Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

The clutching fingers of darkness surrounded them as the door swung shut, thudding against the side of their stalwart vessel. The walls closed in around them. The space felt tight. The odor of animal fur and sweat and dirt filled the air, tightening their lungs. Bile rose in the back of their throats. Their breaths came in short gasps. In a moment of panic-infused claustrophobia, someone raced to the door, frantically throwing their weight against it, desperate for fresh air and light. It didn’t budge. It wasn’t supposed to. God had shut them in. 

It wasn’t pleasant. It couldn’t have been. Animals everywhere. Paws, claws, and tails constantly underfoot. No privacy, no peace, no pleasures. It might have almost seemed like a punishment. Except it wasn’t. The ark wasn’t built to be a prison. The door wasn’t miraculously sealed to frustrate and antagonize the people within. It was for their safety. No matter how jarring the sound, the slamming of that door into the side of the ark was the echo of salvation granted by a loving God, sparing Noah and his family from the death and destruction raging without. (Genesis 6-8)

Years later, another door slammed shut. A door that should never have been opened. The door of Lot’s house. A house he should never have inhabited, in a town he should never have entered. A house in Sodom. He didn’t move there by accident. He wasn’t unaware of the rampant wickedness permeating that city. He’d started out setting up camp in the valley outside of town. His curiosity, his apparent thirst for the world, his own hunger for sin lured him inside the gates. It was a horrible error in judgment. (Genesis 13:10-13)

In fairness, God revealed to Lot’s uncle, Abram, His plan to destroy the city. In grace and mercy, God allowed Abram to bargain for his nephew’s life. If there were 50 righteous in the city, God would stay His hand. If there were 40…30…20…10, He would withhold His wrath. Unfortunately, the discovered righteous, if there were any, fell short of the required amount. But God’s compassion didn’t fail. He sent angels to rescue Lot and his family from the rainfall of fire and brimstone. It should have been an easy task. (Genesis 18:17-33)

They had possibly never been tasked with anything more difficult. The evil people of Sodom harassed the household to bring the angels of God out to them for debaucherous purposes. Overconfident in his reasoning skills, Lot believed he could dissuade them. He couldn’t. They pressed in. Lot stepped back. They pressed closer, nearly trampling him in their frenzied attempt to break down the door separating them from their prey. It was not to be. In keeping God’s previously set precedent, the angels of God reached out, snatched Lot inside, and the door slammed shut. It didn’t reopen. It wasn’t supposed to. The abrasive snap of the door slamming shut was a resounding exclamation mark ensuring the safety of Lot due to the faith of Abram. (Genesis 19)

Apparently, not everyone was relieved by the safety represented by the sound of that slamming door. Lot’s sons-in-law thought it was a joke. Lot himself was hesitant to leave, dragging his feet and forcing the angels to take physical action to preserve his llife. As the family was being led away by the hands, the angels warned them not to look back. At all. Not a glimpse. Not a stare. Not a longing. Do. Not. Look. Back. But the love of evil within Lot’s wife had her glancing back for one last, longing look at her beloved home. It was to her detriment. She never saw safety. Instead, she became a pillar of salt, sacrificing her life, her soul, her eternity for a last look at the things a closed-door protected her from. (Genesis 19:15-26)

Isn’t it odd how much we have in common with Lot’s wife? She was so sidetracked, so distracted, so addicted to the things of the world that she was willing to sacrifice everything for a grieving, longing, parting glimpse of her beloved sins. We do the same. We chase down the things of earth as if our very lives depend on them. We attain them at great cost. We skimp and scratch to secure awards and titles and accolades. We spare no expense, except our souls. 

But what happens when God closes a door? How do we respond when God looks with His heavenly vision into the future and sees the horrific ramifications of attaining our deepest desires and, in an act of grace, mercy, and love shuts the door on the coming heartache? When God sees impending doom, inevitable destruction, incomparable spiritual demise, and the door slams shut, what echo do you hear? The violent slamming of a door out of petty injustice, or the melodious whoosh of a door closing between your soul and certain disaster? 

What you hear is vitally important. It changes how you respond. Although it is likely Noah’s fun meter was at an all-time low about being cooped up on that ark for 150 days, he didn’t complain, didn’t fuss, didn’t ask God to change His mind or find another way. No. He preached as he built. Invited others to join him. Endured the laughter, the jibes, the questions about his sanity. Because Noah knew the closing of that door was the sound of safety and redemption for his family. The thud of that door was music to his ears.

