Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

Surprise radiated from every fiber of my being. She washed my arm! Someone who knew me not at all. Someone who owed me nothing. Someone who had no necessity of getting in my good graces. Washed. My. Arm. Not reticently. Not hesitantly. Not cautiously as though she might catch some disease. No. Without a second thought, that sweet lady stepped outside the bounds of her job description, took hold of my wrist, and proceeded to wash my arm! Hand to wrist. Wrist to elbow. Happy to help. Looking for nothing in return. She simply saw my need, recognized her ability to meet it, tracked me down, and washed my arm. 

It happened in a random aisle of a supermarket I rarely shop. We had stopped to pick up a couple of things for dinner before getting the children from school. Parting ways at the front of the store, my husband headed for the coffee shop and I set out to pick up the necessary groceries. In my normal fashion, I opted to forego a basket, falsely believing I would pick up only the two things I needed. I was incorrect. As usual. The list in my head took on a decidedly longer length than previously stated. By the time my husband found me, my handbag was dangling from the crook of my elbow and a stack of necessities was precariously piled in my arms.

Shuffling items to free up a hand for my cup, I reached out to take my iced coffee. As my hand closed around it, the lid popped off. With my other hand full, I stood there helplessly as coffee, milk, and raspberry syrup ran over my hand and down my arm to drip off my elbow, creating a little puddle on the floor. Handing the cup back to my husband so he could go see if a properly fitting lid was available, I set my items on a nearby empty shelf, dug the packet of tissues out of my handbag, and began to work on cleaning up. Both the floor and I would still be sticky, but at least we wouldn’t be soggy!

Custodial tasks complete, I again gathered my choices and headed down a different aisle. As I came to the opposite end, my husband met me carrying a new cup with a more secure lid. He didn’t know he had a follower. Behind him, quite unnoticed, was a store employee. Her face fell in the pleasant lines that spoke of the kind, serving spirit inhabiting her soul. Beaming a smile at us, she waved a handful of damp paper towels and explained the reason for her approach. She had observed him going back to the coffee shop and thought perhaps we needed a wet towel because of a spill. She had seen our need and came to meet it. 

I do not know what caught me off guard the most. Perhaps it was the fact she went out of her way to do something unnecessary, something outside her job description, something wonderfully kind in a world of bone-deep unkindness? Maybe it was that she didn’t simply shove the towels into my hand and walk away or hand them to my husband and get back to her assigned duties. Perhaps it was the unhesitating friendliness of her broad smile, the sweet kindness of her eyes, the genuine desire to help. Perhaps it was the fact she could have done nothing but chose to do something. Something a lot like what Jesus did for His disciples. 

Surprise must have been the least of the emotions the disciples felt as they watched Jesus divest Himself of His outer garment, choose a towel from the stack, pick up a basin of water, and head their direction. He surely didn’t intend to wash their feet! Did He? Dusty, dirty feet with crusty calluses and broken, gnarly nails. Why would He do that? It was a servant’s task. The least of the servants. The one who needed to learn their place a bit better. Surely their esteemed Leader, their Teacher, their Lord wasn’t going to do the task! Surely He had better things to do! 

Yet here He came. Purpose in every step. Intent obvious. Their assumptions were correct. Jesus was washing feet! Their feet. Shock and awe, embarrassment, and discomfort saturated the air. Sidelong glances at the one beside them silently questioned their next move. Surreptitious looks around the room attempted to gauge the reaction of those too far away for direct eye contact. Hesitant hands lifted the hem of their garments in awkward obedience. Stunned silence captured their tongues.   

Except for Peter. Peter had words. He had objections. Pulling his filthy feet back under the edge of his garment, Peter’s indignation spilled from his lips in ill-conceived verbiage, “You will never wash my feet!” (John 13:8) How could he let Him? How could he allow Jesus, His Teacher, His Lord, His God to take on a task normally assigned to the lowliest house servant? He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. 

He did. It wasn’t optional. It wasn’t just about having clean feet, either. It was about an entirely different lesson Jesus was trying to teach His disciples. It was about servitude. It was about selflessness. It was about giving when the receiver didn’t deserve it. It was about not keeping score of who owed whom. If it hadn’t been, Peter’s objections would have had some validity. 

