Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

In the grand scheme of life, it was incredibly small. Ridiculously small. Or just ridiculous. Clearly the prophet had jokes. Or pranks. It was difficult to tell the difference since the aforementioned individual had deemed it unnecessary to exit the house and greet his esteemed visitor. He’d simply sent a servant with the laughable message, “Go dunk yourself in the Jordan river seven times.” 

Seriously? No prophet hurried out meticulously bowing and scraping in obeisance. No grand invitation to enter the prophet’s chambers was issued. No miraculous hands were laid on his leprous skin. No flowery words of prayer rang out to Heaven. No instantaneous healing occurred. The whole trip had been a waste of time. His presence was completely superfluous. He could have sent a messenger to get this information. Or non-information. He had no intention of dipping in the sluggish, muddy, disgusting stream they called the Jordan River. Not now. Not ever. 

Wheeling about, Naaman stomped toward his steed, mounted in one fluid motion, and gestured for his men to follow. They were leaving. His disappointment was acute. He regretted making the trip. He hated the waste of time. His blood boiled that it hadn’t turned out the way the little servant girl said it would. Dip himself in the Jordan? Never! He was going home!

His men had other ideas. At least some of them. Carefully approaching their angry leader, his servants cautiously made their logical appeal. If the prophet Elisha had asked him to single-handedly ride into battle and show off his magnificent fighting skills, he’d have done it. If he’d been asked to gather an army of cowards and inspire them to boldly walk into battle, he’d surely have accepted the task. If Elisha’s message had been to do something huge that would gain attention and garner glory, Naaman would have jumped at the chance. So what would it hurt to do something small, something insignificant, something easy? 

Nothing. It would hurt nothing to try this one little thing. If the treatment failed, he would be no worse for trying. But if it worked, if it cleansed his skin from the disease that baffled every physician and medical scholar he had seen, it would all be worth it. The journey. The offhand treatment. The mud bath. Wouldn’t it all be worth it if he could just be healed? 

Their powers of persuasion must have been fantastic because it worked. Their carefully aimed arrows of logic found a chink in the arrogant armor of the physically plagued warrior. He had to admit they were right. He didn’t really need more fame, fans, or awards. He needed healing. Even if it meant doing something ridiculous. His desire for wholeness overriding his annoyance and skepticism, Naaman grudgingly adjusted his hold on the reins and set out for the banks of the Jordan. 

I wonder how long it took him to dismount. How long did he stand on the riverbank and stare at the revolting sludge before him? What was going through his mind? Fear. Worry. Anxiety. Revenge. Was he reminding himself of his wife and family at home who needed him to be well and whole? Was he assessing his expectations and attempting to mitigate possible disappointment? Was he mentally arranging Elisha’s painful demise should this treatment not have the desired effect? Whatever it was, he took from it his motivation and, in true warrior style, slogged into the disgusting Jordan river. 

He should have brought a change of clothes. This was disgusting. Muddy water sluiced over his head and ran down his shoulders. Grit got in his eyes. How many more times was he supposed to do this? Five? Six? He didn’t see a difference. His skin was still a mess. But now he was determined to see it through. He’d been covered in worse things, endured messier battles. This was easy. Dip three. Dip four. He checked again. Still no improvement. Anxiety busily built a knot in his stomach. His nerves jangled. A relentless voice in his head taunted him with every dip underwater, every taste of grime. What if it was useless? What if this really was a waste of time? What if he didn’t come out changed, healed, whole? 

Sucking in a deep breath, Naaman plunged again under the water. Dip seven. The final one. His exit this time would be the last. In less than a minute, he would know if soaking in filth had worked. He would know if Elisha was a prankster or a prophet. The suspense was terrible. 

Rising slowly from the water and wiping dirt off his face, he braced himself for whatever might lie ahead. Good. Bad. Neutral. He was almost afraid to look. Afraid to believe something small and simple could yield amazing, lasting results. He couldn’t wait forever. Couldn’t stand in the shallow waters of the Jordan, hesitating for days on end. He didn’t have time for that. Drawing in a fortifying breath, he held out his arm and slowly lowered his gaze to inspect the skin. 

Except there was nothing to inspect. No blemishes. No lesions. No discolored patches. Nothing. His skin hadn’t been this clean, this clear, this perfect since infancy! His wife might not even recognize him when he walked into the house. He was changed. He was different. He was new. Made so by simple obedience to a simple command to do a simple act that simply changed his life. (II Kings 5:1-14)

What would have happened if he hadn’t? What would have happened if Naaman had chosen to go home in a tantrum because he hadn’t been greeted with fanfare, been blessed by powerful hands, been healed at the utterance of a beautiful phrase? More importantly, what would have happened if his servants hadn’t stepped in, hadn’t spoken up? What if those men had been too afraid to intervene? What would have happened to Naaman? 

Deformities. Disfigurement. Disability. That and more would have happened to Naaman. The proud warrior would have disintegrated in body and spirit before their very eyes. Had he walked away, his life would have essentially been over. Little by little he would have lost his ability to do the things his title demanded. He would have been demoted, downgraded, deleted. But those men courageously came with gentle words of logic and wisdom in an intervention that ultimately changed the trajectory of Naaman’s life. 