Not so for Lot and his family. They balked. They didn’t want to leave. So ensnared and dependent on their sin-filled city, all they could hear was the siren song of the world calling them to hesitate. Pull back. Stay. Enjoy the pleasures of sin for another season. As with Eve in the Garden of Eden, the song of the evil one wove its way so intricately into their hearts and minds, they faltered in their exit. They had to be forcibly dragged from destruction. So deep was their love affair with sin, the slamming of the door was not the melody of safety, but the raucous discord of being denied their way. 

What about you? What do you hear when the door to your perceived dream slams shut? The job in the corner office falls through. The expected generous raise is reduced. The editor rejects your manuscript. Your acting and musical talents aren’t appreciated by the local theater. Your child doesn’t make the team, isn’t awarded the scholarship, doesn’t get accepted by the prestigious college. Whatever it is, when God, in wisdom, love, mercy, and grace, shuts the door, do you hear the melody of peace and protection or the cacophony of deprivation and denial? And how do you respond?

Does your anger explode? Do you rant and rage to all and sundry? Do you doubt God’s love? Denounce His wisdom? Deny His grace? Perhaps you question His intellect. Challenge His omniscience. Query His sovereignty. Do you weep and wail, beg and plead, kick and pry at that closed door in hopes of changing His mind? Do you allow the echo of that slamming door to build resentment and bitterness in your heart causing spiritual starvation? Or do you close your eyes and allow the subtle melody of a closing door to remind you of God’s infinite love, mercy, wisdom, and grace? Are you cognizant that a closed-door could be the salvation of your soul? Do you remember that His plan for you is good and will be accomplished in His time? Do you rest in the knowledge? (Ecclesiastes 3:11; Philippians 1:6; Hebrews 12:15; Mark 8:36-37; Romans 11:33; Ephesians 3:14-21; Colossians 1:17; Psalm 37:7)

I don’t know what door you are impatiently standing before today. I don’t know what you want more than anything else. I do know this. Humanity does not have a good track record of making wise choices. God does. So let Him lead. And, if the door closes, even in your disappointment, remember this, God is too wise, too loving, too kind to make a mistake or be cruel. If the door closes, it is for your safety. Physically, maybe. Spiritually, absolutely. God is busy preserving your soul. So sit back. Take a deep breath. Let the melody of His love and care echo in the silence around you and know this. God is for you and you can trust Him. (Isaiah 26:3-4; Psalm 121:7-8; Proverbs 16:9; Romans 8:28)

He hadn’t expected it to be him. Nothing had prepared him for it. Not exile. Not eating a scroll. Not being closed in his house, tied with ropes, and unable to speak. Not laying a siege against a brick as if he were a child at play. Not lying on first one side, then the other, to represent how long the people had been running from God. Not the eating of scant amounts of defiled food. Not shaving his head and beard to weigh the hair like a madman, then burn some, slice some, scatter some. Nothing, not even his wildest imaginations, had prepared Ezekiel to be the answer to his own prayers for his people. Yet he was. (Ezekiel 3-5)

As a priest, of course, he had prayed for his straying, sinful people. Many times he had sacrificed on their behalf as they did their due diligence. He’d begged God to forgive their waywardness. Perhaps, in the silence of an empty temple, he’d plead with God to somehow, someway bring them back to the old paths. Paths of obedience. Paths of righteousness. Paths of God. He’d likely never prayed to be the vessel God would use to bring them back. He’d probably never thought his life would become the example of their sin and illumination of their punishment. As his prayers ascended, it likely never crossed his mind that God would call him, Ezekiel, son of Buzi, one priest among many, to warn his rebellious people to sit up, take notice, and acknowledge that God is the Lord of all the earth.

Because he’d never expected to be chosen as the answer to his own prayers, Ezekiel was quite unsuspecting on that ordinary day as he stood gazing out over the river. I wonder what he was thinking. Was he wishing for a rescue from exile? Was he considering options of deliverance for his people? Or was he again imploring God to send help? Regardless of where his mind was, Ezekiel wasn’t expecting a heavenly visit. He never dreamed he’d be blessed with a vision of God. Fascinating cherubim. Magnificent Heavenly throne. The glory of God was revealed in a stunning display, leaving him speechless, awestruck. He wasn’t expecting it, but it was certainly welcome! That glimpse of glory dropped him to his knees, bowing in reverence, honor, and adoration. It was a welcome respite from the mess around him. (Ezekiel 1)