This wasn’t his first day. He had been following Jesus, listening to His teaching, and learning at His side for quite some time. He was all too aware of who and what he was when Jesus found him. A simple fisherman. Nothing to recommend him. Spiritually lost. Eternally hopeless. Dirty. Messy. Needy. But Jesus came to where Peter was, called him out, and met his needs. Peter owed Him everything. In fact, the same could be said for all the disciples. Not one of them had any merit of their own. Called from less than holy lives to lives of complete holiness, everything they had become, everything they had learned, every ounce of faith buried in their souls was owed solely to Jesus. They owed Him everything. They knew it. If anyone needed to take a servant’s stance, it should have been them. (Matthew 4:18-22; 9:9-13)

It wasn’t. They had entered that house, taken their seats, and expected someone they held in low esteem to come and wash their feet. Their surprise had been infinite when the One they held in greatest esteem took on the task. Guilt settled in as each mind totaled the score. They had brought nothing into the relationship. Jesus had done everything, but they weren’t willing to wash His feet. No one even offered. Whether they knew it or not, their physical time with Jesus was running short and they hadn’t yet learned to serve others. Great or small. Important or illegitimate. Wealthy or poor. Serving others wasn’t really on their minds. 

Jesus knew that. He knew their hearts were still selfish. He knew they were still busy keeping score. He knew they were still entrenched in social status and protocols. So He did something outrageous to refocus their hearts. He shocked them into silence to teach them a lesson He hoped they would never forget. A lesson of compassion. A lesson of love. A lesson of servitude. He washed their feet.   

Finishing His task, Jesus rid Himself of towel and basin, donned His outer garment, and rejoined them at the table. Peter wasn’t the only one who had words. Jesus had words, too. Important words. Life-giving words. Words that needed to be said before He returned to His Father. Lessons to improve the disciples’ earthly journey and enable them to more easily spread the message of Jesus Christ in the days to come. A command to be His disciples, to follow His ways. Not just in words. Not just in preaching and teaching. In action. In service. A directive to live like Jesus. (John 13:1-17; Matthew 5:16)

They were not new words. It was not a different lesson. Since the dawn of time, God has called His people to be like Him. Words from Heaven instructing Old Testament people, New Testament disciples, and modern-day followers of Jesus to be holy, to love, to serve others, no matter what. No matter if they are in a different tax bracket. No matter if they are in a different social circle. Regardless if their cultural or religious background is different from yours. The message has never changed. It never will. Live like Jesus. Lead like Jesus. Serve like Jesus. (I John 2:6; Ephesians 5:1-2; John 15:12; I John 3:16; Luke 6:40; Leviticus 19:2; Philippians 2:4)

Maybe you’ve been hearing that command all your life. Maybe you have a schedule of donating time serving at a local shelter, a food bank, or a community center. Thank you! That’s wonderful! But I hope you don’t fulfill those obligations and check the box of service as if that is all there is to do. There is so much more! Service is a list of lifelong opportunities, not a once-in-a-lifetime chance. 

So go be like Jesus. You never know who you will touch, how many lives you will change, what future you may brighten. Wash some feet, even if they aren’t pretty. Be willing to wash an arm, even if you don’t know the person attached. Surprise someone with the gift of unnecessary service. Be surprised yourself at the blessing serving others brings back to you! (John 13:14-17; Romans 10:12, 15:1-3; Galatians 5:13; Matthew 20:26-28; Proverbs 11:25; Deuteronomy 22:4)

He was hiding again. At least it was a break from running. It seemed he’d spent a significant portion of his adult life doing one or the other. Try as he might, there was no pleasing the troubled king. Instead, David found himself dodging spears, running for his life, and hiding in self-preservation. From the moment Samuel strode into Bethlehem, up to Jesse’s door, and asked to inspect his sons, things had been in upheaval. 

David hadn’t asked for any of this. Never dreamed his life would turn out this way. The dreams of the shepherd boy wandering the hills had not run to being anointed king. That was Samuel’s idea. Well, God’s idea, Samuel’s enactment. The fingers so skilfully plucking the harp intended only to calm nervous sheep, not soothe frayed royal nerves. He never asked to be adored by the king. Didn’t dream of confronting a belligerent, Philistine giant on his own. Had never entertained the idea of hearing the ladies upgrading his abilities while downgrading King Saul’s. He hadn’t asked for any of it. 

Yet here he was, stuck in the middle of it. The wilderness of Ziph. The most recent in a long list of hide-and-seek stopovers. Hiding. Again. He’d been all over the place. Ramah. Nob. Gath. Cave of Adullam. Moab. It was necessary if he wanted to stay alive. But David was tired. Tired of running and hiding. Tired of checking around every corner, searching every inch of the forest before taking a rest. Tired of listening to every whispered word, eavesdropping on every clandestine conversation, searching for news of Saul’s most recent plan. Living on the run had not afforded David a proper bed or decent food in longer than he cared to contemplate. He was hiding in the wilderness. He was exhausted. He was frustrated. He was discouraged. 

