Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

The clatter of wooden theater chairs springing back into place echoed across the chapel as students scurried to gather their books and head to class. It had been an exceptional service. The message, an exhortation from the words of the Apostle Paul to the Ephesians, encouraged each of us to walk and talk and live exactly the way they had learned from Christ. Lay down old habits and sins. Put aside the old self. Be renewed in mind and spirit. Put on the righteousness and holiness of Christ. Attributes that would radiate from our souls and exhibit to all that we had been bought and washed clean by the blood of Christ.  It would have been impossible to exit uninspired. (Ephesians 4:17-32)

Collecting my own books, I had nearly exited my row when I heard someone call my name. Turning, I saw the chaplain of the jail ministry attempting to flag me down. He was a wonderful man. Kind. Enthusiastically energetic. Eager to help. Happy to listen. Willing to pray. Always. I know. I spent most weekends serving beside him at the jail, visiting, holding Sunday services, and teaching a new evening Bible study. In a rush, as usual, he issued his request from a couple of rows away with a half-smile that anticipated my surprise, “Get those sermon notes. You are preaching this message at Bible study.”

My surprise did not eclipse my inward groan. Really? How could I ever deliver a message from someone else’s notes? Especially a theology teacher’s notes! I didn’t have the same wisdom from which to draw. I couldn’t tell the same amusing anecdotes. As personally inspired as I was from the hearing of the message, I was wholly uncertain I could in any reputable way duplicate it. Heaving a sigh and suppressing my reticence, I vowed to give it my best shot, trudged up to the front, hailed the speaker, and made arrangements to receive a copy of his notes so I could attempt to deliver them half as eloquently as he had. It was highly unlikely. Double sigh.

Four weeks later, the only ones sighing were the men in that Bible study as they repeated, yet again, the changes their lives would exhibit if they had truly learned Christ. If their hearts had really been changed. If they had truly been bought by the blood of Christ, not simply loaned themselves to Him until the outcome of their trial or for the endurance of their sentence. Their former lives would be replaced by a renewed spirit and mind. They would be changed men. Their new selves, fashioned in the likeness of God, would exhibit emotions and actions and reactions announcing to the world they had not loaned themselves out to jailhouse religion but were truly changed. Truly purchased. Truly God’s people. And they needed to live like it. (Colossians 3:1-17)

It wasn’t some new lesson I’d uncovered in the recesses of the preaching professor’s notes. The concept dates back thousands of years to a smoke-shrouded Mount Sinai and a recently delivered people. Gathered as close to the mountain as they dared, fear-filled them at the fierceness of God’s power on vivid display. Vibrating thunder. Sizzling lightning. Dense cloud cover. The ear-splitting sound of a trumpet from heaven. Their amazement must have known no boundaries as Moses and Aaron walked through the haze of smoke to ascend the mountain and meet with God. (Exodus 19:16-25)

Upon his return, Moses brought the laws of God. Not just ten easily recitable commandments. Those were just the beginning. There were more to come. Ordinances. Rules. Punishments for violations. Directions for proper behavior, true justice, and observing the Sabbath. My English Bible uses 126 verses to remind the children of Israel that they had been delivered, rescued, purchased by God to be His special people. And they needed to act like it. (Exodus 20-23)

At some point, they must have sighed, wondering when the sermon was going to be over. When would the “thou shalt’s” end? Perhaps their minds wandered a bit in the waiting. It seems likely, given the fact that no matter how fervently they swore to uphold all the things the Lord had spoken to them, they reneged ad nauseum. Over and again idolatry and lust for the easy ways of the world drew them away from God, had them living for themselves as if their lives were borrowed, not bought. Time and again, God went after them, rescued them, because He knew the truth. They were His people. His possession. Bought, not borrowed. (Psalm 78:40; Deuteronomy 31:27; Nehemiah 9:16-31; Isaiah 65:2-3; Deuteronomy 7:6)   

So are you. If you have knelt at the cross and accepted the forgiveness of your sins through the shedding of Christ’s blood, you were bought too. Purchased from the alleyways of sin’s destitution, debauchery, and disillusionment. No matter how much time you spent there, no matter what you became when you lived there, regardless of the degree of degradation you acquired there. You are not that person anymore! You belong to God. His precious possession. You are not your own. You were bought with a price. (I Corinthians 6:9-11, 17-20; I Peter 2:9) 

An exorbitant price etched with excruciating pain, sacrificially paid for your extrication from the addicting clutches of evil. Ultimate betrayal. Undeserved arrest.. Scornful mocking. Stinging ridicule. Flying spit. Flashing fists. Slapping hands. It was just the beginning. There would be more. Vicious beating. Humiliation. The pain of thorns pressed into His brow. The warmth of blood cascaded down His face. More spit. More beating. More mocking. 

