Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

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)

Lot had finally made a decent decision! It was about time! This nomadic lifestyle was wearing on her nerves. Constantly drifting from place to place. Tearing down and setting up their tent whenever the urge to move hit Lot’s uncle. It wasn’t the life she’d dreamed of. There was no stability, no permanence, no creature comforts. None of the things she hoped to have when raising her children. 

This decision to settle somewhere apart from Abram and Sarai was a relief. Not that she didn’t like them. She did. She just didn’t like their lifestyle. She wanted something more, something better. A place to settle down, put down roots, build a home, raise a family. And Lot had finally found just the place! 

The city of Sodom was amazing. Excitement jolted through her veins as she gazed at it. Glistening skyline rising up to grace the horizon of the well-watered Jordan Valley. Statues and buildings gleaming in the rays of golden afternoon sun. Lush gardens, abundant with every conceivable fruit and vegetable dotted the landscape. Flourishing vineyards, heavily laden with grape perfection flowed over the rolling hills. Streams dissected the valley flowing into oases, then gurgling on to water the next garden or fill the next well. It was certainly the perfect place to settle down, raise a family, build a life! (Genesis 13:10-12)

It would have been safer to stay in the tent. Although beautiful in appearance, the heart of Sodom was enveloped in darkness. Guided by the selfishness of their sin-filled hearts, the people of the city willfully and gleefully engaged in egregious sins. Chasing solely after the desires of their own hearts, they embodied the words later penned by the Psalmist, “God does not see”. No one respected God. No one sought righteousness. No one lamented the evil of their ways. Instead, they relished them. Approved them. Guarded them. It was a terrible place to settle down, raise a family, build a life. (Psalm 94:7; 10:2-11; 14:3; 59:7)

Logically, a reputation such as this would have preceded them. Certainly travelers would carry the tales of Sodom’s riotous living from one town to the next. Surely at least one previous resident had spread dire warnings of their unchecked depravity. Reason dictates neither Lot nor his wife could not have been completely ignorant of the town’s dubious distinction. Yet, as they gazed out over the lush, fertile valley with its promise of plush living, easy gardening, and well-watered cattle, their traitorous minds excused what their ears had heard so their selfish hearts could have the lifestyle for which they longed. Comfort. Wealth. Ease. (Genesis 13:10-19)

After the initial tent pitching outside of Sodom’s gates, they inched closer and closer until they were finally living inside the city. It was everything she hoped it would be! More, actually. They built the home she’d always wanted. Raised lovely daughters. Created a life for themselves among the natives. Accepted their ways. Embraced their ideals. Followed their habits. Integrated themselves so well it was impossible to tell they were actually foreigners. Their social calendars were filled with parties and dances and nights of revelry. Every dream she ever had was fulfilled inside the gates of Sodom.  

Unfortunately for Lot’s wife, God was not so enamored with her city. He had gotten a lot of complaints about the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah. Stories of depraved gatherings. Tales of unspeakable sins. Rumors of the blatant flouting of all things good and right and holy. He had seen them too. They grieved His heart. The gorgeous valley He created had been desecrated. It had to be made right. So He did.

Arriving at the city gates late in the day, two angels of the Lord came face to face with Lot. Rising to meet them, Lot bowed in a grand gesture of respect and invited them to spend the night in his home. They were disinclined. Lot pressed harder. Perhaps he knew what dangers awaited them if they should spend the night in the street. The natives of Sodom were indeed restless. Finally, they acquiesced, but before they could lie down to sleep, the villagers were banging on the house, harassing Lot to bring out his friends for nefarious purposes. Lot refused. 

Standing back watching the melee, embarrassed rage washed over Lot’s wife. What was Lot thinking? Was he thinking? Those people begging entrance were their friends, their neighbors, their emergency contacts. They had welcomed them into their city, accepted them into their society, aided them with child care and gardening tips and restaurant recommendations. Lot’s own daughters were betrothed to their sons. The people involved in the fracas outside had the power to socially eviscerate them. Why had Lot brought those two men home in the first place? And why had they come to town anyway? 

It would take very little time for that answer to be revealed. It did not fill her heart with joy. The sins of the city which she had so contentedly ignored were to be recompensed. Judgment was coming. Death. Destruction.  Devastation. As a favor to Abram, God was rescuing Lot and his family. They had to leave today. There was no time to alert friends. No moments for teary good-byes. No farewells to the girls’ fiancees. They had to go. Now. If they stayed, they’d never leave. Literally.     