God’s children had wandered away from the paths of God. They had broken their covenant with the Almighty. They had followed false prophets. They had worshipped idols. They had profaned God’s house. So deeply steeped in rebellion, obstinance, and sin, their insolent hearts had no desire to change, to hear truth, to follow God. Waking them from their hedonistic stupor seemed improbable. They were disinclined to listen, even less inclined to obey. Fortunately for them, the merciful God of Heaven wasn’t done trying. He had a plan. (Ezekiel 5:6-7; 6; 7)    

As Ezekiel lay prostrate in reverential wonder that the great God of the universe would reveal Himself to a humble priest, the most phenomenal thing happened. That same great God, full of holiness and purity, upon which no human gaze could stand to rest, chose to speak. To Ezekiel. He called him out, set him apart, and assigned him a holy occupation. The formidable task of being the warning voice of God to a generation of people who didn’t want to listen, refused to hear, were recalcitrant to adhere. Yet God said, “Tell them anyway.” (Exodus 33:20; Ezekiel 1:28-2:7)  

There doesn’t seem to be a record of Ezekiel having second thoughts about becoming God’s prophet. I wouldn’t find fault with him if he had. I wonder how many times, knowing what response he would receive, Ezekiel sighed deeply before imparting the words of the Lord to people who would scoff and scorn. I wonder how often, if ever, he wished someone else could be the example, speak the words, withstand the impending rejection. Do we not do the same?

How often are you hesitant to speak Biblical truth into a conversation because you know the hearers aren’t interested? How careful are you to use less bold language about God for fear of offending someone who chooses not to believe? How slow are you to warn those headed down a disastrous path to turn to God because you are afraid they will rebuff you? How cautious are you to point out the goodness and power of God at work in your own life to people who would erroneously give His praise to you? How likely are you to stand up, speak up for God in a world aggressively seeking to deny His character, alter His attributes, refute His existence, prostrate His power? 

Our world is exactly there. It takes little time or effort to notice the unmitigated disaster our society has become. Depraved. Debauched. Debased. Degenerate. They relish their sin, rejoice in their defiance of God. They call it freedom, title it love, all while becoming more ensnared by the evil that binds them. Our society is absolutely like that of Ezekiel’s day, barrelling down a horribly ending collision course with eternity, heedless of the warning signs. There is just one difference. Where are our Ezekiel’s? 

Where are those God has called to stand up and speak out? Where are the people unafraid to call sin what it is? Where are the brave men and women who are willing to speak truth to a rebellious and sinful generation whether they want to hear it or not, whether they listen or not, whether they adhere or not to that truth? Is it you? Well…is it? 

As you sit in your comfy chair piously reading your Bible, thanking God that you have redemption and are not like all those other lost people out there, are you praying for them? Are you praying for revival across our deeply iniquitous land? Really praying. Not a quick prayer to salve your conscience and check a box on your prayer list. Not a half-hearted, disbelieving prayer that questions its ability to garner a response. No. Are you truly praying? Fervently. Faithfully. Pleading. Begging. Weeping. Asking, then asking again in brokenness over the imminent loss of souls. Are you earnestly praying for your world? (James 5:16; Luke 11:9; Lamentations 2:11, 18-19; Jeremiah 8:18-9:1) 

What are you expecting from those prayers? Missionaries? Ministers? Teachers? Prophets? Who do you expect God to call as a witness, an example, to your colleagues, your neighbors, your friends, your circle? Someone younger? Bolder? More effervescent? What’s wrong with you? Why can’t you do it? What are you waiting for? Writing on a wall? Lightning bolts from Heaven? A voicemail from God? (Matthew 9:37-38; Jude 1:23; Mark 16:15; Proverbs 11:30)

Perhaps it came and you missed it. You should check again. Ask God again whom He’d like to do His work. Listen closely for His response. It’s you. It’s me. It is everyone who claims to know Jesus. And it isn’t optional. If you truly know Jesus, you will do it. You will speak God’s message to the people around you. Preach. Testify. Write. Do it boldly. Don’t be afraid of those who disagree or dislike what you have to say. Speak God’s words anyway. Do your part. Open your heart and let God fill it with the words He wants people to hear. Then boldly, faithfully speak those words in love, in kindness, in truth. Don’t hide. Don’t cower. You have been called. Called to be an Ezekiel to a world that will die without one. (I Corinthians 3:9; Matthew 28:19-21; Deuteronomy 6:6-8; Psalm 37:30; II Timothy 4:2; Colossians 4:6; Ezekiel 2:1-7, 3:4-11)

In the left corner of my backyard, just outside the pasture fence, stands a large well-established patch of raspberry canes, affectionately dubbed “The raspberry hedge.” It was here when we moved in, already trellised and watered by an automatic irrigation system. When we came to look at the house prior to purchasing, the sellers told us it was a very productive patch, naming a large number of quarts they believed it would produce that year. I smiled and nodded, mentally scoffing. Surely that number couldn’t be right! 