The solemn trudge to Golgotha was uninterrupted. No one stepped in to halt it. No one offered to take His place. No one stood up on His behalf. Stretched out on a rough wooden cross with splinters gouging His back, He willingly held out His hands and feet, allowing the sin-darkened hearts He came to save hammer nails through skin and flesh and sinew. As the sound of hammer on stake echoed across the silent air, as pain radiated through every part of His bruised and bleeding body, as the cross was lifted upright and slammed into the ground, He didn’t halt the proceedings. He didn’t call down Heaven’s rescue squad. No. He endured the ridicule, the pain, the cross so you could be redeemed. Purchased. Bought, regardless how horrific the cost.  (Matthew 26-27) 

Regardless of our debilitating sin. Regardless of our incredible shabbiness. Regardless of our bent toward imperfection. Just as Hosea bought Gomer. Rescued from a life of harlotry, one would think her gratitude would overwhelm her desire for her previous lifestyle. It didn’t. She wasn’t faithful. Tiring of her new life and responsibilities, she ran back to her proclivities, her addictions, her sins. The marriage seems over, but grace wasn’t finished writing. God sent Hosea to purchase her! Standing on that auction block, dirty and wasted, Gomer must have secretly wondered if anyone would even bid. Who would want her? Who would pay actual money for the worthless mess she had become? Then it happened. A bid. From a voice she recognized. Hosea was once again rescuing her. She didn’t deserve it. Couldn’t earn it. Would never hope to purchase a rescue on her own. Yet Hosea came in and bought her back, her abject filthiness notwithstanding. There was just one requirement. She had been bought with a price, given a new life, she needed to act like it! (Hosea 1-3)

The message wasn’t given just to Gomer, the sin-bent children of Israel, the men in the county jail, or the young adults gracing that chapel years ago. It applies to you too. You need to live like you’ve been washed in the blood of Christ. You need to walk like a changed person. You need to emulate Jesus. No matter where your past has taken you. No matter where your present has you residing. No matter what your future looks like. You need to live the way Jesus taught you to live. Not just when it is convenient. Not simply when you feel like it. Not to impress your pastor or fellow parishioners. You need to live for Jesus all day, every day. Why? Because you once were lost, but now are found. You once were filthy, but now are washed clean. You once were dead in your trespasses and sins, but now are alive in Christ. Your sins are forgiven. Your debt is paid in full. That stack of guilty convictions piled up against you has been overturned by the nail that fastened it to His cross. You were bought with a price. You belong to God. You are a precious possession of His own choosing. There’s just one requirement. You need to act like it! (Luke 15:24; Colossians 2:13-14; I Corinthians 7:23; I Peter 1:18-19; John 15:16; Ephesians 1:4, 2:4-5; Luke 12:6-7)

At a time when we are so greatly encouraged to serve ourselves, may you always remember…You are not your own. You were bought with a price. Go live like it!

Startled awake in the wee hours of the morning, he lay there pondering the alarming images so vividly displayed in his subconscious mind. Standing proudly in the center of the earth stood a magnificent tree. Its height was unmatched. Its sweeping branches bedecked with vibrant foliage and beautifully ripened fruit extended an invitation for all to come and stand in awe of its greatness. Animals sought its shade. Birds flew to the comfort of its plush, leafy branches. Food for all creatures, large and small, could be found in this one place. The scene was breathtaking. 

The next scene stole his breath. Literally. Fear gripped him. Sleep eluded him as the images played over and over in his wakeful mind. A heavenly messenger appeared. His order was appalling. The great tree was to be cut down. Its branches were to be lopped off. Its gorgeous leaves and enticing fruit would be scattered and squashed. The animals and birds would be forced to flee. The resplendent scene would be destroyed. All of it. Except the stump. 

Odd things were to be done to the stump after the initial cutting. It would be bound with iron and bronze and left to live a humble existence along with the rest of nature. Grass would grow up around its base. Dew would coat it. It would feed off the earth around it. That tree, clearly signifying a man, would think like an animal, eat like an animal, live like an animal. For seven long years. Nebuchadnezzar had every reason to be alarmed. 