It felt surreal, like a prank of mammoth proportions. She knew it wasn’t. She knew the words were true. The city would be utterly eradicated. All of it. Her lovely home. Her beautiful garden. The little pub she took tea at with friends. The mansion where they had partied all night. The people she counted as family. The things and lifestyle she loved. Everything would be gone. She knew she should feel gratitude for the rescuing angels, but all she could manage to feel was an acute sense of her own loss.

 As morning light filtered across the sky, glinting off the dew drops resting on luscious grapes and flowering plants, she dawdled. The angels of God urged and pressed them to gather their girls and leave. Still, she lingered. So did Lot. Maybe because he was sad to leave too. Likely because he was waiting on her, allowing time for final goodbyes to the culmination of her hopes and dreams. Finally, time ran out. Grabbing the family by their hands, the angels forcibly removed them to safety and left them with one final warning, “Go. Focus your eyes on your final destination and forget the things behind you. Do not stop. Do not look back.” (Genesis 19:1-17)

The sun had risen to nearly full strength as they reached their destination. Rumblings echoed behind them as God meted out just judgment on the cities of sin they had left behind. The temptation to look back was strong. Carefully averting his eyes, Lot hurried his daughters through the gate of Zoar to safety. Reaching back to tug his wife in too, his hand flailed in mid-air. She wasn’t there. She had turned around for one last glimpse of all she loved, of all she had lost, of where her heart was still planted, and in the turning, in the looking, in the wanting, she’d met her demise. (Genesis 19:23-28)

Although she’s never again mentioned in the Old Testament, centuries later, in the most solemn of dire warnings, Jesus tells us not to forget her. In three words collected together in one short sentence, He encapsulates the message God was trying to tell His people throughout the entire Old Testament. “Remember Lot’s wife.” Do not waver. Do not turn back. Do not long for the frills and thrills of Egypt or any other land you’ve had the opportunity to visit. Dedicate yourselves fully to me. Only to me. Stay that way. (Luke 17:32; Jeremiah 4:1; Deuteronomy 5:23; Joshua 1:7; I Kings 8:61) 

The words Jesus spoke to that New Testament gathering of Pharisees and disciples are a summation of the message He preached over and over again during His earthly ministry. “Remember Lot’s wife.” Remember what her love of sin did to her. Remember to what lengths her desire for the flesh pushed her. Remember how her attachment to the things of this world affected her. Do not be distracted by the same things. Do not turn back to look longingly at the things of the world. Do not waver in your determination to be faithful. Follow Me. Only Me. Always Me. 

It is not a suggestion. It is not optional. The call to follow Jesus without reservation is a requirement. The cost of looking back is high. The one who chooses not to daily bear their cross will never be Christ’s disciple. The one who puts his hand to the plow and looks back gains no admittance at Heaven’s gate. The one who seeks to preserve their earthly lifestyle and status will lose it to eternal damnation, but the one who willingly sacrifices all to gain Christ will find eternal joy. And, to the one who lays aside everything to seek God’s kingdom above all things, will be blessed beyond measure. Their cup will be full, pressed down, and filled again to overflowing. But you have to choose Jesus first. Jesus only. Jesus always. (Luke 9:23-24,57-62; Luke 17:30-33; Matthew 6:33-34; Luke 6:38; Matthew 10:22)  

I don’t know what’s behind you that has you looking back with longing. I don’t know what you have clutched tightly in your hot little hand. I don’t know what you wish to preserve about your current circumstances that has you waffling on complete consecration to Jesus Christ. I won’t even speculate. That’s not my job. I will say this. When Jesus calls you to follow Him, I hope you go with the exuberance of the disciples leaving nets and family and friends to follow. When Jesus asks you to sacrifice your time, your resources, your efforts to daily do His work, I hope you agree without counting the cost. And, when Jesus reminds you to keep your eyes focused solely on Him, I hope you remember Lot’s wife and fix your gaze with laser precision on Christ alone. I hope you don’t look back, turn back, or waver. What’s back there, anyway? Is it worth your eternity? Is it worth more than your soul? Is it better than Jesus? (Romans 14:17; Matthew 4:18-22, 16:24-26; Mark 1:16-24; Mark 8:26; Romans 12:1-2)