He wasn’t certain why God sent Samuel to anoint him all those years ago, anyway. Saul had a perfectly respectable, godly son to ascend the throne. Jonathan. A man who believed God when the odds were against him. A man who believed in the power of God to protect and preserve the current generation of His people just as He had the generations past. A man who understood that God didn’t need armies of thousands to care for His people. He alone was enough. His power was enough. God could accomplish His purpose with thousands of soldiers or simply one or two. 

David believed the same things. In the deepest part of his heart, he knew them to be true. Those beliefs had been the common ground on which Jonathan and David had forged their friendship. A friendship that transcended all odds. It would stand the test of fear, hate, and threats of death. Regardless of their differences in background and upbringing, their faith forged a friendship stronger than life. Stronger than death. They were not just friends with one another. They were friends with God. 

Sometimes knowing the facts and remembering them are two quite different things. When we are overwhelmed with fear and worry, frustration and anxiety, discouragement and disappointment, our mental and physical exhaustion exacerbates our emotional and spiritual vulnerability. The evil one uses our turmoil to obscure the facts we know about our God. About His power and promises. About His love. About our seating at His table of grace. He comes against us to distract and destroy our faith. 

That’s where David was. Fleeing from those who would report his whereabouts to Saul. Hiding from the man consumed by thoughts of his death. Temporarily camped out in the wilderness of Ziph at Horesh. Tired. Overwhelmed. Discouraged. Vulnerable. A still target for a spear-throwing Saul. David was desperately in need of courage. He was fiercely in need of hope. He was urgently in need of a friend. A courageous friend. An encourager.  David needed to hear from Jonathan. He needed to hear things he already knew. Things about his God. Things about his faith. Things about his future. Honest things only a friend could say and not become an enemy. 

Because God’s timing is always impeccable, Jonathan is already on his way. Racing a murderously angry Saul who was beating every bush and shrub for sightings and leads in his bloodthirsty search, Jonathan wastes no time in heading straight to David’s last known resting place. Horesh. Clapping eyes on the tired eyes and burdened soul of his friend, Jonathan speaks words of hope to David. Words of courage. Words that bolster sagging faith. Reminders of God’s promises. Reminders of God’s constancy. In words plain and simple, like a healing salve on an open wound, Jonathan encouraged David in God alone. (I Samuel 16-23)

He didn’t have to. Other words would have sounded similar. Other accounts would have highlighted David’s amazing abilities. Jonathan could have congratulated David’s brawn when destroying the lion and bear. He could have extolled David’s bravery in volunteering to face Goliath. He could have sung the chants of the people about the tens of thousands David had slain or exalted David’s gymnastic ability in spear dodging. He didn’t. He was much too good of a friend for that. Instead of directing David’s attention inward and building up his confidence in his own finite abilities, Jonathan directed David’s attention upward to the infinite abilities of their great God. (I Samuel 23:16)

So rarely do we do the same. When our friends or acquaintances come to us discouraged, distressed, or downhearted, we search for something uplifting to say. Unfortunately, the words that come out often express their greatness, exalt their abilities and extol their accomplishments. We speak of them in grandiose terms, looking on the outside, the earthly, the finite. Encourage them with a litany of past successes. Highlight their self-security, self-sufficiency, and self-importance. Applaud their skills. Stroke their ego. Strengthen their self-confidence. Essentially pointing them inward instead of upward. 

It is impossible to stress how urgently we need to point them upward. Discouraged. Downhearted. Distressed. Disappointed. Now more than ever before, we need to remind them with Whom they are friends. We need to point to God’s sufficiency, His power, His promises and encourage our friends to take courage. Find strength in the God who never lets His people down, whose timing is always perfect, and whose plan never fails. Take courage in Christ alone. 

Do not lean on your own understanding. Do not bank on your own abilities. Do not trust your own strength. You can’t. There is no soul safety there. Your help, your hope comes from God alone. (Psalm 121:1-2; II Corinthians 3:5; Psalm 145:13; Joshua 21:45; Proverbs 3:5-7; Ecclesiastes 3:11; Jeremiah 32:17)