Urgently calling all his wise men, Nebuchadnezzar frantically sought answers. What could these things mean? Who or what was that tree? Himself? His kingdom? Was the kingdom coming under attack? From without? From within? Was his reign coming to an end, his death imminent? What, exactly, did the tree represent? And what did the stump say about his future?

They didn’t know. Not one of the king’s magicians, astrologers, or other allegedly wise men had any idea, not even an inkling, what the dream could possibly mean. In desperation, Nebuchadnezzar did what he should have done in the first place. He called for Daniel. Surely, through the power of his God, he could do again what he had done before. 

It was not a task for the faint of heart. The interpretation was unpleasant, messy. Even Daniel, regardless of his relationship with the Most High God, felt keen alarm at the explanation, a reticence to speak the message to the king. Urged by the king to speak no matter the message, Daniel begins. It was as Nebuchadnezzar had feared. He was that tree. The chopping, lopping, scattering, and squashing would indeed happen to him. He would lose his human sensibilities, be driven from society, and live in the fields with other grazing animals. For seven periods of time. 

One would think the knowledge he was destined to bovine proclivities for seven years would be enough to make the king change his habits, re-evaluate his goals, alter his choices. Maybe it did. For a bit. If so, the change didn’t last. Twelve months later, Nebuchadnezzar walked the roof of his palace, overlooking his vast kingdom, congratulating himself on all he had done. His arrogance couldn’t be contained. Why should it? Look at all he had accomplished! The city was magnificent! His residence was resplendent. His power unarguable. His belief he’d done it all on his own would be his undoing.

Standing there, basking in his own glory, boasting of his own strength, Nebuchadnezzar unwittingly signed the lease on a prime piece of pastureland. The voice of God sounded from heaven, assuring him the contract was good. He made his move from silks and wine to grass and dew that very hour. Why? Because Nebuchadnezzar forgot that his prestige, power, and prosperity were never his in the first place. They were simply borrowed from the One who created all things, sustains all things, rules all kingdoms, and holds all power on heaven and earth in the palm of His hand. (Daniel 4:1-33;  Colossians 1:16-17; Acts 17:28; I Chronicles 29:12)

After Nebuchadnezzar moved out to pasture, when his hair was long and wild and matted, his nails grown out like talons, in a moment of clarity, he realized the error of his ways. Nothing had ever been his in the first place. None of the authority, accomplishments, or acquisitions were his. Nothing he had earned, won, built, or bought was anything other than a borrowed gift from the generous hand of a magnanimous God. The God whose kingdom is eternal, whose authority is unsurpassable. The Most High God, whose omnipotence deserves all the praise, honor, and glory for His bounteous gifts. It had been a difficult lesson to learn. (Daniel 4:25, 33-37; Psalm 145:13; Romans 13:1; Revelation 4:11)

It is no less difficult for us. We hang on so tightly to the transient things of this world. Prestige. Power. Prosperity. In smug satisfaction, we sit in our comfortable homes gazing out over manicured lawns and congratulate ourselves on the acquisition. In arrogant self-glorification, we sit in corner offices perusing carefully framed accolades, certificates and degrees hung in perfect precision and applaud our intelligence and business acumen. In spiritual ignorance, we take the glory for ourselves. Claim the power as our own. Live as though our lives, our possessions, our world, are purchases we made instead of things we borrowed. 

We couldn’t be more wrong. It’s all God’s. He created heaven and earth and all that is in them by the words of His mouth alone. He separated darkness and light, sea and sand with only the sound of His voice. Volcanoes erupt, thunder resounds, earthquakes rattle, winds rage, simply by the power of the magnificent God who chooses who will sit in positions of power, who will be given authority, and whose pride will bring them low. (Daniel 4:25, 37; Psalm 50:10-12; Psalm 74:13-17; Psalm 82:8; Deuteronomy 10:14)

The sustaining breath you just inhaled, the thumping beat your heart just tapped, the thoughtless blink with which your eyelids cleansed your eyes, every single one a gift from God’s hand. You did nothing to deserve them. You couldn’t earn them. You don’t own them. They are borrowed from the God who daily loads you down with benefits you claim as your own purchased by your own power for which you take the glory. (Genesis 2:7; Psalm 68:19; Acts 17:28; Isaiah 46:4)

