Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

Barely audible murmurs of affirmation came from the congregation as they reverently listened to the lyrical words of their king’s prayer. Solomon was eloquent. Dropping to his knees before the Lord, he raised his hands toward Heaven and spoke words so beautifully poetic they stirred the hearts of his people like never before. Words of awe at God’s power and greatness. Words of gratitude for His faithfulness and love. Words of hope and petition for the continued presence of God among His people. Words so deeply moving they could not refrain from speaking out in confirmation. 

The prayer was achingly honest. Solomon clearly knew the people well. He knew that somewhere in the following generations there would be failures and faults, people would act rashly, take an ill-advised path, choose sin over righteousness. He knew that punishment would be incurred because of their poor choices. Drought. Famine. Pestilence. War. Captivity. He also knew God. The covenant keeping God of steadfast faithfulness and love. The One who is always ready to forgive. The One who promised to return to His people when they leave their wanderings behind and return to Him. The God who promised to be their God if they would actively choose to be His people.  And, at that moment, they did. 

Caught up in the euphoria of the breathtaking build, the enchanting words of the poet’s prayer, the awe-filled wonder of the smoke-filled house, the people could think of nothing they wanted more. Nothing they could ever want more. For that moment. Gathered wide-eyed in the observing congregation, overcome by the gripping emotion and moving words of the moment, their hearts resounded with words of consecration. They would follow God. Forever. 

Apparently, “forever” is not as long as one would think. It would not be so many decades after the people stood in the glory and presence of God that they would fall away. All of them. They would abandon the law of the Lord. Completely. And punishment would come. In spades. Shishak, the king of Egypt, his armies, his friends, his neighbors–countless throngs–came up against them armed for battle. They overtook the fortified cities and marched right up to Jerusalem’s doorstep.  It was terrifying. Defeat was certain. And King Rehoboam, their leader,  was in hiding. (II Chronicles 12:1-5)  

Sequestered away in a disconcerted group with the princes, Rehoboam was struggling to comprehend where he’d lost control. His kingdom had been strong and successful. They had been enjoying a peaceful and secure existence. God had clearly blessed his reign. Until now. Now things had fallen apart. Things were uncertain. The outlook was bleak. Death loomed on the horizon. Yet still, try as he might, Rehoboam couldn’t put his finger on the cause of their distress. 

The prophet Shemiah didn’t have that problem. He knew what the obtuse king appeared to not understand. God had told him. And he was on his way to share the knowledge, to offer the olive branch of hope and help to the terrified king. Entering their hiding place, he illuminated their understanding with words from God’s own lips, “You abandoned Me, so I abandoned you.” It was self-explanatory, really. Punishment follows sin. (II Chronicles 12:5-7)

Somewhere in the back of their woe-stricken minds, the words of Solomon prayed before the congregation echoed again. “Humble yourselves. Seek God. Turn from your sin.” Words of wisdom from the man who asked God for that very thing. Words God would later echo back to Solomon in the most solemn of vows. God’s words. For God’s people. (II Chronicles 6:1-7:22)

  Centuries later God is still speaking the same words. He is still issuing the same invitation. In the middle of our own vortex of droughts and disasters, wars and famines, diseases and pestilence, God offers the same promise. “If my people, the people who have consciously chosen me to be their God, will come before me in utter humility, admit their abject guilt, urgently seek me in prayer and permanently turn away from the sin in which they are so deeply entangled, then, and only then, I will hear and help and heal.” It is God’s promise for God’s people. (II Chronicles 7:11-14) 

Unfortunately the familiarity of the passage has softened its severity. In our modern day of self-service, it is often seen as a quick fix for unpleasant situations in our lives. It isn’t. This is not a sprinkles and unicorns promise. This is not a word to be taken lightly. This is not a vow of eternal rainbows and sunshine in exchange for an offhand prayer of repentance followed by a few days of good behavior. This is not a set of directions for manipulating God into rescuing us from our sinful, self-inflicted punishment so we can go on about our lives. This is not a fast fix for our years of slipping and sliding down the path of least resistance. No. This is a call to repentance. Not for the first time, but for the last time.  