It might not be easy. The words might not fall from your mouth at the first attempt. They might seem awkward or strange. They will likely be unexpected. Say them anyway. Practice them. Search out the promises of God. Read them. Memorize them. Believe them. Share them. Speak words of courage and strength into the hearts and lives of the people around you. Don’t ever stop. When it isn’t popular, when it seems you are the only one doing it, when it feels like no one wants to hear your words, say them anyway. Someone needs to hear them. Change the trajectory of their outlook. Point their eyes to Jesus. Encourage one another in Christ alone. (Psalm 31:24; John 16:33; I Corinthians 15:58, 16:13; Romans 8:31; I Thessalonians 5:11; Joshua 1:9; Isaiah 41:13)

Hey! Weren’t those the guys? The ones the high priest and his posse were so enraged at. The ones who, just yesterday, had been marched into jail and locked away for preaching the gospel of Jesus Christ. Of course they were! But how did they get here? In the temple? Preaching? The very next morning? And why were the prison guards and officers in such an uproar to find them? Could it be? Was it possible? Had they escaped?

 It had been an eventful few days for the disciples. Even more eventful than usual. They expected the preaching and teaching, it was their mission. They were not surprised by the ever-increasing number of believers. They were not caught off guard at the amount of sick lining the streets waiting to be touched, prayed over, healed. They were completely unsurprised by the results of their compelling teachings of Jesus Christ, repentance, salvation, change. 

Even the opposition was expected. There was always opposition. They had been threatened, arrested, ordered not to preach Jesus. Nothing changed their determination. Last night they had been arrested and thrown in jail by a very angry, intensely jealous high priest of the Sadducee persuasion. Frustrating. Definitely sigh-worthy. Not surprising. 

The surprise had come in the middle of the night. Oppressive darkness cloaked their prison. Limiting visibility, but heightening other senses. Unpleasant odors of unwashed bodies hung in the air. Stench from improper facilities assailed their nostrils. Their stomachs churned and lurched. Every breath threatened to cause pointless gagging and retching. They had been able to force none of the prison rations down their throats. The conditions were horrific. 

Darkness seemed to magnify every sound. Scurrying mice. Running cockroaches. Rats fighting over a moldy bread crust. The soft snore of someone who had managed to doze off in this petri dish of germs and diseases. The slight clank of an opening lock brought them to full attention. The following swish of a gate swinging free had them instantly on their feet. The words of an angel telling the apostles to get up, get out, get on with their mission put wings on their heels. Exiting as soundlessly as possible, they breathed deeply of the unpolluted night air. The gate swung shut. The lock snicked into place. The guard never moved. The apostles’ mission would continue at daybreak.  

Groaning and burying their faces in silk-covered pillows, the high priest and his associates were not so eager to get to the temple. In retrospect, they probably wished they had been. They should have skipped the wakening gaze out the window, the extra cup of tea, the dawdling conundrum of which garment to wear. So certain were they that their enemies were locked away, they took the scenic route to work. It seems likely they wished they would have put more importance on temple attendance. Wished they had been the first to arrive that day. 

They weren’t. Apparently, they were quite late in their attendance. Skipping morning meeting entirely. They shouldn’t have done that. If they had attended that morning, they would have known what most of the town already knew. The guys they threw in prison last night weren’t there now. They had been sprung. But they hadn’t left town. They were teaching in the temple. Again. And people were listening. If the high priest, the Pharisees, the Sadducees, and any other cohorts of his had actually stopped to attend morning prayers, they would have known. They would have seen it. They likely wished they had. 

Sending for their prisoners, the council settled into trivial conversations as they awaited the fulfillment of their command. Except it didn’t come. Not the way they thought it would. The officers they sent to collect the accused returned. Empty-handed. There was not one apostle with them. Nor did they have any idea where they were. The prison was locked. The guards were in place. Nothing seemed disturbed or broken. No tunnels led from underneath the wall. No ropes went over it. There was no logical explanation, but the men who had been escorted there and locked inside were gone! 

Except they weren’t. At least not completely. They weren’t in the prison, but they hadn’t left town. They were still there. Still teaching. Still preaching. Right there. In the temple. For all and sundry to hear. The high priest and his cohorts were livid. 

Finally, succeeding in getting the apostles before him, the high priest asked, “Did you not hear us order you not to teach these things to our people? How were we unclear? Do you know who you are dealing with?” And the apostles, tongues ready with words from God, replied, “We are more interested in obeying God than people.” No matter what it cost them. No matter who they angered. No matter if they were rebuked, shunned, abused, or banished from polite society. Even if it came with a side of suffering, they had just one desire. Obey God. 

And they would suffer for it. Many on that council wanted to kill the apostles for denying their authority. Hearts cut to the quick with conviction, they wanted to eliminate these men and their teachings. Thankfully, Gamaliel had a different idea. Let God deal with them. If they were preaching heresy, God would certainly overthrow them. If they were preaching the truth, there was nothing anyone could do against it. Not the high priest. Not the council. Not the Sadducees or the Pharisees. Partially deterred, the council chose to flog them, order them not to preach Jesus, and send them on their way. 