As you pull into the driveway of your suburban palace with its manicured lawn and lavish pool, remember–it’s all God’s. As you stare at your bank balance and greedily consider your next vacation, investment, or automobile purchase, don’t let your selfish mind forget–it’s all God’s! As you revel in the pull of muscles in exercise and the good health you enjoy, don’t allow your arrogance to make you forget–it’s all God’s! Nothing you are or have or use or enjoy is owned by you. It all belongs to God. (Job 1:21; Hebrews 3:4; I Chronicles 29:12; Job 41:11)    

Ponder the thought. Consider it. Ruminate upon it in the wee hours of the morning when dreams waken you and fears stalk your mind. It all belongs to God. Everything. From the air you breathe to the car you drive. You own not one thing. Bask in it. There’s freedom there. Freedom to hold tightly to heavenly things and loosely to earthly ones. Freedom to let go of fear and anxiety and trust God. Freedom to let peace rule in your heart and leave everything with God. It’s all His, anyway. Simply borrowed, not bought. (Ezekiel 18:4; Isaiah 50:2; Job 1:21; I Corinthians 6:19; Colossians 3:15-17)

It was a beautiful Sunday morning.  The sunshine reflecting through the stained glass windows of our old brick church added to the peace and serenity the hymns had induced. The musical portion of the service had just finished. Leaving the piano bench, I slipped into the comfortably padded pew beside my husband and settled in to hear the words God had inspired our pastor to speak. 

A wonderful, gentle man of God, he had gotten no further than to read his text and say a prayer when a commotion in the center aisle caught my attention. A latecomer, immaculately dressed in glistening white, fumbled his way past those seated at the opposite end of my pew and plopped down right beside me. Close. Too close. Uncomfortably close. As I turned to extend a welcoming, yet hesitant smile to the newcomer, my eyes widened in shock and horror at what I saw. Dressed as an angel of light, the devil had come to church! (II Corinthians 11:14)

I really don’t know why I was so shocked to see him there. Perhaps it was the lack of other parishioners noticing his intrusion. Perhaps it was his elevated comfort level in a place he was heavily outnumbered. Or maybe it was simply the fact I had no idea, not even an inkling, that the evil one was an avid church attendee. In retrospect, I surmise his attendance record exceeds my own extensive one. His behavior indicates otherwise.

Wiggling down to a comfortable position, he settled in for the endurance. I sighed. It was going to be a long service. He had no intention of listening to the God-given words of wisdom coming from the lectern. He had no intention of letting me listen either. No. He’d come with a plan. A purpose. A goal. Sow discord and discontent. Plant seeds of disgust, disappointment, discouragement. He’d come to destroy the body of Christ. (John 10:10; II Corinthians 11:3)

It took him less than a minute to get started. Intermittently pointing around the church, he rained down questions meant to distract and disrupt. Nothing was exempt from his diatribe. Style choices. Unfounded gossip. Alleged marital discord. Obvious absence of disgruntled members. I did my best to ignore him, attempting to focus on the message I came to hear. When the service finally came to a close and the pastor announced the final hymn, I sprang from my seat, relieved as never before to hear a benediction. 

Perhaps my sense of relief was similar in strength to that of Aaron and Hur when the sun set on the battle with Amalek. It had been a long day. Oh, it had started well. Before the sun rose they had accompanied Moses, carrying the staff of God, up to the top of the hill. They had watched as Joshua led the Israelite army into battle. As the sun broke over the hill and a day began to break, fighting ensued. 

By ordinance of Almighty God, the One who fights for His people, it happened that when Moses lifted up his hands holding the staff, Israel would prevail. Only if the staff stayed raised. It was an arduous duty. Moses did the best he could. But he grew tired. His arms fell asleep. It became impossible for him to keep them raised continually. It began to look like Israel would succumb because of Moses’ humanity.  

Aaron and Hur weren’t about to let that happen. They hadn’t narrowly escaped Egyptian captivity only to be plundered and slaughtered before ever seeing the promised land! They hadn’t wakened before dawn, trudged up a hill, and stood watching a harrowing battle just to see their people ransacked and devastated. They weren’t going to stand by and let evil triumph! Looking around, they found a rock. A big one. Big enough to hold a grown man comfortably. Rolling it in place behind Moses, they urged him to sit and rest. Then, taking up stations on either side of him, they held up his hands when he didn’t have the strength to go on. (Exodus 17:8-16)

What if they hadn’t? What if Aaron and Hur had been gossiping about the men below? What if they’d been critiquing their fighting methods? What if they had been arguing over the proper way to fight a war, whose son would marry which daughter, or who acquired the most treasures from Egypt? What if they blamed Moses when his hands became heavy and things went awry? What would have happened to God’s people then if they hadn’t come alongside to aid, support, and strengthen?

