Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

Several years ago we lived in a community surrounding a 125-acre lake. It was a beautiful place. Perfect for a walk along the shore, a wedding, a photography session, or an idyllic canoe ride. Lake usage and upkeep was vigorously regulated. One day I opened my e-mail to find a mass message from the homeowner’s association. Apparently someone’s boat had been left unsecured and was now drifting in the middle of the lake. Attached was a photograph of a sad little vessel, desperately in need of repairs. We didn’t own a boat and hadn’t been on the lake. I deleted the message. A few days later, a second e-mail blinked into my inbox. A kind resident had rescued the boat and secured it to a dock. The owners still needed to come pick it up. I had doubts that would happen. 

A couple of weeks went by, I forgot the sad little boat needing rescue. Others didn’t forget. The homeowner’s association is nothing if not tenacious. A third and final e-mail arrived, sterner than the others. There was a date by which pickup must be made. If not done as requested, the boat would be added to the fleet managed by the association and loaned out to boatless residents. Apparently that is what happened. I never heard anything else. Maybe I missed an e-mail. Or maybe I was too absorbed in Hebrews 2:1. Maybe I was too busy making a correlation between that drifting boat and the drifting of our souls. Maybe I couldn’t help but think how we need to heed the things God has commanded and called us to do lest we, like that boat, end up worse for wear and drifting around unattended. 

It’s been a few years since I thought about that boat. As I contemplated the things God has spoken into my heart recently, that boat came back to mind. It’s the mindless drifting that gets me, stops me, scares me. I see so much drifting. Drifting away from truth. Drifting toward a lesser way, toward a more socially acceptable faith. Drifting into complacency, doubt, and sin. Drifting away from the Bible. Drifting away from God.  

My heart feels it too–the urge to drift, the temptation to draw in the oars and float along. Pray less. Indulge more. Follow the crowd. The suggestion to subscribe to “Jesus light”, diet spirituality, regularly pounds at my door. Perhaps it is that same suggestion that causes me to turn and, fighting the currents, find my way back to what I know to be true, back to the basics of my faith, back to the first and greatest commandment. Love God. Love Him above all else. Love Him more than anyone or anything else. Love the Lord your God with every fiber of your being. (Matthew 22:37-38)

We don’t hear a lot about this first and greatest commandment anymore. It’s unfortunate. We used to hear more about it. More about loving God to the exclusion of everything. More about putting God first. We needed to hear it then. We need it more now. We have been drawn aside by the cacophony and caterwauling of the world. Like the Laodicean church mentioned in Revelation, we have gotten comfortable in our First World lifestyles and forgotten the first commandment. (Revelation 3:15-17) Relying on past faithfulness and ignoring current faithlessness, we are drifting along, certain we are fine. 

We are not fine. Drifting never is. Drifting is what got the church of Ephesus rebuked. They didn’t start out that way. They started out strong. Hard work. Endurance. Patience. No tolerance for evil. Suffering for God without giving up. They had done a lot of good things. But they got distracted. Maybe they got tired. Maybe they became complacent. Maybe the voice of the world got so loud it started to drown out the Voice of Truth. Regardless of what happened, the result was the same. They drifted. They left their first love. (Revelation 2:2-5) 

Before you shake your head in disgust and disbelief over their drifting hearts. Take a look inside yourself, your circle, your church. We have done the same. We are drifting along on a form of godliness, but not the real thing. We have been lulled into believing the outside is more important than the inside, that works are exalted over grace. We have left our first love. We have strayed. We have drifted. We are in trouble. 

It makes me wonder how we would stand up to the questioning Jesus gave to Peter, asking not once, but three times, “Do you love me?” In the past, Peter has proven his inability to stick. He seems a bit of a loose cannon. He acts without thinking. (Luke 22:50) He vows vehemently. (Matthew 26:35) He denies unequivocally. (Luke 22:54-60) He weeps bitterly. (Luke 22:62) Peter doesn’t do anything halfheartedly. So here, on the shore, having breakfast with the resurrected Jesus and hearing the question in triplicate, Peter is hurt, even frustrated, by the line of questioning, “Lord, you know my heart. You know I love you!” 