And it is a call to the church. Today’s church. You see, the whole passage, the entire promise is predicated on people who have already vowed over and over again to follow God. To be His people. To allow Him to be their God. It is handed out to people who were crystal clear on His requirements for living. They knew His laws, His commands. They didn’t always follow them. Sometimes they cut corners, changed parameters, altered requirements, and remained purposely obtuse. Too often, the people called to be saints were busy wasting time engaging in silly business. Just like us.

Somewhere along the line, the church has gotten distracted. Our vision has become clouded with the offers of the world. Our hearing has become tuned to the siren song of self. We have strayed. We are not the stalwart, faithful, God-fearing people we were in times past. We do not live as though we believe the Scripture is the infallible, immutable Word of God. We have allowed caveats and side roads. We have blithely subscribed to “Jesus lite,” a form of godliness that is anything but godly, lacking the power and presence of God Himself. (II Timothy 3:5; II Peter 1:20-21; Matthew 24:35; Hebrews 13:8; II Chronicles 20:33) 

We have to change. The silly business has to stop. We were not called to be insipid, vapid, uninterested saints standing mutely while our society races headlong for destruction. We are called to be saints on a heavenly mission. A rescue mission. A mission to reveal God’s righteousness through our faith. It will not be easy. It will call for the speaking of hard realities. It will require the unashamed championing of God’s truth in a world all too happy to make up their own alleged truths. It will necessitate an end to the acceptance of excuses for sin, exchanges of fact for fiction, and endless blanket approval of questionable acts. It will demand an earnest humble repentance, a fervent seeking of God’s face, and an undeviated turn from sin to righteousness. It is time for the saints to stop engaging in silly business. (Romans 1; Isaiah 5:20; Malachi 3:7; Zechariah 1:3; Isaiah 44:22)

Surrounded as we are by the crescendoing echoes of all the things Solomon thought to list in his prayer, it would seem God is vigorously attempting to rally His saints. Raise them from their stupor. Revive them again. Renew their strength to continue His mission and go forward in His name. No compromise. No complacency. No silly business. (Psalm 85:6-8; Habakkuk 3:2; Zephaniah 1:12; Psalm 119:67,75; II Corinthians 12:8-10; Ephesians 5:14-21)

The finished project was stunning. Gorgeous. Breathtaking. Awe-inspiring. It was impossible to pass by and not stop to study yet another bit of architecture one had previously overlooked. Intricate carvings. Carefully cut stones. Glistening golden doors. Lines of bronze bowls for washing. An enormous basin balanced on the backs of twelve outward-facing oxen shimmered with thousands of gallons of water for priestly washing. One could stand for hours yet still fail to take in every amazing detail. So much was there to see, so much over which to marvel. 

It had been years in the making.  Not for lack of effort. Workmen were plentiful. Stonecutters, masons, carpenters, metal workers. Nor were they waiting for products to arrive. Materials were stacked up in every conceivable storage area. Millions of pounds of gold, silver, bronze and iron. Immeasurable amounts of cedar and stone. Neither strength nor supply was the cause of the long years from start to finish. Striving for perfection was. 

Anything less than perfection could never be considered an option for this project. Nothing could be done in half measures. No corners could be cut. No substandard materials could be used. There was no room for error.  It had to be magnificent, breathtaking. Why? Because God would dwell there. Among them. They were His people. He was their God. (Exodus 6:7)

Without exception, this temple must reflect the perfection of the One for whom it was built. Gloriously resplendent. Majestic. Superseding every other temple ever built. This house must resonate with the awe and power and glory of the One the heavens nor heavens of heavens can contain. The God who inhabits eternity. The Alpha. The Omega. Beginning of all. Sustainer of all. End of all. (II Chronicles 2:6; Isaiah 57:15; Revelation 22:13; Colossians 1:16)  

The process had felt infinite, but the final project was absolutely worth it. Worth back-breaking days of hewing precious stones out of rocks. Worth hand-cramping hours of carving and etching in wood and metal. Worth every finger plumbing stitch in the linen curtain. Worth every casting and recasting of golden lampstands and lamps, flowers and tongs, snuffers and basins, incense dishes and firepans. It was all worth it–every scratch and cut, ache and pain was worth the unmitigated joy of being able to give something back to the God who had delivered them, rescued them, fought for them, and walked with them through hell or high water. 