What would happen to God’s people now if you did? What if you came alongside the struggling soul with encouragement? What if you reached out in gentleness to concern one caught in the web of sin? What if you became a burden-bearer? What if the only words flowing from your lips were full of compassion, kindness, humility, and patience? What if forgiveness was a first response, not a last resort? What if the community of believers, the people who so loudly profess to know and love Jesus Christ, acted just like Jesus? How would the landscape change if we took good, excellent, perfect care of one another? (I Thessalonians 5:11; Galatians 6:1-2; Colossians 3:12-14; James 4:10-11: I Peter 4:8-9)

I don’t know for certain what would have happened if Aaron and Hur hadn’t come alongside Moses with non-judgmental support. Most of my imaginations end with bone-chilling results. The Exodus account doesn’t seem to disagree. Without Moses’ lifted hands holding up the staff of God, Israel would have lost that battle. On the heels of their glorious deliverance from bondage and miraculous Red Sea crossing, it would have been a tremendous, gut-wrenching loss. 

Our loss will be no less. The evil one is busily, endlessly working to spread discord, division, and discontent among believers. He is spreading rumors and lies, gossip and slander in an effort to cull the flock. He is breeding envy and jealousy, hatred and pride, attempting to create schisms in our ranks. Sometimes it feels like it is working. Churches split. Friends become enemies. Neighbors quit speaking. Families fall apart. It almost seems hopeless. Except it isn’t. 

   The Apostle Paul, in his letter to the Roman Christians, exhorts them to live a lifestyle designed to thwart the advances of the evil one. Let your love be true. Hate evil. Cling to good. Be devoted to your fellow believers in brotherly love. Show one another utmost respect and great esteem. Fervently serve God. Rejoice. Persevere. Give. Pray hard. Bless and forgive those who come against you. Share both in celebrations and sorrows. Live peaceably in one accord, never being overcome by evil, but overcoming evil with good. (Romans 12:9-21)

At a time when the world is coming against us on every front and evil seems to have set up camp on our very doorsteps, wouldn’t we be blessed to have a community of believers to come alongside and support us, care for us, encourage us when things get too heavy to handle? Wouldn’t it be a blessing, an honor, to be one of those believers who supported, cared for, and encouraged another? Wouldn’t it be amazing to stop the evil one in his tracks?

 So why don’t you? Why don’t you go be that blessing? Go be the hands and feet of Jesus to the people hard-pressed by the evil one to give up, give in, give over. Give them your prayers, certainly, but give them something else too. Be present. Listen. Help. Hold their hands. Be gentle with their hearts. Be full of Jesus. Be a warrior used by God to crush the efforts of the evil one to bring division, dissension, and destruction to God’s people. Beat the devil at his own game. Go out and take good care of the body of Christ. (Philippians 2:3-4, 4:5; I Peter 4:8-9; II Thessalonians 1:3; Hebrews 10:23-24; II Timothy 2:20-21; Romans 16:20; John 13:34-35)

The sharp bite of betrayal shot through Moses’ soul as he watched the men of Israel walk away. Their words of rebuke echoed like the reverberations of a gong inside his head. Perhaps it had been a mistake to await immediate results of the meeting with Pharaoh. It had gone abysmally wrong. The increased work requirements would not be lifted. The foremen would continue to be beaten. The situation was destined to further deteriorate. Facts for which the children of Israel now blamed Moses and Aaron. 

It was not what Moses’ hoped to hear. After being sent by God to lead the people out of Egypt, Moses had other ideas for the outcome of this meeting. Joyous relief at Pharaoh’s capitulation, for starters. He thought surely there would be dancing in jubilation as they were given permission to gather their things and travel into the wilderness. He had expected immediate deliverance, not increased detriment. He was preparing to safely lead the people out. Not once had he suspected things might go awry. 

 From the moment he stood beside the blazing inferno of never consumed bush and listened to God call him to aid in the rescue of His people, Moses believed liberation would happen. He believed God was going to release His people from slavery. He might not understand how, but he knew it would happen! God was going to bring them out of bondage and lead them into a land of their own. A fertile land. A blessed land. A land of plenty. Moses never doubted the ability of God to do such. Until now.