The berries began ripening in late July. A few at first. Then quite a few. Then a lot. Then quite a lot! About 50 pounds of raspberries came out of the hedge before it finally spent itself for the year. Admittedly, we were relieved to have the productivity slow. Happy to have the produce put up for winter, but also happy to preserve something, anything, other than raspberries. 

Our hedge is quiet now. The birds and bees and squirrels no longer scold us for harvesting the fruits they jealously claimed as their own. There is little for me to do out there anyway. Outside of removing dead canes and shoring up the trellis, the plants will do exactly what God created them to do. The primocanes will turn brown and lose their leaves. Leftover floricanes will give their carbohydrates to help the plant survive the winter. They will lie dormant until spring. Dormant. Not dead. 

Mid-winter, when the snow is deep, the temperatures freezing, I’ll leave my crackling wood stove and look out the window into the backyard. I’ll look over the shrubs and trees, empty planters and garden space. Eventually, my gaze will wander to the raspberry hedge. There will be no fruit, no green leaves, no birds vying for the first ripe berry. It will look dead. I know it isn’t. I will know that underneath the snow and dirt, roots are resting, waiting, storing up nutrients, ready to shoot up new canes as soon as the weather permits. Because raspberry bushes, like most other trees and plants, aren’t made for constant production without time for rejuvenation and renewal. Neither are you. 

Over the years, we have become a noisy, restless, overly busy society. There is no day of rest. No moment of contemplation. No peace, no quiet, no calm. Noise is everywhere. Possibly the largest pollutant on the planet. Useless banter. Pointless arguments. Wearisome whining. Amid the social belief that more is better, we have forgotten the treasure of solitude, the gift of quietude, the perspicacity of rest and meditation on the things of God. We have traded the wisdom of talking to God for the gratification of talking to people, forfeiting the blessing of His whispered answers for the commiseration of the crowd. Our busyness with business, our striving to keep up, show up, put up, has robbed us of our much-needed ability to shut up. It is wearing on our souls. 

We were not created to be 24-7 people, networking, working, or socializing around the clock. We were made for rest, for introspection, for communion with God. We were made for substance, not simply style. We were created to be the well-rooted, well-watered, well-tended exhibitions of God’s care, the touch of His hand in the world around us, the voice of His leading when others are going astray. God’s intentions are that we should be the godliness in the world around us. Steady, strong. Like the godly man depicted in Psalm 1. (Exodus 20:8-10; Psalm 37:7; Titus 2:12; I Timothy 6:6-7; James 5:20) 

In his artful way, with words as his brush, the Psalmist paints a beautiful landscape. A hearty, well-established tree is comfortably situated on the bank of a rushing stream. Its trunk is thick and stable. Its roots run deep. It’s not going anywhere. The stream could overflow its banks, the wind could howl and whip its branches, that tree would stand firm. The leaves sprouting from those strong branches are lush and green, healthy and vigorous. In the fruiting season, hidden beneath those leaves, in great abundance, hangs perfect, beautiful fruit. Why? Because that tree is maintained by the hand of God. It is God’s tree. Dedicated, devoted fully to Him alone. Delighted to be such. That tree is the soul of the godly, the heart of the one who puts God as chief executive officer and never rescinds the position. (Psalm 1:2-3)

This is the key to fruit bearing. Complete surrender to the teaching, pruning, nurturing of God. Spending uninhibited time with Him. Listening to His words. Knowing His laws. Obeying them. It will not always be comfortable. It will always be necessary. You won’t love everything He says to you, but adhering will increase your fruit yield. You may dislike His corrections, find them horribly unpleasant, but accepting them will improve the flavor of your fruit. You might find His pruning nearly intolerable, but when you let go and let God change your life, your soul will be the healthiest it has ever been. (Proverbs 3:12; Hebrews 12:5-11; Psalm 119:165; Proverbs 15:10) 

In the early spring, the experts say I’m supposed to severely prune my raspberries. It breaks my heart. I don’t want to do it. But I will. I’ll don my boots and gloves, take my garden shears and follow their instructions to the letter. Why? Because I want healthy, vibrant, fruitful plants. I want them to be the best they can be, the best they have ever been.

God wants the same thing for you, a million times more than I want it for my raspberry hedge. He wants to tend, water, and prune your heart so you can be the best possible image of Him in this busy, noisy world. He’s the expert. Why not let Him? Why not shut out the noise of the world, hunker down with God and meditate in His law? Soak it in. Rest in it. Ask Him what it means and how it relates to your personal fruit production. And what would you gain if you sat in quiet contemplation to ensure you hear Him when He whispers back? 