And there’s the sticking point for us. We can dress ourselves up, act a certain way, use the right jargon, and trick the world into thinking we love Jesus, but it stops there. God knows our hearts. (Psalm 44:21) All of them. Every part. He knows what we love more than Him. He knows what draws us aside, what makes us drift. He sees how we react to His word, His prodding. He knows how we will respond to His voice. He sees. He knows. Yet still, He asks the question, “Do you love me?”

Like Peter, we immediately answer, “Of course I love You!” But do we? Do we love Jesus? Do we love Him more than all our first world possessions? Do we love Him more than opinions and social status? Do we love Him more than we desire renown or recognition? Do we love Jesus enough to throw all our ideas, desires, destinations and diatribes away and simply follow Him? Do our hearts love Him, crave Him? Do we love Jesus more than anything, more than everything, more than life itself? Do we love Him enough to dedicate our lives to feeding His sheep? Are we First Commandment people?

  It’s a sobering question. Being First Commandment people is not popular. It will not make you famous. It will not make you rich. It will not be easy. It will be worth it. Loving God above all else means keeping all His commandments. Happily. No whining, moaning, or complaining. No hedging. Nothing half-hearted. It means victory over the pull of the world, over the complacency of drifting. It means when Jesus asks you “the question”, you can open up your heart with nothing to hide and respond in kind with Peter, “Lord, you know my heart. You know I love you!” And it will be true. (I John 5:3-5)

 This is the desperate cry of my heart. I want to love Jesus more than anything, more than everything. I want no part of pared down Christ-following.  I’m not interested in drifting unattended, being pushed around by social currents, or being docked where I don’t belong. I hope you aren’t either. There’s no time for it. The whole world is full of desperation and angst, calling out to know, to see, to feel God’s love. We have the opportunity to love Jesus so completely, to follow Him so wholeheartedly, that every aspect of our lives is an echo of His love and intention toward lost humanity. We have the amazing opportunity to be First Commandment people.

Will you do it? Will you choose to be a First Commandment person? I hope so. With the world pulling your affections in a million different directions, I hope you choose to set them on Heavenly things. (Colossians 3:2) At a time when drifting is lauded, I hope you pick up the oars and paddle strong and steady back to your First Love. When we are being told on every side that we can be anything we want to be, I hope you choose to be a Jesus follower. I hope you choose Him above all else. I hope you fall desperately in love with Him. I hope your soul follows hard after Him. (Psalm 63:8) I hope, as you snuggle down in your First World easy chair, you make the concrete choice to stop drifting, stop floating, stop dawdling and fully embark on the voyage of being First Commandment people. (John 14:15)

My family has been running on the snap system for years, probably because neither my husband nor I ever learned to whistle loudly. For us, three snaps in quick succession is the signal. Focus on what you are doing. You are too far away from me in the store. Adjust your behavior. Give me your attention. Come here. Snap. Snap. Snap. It works for us. And, as our children have gotten older and need less behavioral adjustment, we’ve started using it simply to get one another’s attention. 

We have tried it with our dogs too. Time to go out. Get in the kennel. Come here. Be quiet. Snap, snap, snap. It worked lovely on the two previous pups who have now left us for their final resting place. Not so the two we have now. Sampson, a rescued blond retriever mix, and Delilah, a black lab and coon houd mix, have no time for the snapping. Or the clapping, the yelling, the crooning, or the whistling. They simply don’t listen well if there is anything else to do.

My precious puppies, whom I absolutely treasure, have the shortest attention spans in history. The proverbial gnat attention span exceeds theirs. If there is nothing else to look at, sniff, or distract, they will possibly adhere to the snapping. Not so if the neighbors are out in their yard, if there is a squirrel or bird dancing about the trees, if a turtle has decided to make the arduous trek across our back grass, or especially if Earl is out. 