Standing outside that meeting place, watching the retreating backs of the foremen and feeling the sting of their angry words, Moses’ heart quaked with questions. What had gone wrong? Why was God allowing additional harm to befall an already beleaguered people? Did the fault truly lie with Moses as the Israelite men suggested? Was it his slow speech? Had his inarticulate verbiage somehow created an unbreachable chasm forever increasing hardship for his people? Or had God brought them this far only to renege on His promise?

It was a sickening thought. But the evidence appeared to be right in front of him. Having heard their cries of suffering and wailing pleas for deliverance, God had looked down and seen their bondage, recognized their untenable situation, and decided to do something. He had promised to deliver them. He’d collected Moses and given strict instruction. He’d made an allowance for Aaron, the more eloquent speaker, to accompany Moses. He’d put His words in their mouths and given them an audience with Pharaoh. It all seemed so positive, looked so much like deliverance. Until it started to look like God wasn’t going to finish what He started. 

The current situation resembled deliverance not at all. Words meant to induce kindness and leniency had instead evoked anger and affliction. The bondage increased. The workload soared. The punishments became more menacing. Although Moses had come to them in fearless faith and boldly spoken God’s words of deliverance over them, their deteriorating circumstances seemed to indicate otherwise. As their cries went unanswered, their tears unseen, the people turned their anger and frustration on the messenger. And the messenger, disappointed that it hadn’t happened the way he thought it would and doubting it would ever happen because he couldn’t see the way forward, hurled his anxious accusations at the God he feared had failed for the first time in history.  

Rushing to his place of meeting with God, Moses impetuously cried out, “What are You doing? Why are you allowing the increased harm of Your people? Why did You even send me if you weren’t going to do anything? I did what You told me to do. I gave Your promise to Your people. I spoke Your words to Pharaoh. He did not capitulate. Quite the opposite. The affliction of Your people has intensified. Things are getting worse, not better. From where I’m sitting, it seems You have not delivered on Your promise to deliver Your people!” (Exodus 3-5)

In spite of the fact I have read the story scores of times, I still suck in my breath as I read Moses’ words to the Almighty. That he has the nerve to talk to God that way has me raising a brow in self-righteous judgment. Who, exactly, does he think he is? And just whom does he believe he is addressing in such disrespect? Does he not realize the same God who set that bush to flame from nothing could simply speak and he would cease to exist?

As I begin to unload my full head of steam on unsuspecting Moses, I am reminded of some things I’ve said to God in frustration and fear. I start to rethink accusations I’ve hurled at the heavens when things haven’t gone according to my plan or matched my timing. I remember all the times I’ve thought God failed to keep His promises because I didn’t get what I wanted. The memories shut my mouth and I shamefacedly take a seat beside Moses. We both have lessons to learn. 

Lessons about who God is. Creator. Sustainer. Everlasting God. All-powerful. All-knowing. Limitless. Lessons about how God works. His perfect timing. His perfect plan. His perfect way. None of these are new revelations. We’ve known them for a long time. They are really reminders. Reminding us that we can trust Him to keep His word. Even when we can’t see what He is doing, when we can’t explain it, when we can’t call out the steps. Reminding us that His ways are not like ours, His timing is not kept by our clock, His results are always greater than the ones our finite minds conceive. I frequently need these reminders. Clearly, Moses needed them, too. God was happy to oblige. (Isaiah 40:21-31; Ecclesiastes 3:11; Isaiah 55:8-9; Deuteronomy 32:4)

Reiterating words He’d already used, reminding Moses of things he already knew, God set the record straight. “I am the Lord. The God of your fathers to whom I promised a blessed land. No matter what you think is going on or how badly you think I have botched this, I have not forgotten that promise. I have not left my people unattended. I have heard their cries. I have seen their bondage. I have remembered my covenant. And, Moses, know this and let the people know it too, in my time, in my way, I am going to bring them out of Egypt, delivered and redeemed, to be my people and I will be their God.” (Exodus 6-14)

If you have ever attended a Sunday School class, a vacation Bible school program, or simply read the book of Exodus, you know God did exactly that. With His mighty arm and outstretched hand, He miraculously rescued His people from bondage and affliction. He kept His promise and then some. Why? Because that is what God does. 

God works miraculously on behalf of His people. While we are busy screaming at the heavens, raging on about His shortcomings, God is busy, too. Erecting a way where there isn’t one. Executing a rescue when it seems impossible. Enacting the miraculous when hope has been extinguished. Encouraging a fledgling soul. Enlightening a clouded mind. Enriching the heart of a seeker. God is always working whether you see it or not. He is always busy whether to your standards or not. God is always delivering and redeeming His people because He is our God and that is what He does! 