Friend, you were not created to rise early and stay up late working and striving and struggling to attain some pinnacle of greatness, prestigious accolade, or social acceptance. No. You are already loved and accepted beyond your wildest dreams. So shut out the clamour of the world and let God give you rest. Surrender yourself to Him. Let Him make you what you were created to be. Allow Him to make your life the healthy, fruitful, godly place He intended. Let Him live there. Dwell there. Run the place. Let Him make you fruitful, a deeply rooted, well-watered, lovingly nurtured example of Jesus Christ in a starving world that’s too busy to bear fruit worth wanting. (Psalm 127:2; Psalm 4:3-4; Colossians 1:10; Matthew 3:8; John 15:4-5; Matthew 12:33; John 3:30)

Tears flowed down her cheeks as they were herded out of the beautiful Garden that had been their home. Sorrow and regret etched lines across her once flawless face. Questions bombarded her mind. Why had she done that? What had she been thinking? Why was she talking to a serpent in the first place?

It was a beautiful afternoon. Eve was walking in the Garden, admiring the beauty, when he laid his crafty eyes on her. As she bent to smell a flower, he crept closer. As she ran her hand over a shiny piece of ripe fruit hanging on a nearby tree, he sidled up beside her. When he caught her inquisitive gaze resting on the tree in the middle of the Garden, he knew he had her. This was his moment. He didn’t even hesitate. Like the evil, demented, cunning thing he is, the evil one stepped in to wreak havoc. 

“That’s a pretty tree, isn’t it? The fruit sure looks good!” the wily serpent hints. 

“It is, but we aren’t allowed to eat from it. God said we will die if we do.” Eve replies, never taking her eyes off the tree. 

“What?” the serpent explodes, “That can’t be right! God knows this tree will give you wisdom and you will know good and evil. You can’t die from that. Go ahead. Try it. You’ll be fine.”

I wonder how long it took Eve to reach out and pick the fruit? Did she hesitate? Stretch out her hand only to pull it back again in indecision? Did it take more encouragement from the tempter? Did she ponder her decision? Leave and come back again? Did she question if the loving God who walked the Garden in the cool of the day was even capable of disapproval? Did she finally reason her way into eating the fruit simply because her frail human mind couldn’t fathom a love so phenomenal, so potent, so permanent that fleeting approval paled in comparison?

However she made her final decision, Eve picked the fruit and took a bite, wiping delicious juice from her chin. Then she ran to find Adam and give him a bite too. A bite he took with no obvious hesitation. No question about which tree she had harvested. No skeptical glances to determine from where she had come. He simply ate the fruit. And the moment he ate it, he knew what it was, where it came from. He knew things he hadn’t known before. Things he wished he didn’t know now. They were naked. They needed clothes. They needed to hide from God. (Genesis 3)

It was an impossible task, for sure. They tried anyway. Hanging out in the back corner in their newly woven fig leaves. Ducking behind blooms. Running from tree trunk to tree trunk. God didn’t play hide and seek. He called them out. Made them accountable. Not because His love had run out, but because He couldn’t approve of the disobedient choices they had made. As they stood there before Him, garbed in their leafy fashions, answering questions that had no good answers, no excuses, no sound reasoning to back them up, the serpent outright belly-laughed.  

He started this whole mess in the first place, with his lies and temptations and twisted ideas about love. He’s still using the same tricks. He’s still saying that God didn’t mean exactly what He said. It’s open to interpretation. Surely the changing times allow for some Biblical alteration. He is still pushing the stale idea that God is love so He surely won’t punish sin. He is still busy convincing you that he only has your happiness in mind and that if God is love, surely He wants you to be happy too. 

In centuries, millennia, the tactics of the evil one have not changed one iota. Society has bought into every single one. They’ve tried to convince us to buy into them too. Surely a good and loving God would want the people He loves to be happy. Surely happiness is found in having our own way. So, surely love equals approval. Approval of our desires. Approval of our lifestyles. Approval of our selfishness. Approval of our sin. Blanket approval allowing us to live however we want yet still walk freely into Heaven. 

Society’s definition of love is woefully incorrect. Their unrealistic expectations, based on a fictional definition, have caused them to look at God’s love with a jaundiced eye. They have no concept of the deep, lasting love of God that rebukes, corrects, and chastens, all for the good of the one it loves. They have no idea how sacrificial love works. No comprehension of a love that keeps trying, keeps calling, keeps wooing, even when it knows the one they love so completely will only spurn, deny, and reject their love. True love keeps loving. It can do nothing else. It wouldn’t be love if it did. 