As the leaders and elders and people assembled for dedication day, they must surely have stood with bated breath to see God’s reaction. Would He love it? Hate it? Honor it? Ignore it? Had they done it correctly? As hard as they tried to follow the pattern exactly, had they somehow missed one tiny nail, one-minute flaw? When they dedicated His house, handed Him back all the things He had provided for them to build this extraordinary building, would God bless it with the glory of His presence?

Standing in silence on Mount Moriah at the place where David had sacrificed offerings of personal expense on Ornan’s threshing floor, the people waited to see what would happen.  They watched as the priests filed out to stand in perfect lines. Each one fully consecrated. Each clothed in linen. Each holding an instrument in their hands. Cymbals, harps, lyres and trumpets. Each voice prepared to swell with song. Once perfectly assembled, they split the silence with praise and thanksgiving to the Lord. And it was enough. Their sacrificial efforts of building and sewing and metalwork were enough. Their praise was enough. God answered. The glory of the Lord filled the house of God. They could ask for nothing better. Neither can we. (I Kings 6-8; I Chronicles 21-22; II Chronicles 2-5)

Centuries later this gorgeous specimen of architectural genius would lie in ruins. The timbers would rot. The precious stones would be scavenged. The gold would be stolen. Bandits would make off with all the valuable pieces. But they’d be missing the most important bit. They’d be missing the presence and glory of God. Because God’s house, the place He lives and dwells and reigns, has nothing to do with an ornate building, padded pews, an enormous crowd, or a gifted band. God’s temple, His house, is in the hearts of His people. Those who know and believe in the depths of their soul that they are God’s temple and allow His Spirit to infiltrate every part of their lives. The ones who delight to do His will. The ones who follow His plan, His pattern, exactly as He says. (Psalm 40:8; Matthew 6:10; John 14:23; I Corinthians 3:16-17)

See, we aren’t so different from Solomon and the people building that temple so long ago. King David, Solomon’s father, handed him a pattern to follow in the building. Its parameters were not up for debate. There could be no deviation when it became difficult. No modification when the work was tedious. No quitting when it became tiresome. It had to be exact. Just as the pattern indicated. (I Chronicles 28:11-19) 

Ours must be as well. The temple of God cannot be shared with other gods. It cannot be corrupted with impurities of sin and greed and lust. It cannot be altered by re-interpretations, modifications, or eliminations. God’s words, His commands, His directives stand. They never change. Sin is always sin and it cannot coexist with the Spirit of God that dwells in His temple. If sin is there, if you make allowance for just one thing that doesn’t conform to the pattern set forth in His word, the glory of God, the essence of His presence, will lift from your temple. Not one of us wants that. (I Corinthians 4:20, 6:18-20; Psalm 66:18; Exodus 20:3-5; Deuteronomy 4:2; Malachi 3:6; Luke 21:33)

It makes obedience to God imperative. Always. Even when it is uncomfortable. Even when everyone else is avoiding it. Even when we are pressed, stressed and exhausted. But there is no excuse for disobedience. No acceptable reason for failure to follow the pattern explicitly laid out for us. No reasonable explanation to fail to do the right we know to do. But the choice is ours. It always is. If you want the blessing of the power and glory and presence of God to saturate every part of your being, if you want to stand firm no matter what comes your way, you’ll have to build your life according to the pattern. (James 4:17; I Samuel 15:22; John 14:15; I John 5:2-3; Joshua 24:15; Matthew 7:24-25)

I so want this. I want the words of my mouth, the prayers of my lips, the desires of my heart to be saturated with the presence of God. I want to revel in His power, be awed by His glory.  I want to live my life according to His pattern. Always. I hope you do too. I hope you long for the presence of God to fall down and infiltrate even the most remote parts of your soul. I hope the desire to see His power at work in your life permeates your heart. I hope you live in such complete obedience to Him that you daily revel in His glory. May you live according to His pattern. (Deuteronomy 30:15-20; Hebrews 12:1; Proverbs 3:1-35; Romans 12:1-2)

Growing up, we were avid church camp attendees. Church in general, actually. Twice on Sunday. Wednesday night. Youth service. Prayer meetings. Revival. Camp. We rarely missed one. It would seem I would have more standout memories of sermons heard and lessons learned there. Unfortunately, my memory is faulty and time has faded many of the ones that still manage to surface. Except one. There is one I have remembered, will likely always remember, as clearly as the day it occurred. 