Naaman’s servants were his heroes that day. Heroes of small things. A small choice to listen to the small voice in their heads and engage in a small conversation that led to a small change in plans, opening the way to a grand exhibition of God’s great love, grace, mercy, and power. Naaman would have missed his healing if they had missed their cue. He was headed home to draw the shades and weep in despair. He didn’t have to, because his heroes stepped in, spoke up, and encouraged him to do what God commanded. 

I don’t know who needs you to step up for them today. I don’t know who needs to hear words of wisdom and encouragement from your lips. I know someone does. Someone you love. Someone you know. Someone you are about to meet. Someone you pass in the grocery aisle. Someone bogged down in the sandpit of depression. Someone mired in worry and care. Someone struggling with sin and resentment. Someone needs you to look beyond the edges of your own struggle, your own soul, your own world, follow the command of Jesus to feed his sheep, and speak words of love and grace to their weatherbeaten soul. Someone needs you to be a hero. (John 21:15-17; I Thessalonians 5:11; Hebrews 3:13, 10:24-25; Romans 14:19; Ephesians 4:15-16)

What would happen if you did? What would happen if you obeyed every single small command Jesus tells you to do? Immediately. Before the opportunity passes. Before the person walks away. Before you have time to evaluate the options, consider the results, or talk yourself out of action. Give the gift. Speak the words. Be faithful in the small things. Whose life could be changed because you cared, you prayed, you loved like Jesus? Maybe you will never know. Maybe they will never remember your name, recognize your face, or broadcast your work. Your name may never be up in lights. You might never speak your words to millions. Does it matter so long as someone, just one person, meets Jesus? 

It shouldn’t. Being a hero isn’t about the glory, it’s about the faithfulness. In big things. In small things. Every day. No matter what. Just like Jesus preached in the New Testament. He said whoever would follow Him, whoever wanted to truly be His disciple, must lay aside themselves, their comforts, their desires, their wishes, take up their cross and follow Him. Daily. Not just when their mood was right. Not only when it was easy. Not simply when the people needing ministry were clean and wealthy. Not because of the fame it brought their name. He said, “Daily.” Rain. Shine. Sickness. Health. Good times. Bad times. Fame or obscurity. Don’t wait for only the big, flashy, public moments. Constantly be faithful to be busy doing the Father’s business. Be sensitive to the Spirit. Be someone’s hero by doing the small things that matter. Stand up. Step up. Speak up. (Luke 9:23; Matthew 10:38; Mark 8:34; John 2:5; Luke 16:10; Philippians 2:3-4)

They hadn’t intended to spend the night here. Well, maybe in this town. Not this hotel. The accommodations were significantly less than desirable. Unyielding, uncomfortable floors holding up drab gray walls without a stitch of color. Limited lighting due to an unfortunate incident resulting in the builder forgetting to install a window. A trickle of water from an earlier rain ran down the inside of the wall. Apparently, that counted as the necessary facilities. The furniture was sparse. Nearly nonexistent. No sofa. No chair. No bed. Of course, it is difficult to lie down when one’s feet are locked in stocks. 

It began as such a normal week. Logically locating the place people would assemble to pray. Preaching Jesus to the women gathered there. Baptizing Lydia and her family. All normal “apostle” things to do. Things they did in every town they visited as the opportunity arose. Preach. Pray. Baptize. Occasionally the necessity to confront evil spirits arose. Some came or were brought by concerned friends or family. People who desperately wanted to be free from bondage. People who knew the power of God was mightier than the thing that held them in its grip. People who hoped, believed, prayed that the God Paul and Silas preached would be the One to release their souls. No one was asking this time. 

For days a young girl with a spirit of divination followed them around town. It is difficult to state exactly why. Perhaps her owners, a couple of men using her dubious skills as a money-making endeavor, sent her to see if the visitors would indulge in a reading. Maybe she was bored. Maybe she was curious. Perhaps some inner part of her soul knew Paul and Silas could help her find freedom from evil enslavement. Whatever the reason, she followed them constantly, periodically calling out, “As bondservants of the Most High God, these men are here to talk to you about salvation.” It was a bit like having their own herald. 

They didn’t need one. Neither Paul nor Silas felt the desire to be announced as they traveled from house to house, establishment to establishment. Especially Paul. He had quickly grown weary of the added attention. Day after day his annoyance grew. Day after day he dutifully held his tongue. At least for a bit. Eventually, annoyance won out. Turning to the girl, he rebuked the spirit and cast it out in the name of Jesus Christ, forever releasing the girl to live in freedom. It should have been a day of rejoicing. It probably was. For the girl, at least. 

Her handlers were far from elated. They didn’t see freedom and peace and rest. Didn’t care if she’d been miserable in their employ. They only saw descending dollar signs. And with every dropping dollar came a rising tide of rage. Gone was their easy income. Gone was their lazy living. Gone were their mellow personalities. Greed and rage overtaking them, they sought revenge. 