Earl is the fluffy little dog across the back fence. If he weighs 10 pounds, it is due only to a heavy collar and tag. He’s super talkative. He’s full of himself. Maybe he has a death wish. Maybe he has one of those mirrors that makes you look larger than you are. Maybe he has watched Delilah be outsmarted by a squirrel and thinks he can do the same. I have no clue. Whatever his inspiration, he barks and charges that fence as if there isn’t a combined 150 pounds of canine muscle awaiting him on the other side. For Sampson and Delilah, Earl’s raucous barking is all they hear. It distracts them from obeying me and draws them into disobedience. 

 I’m not sure what it says about me that I just learned a lesson from my dogs! I struggle with distraction too. I’ve been interrupted about 45 times in 3 hours. Delilah has been extremely talkative. My phone has dinged. The washer has chimed. My mind is ruminating over conversations from yesterday. The notes I scribbled down for a future post are open beside me begging for more attention. The question of what I’m making for dinner is still plaguing my mind. About a minute ago, too distracted by the things around me to focus and write, I lowered my head to my hand, closed my eyes, and just like I have for so many days now, I prayed, “I don’t know what to do, but my eyes are on You.” 

And just like that, I was with Peter attempting to cross a storm crazed lake, walking on wild, wind-driven waves. When he left the boat he had great intentions. His eyes were locked on Jesus. His feet were solidly walking the fluctuating liquid of the waves. Then the distractions came. The wind whipped his cloak against his legs and snapped his hair into his face. A huge wave rolled the water walkway beneath his feet. It was startling. It was scary. It was distracting. He lost his focus. He lost his footing. He lost his faith. He nearly allowed the distractions to cost him his life. (Matthew 14:28-31)

I’ve been there. Been distracted. Often. There are a lot of things pulling at me for attention. Good, legitimate things. Life things that have to be done. There are also a lot of loud, obnoxious voices beating on me to accept their way of thinking, rubber stamp their ideals, follow their paths. Questionable thoughts. Dubious ideals. Treacherous paths. The temptation to focus on something other than Jesus is overwhelmingly strong. Admittedly, I don’t always keep my focus. I’m not as strong as Mary. 

Mary didn’t have a problem with distractions. Nothing on earth could pull her from the feet of Jesus. Nothing could keep her from listening to His voice. Not the nagging from Martha. Not the knowledge that things needed doing. Not the hustle and bustle of people working around her. Not the fact that she was likely sitting in a circle of men. Mary valued time with Jesus to the point that no distraction had the power to make her not listen, not come running at the sound of His voice. (Luke 10: 38-40) Somehow she had already learned the lesson Paul was trying to teach the Galatians when he wrote, “You were doing so well! Who distracted you and pulled you from obeying the true way?” (Galatians 5:7) 

That’s what distractions do. Impede our progress. Pull us away. Pull us under. Divert our attention. Divide our hearts. Distractions are cement shoes for our souls drowning us beneath the raging waves of temptation, fear, doubt, sin. They are the single greatest tool the evil one has to reroute our attention, affection, and faith from God. They come in every kind of packaging, the obvious and the obscure. The opinion of a neighbor, the twisted verbiage of news pundits, a television commercial. If it can distract you, it will. If it can keep you distracted, it will separate you from God, making you easy prey for temptation and sin. 

David is an excellent example. He was doing well too. Very well. Specifically chosen and blessed by God. Kept safe through several attempts on his life. Crowned king. Blessed with victory after victory. How could he possibly go astray? No one would think it could happen. In a fateful walk on the palace roof, he allowed distraction to lead him astray. His wandering eye caught and stayed on something that wasn’t his. Something pretty. In that small moment of distraction, Satan struck. David gave in to temptation, setting off a chain of sinful events we find appalling. Distraction led to lust, to adultery, to murder. He was doing so well, but he got distracted and wandered from the path of truth. (II Samuel 11)

It’s easy to shake our heads in dismay at David, to look at him with condemnation, even disdain. Truth be told, we are all right there with him. Maybe not the lust, adultery and murder part, but the distraction part. We are all distracted by things that just aren’t as important as looking at, listening to and living for Jesus. Like my Sampson and Delilah, there’s an Earl yelling some opinion over every fence. Like Peter, the winds and waves of life’s storms whip around us, threatening to overwhelm our souls. Similar to David, our peaceful walks often turn into mental and spiritual battles against the temptation to fear, worry, obsess, and doubt. It all adds up to distracting hindrances that make it difficult, even impossible, to hear Jesus when He speaks. 