They walked away…rejoicing. Rejoicing!? They had just endured arrest, imprisonment, a lopsided trial, and a beating. Their bodies bruised and bleeding. Their souls and lips rejoicing.  Why? Because they were already doing what James and Peter would later admonish their readers to do–count it all joy. Receive it with rejoicing. Count themselves blessed to be offered the honor of suffering for Christ’s sake, remembering that their eternal reward would be so much greater and last exponentially longer than any earthly suffering. (James 1:2-4; I Peter 4:12-14; Acts 5; Romans 8:18-21)

Pardon me while I sit here gobsmacked, trying to absorb this truth. Just last week, from this exact chair, I had a conversation with God about this very thing. Except I didn’t mention any rejoicing. It never crossed my mind. I spoke only of suffering for Jesus Christ. Right here in polite society. Right here in a culture that supposedly makes room for everyone. Right here in the land of the free.

It is easy to imagine the side of suffering served up to those in countries who impose religious constraints. Our minds quickly conjure the horrors of those who choose not to adhere to the spiritual status quo. Images of persecution, torture, and death flood our minds at the thought of those who choose to stand for Jesus in places where His name is forbidden. But we are not there. We are free to choose. We expect no ramifications for doing so. Then they come. 

Silently, they creep up on us. Exclusions from groups of people who choose actions and attitudes we cannot endorse. Rejections from potential employers because following Jesus means faithfulness at His house every Sunday. Friends who stop calling, stop texting, stop visiting when our choice to follow Jesus changes the way we talk, the things we watch, the places we visit. Shunning from fellow church attendees–yes, it will come from there, too–who have only a form of godliness, but lack the true Spirit of Christ. Social slaughtering by those who have chosen a lesser way, a broader path, a destitute eternity. Suffering for Jesus doesn’t always come in the form of a jail cell, a phony trial, or an undeserved beating. Sometimes it comes in a brush-off, an abandonment, a banishment. It is still suffering. It should still elicit the same result. Rejoicing. Because God sees your dedication to Him, the work you do in His name, the stand you take for His Word and He counts you worthy to suffer for His sake. (Matthew 24:9; I Peter 3:13-14; II Timothy 2:12; Romans 8:35-39)

Limping away from the scene of their flogging, bruised, bleeding, aching, possibly in need of medical attention, the apostles rejoiced. Their suffering might have been considered an insult by earthly measures, but it was the highest compliment of Heaven. God had seen them. Their endless work. Their fearless preaching. Their consistent witness. And He had honored them. Counted them worthy to suffer for the sake of Jesus Christ. They weren’t about to stop now. They kept right on preaching, every day, everywhere, to everyone who would listen. That flogging, as unpleasant as it had been, was not about to deter their mission. (Acts 5:41-42)

Would it deter yours? Would suffering in any form derail the mission God has sent you to do? I hope not. I hope you would never trade worldly acceptance for Heavenly exclusion. I hope you won’t trade friendship with the world for being a friend of God. I so deeply hope that in all the bells and whistles, distractions and promises of the world, there is still nothing worth more to you than your soul. And I pray, when you are served your side of suffering, you will find unspeakable joy in the knowledge that God counts you worthy to share with Jesus Christ in suffering for His name’s sake. Rejoice and be enormously, astronomically, historically glad, your dedication has been noted, your suffering has been seen, and your reward in Heaven is greater than you can even imagine! (James 4:4; Mark 8:37-38; Matthew 5:10-12; Matthew 6:4; Philippians 4:4; I Thessalonians 5:16; James 1:12; II Corinthians 4:17)

They hadn’t come here for this. They hadn’t assembled on this day to be slaughtered where they stood. They had no intention of being a sitting target for the enemy. In fact, everything they had done over the last few days was to ensure victory. Foreign gods had once again been removed. Idols were destroyed. They had turned as one back to God. Hearts, souls, service. His alone. Just as Samuel had told them to do. 

It was their last defense against the Philistines. Nothing else had worked. They had even stolen the Ark of God. It hadn’t exactly worked out for the Philistines, owning the Ark. They should have seen the error of their ways when their sightless, voiceless, unhearing, motionless god fell to the ground before the Ark. They didn’t. They should have packed it up and shipped it back when tumors first broke out among them. Again they didn’t. Men were ill. Some died. Mice ravaged the land. It would be seven months before they sent the Ark on its way. 