They were doing it wrong. Again. It wasn’t the first time they had brought improper sacrifices. Unacceptable sacrifices. Or no sacrifice at all. Many had been the times the people of God, His chosen possession, had failed where sacrifices were concerned. Many were the times the prophets had pointed out the error of their ways. Their inspired verbiage glaringly high-lighting the main point. The improper sacrifices were not an indication of God’s lack of provision. No. Those lame and blind, blemished and sick sacrifices were an indication, a measuring line, a thermometer gauging the profoundness of their contrition, the depths of their brokenness, the urgency of their desire to maintain a right relationship with God. The results of that weighing and measuring were abysmal. (Malachi 1:6-10, 13-14; Hosea 13:2-3,9)

It was no secret what proper sacrifices were to be. Even before the law was spoken through Moses, sacrifices were being made. Perfect sacrifices. The firstborn of Abel’s flock. The clean animals and birds coming with Noah from the ark. The near sacrifice of his own flesh and blood by their forefather, Abraham. The sacrifice of a multitude of lambs in the Israelite camps of Egypt as God worked His final act of redemption and release of His people from slavery. God had never made a secret of how an acceptable sacrifice should appear, nor had He hidden the acceptable attitude of the bearer’s heart. (Genesis 4:4; Genesis 8:20-22; Genesis 22; Exodus 12)

Watching from a distance, Cain’s stomach heaved as he watched Abel prepare the lamb for sacrifice. It boggled his mind how his brother could so faithfully, willingly, without a modicum of reticence slaughter an animal he’d raised from birth. A perfect animal. Unblemished. Healthy. Strong. Abel approached the task with acceptance, as if he’d raised the animal for that express purpose. It was wildly unsettling. But even more upsetting than the butchering was the fact that God was pleased. Pleased with the ruthless slaughter of an innocent animal. So pleased was He with Abel’s sacrifice that he immediately accepted it with gracious blessing and favor. How could He? How could a fair God choose one perfect sacrifice and reject the other? Was there more to it than simple favoritism?

The questions danced through Cain’s mind as he glanced over at his own sacrifice. It still lay there. It had not been accepted. Produce wilted by the sun. Wheat drying in the heat. Leeks beginning to rot. In spite of his sacrifice of perfect greens, glowing wheat, and gorgeous leeks–the best of his garden–God had chosen not to accept it. The fact galled him. Bringing it at all had almost broken him. He’d nearly turned and walked away before forcing himself to lay the work of his hands down in sacrifice before the Lord. His heart had ached at the waste. The requirement felt ridiculous. But duty called and he responded. Surely it had to be enough. 

It wasn’t. Even after Abel’s perfectly offered sacrifice was completely consumed and celebrated by God, Cain’s sacrifice lay wasted. Unaccepted. Refused. Denied. The unaccepted sacrifice ate at Cain’s soul, planting a crop of anger that would grow to mammoth proportions.  Bitterness, resentment, and hate would be the results. And because we know the story, we are left to wonder why God didn’t accept both sacrifices. Both came from the cream of their crop, the best they had. What made one acceptable and one not? (Genesis 4:1-5)

Scholars have long since wondered the same. Research has revealed many differing opinions. They are all speculation. The Bible doesn’t tell us exactly why Cain’s offering wasn’t accepted. It seems likely it was a heart deficiency, not a sacrifice deficiency. Turns out Cain had a multitude of heart problems. Anger was his first response to the unaccepted sacrifice. Not introspection. Not soul evaluation. Not once did Cain ask God where he’d gone wrong. Never did he entreat God for a remedy. No attempt to offer a second, more acceptable sacrifice was ever made. Worse, he offered no response, no concern when God issued the dire warning, “If you do not do well, sin is crouching at your door.” (Genesis 4:6-7) 

Because God is not a God of secret requirements at which one must guess how to please Him, Cain must certainly have known where his sacrifice veered off course. The fact that he chose not to rectify the error of his ways speaks to the posture of his heart both before and after the sacrifice. Anger. Bitterness. Resentment. At God. At Abel. At anything, anyone except himself. Cain never once took responsibility for his own shortcomings. Never once examined the attitude of his own heart. As an unfortunate result, he would be forced to bear the responsibility of his upcoming actions, to shoulder the consequences of the sin about which he was warned. 