I don’t know about you, but I don’t want any of that. I want so much more. I want to be so attentive to Jesus, so focused on Him that nothing, absolutely nothing, can distract me from Him. I want a desperate, singular desire for God that blocks out all the things of the world. (Psalm 42:1-2) In short, I want to be like Mary.

The words of the Lord, spoken through Zechariah, speak in beautiful imagery to this situation in our lives, “I will whistle, and they will come running.” (Zechariah 10:8) My mind’s eye sees God, watching our distracted lives, knowing we need the rest and peace He offers, whistling for us to come back to Him and find those things for which our hearts thirst. This is not a raucous whistle. It is not offensive or abrasive. It is a melody of compassion and care. A tune of love and forgiveness. A ballad that sweeps across our troubled souls, erases the distractions, and draws us back to our first love. (Revelation 2:4-5) It is hauntingly beautiful, desperate with longing. Longing that we will hear it over all the distractions around us. Desperate for us to come running back to Him. 

I hope you hear it. I hope the distractions of the world, the cares of this life, aren’t so loud you miss God’s song for you. I hope the things that knocked you off track, impeded your progress, hindered your faith won’t cause you to miss His love song. I hope you don’t think you’ve strayed too far, given in to temptation too many times, or followed too many distractions for God to serenade you. You haven’t. God is whistling. God is calling you back. His unfailing compassion and invitation of pardon are still open. (Isaiah 55:7) 

So straighten up your spine. Take a page from Mary’s book. Put aside the distractions that pulled you away from God, allowed you to drift, and caused you to sin. Literally. Put. Them. Down. Close your eyes and listen only to the lovesong God sings. Focus on Jesus. Soak in His promises. Seek Him constantly. (I Chronicles 16:11)  Find the peace you need, the joy you crave in the musical whistle of the Shepherd who calls you to lay aside the distractions, the weights, the sin, and simply follow Him. (Hebrews 12:1)

We sat in shocked silence as the words washed over us, “The results were negative, but you could still have cancer. You need to see a surgeon.” Nothing can prepare you for those words. Nothing speeds up the communication of doctors and insurance networks to rubber-stamp the specialist visit. Nothing makes the interminable weeks of waiting between visits feel shorter, calmer, better. Nothing. But nothing was all we could do. Wait. Pray. Act like everything is fine. Be brave. Be strong. Have courage. Do nothing. 

I’m not wired to do nothing. I like to be prepared. I prefer to plan for the worst and be surprised by the best. I strongly believe in preemptive strikes. I don’t like being caught out. I hate not being able to fight back. I despise feeling helpless. Yet there we sat, facing an enemy we couldn’t nail down, stymied how to fight, afraid we wouldn’t win if we did. The drive home was quiet. I could barely even pray. 

Eventually, I did pray, bombarding Heaven in quiet desperation, in panic and terror, in faith and hope. Daily. Constantly. I had questions for God. What was going to happen? Why couldn’t He just tell me the results? Couldn’t He just take it all away? I mean, He could, but would He? And the biggest question, could I beat it if it was there? 

Those few weeks rank among the darkest of my life. The emotional pendulum alone nearly did me in. Faith failed, then soared, only to plummet again. I prayed, but it’s so hard to pray for God’s will when the outcome could be devastating. Waiting for the appointment to be scheduled and the results to be determined took ages. Fear ravaged the back of my mind and tore at my heart. But faith, the little I could hold on to, had me praying words similar to these, “I’m scared. I’m helpless. There’s nothing I can do, but my eyes are on You.”  