Still, true love is not what your five-year-old self thought it was. It is likely not what your adult self wants to believe it is, either. It is not patently permissive or inordinately indulgent. True love does not change itself to meet the demands of spoiled brats–no matter how much it loves those same tantrum-throwing minions. It is not swayed by manipulative wails or challenges to prove itself. It does not equal approval or pacifying permission. True love is so much greater than that.

I saw it evidenced as I read the story of Adam and Eve walking dejectedly from the Garden of Eden after their vast rejection of God’s law. I’m tempted to think the punishment unfair. Surely there was another way! But then I realized how compassionate the alleged punishment was. God saved them from themselves. Left in the Garden, their traitorous human hearts would have been unable to refuse the fruit of the tree of life. Once eaten, they would live forever.

From the comfort of your armchair as you eat your takeaway dinner, watch a show on television, and halfheartedly peruse this blog, living forever might not seem so bad. But read that list of oncoming changes again and imagine yourself back in Old Testament times. Ladies, childbirth with no pain killers, no hospitals, no ultrasounds, no sterile linens, hovering doctors, or placating nurses. There’s no one to clean your house, wash your clothes, cook your food, or do your chores. Get busy. That baby will come in its own time. Pregnancy is no cause for taking it easy. Gentlemen, figure out how to grow things out of the intractable ground. Fight weeds and thistles without weed killer from the local home improvement store. Scrape out a living for yourself and your family from what you can coax the earth into yielding. Work. Sweat. Eat. So you can work and sweat some more. Not eight hours a day. It takes much more effort than that. Sunup to sundown. Freezing cold or blazing heat. Work. Toil. Coax. Still interested in signing up to live forever on earth? (Genesis 3:16-24)

See, God’s act of punishment was also an act of love. Love that knew no human could endure thousands of years of hard labor. Love that realized no woman would want to be giving birth–again–at 250 years old. God corrects the people He loves.How often has it happened in your life? Can you look back, after working through a horrific situation brought on by your own wilfulness, only to see the terror you missed would have been worse than the furor you faced? That was love. God’s love. True love. Love that doesn’t fail to correct, chasten, rebuke, but never stops loving. It is consistent, faithful, limitless no matter how much we whine, wheedle and cajole. Love that enforces boundaries, standards, ethics, morals. True love that, knowing right from wrong, never pushes, manipulates, or guilt trips. True love loves even when it disagrees, disapproves, dislikes. True love is always present, always forgiving. It is wholly selfless. (Psalm 103:14; Hebrews 12:6-8; Deuteronomy 8:5; Revelation 3:19; Job 5:17; Ephesians 3:14-21)

It was exhibited for eternity on Calvary. Jesus hangs there. Sinless. Selfless. Taking on the sin and selfishness, guilt and punishment of His generation and every generation to come. His arms are outstretched in an ever-welcoming pose proclaiming that whosoever will may come. Come and wash in the blood that love spilled. Love that put Him on that cross even as it knew some would refuse Him, some would reject Him, some would deny Him. Love that cannot approve of our sin, yet still, it loves. Constant love for fickle humanity. Perfect love. God’s love. (Ephesians 1:7; John 14:6; I Timothy 2:4-6; Romans 5:8; Ephesians 5:2)

Society, the world, the evil one will try to tell you that love is whimsical, permissive, approving. It isn’t. Love does not equal approval, nor does approval equal love. It is so much greater than that. It is the steady, relentless pursuit of your wayward heart by the God whose very nature defines the word “love.” It is Him calling you to holiness over happiness, knowing one is eternal while the other is fleeting. It is the enforcement of rules and boundaries, not for a power trip or the stroking of His ego, but with the express purpose of preparing you for Heaven and protecting you from Hell. It is love that follows you down every darkened corridor, into every dive, watches every poor decision, yet never writes you off. Instead, it aches for you to bring your ravaged, ruined heart back home. It is the olive branch of hope continually extended from the heart of God to the lost souls of humanity. No matter what choices you make. No matter how lost you are. True love cannot be found in approval. Approval is fleeting. The love of God endures forever. The choice is yours. Which will you seek? Fleeting approval or everlasting love. (Leviticus 11:44; I Peter 1:15; I John 4:8-10; Psalm 103:13; I Corinthians 13:4-8; Matthew 11:28-30; John 14:2-3; Romans 5:1-21)

Last Friday, we traveled into the city to take our children back-to-school shopping. We made a day of it. Visited multiple shops. Went out for lunch. Mastered their lists. It was a perfectly normal day. Except it wasn’t. You see, in the back of my mind, choosing backpacks, eating lunch, loading groceries, pumping gas, was the constant awareness that across the globe, in a country I have only heard about, people are experiencing days so far removed from any concept of normal. 