Still, the Philistines were not finished with them. The men of Israel knew it. Again and again the Philistines would come against them until they had defeated, killed, captured, and plundered. Desperate to fend off the coming series of altercations, they gathered before Samuel hoping to hear words of wisdom and guidance. Words of victory. Words from God. 

Except they weren’t following Him. When they previously went out to battle the Philistines, they had been cocky. Placed their faith in the Ark itself. Thought they were unbeatable simply for carrying it into the battle. Essentially idolized the Ark instead of the true God it represented. They had fallen aside to worship Baal and fall before Ashtaroth. The Ark of God had been captured and the Israelites were faced with the truth. The Ark itself did not have the power to save them. Salvation could only come from a clean break with sin and a complete turning to God. 

So they did it. Renovated their land. Redecorated their houses. Removed the idols. Returned to God. Made the trek to Mizpah where they assembled with the prophet Samuel for a time of confession, judgment, prayer, fasting and pouring out water before the only true God. The One they were choosing as their one and only Lord.   

The Philistines were not fasting or praying. They were not busy changing their hearts and ways. Nope. They were spying on Israel. Like a hawk tracking a field mouse, the Philistines were aware of Israel’s every move. When they saw them assemble at Mizpah, their usually grim faces must have wreathed in smiles. Someone probably did a premature victory dance. Gathering their gear, the Philistines headed out to gather up some Israelite heads. 

 It was a terrifying moment. As the alarm cry rang out that the Philistines were coming up against the gathering, the men of Israel were filled with fear. They had been here before. They had battled the Philistines. The outcome had been horrific. Tens of thousands of foot soldiers littered the battlefield as a result of that attack. The Ark of God was taken. Eli’s sons died. Not one man still standing there was interested in a repeat of that event. 

Nearly in unison, they turned to Samuel and began to beg for his help. Surely if one of them had God’s attention, could garner heavenly aid, it would be Samuel! “Pray for us! Keep praying! Don’t stop crying out to our God! We know we can’t stand against the Philistines alone. Ask Him to save us!” Samuel did. Offering a burnt offering before the Lord, Samuel cried out to the God of Israel for hope, help, a rescue. And God answered. 

Clearly the battle acumen of the Philistines was greatly exaggerated, at least in the minds of the men of Israel. They were not the unbeatable force everyone assumed them to be. At least not to God. He didn’t even lift a finger. He just made a loud noise. Thunder. Great thunder. Thunder like no one had ever heard before. Thunder that so rattled the brains of the Philistines, they became confused and began to run away. Thunder only God could create to bring a victory only God could give. 

I don’t know if the men of Israel heard the thunder. Perhaps it was meant only for the ears of the Philistines. Perhaps God shielded their ears to keep their minds clear for battle. Perhaps the God they had so recently rededicated themselves to serving spared them the devastating effects of such an offensive sound. Regardless, they were of sound enough minds to follow hot on the heels of the fleeing Philistines. They chased and battled and struck down Philistines in a victory so great that Samuel took a large stone. Placed it precisely on that battlefield, named it Ebenezer, and announced, “This far, up to this moment, this place, the Lord has helped us.” (I Samuel 4:1-7:12)

They would need to remember it. Always. In moments of discouragement and despair, they would need to remember that stone and hold tightly to the knowledge that God, their God, the One they had chosen to follow completely, was walking with them. When the threat of battle loomed over them, they would need to look at that stone and remember that their God was not known to falter or fail. In the heat of battle, when the enemy raged in like an overwhelming flood, they would need to push aside the fear and terror, the feelings of helplessness, the sense of impending doom and fill their mind with the image of their Ebenezer. Their stone of help. The mental image of the spiritual truth that God will always come through for His people.

In times of peace, the sight of that stone, the memory of its placement, the message of its name would be integral to their spiritual survival. When all was well, the children growing, the crops flourishing, the evil one would also be working. Slyly. He would use comfort and complacency as the fertile ground on which to plant his seeds of sin. Over time, he would edge out the fervency of true service to God and slip in lackadaisical, slip-shod ways. He would fill minds with so many earthly cares, so much busyness, that there wouldn’t be time to go back and gaze on that stone, remember its meaning, and recall their total reliance on God. Without the remembrance of that stone and the words Samuel pronounced there, the people would fall to gods of wood and stone, follow the desires of their own hearts, and find themselves once again facing battles in their own strength. 