I stole those words from Jehoshaphat. He’d been there too. He and the people of Judah were facing down the massive army coming out of Edom. Jehoshaphat was terrified. The people were terrified. They came together and called out to God, reminding Him of His promises, His great works of the past, and the direness of their current situation. Jehoshaphat, in desperation, exposes the care of every soul present with these words, “We are powerless against this massive army. We don’t know what to do.” Then he follows up the admission with words that echo through time as the framework to every prayer we pray for every need we have, “but our eyes are on You for direction and help.” (II Chronicles 20:12) 

I’m there every single day, multiple times. You probably are too. Parenting is hard. Those sweet little babies grow up and develop opinions and attitudes. And teenage emotions? That’s a field of landmines! Seriously. I need wisdom, direction, and a significant dose of courage over here! General life decisions aren’t easy either. Should you take the new job, uproot the family, start over somewhere new? Should you change career paths altogether, go back to school? Should you buy the house, the car? 

Sometimes life’s circumstances put us in this place. The lack of work notice comes and we wonder how to pay the rent, the bills, feed the children. The call comes from the doctor’s office. They found something curious and need to run more tests. The knock comes at the door. There’s been an accident, a fatality. Our world is shaken, knocked off its axis. We are hurt. We are scared. We are stunned. We are stymied. The only words getting past our frozen lips echo the ones coming from Jehoshaphat in his time of terror and overwhelming need, “I don’t know what to do, Lord, but my eyes are fixed on You for help, strength, courage…a miracle.” 

Two years after my first visit to the surgical oncologist, I headed to his office for what I hoped would be my last visit. Although they hadn’t found anything worthy of surgery, they had kept me in care. I’d been there every six months for exams and imaging. He taught me to read the ultrasounds. I was anxious. A lead weight of fear lay in my stomach. My head said the fear was unreasonable. My instincts said otherwise. In the middle of the exam, he stopped, retraced his path, tipped his head down as if to concentrate even harder. My instincts were right. He’d found something new. The news was disheartening. Another second opinion. A possible biopsy. Come back in 3 months. More imaging. More exams. More watchful waiting. More courage. More faith. More standing still.

It was eerily familiar–both the situation and my prayers. As I waited for lightning to flash across the sky, the earth to shake and a voice to audibly speak from the heavens, I remembered the response God gave Jahaziel in answer to the prayer I had stolen from Jehoshaphat, “Don’t be afraid. Have courage. This is my battle, not yours. You don’t need to fight. Stand still and watch Me work. I’ve got this.” (II Chronicles 20: 14-17) I bet they had some questions about that! Have courage and stand still? How does that work? Were they supposed to just sit and wait for the armies to come and wreak havoc? If they had questions, it didn’t alter their response. They threw off the spirit of heaviness, replaced it with praise, and courageously marched out to fight a battle by standing still. (II Chronicles 20:1-24; Isaiah 63:1)

It wasn’t the first time God told His people to be courageous and do battle in a way to which they were unaccustomed. They silently marched around Jericho once a day for six days. No one shot arrows at them from atop the walls. No soldiers came out to confront them. The city remained locked up tight. No one could get in. No one could get out. On day seven, when surely the residents of Jericho thought they were completely insane, they marched seven times. But that day was different. That day was battle day. At the sound of the priests horns and the deafening shout of the people, the walls fell down. They didn’t even have to break a sweat. (Joshua 6:1-20) Courage had translated to obedient faith in the God who had never let them down, even if He asked them to do nothing but march into battle making noise. It was worth it.

Gideon knew this too. By Divine instruction, he led his men into battle armed with ram’s horns and clay jars. Their only orders were to follow his lead, blow the horns, break the jars, and shout. At their peculiar actions, chaos ensued. The Midianites panicked. Some fled. Some fought each other. God gave them the victory. They just had to have faith exhibited by the courage it took to walk into battle armed only with ram’s horns and clay jars. (Judges 7:14-22) It was worth it. 

August marks three years since I’ve had to visit the surgical oncologist. The last time I was there, the measurements showed the mass had shrunk without treatment. The doctor didn’t have an explanation. I did. Courageous faith in God and standing still. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Admittedly, in spite of courage and faith, I still panic every time I think I feel something new or different. I know that if there is a next time God’s plan might look different than the last one. I also know the only hope for any circumstance, the only peace in turmoil is to courageously place my faith in God and trust Him to fight for me. It will always be worth it. 