It is nearly impossible to pick up a newspaper, open the Internet, or turn on your television without being bombarded by accounts of the horrific happenings taking place in Afghanistan. Normally, I shy away from writing about the news, but for so many days–weeks–my broken heart has read the stories and been shattered over and over again. My mind cannot turn off the thoughts of people in peril. All the people. Christians. Non-Christians. Normal people doing normal things. Fathers attempting to scrape out a living for their families. Mothers doing their best to care for their children. Teenagers learning the ways of the world around them, dreaming, making choices for their futures. Children playing made-up games, laughing in spite of bleak circumstances. As the tenuous stability of their world crashed down around them, my heart was gutted on their behalf. My urgent prayers have been continual, the requests varied. 

I have battered Heaven on behalf of the Christians facing worsened persecution. I think of them first, my imagination wild with thoughts of what may be in store for them. As a grade-schooler, I listened to a camp meeting speaker from a region that did not embrace the Gospel. It takes only a moment for my mind to travel back to that service and replay the words he spoke. Words of torture, torment, and terror reigned down on believers in his country, spoken in gross detail to indelibly imprint on our minds. Decades have passed since I heard those words. They are as clear today as they were when I sat frozen in terror, sick to my stomach, listening to his accounts. As recent events trigger that memory, my stomach twists and my shattered heart desperately implores the God of the universe, the Father of us all, to protect, deliver, rescue. If God wills it. (Ephesians 4:6; I Corinthians 8:6; John 5:14; Matthew 6:10) 

Admittedly, I can barely push those words past my tightened throat. My heart doesn’t want to say them. I want mountains filled with heavenly warriors, enemies who fight themselves, seas that part for salvation only to crash down for enemy elimination. The flippant prayers of, “Thy will be done,” prayed over which job to take, car to buy, or how much to give in the collection plate become the hardest to pray when someone’s life hangs in the balance. They echo with surrender. They speak of letting go and trusting God. They highlight human impotence, illuminate our inability to change circumstances or end suffering. They force us to,  however hesitantly, subject ourselves, our situations, our brothers and sisters in faraway lands to the omniscient omnipotence of God whose goal is to lift up Jesus so all the world might have the opportunity to know Him. It’s the reason He came. (John 12:32; I Timothy 1:15; Exodus 14; II Kings 6:15-17; I Samuel 14:20)

So I dutifully pray those words, even though my heart breaks and balks because I know God’s ways are not like mine. I gather up my waning strength and lift up those Christians facing persecution we simply do not comprehend. I pray for the underground churches and pastors, beseeching God for strength and peace, and boldness. I pray for the helpless, the elderly, the infirm. I pray for the men and women, believers or not, caught in this terrifying scenario of insurrection and instability. My mother’s heart quakes and nearly faints at the thought of women trying to protect, hide, and console their children, quiet their cries, calm their fears. My eyes fill at the thought of teenagers watching their life dreams die on the altar of someone else’s selfishness. When my anguished heart can take no more news, no more thoughts, no more feelings of helplessness, I do the only thing I can–I place those precious people, their homes, their families, their lives in the capable hands of a loving God who cares more for them than I ever could and fervently entreat Him to do something. It’s all I can do. (John 15:12-13; Ephesians 3:18-19; Psalm 68:5; John 15:9)

At least I thought it was. Until, as I feebly searched my mind to ensure I had prayed for every possible needy soul, a little voice spoke to my heart. You know the one. The voice that tells you things. Hard things. True things. Things you don’t want to hear. The voice of God. In this moment it whispered, “Pray for the perpetrators, the persecutors.” (Matthew 5:44-45)

The words caused my prayer to stumble. They shouldn’t have. I’ve been hearing them for years. When I read of abusers, murderers, pedophiles. When I am wronged. When my initial response is to hope for the worst, God reminds me to pray for the perpetrators. Pray for those society calls hopeless. Pray for the ones deemed too evil to live. Pray for the brat, the bully, the remorseless criminal, the angry insurgent. Jesus instructs us, “Pray for those who persecute you.” And I do. (Matthew 5:44)