The days of another camp meeting were drawing to a close. We had worked hard, played hard, prayed hard. We were tired. Still we dragged our tired selves into the pews for one of the final services.  We sang. We prayed. We praised. I have no idea who the speaker was. I simply remember what he did. Stepping to the podium, he opened his Bible and read a text. I don’t remember which one. Then, looking out over the audience, he declared, “Sometimes the most spiritual thing you can do is rest.” With those succinct words, he closed his Bible and dismissed the service. Never before and not once since have I heard from the pulpit such acute truth.

It embedded itself in my soul, occasionally crossing my mind. Admittedly, it often surfaces when an overzealous minister’s eloquence outlives the church pews’ relative comfort. Until last week. Last week it came rushing back again. Because I needed to hear it. I needed to do it. I needed rest. I’ve been exhausted and overwhelmed by the raging horde of extra things to do. Winter is coming, adding to the everyday household tasks the extra chores of preparation for the season demands. The split wood needs stacked in the woodshed. The hay bales need collected from the front field. The garden boxes need to be finished and filled with soil in preparation for next year’s planting. The apples are nearly ready to harvest and preserve. The last section of the porch needs painted and sealed. There’s a building project to oversee and a family member in need of attention and attendance. You get the idea. 

Unable to focus my spiraling brain into forming coherent thoughts for penning, I turned my attention to the book we are currently studying in our ladies’ Bible study. Opening to the upcoming chapter, God spoke directly to me. He had exact instructions for this week’s message. For me, definitely. For you, maybe. They could be summed up in just one word. Rest. Physical. Emotional. Mental. Spiritual. Stop wrestling with yourself and all the things and rest in God. I am trying. 

Trying to do what is reasonable every day, but not work myself into exhaustion. Trying to leave all the social upheaval, personal affronts, and stresses of life in God’s hands. Trying to rest my soul in the shadow of the Almighty, shamelessly hiding in the cleft of the Rock until the storms of life are past. Trying to rest, rejuvenate, revive because there is another spiritual battle coming, another moment of temptation looming, another taxing chore to stack on top of the pile, and I want to be ready. Strong. Healthy. Equipped. In every way. (Psalm 37:7-9; Psalm 91:1-2; Psalm 27:5; Psalm 28:7)

So this week, I’m resting. There are fewer words here. Fewer flowery adjectives. Less eloquence. More raw reality. Perhaps you need a rest as well. Perhaps your life is hurtling past you at an alarming rate, the “to-do” basket always full, the “completed” basket always empty. Perhaps you find yourself exhausted, overwhelmed, frustrated, and anxious. If so, I hope you hear the words God spoke to Elijah in the Old Testament, the disciples in the New Testament, and to me just last week. Rest. Trust God. And rest assured that God will renew your strength for all the things that lie ahead. (Mark 6:7-13,30-31; Psalm 103:14; Isaiah 40:29, 31; I Kings 19:5-9; Psalm 23:3; I Chronicles 16:11) 

He had never doubted the difficulty of the job. How could he? Offers that begin with, “Before you were even born,” tend to come with expectations and caveats that would topple even the strongest of men. This was not going to be an easy gig.  A prophet’s life never was. There would be unpleasant places to go. There would be hard words to say. There would be people who, finding God’s words distasteful, would scorn him, mock him, arrest him. Persecution was certain. Death was possible. There was no confusion about how this would go. (Jeremiah 1:5)

When God first called, Jeremiah tried to excuse himself from the task. He was young. He didn’t have words of wisdom. He wasn’t articulate, didn’t command attention, couldn’t guarantee a result. The elders would ignore him, reject his declarations. Following suit, the people would reject him. His words would be dismissed. His warnings would be denied.  He would become a laughing stock, a thorn in their side, an object of hate and scorn. He wasn’t really interested in the job. (Jeremiah 1:6)

God wasn’t having the excuses. Not one of them. His work will not be thwarted by meager human faults. Jeremiah didn’t need age or words or a map of where to go. God had him covered. “Go where I send you. Speak the words I give you. Be bold and trust Me to be with you and deliver you when the people get out of hand.” (Jeremiah 1:7-8). Essentially, shake in your sandals, let your voice crack with fear, but don’t back down. The God who knew him before he was formed, consecrated him before he was born, appointed him as a prophet without so much as a memo to Jeremiah, also promised to deliver him. There was no excuse not to accept the call. (Jeremiah 1:8-19)