They would never win that way. Never be triumphant. Never find victory. Neither will you. You absolutely do not have the capacity to stand against the evil one and his schemes without God-your stone of help. You can’t deflect his fiery darts. You can’t dismiss his sneering voice. You can’t defend against his attacks of fear and doubt and worldly delusions without the help of Almighty God. But you have to follow Him alone to have it. He doesn’t share the credit. Doesn’t need to. There is no one with whom to share it. No one else can do what God does. (Isaiah 42:8; Psalm 83:18; Exodus 20:3-5; Isaiah 43:11; Psalm 44:5; Philippians 4:13; II Corinthians 12:9)

You know this to be true. Somewhere in your life is a time and place where you can look back and remember a mighty rescue from the hand of God. Perhaps it was the moment you realized the ominous darkness inhabiting your soul, asked Him for pardon and peace and He answered. Maybe it was the time you were fighting the forces of worry and fear of the future, yet you called to Him and He answered. Perhaps in the moment you struggled against the pull of the world, the siren call to fit in, be embraced by today’s culture, but God pulled you to Himself and embraced you with a love and acceptance that transcends every culture, every tax bracket, every soul. Maybe it wasn’t you at all. Maybe it was the gut-wrenching, groaning prayers of your soul poured out over a loved one or friend that seemed beyond the reach of grace and happy to be there. But you prayed, and your God answered. Maybe it was a moment my mind could never conjure, but you know it. You remember it. It’s your Ebenezer. Your reminder of who God is and what He does for His people. 

You need to put a rock on it. Mark your calendar. Set an annual alarm on your phone. Write a sticky note for the refrigerator door. Journal about it. Write it in lipstick on your bathroom mirror. Memorize that moment and revisit it often. You will need to because the enemy is not going to let up. He will come at you with fear and anxiety, worries and cares. He will attempt to hijack your soul with lies about your identity, your worth, your abilities. He will question your allegiance so convincingly you might be tempted to question it as well. Eventually, he will stage a violent battle for your soul. He will tell you it is impossible for you to fight him and win. He won’t be wrong. You can’t fight him in your own strength and come out victorious. Good thing you don’t have to. Your God–the One who fights for you regardless if you are perfectly fit or too tired, too hurt, too broken to battle for yourself–will bring you out triumphant. So get up there and put a rock on it. You are going to need to remember this moment. (Psalm 60:12; Deuteronomy 20:4; Isaiah 54:17; Psalm 34:17; II Corinthians 10:4-5)

He couldn’t sleep. The room wasn’t dark enough; his mind wasn’t quiet enough. The lengthening light of the spring evening slipped around the heavy drapes and stretched across his coverlet, reminding him of the season and where his troops were currently quartered. Unlike him, they weren’t enjoying the luxury of a good bed, a lavish meal, a warm bath. No. They were set up in a battle encampment, sleeping in shifts on unforgiving ground, living on unappetizing food, relentlessly plotting, planning, and strategizing how best to exterminate their enemy. He should be with them. 

Often he had been. From the moment he’d chosen those 5 stones and walked out to face a growling, mocking Goliath, David had frequently been on the battlefield. He was good at it. Excellent, really. So great was his skill and cunning that King Saul appointed him as head of the army. He thrived in that position, leading them to victory over and over again. So often, in fact, the people greeted him in the streets with chants and songs of the tens of thousands he had slain. (I Samuel 17:23-27, 18:5-7)

Eventually, David became king himself. His battle acumen did not lessen. He built a formidable army, made a name for Israel. Everyone knew their reputation. They knew God was on Israel’s side. Everyone who had ever met David on the training field, the battlefield, or the strategy board knew that being a warrior was ingrained by God into his very being. It was who he was, an integral part of his identity. So why was the warrior king fighting insomnia in a palace while his men fought a battle in a field? (II Samuel 2-10)

Perhaps that very question plagued David as well. Maybe he couldn’t quite find the answer. Maybe the evasiveness of the answer brought with it his current bout of insomnia. Perhaps it was the examination of those possible motives that had David climbing out from under his embroidered coverlet, shoving his feet in slippers, tossing a robe around his shoulders, and walking the roof in the dimming light of evening. It probably wasn’t the first time he walked the roof to gain perspective. 

The trek was habitual. The roof was his thinking ground, his solitude. It was where he went when there were more questions than answers, more war than peace, more fear than faith. Instead of calling for a cup of warm milk, a melodious harpist, a scribe to read the annals of history, David walked the roof. Surveyed the kingdom. Looked to the hills, reminding himself from where his help would come. Raised his face to the wind, remembering God’s sovereignty and power. 