He is the God who has never left His people unattended, never left His promises unfulfilled, never turned a blind eye to our suffering or a deaf ear to our cries. He is always listening. He is touched by our infirmities, moved by our tears. His heart is broken by our sin and elated by our salvation. He is always working on our behalf. When we can’t feel it or see it, He’s working. When we can’t trace His movements or see around the curve ahead, He’s working. When we can do nothing but pray and hope and struggle to keep our meager faith alive, God is still working. Still planning our deliverance. Still enacting our rescue. Still providing for our redemption. That’s what our God does! (Hebrews 4:15; Psalm 145:13; Psalm 66:19; Isaiah 43:19; II Corinthians 4:18)

I don’t know where you are right now. I don’t know what holds you in bondage. I don’t know what torments your mind and soul in the dark hours of the night. I do know this. God is working on your behalf. All those prayers you’ve prayed have not bounced off brass heavens unanswered. God is not immune to your desperation, your situation, your petition. Just as He heard the cries of the bruised and beaten people of Israel enslaved in Egypt, He hears the cries of your distressed soul. He sees your burdens and afflictions and cares. He knows how precariously your faith falters on the cusp of fear. And right now–this very moment–He is working out His plan for your rescue. (I Peter 3:12; I John 5:14-15; Hebrews 4:16; John 14:1; Exodus 14: 11-12; Psalm 42:6; John 5:17)

So don’t stop believing. Don’t stop praying. Don’t stop hoping. Keep the faith. Faith in the God who has never failed to keep His promise. Faith in the power of God that is greater than any other force of this world or another. Faith in the God who sees you where you are, hears you when you call, is moved by your circumstances, and is working–even when you can’t see it. (Psalm 130:5-7; Romans 5:5; I Thessalonians 1:3; Hebrews 11:6; John 13:7)

He was leaving them. The cold, hard truth settled around them like a pall. Fear tightened their throats. Anxiety settled like a ball of lead in their stomachs. They had been through so much together! Jaw-dropping miracles. Soul-stirring messages. Life-changing mentoring. Jesus was everything to them. They had given up everything to follow Him. Yet here He stood telling them He was going away. Without them. 

It had been the disciples’ first thought. Since the moment Jesus called to them, “Come, follow me,” they had been doing just that. Following Jesus. Everywhere. Anywhere. They hadn’t turned back. He’d never asked them to do so. Until today. Today was different. Today He told them He was leaving. Alone. This time they couldn’t follow. (John 14:1-5)

The thought was inconceivable. Not once, in all their years of following, had their finite minds considered Jesus would leave them. So swallowed up in the fervor of service and phenomenon of the miraculous, they had never contemplated the notion. They hadn’t thought far enough ahead to consider the moment when death would separate them for a short while. If there was leaving to do, they assumed it would be one of them. A defector. Humans are like that. Fickle. Variable. Undependable. Not Jesus. Jesus was constant. Dependable. Unchangeable. At least He had been. Until now. 

As Jesus’ words swirled around them, the disciples inwardly reacted. Worry threaded through their hearts. Fear wove its way into their minds. Dread settled in their stomachs. They had a million questions. They had to have. They were human. Although it seems they would explode in a cacophony of questions, only Thomas, Peter, and Judas voiced their thoughts. Perhaps the others were still mulling over His opening statement. Perhaps it echoed in their minds, reminiscent of words He’d spoken to them before. Perhaps they were reliving the last time Jesus had said to them, “Do not be afraid.” Don’t be troubled. Don’t worry. Don’t be alarmed. Trust Me. (John 14:1) It had been another evening when things seemed to be going pear-shaped.  

The bright afternoon sun had long since dipped behind the hills allowing darkness to crowd out the last blush of daylight. Light breezes that had spent the afternoon gently teasing hair and clothing now gained a less playful force. Jesus and His disciples were headed to Capernaum. If they could find Jesus. Everyone else was already in the boat. They’d been waiting quite some time. They needed to leave if they were to race the winds. It would be an arduous journey. Eventually, safety won out. They needed to leave. Jesus would find His own way. He always did. 