The wildest imaginations derived from the most hellish nightmares could not have prepared him for the job. It was worse than he imagined. Far beyond anything his mind had conjured up. The level of faithlessness to which the people had sunk was appalling. Their love of idols–from wood and stone to sin and self–was abhorrent. Their abject refusal to repent of their wicked debasement was alarming. Even more disturbing was the obvious fact that they simply didn’t care. They didn’t want to turn back to God. They were content in their sin, believing the lie that God would not punish their evil ways. From where Jeremiah stood, they deserved every single disastrous prediction God commanded him to speak. (Jeremiah 2:1-8:17)

And speak them he did. Every. Single. One. Words hard to speak. Stern reminders of broken covenants. Harsh edicts of famine, war and pestilence. Predictions of terror and destruction. Thundering sounds of God’s righteous anger. All followed by the echo of God’s generous offer of redemption. Gentle nudgings toward repentance and returning. Pleading offers of gracious restoration, mercy, and love. Words that fell on hearts so hardened they refused to return, repent, reconcile to their God. It was the hardest thing he’d ever done. (Jeremiah 2-15)

The emotional see-saw took its toll on Jeremiah. His heart yearned to see his people turn back to God. Time and again he found himself frustrated and despondent. Overwhelmed with grief. Deeply saddened as his words continually fell on deaf ears. Discouraged as he realized his work was clearly in vain. Evil was obviously winning the war. His people cursed and abused him, causing him to question his very existence. Exhausted from attempting to make the people listen and sorrowful over the state of their souls, Jeremiah admits that relentlessly standing alone for God has cost him. And the price is about to go up. (Jeremiah 8:18-9:2; 12:1-4; 15:10-18)

 Issued on the heels of Jeremiah’s most recent disheartened struggle comes a shocking command from God. Not a command for the community. A command for Jeremiah. One that boldly underscores what he has known from the beginning. Being a prophet of God is not a cakewalk. In words leaving no room for misunderstanding, God forbids Jeremiah from marrying. He is to remain alone. No wife. No children. No one to share his cares and concerns. No social interaction. Only isolation. Seclusion. Solitude. Aloneness. (Jeremiah 16:1-9)

As God’s words fell on Jeremiah’s ear, he surely must have reacted. The command seemed so unfair. He’d dedicated his life to God’s work. He was already shunned and outcast, bullied and harassed. Why would God take from him the ability to have companionship, someone to be in his corner, show support, offer comfort? Why was he, the obedient prophet of God, unallowed to have the joy of sons and daughters? He’d done everything God had ever asked of him, spoken every word God had commanded, gone every place God had told him to go! Why was he being punished by the very God he chose to follow? The God whose nature is love? The One who loves to give good gifts to his children? (Psalm 33:5; Psalm 84:11)

Whether or not Jeremiah asked those questions or meekly accepted the command, it is reasonable to believe he was disappointed in God’s command. Who wouldn’t be? The passage reads like insult added to injury. It doesn’t reverberate with love, resound with mercy, or echo with grace. It seems like God’s wrath has been turned on His servant. Until you read on. Until you read what is coming down the road. The sin of the people will finally catch up with them. The punishment they have been avoiding is soon to arrive. 

It will be terrifically unpleasant. Plague. Famine. War. Death. One by one the people will fall. Weak and strong. Small and great. Young and old. No one will escape. Parents will watch the death of their children. Husbands will see the death of their wives. Wives will suffer the loss of their husbands. Horror will overtake them because they have forsaken God, rejected His laws, and followed the stubborn evil of their own hearts. Everyone will hurt and suffer and mourn. Everyone except Jeremiah. (Jeremiah 16:1-13)

Why? Because no matter how his human heart felt about that command, when God said, “No, child,” Jeremiah answered, “Yes, Lord.” He didn’t have to do so. At any point Jeremiah could have fallen in among his countrymen, forsaken God and followed the desires of his own heart. He could have married, had sons and daughters, given himself over to fully engaging in the social norms of his day. He had the choice. But when he came to the crossroads, Jeremiah saw in God’s command what we so often ignore when He speaks to us, the saving grace of “No”.