Through the rage engulfing Cain’s soul, the evil one spoke from the door of his heart and convinced him the problem could be solved by the eradication of Abel. Anger and bitterness running amok, Cain invited Abel out to the field with him. A little brother bonding over the wheat harvest would be nice. None the wiser to the state of Cain’s heart, Abel obliged. He shouldn’t have. It didn’t end well. Instead of changing the posture of his heart to that of brokenness and contrition, Cain chose to add to his transgressions. 

Oblivious to the sin crouching at his brother’s door, Abel bent to the task of examining the harvest. Paying no attention to the field or the harvest, Cain focused solely on the hate consuming his soul. Overwhelmed by the need to be relieved of the constant reminder of his failure, his rage bubbled and boiled over. The harvesting tool in his hand became a weapon of revenge. The sin lying in wait, crouching at the door of Cain’s heart sprang into action. In cold blood he murdered his brother, burying him there, soaking the soil with innocent blood. 

It was not the soul-freeing event Cain imagined. Hardly had he laid his brother in the ground when God showed up. He had questions, wanted to know where Abel was. Finding his blood still boiled at just the mention of his brother’s name, Cain opted for innocence. Flippantly dismissing his responsibility, he swore to have no knowledge of his brother’s whereabouts. What a ridiculous thing to say to an omniscient God! A God who wasn’t confused about the day’s occurrences. A God who was, at that very moment, hearing Abel’s blood crying from the ground, begging for justice. And God gives it. The sacrifices Cain clearly despises are not over. More are coming. He’ll have to live with them. Forever. No longer will Cain cultivate and harvest the plants he loves. The soil wants nothing to do with him. He would listlessly wander the earth. Worse yet, the face of God will be hidden from him. (Genesis 4:8-14) 

The punishment was more than he could bear. No more planting and watering. No celebrating at the first green shoots breaking through the soil. No table laden with the fruits of his labor. No communion with God. No friendship with neighbors. The results of his half-hearted sacrifice were coming home to roost. Regrets were piling up. If only he’d willingly sacrificed. If only he’d listened when God spoke. If only he hadn’t been so consumed with duty and necessity that he’d offered a sacrifice of faith and contrition. If only he’d put his entire soul on the altar of sacrifice. What a difference it would have made! 

Nothing really changed from the day of Cain’s unacceptable sacrifice to the writings of Malachi. In fact, we are still very much the same today. So often we approach the sacrificial altar of God in the same manner we approach a diet plan. Yes to cauliflower. No to kale. We try to pick and choose which commands we will follow, what sacrifices we will make. We tell ourselves we can cherry-pick what we want, leave the rest, and still please God. But following God is not a diet plan. There is no such thing as “Jesus lite”. The commands of God, the sacrifices He requires are not optional. And your cheap, half-hearted, pared-down sacrifices won’t get you eternal salvation. Heaven is expensive. If you want to follow Jesus, truly be His disciple, it will cost you. (Luke 9:23-24; Proverbs 3:9; Jonah 2:9; Galatians 2:20; Matthew 16:24-26; Joshua 22:5)

I don’t know what God is asking you to sacrifice today. Friends. Status. Money. The big church with the wealthy congregation. The corner office. The fancy title. I don’t know what the attitude of your heart regarding that sacrifice is. Frustration. Angst. Irritation. Anger. I do know this. The sacrifices that please God come not from a place of reticent duty and necessity, but a heart of open contrition and willing brokenness. I know that you are called to present yourself, every single part of you, as a living sacrifice to God for His use alone. And I know your sacrifices will cost you. They will pinch and squeeze. They will be uncomfortable. They might even break your heart. Chin up. Those sacrifices, if willingly offered from a heart longing to draw closer to Jesus Christ, will never be rejected. Never. (Psalm 4:5, 51:17; Matthew 19:29; Romans 6:13, 12:1-2; I Samuel 15:22)

So choose your sacrifice wisely. Keep eternity’s landscape in view. Each destiny will cost you. One now. One later. One is absolutely worth it. One is undeniably not. The ultimate choice is yours. Will your sacrifice be complete and costly or inadequate and cheap? What will you give in exchange for your soul? (Mark 8:36-38; Matthew 16:26)