Grabbing the arms of Paul and Silas, they marched them straight to the authorities. Stopping before the chief magistrates, the mouths of the mercenaries spewed forth unrepentant lies with ferocious speed. “These men are stirring up the city. Confusing people! Causing dissension! Commanding people to violate Roman customs!” The fervor with which the accusations flew stirred up the attending crowd. As the mob rallied against Paul and Silas, the magistrates vaulted into action. Ripping the robes from the apostles’ backs, they ordered them beaten with rods and threw them into prison, reminding the jailor that his life depended on keeping those men securely locked away. 

It was how they had ended up in this less than 1-star hotel. Locked in the innermost part of the prison, devoid of light and fresh air, their feet tightly secured in stocks. As the sun dropped behind the hills and darkness crept across the sky, their prison room grew even darker. Suffocatingly so. The loss of sight heightened their other senses. Increased the sounds of racing rodents searching for food. Enhanced the scent of unsanitary facilities. Encouraged their imaginations to gaze at their current circumstances, see the horror, and dip a toe in the pond of self-pity. 

We wouldn’t blame them had they dived in head first. If Paul and Silas had tilted back their heads, sucked in a breath of stench-laden air, and cried out to God in upset frustration, irritation, anger, and pain, we wouldn’t have a single word to say against them. We wouldn’t dare judge them. How could we? We do it all the time. Stuck in the dark recesses of our unpalatable situation, we throw back our heads and scream at God, “Why me?  Why is this happening? Why are You allowing this? Don’t You care? Don’t You love me? Why don’t You just fix it? Where’s my miracle?” We justify our ranting as a normal human response to adversity. Maybe it is…for us. 

Not for Paul and Silas. Stuck in the last place they would choose to be, locked in stocks, beaten and bruised, untended wounds oozing on their backs, they threw back their heads and cried out to the heavens. Not with complaints and whining. Not with arguments and frustrations. Not with accusations about God’s love or questions about His sovereignty. No. At the midnight hour, when their situation had no possibility of becoming any less favorable, they lifted their spirits by raising their voices in prayer and praise to God. (Acts 16:13-40)

I wonder what words they sang that night. From where I’m sitting, they had few earthly things for which to be thankful. An undeserved arrest? A vicious beating? A dank prison cell? But the passage doesn’t say they were giving thanks to God. It says they were praising God. They were joyfully singing commendation, laud, and honor from hearts full of awe for who and what God is, for His character, His purity, His sovereignty. Their words that night had nothing to do with themselves and everything to do with their God. And other prisoners noticed. 

As the words of God’s greatness echoed through the dark recesses of that prison, all groaning, grumbling, cursing, and crying stopped. One by one the men fell silent, dumbstruck that someone locked away in the deepest part of the dungeon could find the courage, the strength, the joy to look beyond their dire circumstances and light up the night with songs of praise to their God. Encouraged to know that somewhere out there was a God who was real and true and deserving of awe and reverence and praise. Not because He’d miraculously rescued them, but simply because He was worthy. 

He is, you know. Worthy. God is worthy of all praise and glory and adoration. In Psalm 145-149, depicted in words far more beautiful than I could ever dream of penning, the psalmist expounds on the unsearchable, unfathomable greatness of our God. Glorious in splendor and majesty. Mighty in acts and powerful in works. Abundant in goodness. Gracious. Merciful. Loving and kind. Righteous and just. Creator, Sustainer, Redeemer, King. Go read those Psalms. The words alone will make your heart soar, your confidence rise. Unless you are caught in the darkness of midnight with the evil one relentlessly riding you to dive headfirst into the pool of pity. 

In the dark night of your soul, when calamity and casualties and commotion surround you, the evil one, that professional liar, will say the words aren’t true for you. He’ll say God loves other people more than you. He’ll say the Psalmist, unlike you, was perfect and clearly one of God’s favorites. He’ll question what you have to sing about. He’ll get your eyes so focused on yourself and your circumstances that you forget how great, how awesome, how powerful is your God. Even if He chooses not to miraculously remove your untenable situation, the fact you serve a God who undeniably has the power to do so should make your lips burst forth in jubilant song. The evil one will do anything to silence you. You’ll have to fight back. Make a choice. Take a stand. (John 8:44; II Corinthians 11:3; Matthew 16:23; James 4:7; I Peter 5:8-9)

You’ll need Psalm 150 then. Not just to read. To obey. It has to be what Paul and Silas were doing. In words of praise issued as a final command, the Psalmist says, “Praise the Lord!” Everywhere. In church, in the coffee shop, in the hospital, in the hay fields, in the depths of your soul. Praise Him for everything He is and does, His character, His power, His wisdom, His sovereignty. Praise Him out loud in every possible way. Play an instrument. Dance. Crash some cymbals. Sing. Speak. Don’t stop. Ever. Not when things are perfect and beautiful. Not when things are out of control and going awry. Not in the midnight hour of your life when you feel locked in a prison not of your own making. Sing out even then. Especially then. Turn your tear-drenched face upward, lift your heavy heart heavenward, and raise your voice in praise to God for Who He is and what He’s done. Praise Him because He is worthy of glory, honor, reverence, and awe. (Psalm 95:1-11; Hebrews 13:8,15; Psalm 103; Isaiah 25:1; Exodus 15:2; Ephesians 5:19; Deuteronomy 10:21)