We hate that word. Abhor it. Despise it. The very thought of being told, “No,” puts our backs up. We view it as a punishment. We see it as an injustice. We label it unfair. Because we can’t see what is coming down the road. We can’t see how badly that college will affect us. We don’t comprehend how that job will change us. We can’t understand how that specific group of friends will alter our view of God and righteousness. We have no way of knowing how poorly that relationship will end. But God knows all things, past, present, future, and His grace compels Him to say, “No.” Whether we like it or not. Whether we throw a tantrum or not. Whether we choose to obey it or not. The saving grace of God reaches out to preserve us from all evil with a simple word. “No.” (Psalm 139:1-24; Isaiah 55:8-9; Hebrews 13:8; Hebrews 4:13)

The final choice is up to you. Obedience. You don’t have to choose it. You have the option of going your own way, making choices based on your own wilful heart. But there’s risk there. As the warnings of Jeremiah 17 tell us, the one who puts their trust in other people, in things, or in themselves will be cursed. No good will come to them. Eventually the evil of their hearts will be visited on their lives, because the heart of man is full of deceit, treachery, and sin. Its choices are selfish and based on earthly gratification. Eternity is nowhere in its view. But God’s view is both earthly and eternal. God knows every step of your future on earth and walks with you into eternity. He is intent on preserving your soul. He promises blessings to those who place their lives in His care and trust Him alone to lead and guide their paths. So the question remains, do you trust Him? (Jeremiah 17:9-13; I Samuel 15:22; Mark 7:21-23; Proverbs 28:26; Psalm 121:7)

Do you trust God to work in your best interest when you can’t understand, can’t see the plan, can’t sketch out the future? Do you believe God is working on your behalf when things don’t go your way, the relationship ends, the promotion doesn’t come through, the loan is denied? Do you trust God to preserve your soul from all evil in every circumstance? Do you fully believe from the depths of your being that God works all things–the good, the bad, the mediocre–together for His glory and your good? And, when you hear God whisper, “No, child,” do you recognize the sound of saving grace? (Psalm 121; Romans 8:28; Philippians 2:13; I Corinthians 12:1) 

God had certainly outdone Himself this time! The valley was magnificent. Gorgeous. Breathtaking. Trees and vines bowed under the heavy weight of beautifully ripened grapes and pomegranates and figs. If the children of Israel were still looking for a comparison to the edible delicacies of Egypt, this was unquestionably the place to be. They had finally located the land flowing with milk and honey. This was truly the Promised Land.

They made quite the parade coming back into camp from their spying expedition. Grown men giddy with excitement over the treasures they had hauled home and the stories they had to go with them. Giant pomegranates full of jewel-toned arils. Soft, perfectly ripened figs ready to serve at the evening meal. And the grapes! One cluster had two men slightly staggering under its weight as it swayed suspended from the pole between them. The bounty was fantastic. They hoped it would be enough to mitigate the disappointing news they brought. Canaan wasn’t for them. 

As wonderful and lush and perfect as it seemed to be, there was no way they could drive out the current inhabitants of the land so they could move in to own it themselves. The realization had driven itself home the moment they had seen the men of the town, sinking their buoyant spirits in one fell swoop. Descendants of Anak. Huge men. Enormous. Each one twice the size of an Israelite soldier. They felt like minuscule bugs beside them. The towering giants agreed. Chances were high they would end up squashed like bugs if they were unintelligent enough to go up against them in battle. They couldn’t make themselves do it. To do so would be certain death. 

Bearing this news to Moses was more than uncomfortable. It was downright embarrassing. Their reluctance to fight cast them in a poor light. They looked like cowards. After showing off the fruit and describing the agricultural virility of the land, they were hard-pressed to adequately excuse their hesitancy to give their families these advantages. Yet they did, each man adding to the chorus of reasons they should leave well enough alone. Each man except Caleb. 