Buffeted by ever-increasing winds, the disciples strained to row their boat even a few miles. Muscles pulled and rippled with each stroke, but resulted in little gain. Exhausted from the effort and deeply concerned for their safety, they looked out across the hectic waves, gauging the distance to shore. What they saw stopped their oars and dropped their jaws. Walking toward them across perilously tumultuous waters, came a phantom clearly intent on boarding their vessel.  

Vigorously rubbing shaking hands over terrified faces, the disciples cautiously looked again. Surely it had simply been the effect of their overtired imaginations! But, no.  It was still there. Still walking. Still headed straight for their boat. Terror clogged their throats and bulged their eyes. They sat in frozen shock until they heard the words. Words of peace. Words of calm. Words of Jesus. “It is me. Do not be afraid.” (John 6:15-20) 

Although His current command resonated with the same peace and calm of the one He issued across those wild sea waters on the way to Capernaum, their response was not the same. He was announcing His imminent departure. Their hearts were stricken with grief and sorrow. Their minds were whirling with questions about an uncertain future. Fear for their lives held them in its icy fingers. Yet Jesus stood there calmly commanding, “Do not allow your hearts to be overtaken by fear, anxiety, distress, or worry. Put your faith, your confidence in God, and trust His plan.” It would not be an easy command to follow. (John 14:1)

Things were coming that they had yet to truly understand. No matter how Jesus had tried to prepare them for His betrayal, trials, beatings, and death, they failed to fully grasp the weight of  His words. They didn’t understand what it would look like to follow Jesus to the end of His life. They were too focused on following Him to the end of theirs. The idea of Jesus ever not being physically present was completely foreign to them. Surely, when faced with the loss, their hearts nearly fainted within them. 

So often I get the feeling the disciples never really comprehended what Jesus was telling them in John 14 until they found themselves sequestered in fear after the crucifixion. Closed in on yet another evening, they huddled in fear. Doors locked. Windows shuttered. Candles gutted. Words were few and only whispered. Terror hung almost tangibly in the air. Their hearts were troubled. Their souls were distraught. Their minds were frazzled by worry. At the end of their resources, when hope seemed lost, Jesus came.

Stepping into their hideout, He spoke the same message He’d spoken so often before. A message of peace. A message of calm. A message of hope. “Peace be with you.” Peace in the middle of chaos. Calm in the midst of fear. Rest in a world of tumult. Hope in a risen Savior who had gone, not to leave them alone forever, but to prepare for them an eternal inheritance that cannot, will not fade away. Jesus hadn’t left them. He had simply gone to do His Father’s business. In all the turmoil around them, they’d forgotten His promise of a Comforter and allowed fear to extinguish their faith. (John 20:19-29; John 14; I Peter 1:4; John 16:7)

The feeling is so familiar. In our world so devoured by a culture of fear, it feels there is nothing to do but cower. Our society is hurtling down a collision course with Hell. Flagrant violations of Biblical proportions are lauded as good. Sin accepted. Evil condoned. My ears echo with the cries of the weeping prophet, Jeremiah, as though he were walking our streets, bemoaning our sin, calling out to the people of our day, “Go back to the old paths. Remember the path your forefathers walked to follow God. Find it. Follow it. Find rest for your souls.” Sadly, his words fall on deaf ears. (Jeremiah 6:16)

As a Christian living in these times of pressure and panic, worry and fear, I find myself constantly drawn back to the words Jesus spoke to His disciples. Words of faith. Words of peace. Words of strength and hope. Words of Jesus to those who traversed the evils of that day and we who must carefully travel the thorny paths of ours,  “Peace I leave with you; My peace, the peace of soul only I can give, I gift you. Do not be deceived. My peace is not the same as the passing peace the world has on offer. My peace passes all understanding, settles down in your soul, and stays there. So. Do not allow your hearts to be troubled, worried, anxious, rattled. Do not be afraid…because I am with you now, will always be with you, no matter what is going on in the world.” (John 14:27; Matthew 28:20; Philippians 4:6-7; John 16:33; I John 5:4)

Don’t let the evil one’s fear extinguish your faith. Don’t be worried, rattled, troubled, or fearful of the things happening around you. Don’t let the world trick you with false peace, fake goodness, or faux joy. It will all pass away. Only the peace of Jesus Christ will last. May the peace of Christ rule in your heart above all things and allow you to walk boldly through the gauntlet of this world unworried, unrattled, untroubled, and unafraid. (Isaiah 26:3; Psalm 119:165; II Thessalonians 3:16; Isaiah 12:2; Colossians 3:15)