And people will notice. Friends. Family. Acquaintances. Strangers. As you encourage yourself with songs of praise and words of exaltation to God regardless of your circumstances, people will notice. They will see your attitude, your positive response to a negative situation, your strength in the midst of an enormous storm, and they will take notice. Not of you. Of your God. And they will be drawn to Him. Drawn to the God who travels every valley, weathers every storm, and endures every hardship right beside the children He loves with an everlasting, unwavering, infrangible love. You. Me. And everyone who dares to utter a midnight cry of praise. (Jeremiah 31:3; Matthew 5:16; James 5:13; Colossians 3:16-17; Psalm 115:1)

As the sun set on the final day of that final year, Jacob’s heart did a happy dance. A jubilant whirl followed by a silly jig. It was finished. He had done it. The terms of the agreement were finally met. Seven years of leading sheep to fresh grass and water, tending wounds, and driving off predators would now pay off. Tomorrow he could claim Rachel as his wife. 

One wonders what the other shepherds thought of the agreement. Upon hearing the terms, did their eyebrows raise and questioning glances spear across the room? Would they not have agreed? In spite of Rachel’s beauty, was the price too steep for a bride, beautiful or not. Or was it possible they knew the truth, understood the tradition? The eldest must marry first.  Unwilling to be saddled with the less than glamorous Leah, they made no offers for Rachel either. 

Jacob was ignorant of the tradition. Gullibly believing his family members wouldn’t swindle him. Enamored by the breathtaking beauty of the shepherdess. Even if his mind waved a red flag at the extensive work request, his heart plunged on. Seven years of work in exchange for the privilege of claiming the hand of Rachel in marriage. Absolutely. He was happy to do it, happy to do whatever it took to end up with Rachel. His love for her was so deep, his gaze so focused on the final prize that he joyously traversed every meadow, happily wrestled cantankerous ewes and recalcitrant rams, and whistled while chasing down wandering lambs with little notice of passing time. (Genesis 29:20)

Except to keep track of the days. He’d been ticking those off one by one. Crossing off years in his mind. Meticulously keeping track of hours, minutes, seconds until he could reap the reward of his labor. And today was that day. Finally. The agreement was complete. Finished. Over. The waiting passed. His wedding day had arrived. 

With the first streaks of dawn just beginning to light the tops of the hills, Jacob left the flock in the capable hands of other laborers, and raced down the hillside to Laban’s tent. He isn’t wasting any more time. Approaching Laban, he doesn’t mince words. “It’s been seven years. I’ve served my time. Give me my wife.” Maybe he should have used a few more words. Maybe he should have reiterated the actual content of the original agreement. Perhaps he should have been a little more specific, left less to the imagination, lessened the amount of creative license he gave Laban. He assumed Laban remembered the agreement. Jacob worked to gain Rachel. But Laban needed to marry off Leah. And he did. 

Leah. The homely older sister with no prospects, no suitors, no hope. Destined to still be working by her mother’s side in her dotage. I wonder why. So she wasn’t beautiful. And? There is nothing to indicate she was unhelpful, incapable, unproductive, or inefficient. Nothing says she had a shrewish personality. And Laban clearly loved both his daughters. The unlovely as well as the lovely. He wanted a future for Leah too. Someone to take care of her upon his death. And he found someone.  

Under the cover of wedding veils and evening twilight, a wife is delivered to Jacob. It had already been a long evening of feasting and celebrations. Jacob was relaxed. His belly full of party food. Perhaps he had celebrated the end of his agreement too heartily. Perhaps he was in his cups too deeply. Whatever the cause, Jacob didn’t notice the deception until it was too late. As darkness turned to daylight inside the honeymoon tent, Jacob made a shocking discovery. The wrong woman had entered his tent last night. He had married Leah. His beautiful, cherished Rachel was still outside his grasp. 

Staring at the face of the wrong woman, a vast array of emotions flowed through Jacob. Shock. Horror. Betrayal. Anguish. Defeat. Anger. He’d spent seven years of his life toiling endlessly to gain the one thing he wanted most, yet found himself cheated of that very thing. The loud clunk of an unopenable door slamming shut reverberated in his mind. All seemed lost. A shroud of grief fell around his heart. Rage engulfed his soul. Charging from his tent, still pulling on his robe, Jacob erupts at his father-in-law. Why has he been treated so poorly? Had their agreement not been for Rachel? No one had listed any caveats. There was no reason for such egregious deceit. 