Unfortunately, having done so in the past and knowing that Jesus Himself instructs us to do so, does not make the prayers easier to pray. I’d much rather give heavenly air time to the persecuted, perplexed, demoralized, and abused. I’d like to see God step in and stop the events. I want to see my form of justice served. Just once, I want to call down the wrath of God and see an amazing response. Something like the earth opening to swallow the sons of Korah! But my justice is not God’s justice, nor is it my place to mete out that justice. Vengeance is God’s. He’ll take care of it. He has a purpose for keeping the ground intact. (Numbers 16:31-33; Isaiah 55:8-9; Romans 12:17-21; Deuteronomy 32:35)

My mind ruminates over the possibilities of that purpose. What could God possibly want with a bunch of people threatening, abusing, murdering His followers? Immediately, the Apostle Paul comes to mind. He started out as Saul. Groomed to be a zealot for the temple leaders of his day, he was the cloak minder as stones flew from outraged hands toward Stephen. He likely heard the final prayer before Stephen fell asleep in Jesus. Words similar to the ones echoing from the cross on Golgotha. Words of grace for the persecutors, “Don’t hold this sin against them, Lord.” (Acts 7:54-60)

It seems to have no effect. Saul grew into a deplorable human being with a well-earned horrendous reputation. No one wanted his knock at their door. Searching down Christians. Speaking threats and evil and hate toward them. Dragging them from their homes. Sending them to prison, even death. It appears Stephen’s prayer fell on deaf ears.(Acts 8:1-3; 9:1-2)

It didn’t. Eventually, via an amazing Damascus road experience, a bout of blindness, and the hospitality of Christians, Saul became Paul, preacher, missionary, sufferer for Christ. He reached lands others hadn’t reached. He testified to people in powerful positions others would never have had the opportunity to speak with. His story is an amazing example of how God uses the prayers we pray over our enemies, even if we can’t immediately put a face to our prayers. Even when we don’t see results. Even if we never know the outcome. (Acts 9:3-19; 16:6-10; Acts 24-26; I Corinthians 3:6-8)

The truth is this. God might be trying to reach that teenager brandishing a gun who has been relentlessly brainwashed to believe war and hate and fighting are the path of life. God might be extending mercy and grace to a hardened warrior before his final battle. Maybe, just maybe, one of those men waving the edge of a knife in the face of a Christian needs to see their faith in God to shake him out of his stupor, make him lay down his weapon, and follow Jesus. Maybe the prayers of good people for the souls of evil people is their only hope of ever finding the God who isn’t willing that any should perish. No one. Not you. Not me. Not the persecutor. Not the perpetrator. God intended no one–not one single soul–should die in their sins. So He sent Jesus to bear our sins, die on the cross, and personally tell us, “Love your enemies. Pray for those who persecute you.” (Matthew 5:43-48; II Peter 3:9; Ezekiel 18:32; John 6:40; Revelation 3:20)  

You might be scoffing right now. Maybe you believe I’ve lost my mind. Perhaps you think God isn’t interested in saving some terrorists or insurgents or persecutors of his people. Maybe you’ve marked them as too far gone, a waste of grace. I hope you’ll go read Saul turned Paul’s story again. And again. And again. I hope you’ll read the story of Jesus, hanging on a cross, forgiving the last-minute confessions of the thief beside Him. I hope you’ll read the stories and remember. Remember that Jesus came to call everyone to repentance. Not just the nice people. Not just the attendees at your church or people of like mindsets. Jesus came for everyone. You. Me. The peaceful citizen. The angry insurgent. Jesus came to save sinners. All of us. (Luke 5:32; Mark 2:17; John 1:12; Revelation 22:17; Isaiah 55:1)

No matter how powerless you feel to ease the pain and suffering of a country half a world away, this is no time to do nothing. We must do something. We must do the only thing we can, wield the most powerful weapon in our arsenal. We must pray. Relentlessly. Fervently. We must not become distracted. As the battle rages and time passes, other things may begin to fill our minds and dominate our prayers. I hope you don’t stop praying for the people of Afghanistan. I hope you don’t stop praying fervent prayers of hope and peace and courage and strength over the Christians there. I hope you don’t stop praying for help and comfort for the people as they flee and hide or stand and fight. And I hope, if you aren’t already, that you pray for the perpetrators of persecution. Pray for a Damascus road experience for them. Pray that they turn from their evil ways. Pray in faith, knowing that the God who wants all people to be saved, can work miracles in the hardest of hearts and the most ruined of lives. Pray. Because when God’s people join together to do something, God shows up too. And He can do anything! (James 5:16; I Thessalonians 5: 16-18; Matthew 18:19-20; I Peter 3:12; I John 5:14-15)