He wasn’t having it. That land was perfect. For them now. For their descendants later. More importantly, it was the promised land. Literally. God had chosen it especially for them. Had specifically promised it to them. Previous experience proved God wasn’t one to renege on His promises. Had they forgotten the Egypt exodus? The amazing defeat of Pharaoh’s forces in a collapsing Red Sea? The miracles of food and water along the way? And what about the battle at Rephidim when Amalek decided to attack? Had God not provided a way to win that war? Of course He had. And nothing had changed between then and now. The Amalekites were still tremendous specimens of humanity, but the God of the Israelites was more tremendous still. (Exodus 12-17)

Stepping up before Moses, Caleb held up his hand to quiet the cacophony of dissenting voices. He wanted to be sure he was heard. He wanted to spread his enthusiasm, his faith, his confidence that the God who had promised would also perform. When they all grew silent, he spoke. Not to deny their claims. Not to diminish the danger. Not to dismiss their fears. In words spoken from a heart of faith in God, Caleb attempted to infuse his people with courage, “Let’s go do this. Right now. We can absolutely take them!” Words he unreservedly believed because he knew what the rest of them should have known. They weren’t fighting on their own. This was God’s war. 

Unfortunately for the people of Israel, Caleb’s attempted infusion of courage and faith in the power of God failed to change the majority to the minority. The dissenting spies had already accepted defeat. Even the addition of Joshua’s assenting voice failed to rally the troops. Their wilted faith could not be revived. Determined they were fighting alone, defeat seemed too imminent, horrific loss seemed too probable, another miraculous rescue seemed too implausible. So they left it on the table. Denied God’s power. Walked away. Choosing instead to wander the wilderness for another 40 years than to set out to an impossible battle and watch the God who makes all things possible win it for them. (Numbers 13-14; Genesis 18:14)

The choice leaves us gobsmacked. What do you say when you watch someone walk away from the best thing that ever happened to them? Hand back the best gift they’ve ever been given? Reject the most exquisite offer they have ever received? There are literally no words to express the feelings we have when we read this account. But we know the end of the story. We know that generation will die wandering the wilderness before ever entering the Promised Land. We know their children will be subject to that same wandering, denied the life of plenty they could have had if stronger faith had prevailed. We also know that many are the times we hold back, run from battle, fall in spiritual warfare because our exhausted, worn-out souls are busy trying to fight battles alone instead of allowing God to fight in our stead.

Let’s be real here. Every day is a battle of some type. Temptation to sin comes at you from every side. Subtle voices attempt to draw your mind and attention from God. The busyness of business steals your time, upends your schedule, cuts short your private hour of prayer. Society bangs on you at every turn with a billboard, advertisement, commercial, to rubber stamp evil as good and good as evil. Alleged friends try to sway your allegiance. They say it’s just a little difference. They portray it as unimportant. But you know better. You know God’s laws haven’t changed. Neither can you. 

The temptation to do so is extraordinarily strong. The rat race of your life has depleted your spiritual strength. As you look at the giants of sin and evil wreaking havoc across the land, they appear unbeatable. The battle seems already lost. People all around you are throwing up their hands in surrender to the flesh, the world, the evil one himself. The temptation to join them is nearly strangling your soul. Before you stop fighting and sink beneath the inky darkness, know these things. 

You aren’t fighting against the guy in the office next to you, the posts on social media, the words of your neighbor, or the commercial on television. You are engaging in battle against the very powers of darkness themselves, forces of spiritual wickedness that have managed to entwine themselves into the very fabric of our society, smothering our morality and suffocating our ethics. You are waging war against evil and satan and hell. You are fighting for your soul. You are battling to salvage your eternity. There is nothing easy about this. It is absolutely not a game. This is war. You can’t afford to lose. (Ephesians 6:12; Luke 21:31-34; Mark 4:19; Psalm 34:19; Romans 1:18-32)

And you don’t have to. In the middle of your current battlefield, stands the Mighty Warrior, God Himself. His track record is impeccable. He has never lost a war. He is on your side,  fighting both with you and for you. Let that truth sink down into your soul and take root. Wrap yourself up in it. Surround yourself with His righteousness. Immerse yourself in His peace. Remember that the Lord is God. The only God. The God above all other gods. He has not abdicated His throne or surrendered His authority. His sovereignty cannot be pilfered, poached or purloined. His eternal victory is an unmitigated certainty. Your current battle, struggle, skirmish or war is simply another opportunity for Him to prove His faithfulness. So let Him. Let God be God and do what He does best–make ordinary people facing extraordinary enemies win spectacular victories by making their battles His war. (I Chronicles 5:20,22; I Timothy 6:12; Psalm 16:8; I Corinthians 10:13; II Kings 6:16-18; Psalm 18:31-39; Psalm 24:8; Isaiah 45:7-9; Isaiah 44:6; James 2:19)