Calmly sitting in front of his own tent, Laban exhibits none of the frantic upset Jacob feels. He is unrepentant at being caught in his web of deceit. His response, when it came, was less than compelling. Tradition. Local practice. Marry off the older siblings before the younger. And he wasn’t done yet. He wants to make another deal. One he knew Jacob’s love for Rachel wouldn’t allow him to resist. Have Rachel as wife as well, in exchange for another seven years of servitude. 

It would have been so easy for Jacob to walk away. We would forgive him for protecting himself from another round of deceit. Rachel would have no trouble finding another husband. In fact, no matter how many times I hear it, no matter that I already know what the next part of the account is, it always feels frustrating when Jacob capitulates. Given his history and experience with manipulation and deceit, it seems strange he doesn’t see the same qualities in Laban. Instead, Jacob does it again. He signs up for another seven years of shepherding. Perhaps true love really is blind.  

The decision was not without risks. Laban had a deplorable track record. His integrity was notional. His penchant for deceitful manipulation was nearly indomitable. Jacob had no way of knowing how those years would end–or if they ever would. He surely did not serve them as jovially as he had the first seven. His guard would always have to be up. He would have to remain alert, aware. He could never presume to assume Laban was being forthcoming. Yet Jacob still considered it worth it. Worth the irritation. Worth the aggravation. Worth the frustration. It would be a labor of love. Rachel was absolutely worth it. (Genesis 29)

Admittedly, I rarely feel compassion for Jacob when I read this account. Likely because I have just read the account of his own manipulation and deceit of his father and brother. I have seen him for the deceiver he is. A small part of me rejoices that he is finally enduring a dose of his own antics. Yet, as I recently read this account, I found myself completely drawn aside by the amazing love Jacob exhibited for Rachel. He joyfully served an amazing amount of time to gain her hand. When his hopes were dashed, his plans wrecked, his past wasted, his future seemingly ruined, he didn’t head for the hills. No. He stayed right there. Kept serving. Kept loving. Kept hoping. Even when it felt far away, when he had to put his life on hold, when he had to change his plans, alter his dreams, extend his deadline, Jacob accepted the job in a hostile work environment. Embarked on a labor of love. Jacob stayed the course, accepted the job, because his love for Rachel trumped all the setbacks along the way. (Genesis 27)

Perhaps you find yourself at a similar crossroads. Maybe you embarked on a journey with Jesus with stars in your eyes and success studded dreams in your heart. Perhaps you were led to believe that if you followed Jesus everything would fall into place, be easy and timely, and comfortable. But you’ve been chasing that dream for years. You haven’t caught it yet. Obstacle after obstacle has fallen across your path. Doors have slammed in your face. Defeat has washed over your soul again and again. Hopelessness crowds the edges of your mind. A little voice in your head says you should just quit. Give up. Walk away. It says your dreams will never be realized. It says following Jesus isn’t worth it. And you find yourself seesawing on the answer to the greatest question of your life. Is Jesus worth it? 

Is Jesus worth work without instant rewards? Is Jesus worth hours and days and years of service where you may never see the results? Is Jesus worth standing alone when the crowd chooses to leave Him behind? Is He worth it, really worth it, if you lose every earthly convenience and comfort, if no one notices you or compliments your efforts, if you never gain a following, build a megachurch, have a podcast, or a social media channel? Is Jesus still worth following, loving, choosing if you never attain your earthly wants and wishes, goals and dreams? Well, is He? (Matthew 16:24-26; Hebrews 11:24-26; Hebrews 12:1-3; Job 27:8; Philippians 3:7-12)

Do you love Him that much? Do you love Jesus enough to follow Him when the path ahead is rocky and steep and looks a touch unsafe? Do you love Him enough to endure hardship and discomfort and pain for His sake? Do you love Him enough to keep plodding, plugging, pushing when the results aren’t obvious, the rewards aren’t forthcoming? Does your love for Jesus compel you to keep following Him, working for Him even when you are faced with adversity and defeat? In the face of temptation to quit, give up, turn back, do you love Jesus enough to continue laboring for His kingdom no matter what? Well, do you? (II Corinthians 5:14-15; Galatians 2:20; I John 2:15-17; Mark 10:17-27)

The bottom line is this, whatever you absolutely cannot envision yourself living without–that thing, that person, that dream, that job–that’s your god. Is it Jesus? If everything else was stripped away, would He be your sustenance, your reason for living, your strength to forge ahead? Do you love Jesus more? More than anything. More than everything. Enough to keep following Him no matter if anyone else does, if everyone else does, if no one else does? When you look in the recesses of your heart, do you find the unimpeachable belief that following Jesus is worth it? Worth anything. Worth everything. Worth years of service with limited results. Would you throw out everything else, rearrange your entire life, for the opportunity, the blessing, the privilege of doing life with Jesus Christ alone? Does your heart believe, truly believe, Jesus is absolutely worth it? Do you love Him that much? Well…do you? (John 21:15; Matthew 5:29; Ecclesiastes 2:25; Romans 12:2; Luke 14:26; II Timothy 2:4; Exodus 20:3)

With an inaudible sigh, he gathered his strength, picked up his heavy burden, and set out for the foot of the mountain. It was going to be an arduous hike. The second one of its kind. Already he had climbed this mountain to commune with God. Already he had carried two heavy tablets of stone down steep slopes, over clear-cut trails, rocky paths, and grassy flats. At 80 years old, he never imagined this would be his life. Yet here he was, schlepping up and down mountains carrying rocks. His tired body told him hiking was a young man’s sport. His heart told him God was calling. He had to climb that mountain again. The future of his people rested on it. 