Today marks the last time I’ve prayed the words, “I don’t know what to do, but my eyes are on You.” There are still situations in my life that are outside my control. I am still concerned about my children. I’m still faced with life’s circumstances. I still have questions and concerns. I am still flooded with peace every time my heart courageously whispers those words. When I forget to do so, when I try to fix all the issues, manipulate circumstances, fight battles on my own, I fail. As I war between the flesh and the spirit, I am reminded that true courage, true faith in God, lies in handing it all to Him and following His lead even if it means standing still. It means embodying the reminder in Isaiah 30:15, “When you return to Me and rest in Me, you will be saved. Quietness and confidence in Me will give you strength.”

If you look around, you are going to see a lot of concerning things. Life is full of unforeseen, unpleasant, unsettling circumstances. God is none of those things. When everything has gone pear-shaped, He remains unchanged. (James 1:17) His hand isn’t shortened. (Isaiah 59:1) His compassion doesn’t end. (Lamentations 3:22) His fantastic care for His people still transcends everything else. So cast your cares on Him. Throw those burdens over on the Lord. (Psalm 55:22) Give Him your insecurities, your fears, your helplessness. Ask for His help. Follow it. Even if it means doing nothing. Even when it means sitting still. Even if it seems silly or crazy or you don’t agree. Still your spirit. Hush your mouth. Be courageous. Have faith. And watch God do what He has been doing for thousands of years, win battles for His people. (Psalm 56:3; James 1:5; Philippians 4:6-7; Exodus 14:13)

The last few years had been ridiculously difficult and amazingly rewarding in equal parts. Elijah had doggedly followed God, doing His will, even when it wasn’t pleasant or popular. Prophesying a drought probably tanked his popularity. Food from the mouths of ravens doesn’t sound like it would hit high on the pleasant scale. But Elijah had been blessed to participate in an amazing list of miracles. Not the least of which was that contest on Mount Carmel. That was exhilarating. The power of God sweeping down in raging flames, consuming a waterlogged sacrifice, wood, stones, and dust was something Elijah wouldn’t have missed for the world. 

But, after the fact, when he was standing up there on Mount Carmel, praying for rain, well, he’d had fewer moments that tested his faith so severely. It must have felt like an eternity passed as Elijah stood there waiting for the Lord to answer his prayer. Every time he sent his servant to check for rain, he received the same answer, “Nothing.” Once. Twice. Three times. Four. Five. Six. Finally, on the seventh time, the servant came back with news that wouldn’t seem at all promising to us. A cloud the size of a man’s hand. That’s not a very big cloud. One wouldn’t likely believe it could hold enough rain to end a years’ long drought. It was great news to Elijah. In faith, he tells Ahab to get home before the rain stops him. Sure enough. The clouds roll in, dark and threatening. The wind picks up. A few drops fall, then the heavens break loose and a torrential downpour ensues. Elijah, in yet another miraculous expression of God’s power, becomes a sprinter and races all the way to Jezreel, beating the rain his prayers have inspired. (I Kings 17-18)

Oddly, he doesn’t get a hero’s welcome. He isn’t greeted by people choosing to follow God and reject the status quo. He isn’t invited to dine at the palace. He doesn’t receive a safe place to stay. No. He is issued a royal death threat and, in very real fear for his life, he flees. More than a month later, exhausted physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually, Elijah finds himself in a cave on Mount Sinai. He’s had it. He’s done. Loneliness. Death threats. It’s all too much. The dark clouds of depression are gathering. Elijah wants to die.  

But God had another plan. A plan to give Elijah what he needed more than the good sulk in which he was indulging. A plan to show Elijah that even when you are exhausted in every way, when you feel no one is listening to your preaching, when it seems you are the only one truly following God, when you want to quit, give up, your strength to keep going is gone, the Lord wants to spend time with you, talk to you, restore you. I can almost see Elijah’s defeated self, head hanging in dejection as he hunkered down in that cave. He’s hiding for his life. Bereft of friends, help, hope, the darkness seems to be closing in around him. God, looking down on His servant, sees his loneliness, his despair, his need for refreshing, and God has a plan. “Come out of your cave, your depression, your well of self-pity, and stand on the mount before God. The Lord is going to pass by.” 

