–rivers, seas, wildernesses, cities, people he should have been able to trust, people he had no inclination to trust, people who claimed to tightly hold like faith. He would suffer toil and hardship, insomnia, starvation, and exposure to the elements. But Paul would never, no matter his circumstances, alter the message he’d been called to preach. His words would never soft-sell sin. His message would never short-sell God. There would be nothing half-hearted about his labors. Indelibly etched in his mind read the words of the prophet Jeremiah learned long ago, “Cursed is the one who half-heartedly, lazily does the work of God…”. Being thus informed, the Apostle Paul made his choice. He was all in. (Jeremiah 48:10; II Corinthians 11:24-28)

How about you? Having the same information from Jeremiah, where do you stand when it comes to Jesus Christ? Are you all in? Or are you wavering, unsteady, unstable? Are you having trouble deciding where to place your allegiance? Is it harder to choose when you are faced with making a stand that is socially unpopular, unpalatable, unpleasant? Are you tongue-tied, hesitant, reticent to stand up for the unarguable truths of Jesus Christ in today’s society? Caught as we are in the crossfire of good and evil, are you firmly rooted in the infallible word of God? Do you truly believe its inerrant truths? Tell me. If you had to choose today, right now, are you all in? (I Corinthians 10:12; James 1:8; Luke 9:57-62; Mark 10:30; Proverbs 30:5; I Peter 1:20-21; Isaiah 40:8)

In a message to his followers, Jesus said if they wanted to truly be His disciples they had to choose, every day, to take up the cross of scorn, scoffing, suffering, and follow Him alone. Days when they were tired. Days when they didn’t feel like it. Days when it seemed the whole world was against them. Days when the world really was against them. No matter what, come hell or high water, persecution, plague, or famine, they had to choose to follow Jesus. Only Jesus. They had to be all in. (Luke 9:23; Luke 14:27; Matthew 7:21-23; Matthew 10:38; Mark 12:30)

Centuries have passed since Jesus preached that message. Nothing is the same as it was then. Traditions have changed. People have changed. Society has changed. But Jesus doesn’t change. Neither do His words. They still mean the same thing they did then. They still offer the same choice. They still beg the same question. A question only you can answer. Are you all in? (Luke 21:33; Psalm 119:152; Hebrews 13:8; Hebrews 1:12)