They were the reason he was making this second trek. His people. Coming off the mountain with the first set of sacred script, Moses surely hoped this gift from God would turn their straying hearts to heavenly things. He knew he’d been gone a long time. He was aware the people had grown bored and weary of waiting. He was not uninformed of their recent choices and current situation. But how could they not be amazed and astonished to see the man who had left empty-handed come back carrying stone tablets neatly etched by the finger of God? Never had something like this been seen before. Never had anyone else climbed a mountain, conversed with God, and returned with physical proof of His existence. Never again would anyone be able to argue the origin of God’s commands. It was all right here. A special gift for God’s own special people. It would surely be enough to make them change their ways. (Exodus 19:5; Deuteronomy 14:2)

Except they never got to see them. Moses never took them into the camp at all. How could he? The camp was in unapologetic disarray. Supposing he had ever truly had it in the beginning, Aaron had lost control of the entire group. Overcome by the constant whining and wailing, begging and moaning, fuming and fussing over Moses’ long absence, he fell prey to the pressure. Calling the people together, Aaron asked for their earrings. Every earring in the camp. There must have been a lot of them. Enough to form an idol for their straying hearts to worship. A golden calf. A form of god. A direct disobedience to the law they should already know by heart. (Exodus 20:1-5)

It remains unclear which act incited Moses’ anger the most. The direct defiance of both the first and second commands. The idol itself. The abject dearth of leadership Aaron exhibited. The fickle hearts of the people. Perhaps it was the whole scene. A tableau of disrespect, defiance, defilement, and debauchery. Perhaps it was the fact that everyone in the camp knew God’s requirements, had heard them, learned them, pledged to follow them, yet reneged on their word at the first sign of discomfort. (Exodus 24:3)

This was not the first time Moses had seen this type of behavior from the people he led. He was well acquainted with their lack of mettle. Upon deliverance from Egypt, they had longed to return. Frustrated and angry over the lack of readily available water, the type of food God provided, and the leadership of Moses, their history of complaining, whining, acting up, and acting out was well established. Time and again Moses had interceded on their behalf for water, food, and healing from self-inflicted punishments. He’d put up with their disrespect and defiance. Just now, up on that mountain, as God swore to destroy them for their atrocious insolence, Moses again pleaded for mercy. He begged God to remember his covenant with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. He asked God to stay His anger, extend His grace, and grant His people yet another opportunity to succeed. And God chose to stay His hand. (Exodus 15,16; Numbers 12:1-3, 14:2; Deuteronomy 9:25-29; Numbers 21:6-9) 

But Moses was also human. That trek down the mountain afforded plenty of thinking time. He must have been seething when he reached the bottom of Mount Sinai. His anger was not assuaged when his eyes fell on the blasphemous mess the camp had become. Overcome with rage that the people would betray the God who had rescued them from bondage, led them safely through the wilderness, dropped food from the sky, and sprayed water from rocks, Moses hurled the sacred tablets to shatter against nearby rocks. The people would never read them. They would never see this visible proof of their invisible God. 

How desperately they would need that proof! How deeply God wanted them to have it. So great was His desire to give these Heavenly etched tablets to the people that he called tired and aged Moses to cut slabs from nearby rocks, lace up his sandals, gather his strength, and climb Mount Sinai a second time. He wanted the people to have the words to read when their minds were tempted to argue. He wanted them to have the proof. Proof of His existence. Proof of His commands. God wanted His people to know the truth. Truth that refuted the claims of the pagan nations around them. Truth that would keep them following God so long as they adhered to it. Positive proof for posterity to follow the only path that would lead them to the one true God. 

So Moses makes the second journey. He trudges up the mountain toting heavy slabs of stone. Gingerly descends the mountain transporting sacred text. Carefully stows them in the ark of acacia wood for safekeeping. But he doesn’t quit talking about them. Not the stone slabs or the multiple journeys up a mountainside. No. Moses keeps talking about their words. He knows what the people have yet to realize. Simply having a copy of God’s laws is not enough.  Committing them to memory wouldn’t carry them through. The only way they would find themselves fully committed to keeping the commandments of God, the only way they would remain unconfused by the various religions of the pagan nations around them, was to allow God to indelibly etch those very laws on the unbreakable tablets of their hearts. (Deuteronomy 6:1-9, 10:1-5, 11:18-20; Proverbs 7:3; Exodus 13:9,16, 31:18-34:28)

Their travels and conquests would take them among so many different people. They would encounter a plethora of different belief systems. Without a firm foundation in the paths of God, they would find themselves distracted, intrigued, confused by idols and practices that created space between themselves and the God they had sworn to follow. Their feckless hearts would turn aside in fascination. Some for a time. Some for all time. Why? Because the laws of God were filed in the recesses of their minds, but never etched on the tablets of their hearts. It would never be enough. Not for them in their days. Not for us in ours. 