Regardless of what he normally did, David should have called for a hot beverage, a musician, and a scribe that night. When he chose to walk the roof, he should have kept his eyes trained on the hills. Bracing himself, he should have tipped his face into the wind and focused on his God. He should never have looked out over the kingdom. Why? Because the evil one was walking the kingdom, looking for a way to trip up the warrior king God had chosen to lead His people. And blindly, David, that fearless leader, cunning strategist, unbeatable soldier, walked straight into a trap.   

Gaze drifting from rooftop to rooftop, mind boggled with answer-less questions, David begins his usual stroll. He’s not looking for anything in particular. He’s not focused on anything specific. Until he is. His mind empties as his eyes rest on the picture before him. A bathing woman. Completely beautiful. Wholly inappropriate. He should look away. Walk away. Run. Scrub his mind. Erase the memory. Forget it ever happened. He doesn’t. 

The evil one isn’t about to let it go. Finding a chink in the armor of God’s warrior is the proverbial icing on his dilapidated cake. Over and over again he flashes that picture before David’s mind. Desire develops. David weakens. He sets out to determine the bathing beauty’s identity, quietly inquiring among his staff to know her name and to whom she belongs.

It was not ideal news. The beauty relentlessly invading his thoughts and dreams is  Bathsheba. Uriah’s wife. Married. Committed. Not free. He should walk away. Let it go. Forget what he’d seen. Forget what he wanted. Forget he was a king whose every wish was a command. He didn’t. Wouldn’t. Couldn’t scrape together enough self-control. Ignoring the jab of conscience, he sent messengers to bring Bathsheba to him. 

Later, watching Bathsheba make her way from his palace, surely David promised his aggravated conscience it would never happen again. It was a one-and-done sin. No one would ever know. Uriah would come home from battle and pick up right where he left off. His house. His wife. His life. 

Except he doesn’t. The repercussions of sin infiltrate David’s daydream of anonymity. In desperation, he attempts a series of coverups. When all the innocuous methods fail, David turns deadly. With the power of his pen, he sends Uriah back to battle carrying his own death warrant. Then arrogantly marries Uriah’s wife. Takes over Uriah’s life. (II Samuel 11)

By the time I read the final verse of this account, I’m sick to my stomach. Incredulous that the same man who wrote the words of the Psalms fell so far so fast. Especially Psalm 101. A promise to walk in integrity–Within. His. House?! A vow to keep his vision focused on purity?! A staunch refusal of evil, slander, arrogance, and deceit?! An absolute statement of destruction for all those who are wicked and engage in iniquity! How can these be the words of the same David who engaged in visual impurity, arrogant misuse of his authority, and deceitful cunning to cover his sin? (Psalm 101)

How can they be our words? How can we walk among the ranks of the righteous singing words of love and peace and grace, but walk the trenches of the world spewing fear and pride and hate? How can we profess to know Jesus Christ yet not prove it with our actions? How can we call ourselves followers of Jesus when our following is limited to public appearances? How do our private actions affect our public witness? What do we do in secret that we will do anything to keep covered? (Titus 1:15-16; James 2:17,26)

That was David’s problem, you know. There was sin in his house. Invited sin. Harbored sin. Covered sin. And wherever sin is, Jesus isn’t. The two do not coexist. They cannot. They will not. They are diametrically opposed. Sin brings death. Jesus brings life. You cannot serve them both, and whichever one inhabits your heart will inhabit your thoughts and words and deeds. You will find your sin multiplying to cover the previous sin until your soul is covered in an avalanche of sins you can no longer keep covered. Sin is dangerous. It multiplies. And it brings death. (Ezekiel 18:20; John 10:10, 14:6; Matthew 6:24; Luke 6:45; Proverbs 28:13)

Soul death. Death no one can see. Death about which no one knows. Hidden erosion of the soul. Death that stagnates your spirit, stalemates your witness, and stunts your growth. The death from which you can only feign recovery unless you repent before Almighty God. So search your soul. Open every closet door. Knock down every cobweb. Rid yourself of any sin, every sin. Dedicate yourself to truly living for Jesus no matter where you are, who is around, or what anyone else is doing. Even when you are alone and there seems to be no accountability, live for Jesus then, too. It’s dangerous not to. Practice following Jesus in private so it will be your genuine response in public. Remembering this, if you choose to live for Jesus only in some places rather than in any place, you will eventually stop following Him in every place. Home. Work. School. Church. In any place you find yourself, may your life reflect the One you have chosen to serve in every place. (Ephesians 5:1; Joshua 1:8; Lamentations 3:40; Psalm 119:133; Deuteronomy 13:4)