Daily we are pressed and pressured to alter God’s laws. Make exceptions. Make changes. Use creative license in their interpretation. The arguments are convincingly presented. At first blush, the rhetoric appears to have some validity. It is so easy to fall prey to pretty-sounding words. It is so easy to be drawn aside into a way of thinking that runs contrary, if only slightly, to God’s commands. It is so easy to be drawn aside with every new current of doctrine unless the laws of God are indelibly etched on the walls of our hearts. (Ephesians 4:14; Isaiah 5:20; Deuteronomy 4:2; Revelation 22:18-19) 

 It is imperative that they be there. If you read the Old Testament accounts of the Israelites after they left Egypt, you will see the commands weren’t in their hearts. Over and over again they fell prey to the doctrines and practices of the pagans around them. So frequently they were drawn aside. So often they grieved the heart of God. So many times they endured hardships and horrors that could have been avoided had they simply remembered and followed the laws of God. How different their story would be if they had only allowed God to etch His commands in their hearts. 

So will yours. Your life will look different. Your story will read differently. Your eternity will end differently if the walls of your heart hold etchings from God. Having a Bible on the shelf makes no difference. Hanging the Ten Commandments on the wall changes nothing. Memorizing the Pentateuch will have little effect on the choices you make when you are tempted to glibly go along with the crowd. Only having Heavenly laws inscribed by the finger of God etched on the walls of your heart will keep you steady in an unsteady world of complacency and compromise. (Psalm 37:31, 119:9-11; II Corinthians 5:17; Ephesians 2:8-9;   

The etching will take effort. It will take time devoted to communication with God. Time shut alone with Him. Reading His Word. Praying. Listening. Learning what He has to say about His laws and the things the world is proposing. Time to decide which path you will follow. I hope you choose to follow God. I hope you lean into His Word, His laws, His heart. I hope you trust the plans He has for you enough to stand alone in following Him if necessary. And I hope, as the pressure mounts and the heat is on, you will choose to stand firm in the laws of God. 

Will you? As the world is trying with all its power to turn your soul aside, where will your heart lead you? Were the things inscribed there, the laws by which you live your life, etched by the finger of God or scribbled by human hands? (Romans 12:2; Deuteronomy 30:19; Matthew 10:32-42; I Corinthians 16:13)

A statuesque pine tree stands in the middle of the pasture on the south side of our house, the frequent resting place of two bald eagles. They sit there for hours. Although there is no nest there, they spend hours sitting in that tree. Perhaps they are hunting. It would be a fantastic place to do so. Camouflaged among the branches, they could train their sharp eyes on the fields below for scampering field mice, gophers, or prairie dogs. But maybe they are just resting, taking a load off their wings for a bit before soaring away to heights other birds can never hope to attain. 

It doesn’t really matter why they choose to grace that particular tree. I am simply blessed that they do. Utterly enthralled by their presence, I jump up, run to the window, and simply stare whenever I see them. I am overwhelmed by their grace and strength. Intrigued by their unobtrusive hunting methods. Awed by their quiet confidence. I find myself watching every large bird in flight, hoping to see the eagle soaring through the sky. 

Often I am disappointed. Not every large bird traversing the sky is an eagle. There is an overabundance of ravens. I am absolutely not a fan. Unsettling, beady black eyes stare at you from behind pointy black beaks that open only to emit the most obnoxious, abrasive squawking known to mankind. In proper accordance with their relentless noise is their unrefined palate. Ravens eat anything. Literally. Dead animals. Living plants. Previously digested animals and plants. One shudders to think how filthy their beaks must be. 

A similar thought must have crossed Elijah’s mind when God told him to head east to the brook Cherith and await the raven supply train. Surely he shuddered at least a little. Even as his actions acquiesced, his spirit must have balked just a bit. Eat food from raven’s beaks? Really?! Ravens were unequivocally etched on the unclean list. Disgusting. Filthy. Unfit to eat. God said so. The same God who spoke quietly, authoritatively from Heaven and said, “Go east. Settle down by the brook Cherith. Drink the water. Don’t worry about food. The ravens are bringing it.” (I Kings 17:3-4; Leviticus 11:15)

The account reads as if he went quietly. Perhaps he did. Maybe Elijah was immune to the attempts of the evil one to derail God’s plan. Perhaps no niggle of doubt troubled his mind. No questions battered his brain. No nagging voice of the evil one plagued his soul. Perhaps Elijah was such a man of undeterred faith that his heart never stuttered when God sent him off on this strange journey. Or perhaps it was a relief to go, a deliverance from the looming furious onslaught.

It had been quite a day for Elijah. He had just left the presence of King Ahab. Their visit had been less than friendly. Elijah had hard things to say. Things neither Ahab nor the people of Israel cared to hear. An indictment of their actions. A pronouncement of impending punishment for the sins they so willingly committed, the idols they so carefully erected. Drought was coming. Severe drought. For years, not one drop of moisture would fall from heaven or spring up from the earth. Streams would evaporate. Wells would go dry. Crops would die. People would perish. (I Kings 17:1) 

The news was not well received. It is amazing Elijah was given the opportunity to walk from the palace of his own volition. Ahab must have been violently angry at the news, enraged that a pauper would dare enter his royal presence and pronounce a judgment of such epic proportions in response to the nation’s egregious sins. Sharing the news with his idolatrous wife, Jezebel, only served to further arouse his fury and endanger the prophets of God. Consumed by hate and rage, Jezebel spent the next three years hunting down and slaughtering every prophet of God not carefully hidden in mountain caves. And Ahab, consumed with angry bitterness and seeking revenge, set out in search of Elijah himself. 

He couldn’t find him. Maybe he didn’t travel far enough. Maybe he underestimated the mileage Elijah would put between himself and certain death. Maybe Ahab and his posse just weren’t smart enough to follow the offshoots of the Jordan down a little brook called Cherith. Maybe they missed the circling, squawking ravens. Maybe they ignored them because they were just useless, annoying scavengers. (I Kings 17:1-18:19)

It was clearly part of God’s plan. Knowing how the people felt about ravens. Knowing they wouldn’t seek them out to eat them. Knowing they were considered disgusting, annoying, irritating pests, God sent ravens to feed Elijah. It was the perfect cover. No one would think to follow them to his campsite. No one would believe the selfish scavengers were delivering survival rations to the alleged enemy. No group of warriors bent on the capture and killing of a prophet of God would believe a circling raven could possibly be the key to their success. Only an omniscient God could create such a genius plan. 

One recent morning as I was combing my hair, I looked out the window beside the mirror and noticed a large bird circling the trees in the pasture. Hope immediately building in my chest, I stood impatiently watching for it to turn into the light. As it came around to land and light glanced off iridescent black feathers, I realized there was no need to stop and stare or wait with bated breath and excited palpitations, it wasn’t the eagle. It was a raven. Disappointed and disgusted, I turned away muttering, “It’s just a dumb raven.” 

I wonder if Elijah ever whispered similar words. Stuck there by the dwindling brook Cherith, constantly alone with his thoughts, his prayers, his solitude, did he regularly look to the sky and hope for something other than a raven? New words from God. Coordinates for travel. A different diet plan. As the shadow of a winged creature crossed the ground for the umpteenth time, did Elijah look up to heaven in hopes God was sending an eagle to rescue him, only to find the sky again filled by an ugly raven with a beak full of meat? Did he sigh and mutter, “It’s just another dumb raven”? Or did he realize those awful, dirty, disgusting birds were the wings of God spread in safety over him? 

Do you? When things don’t turn out the way you planned, when you can’t see God’s hand, can you trust Him to work all things together for your good? When He chooses to protect you from improper influences, objectionable opportunities, and spiritual slippery slopes by bringing you to a solitary place and feeding your soul by His words alone, do you see only the solitude and alone-ness, or can you see the loving, protecting hand of God? When the answer to your prayer isn’t what you hoped, when the gift doesn’t come in the way you expected, when the outcome rests on someone or something you are hesitant to trust, do your eyes of faith see the goodness of God through the bleak unpleasantness of your situation? If the thing that feeds your soul the most has to come from the place you love the least, would you recognize it as the work of God or see it as just another dumb raven? (Romans 8:28)

I don’t know where you are right now. Perhaps you are hunkered down with Elijah beside a drying creek bed waiting longingly for new direction from God. Maybe you are standing with me, staring out the window, lifting your eyes to the hills, hoping, praying, begging for your faith to become sight. Maybe you are stuck in one of life’s unpleasant, unfortunate situations that seems to be dragging on forever. You are exhausted. You are frustrated. On the verge of giving up, you look up to see the sky once again cluttered with ravens and, even if they are dropping meat and bread to sustain your soul, in helpless frustration and bone-deep weariness you find yourself asking where God is. Is He even there? Is He still listening? Does He see this forsaken place you’ve inhabited for too long? Does He even remember your name?

Oh, Friend, yes! Yes. God is there. He is listening to every word you cry. He knows your name and has a pin dropped at your location. And He knows how long you need to stay there. He knows how long it will take your faith to stop wavering. He knows how much time is necessary for you to fully trust His heart. He knows what it will take for you to find peace and protection in the center of His will. God knows it all. And He is working. Through every obstacle, every irritation, every aggravation of your life. God. Is. Working. Even when you can’t see it. Even when you can’t feel it. Even when your brook runs dry and your bird runs out of food. God. Is. Still. Working. And you can trust Him to take care of you. Even when the bird circling above you is just another dumb raven! (Psalm 34:15; Isaiah 43:1-2; Revelation 2:9; Matthew 10:30; Psalm 27:14; Philippians 2:13; Psalm 55:22)