So Elijah, in a grand gesture of faithful dedication to the God he knew always kept His word, gathered himself together and went, stood at the mouth of his cave, and waited. He didn’t speak. He didn’t look around. He quietly waited for the Lord to pass by, just as He said He would do. And the Lord did pass by, not in the wind that shattered the rocks, not in the earthquake that made the mountain sway, not in the fire that began without natural cause. Although He performed those things, neither the answers nor the voice Elijah was looking for was in those events. But once they were over, once God had Elijah’s full attention, then came the most important part, the still small voice. The voice of courage. The voice of hope. The voice of strength. The voice that told him how to accomplish God’s plan. (I Kings 19)

I wonder what would have happened if Elijah hadn’t gone out on that mountain. What if he hadn’t trusted God to do what He said He would do? How would the story of Elijah read if he hadn’t gone out to experience the presence of God? What if he’d been talking too much or wandering around the mountainside and missed that still small voice? And what about us? What will happen to us if we don’t sit still, stop talking, stop doing, and listen to God when He speaks? What will we miss if we aren’t still, aren’t listening?

We are so not good at stillness. In fact, we are very bad at the still times. We live in a world that makes us feel like we have to constantly be moving, working, doing. If we aren’t physically moving, we have a screen in front of us that is occupying our minds, making us feel busy. We don’t take time to lay aside the phone, the tablet, turn off the television, shut out the busyness of the world, sit silently and wait for the still small voice of God. 

It’s the lesson Jesus taught in Luke 10. Martha, busy hustling and bustling to prepare a feast, complains to Jesus that Mary isn’t pulling her weight. There she is, just sitting at Jesus’ feet in rapt attention listening to Him teach. Doesn’t she realize she should be helping? Doesn’t she know there are things to be done? But Jesus tells her, “Martha, don’t be so worried with all the details. You only need to be worried about one thing. Mary knows what that is and will not be made to sacrifice it for something of lesser value.” (Luke 10:38-41)

So what are you busy with that is more important than hearing from God? What is more important than time spent reading His Word, talking to Him, and listening when He speaks back? Is your job worth more to you than Jesus? Is social media, your favorite sitcom, a new novel keeping you from listening to God? Is it a hobby, housework, homework? What is keeping you from sitting still and listening to Jesus when He speaks? And what are you missing because you don’t?

Maybe it’s none of those things. Maybe, like Elijah, you’ve been burning the candle at both ends in work for God. Maybe you’ve been bombarding Heaven’s door for lost souls, a lost nation, a lost world. Maybe you feel like your work is useless, your efforts in vain. Maybe the ugly little voice of the evil one is telling you no one else believes in God and the Bible and you should just give up. Maybe you are exhausted emotionally, physically, spiritually. You too need to step back, sit still, be quiet, and let God do the talking. 

You see, regardless of your reason for not being still, the fact remains, constant busyness makes us miss things we absolutely cannot afford to miss. The sound of God’s voice. The touch of His hand. The silent, guiding, pointing of His finger toward the proper path. We miss the offered comfort. We miss the proffered peace. We miss the opportunity to rest in safety. We miss the lessons He wants to teach. We short sell ourselves, our souls, our faith. Quite frankly, we miss the miraculous He wants us to see because we are too busy focusing on the cares of this life, the busyness of our calling, the things we deem more important than a still, small voice.

I don’t know what is standing in your way today. Maybe quietness makes you uncomfortable. Maybe stillness makes you anxious. Maybe you are afraid you won’t like what God has to say when He speaks. Whatever it is, I encourage you to lay it aside. Calm your soul. Quiet your heart. Find your cave. Sit down and wait for the Lord to come by. And He will come by. He won’t leave you stranded there. He has heard the cry of your heart. He has seen the horrible pit, the miry clay in which you feel entrenched. He is ready to pull you out, to lift you up, to plant your feet on the Rock and put a new song in your mouth. (Psalm 40:1-3) So get busy being still. Calm down. Sit down. Quiet down. Pay attention. You don’t want to miss a second of this. You don’t want to miss one word. The Lord is about to pass by. (Psalm 46:10; Psalm 62:5; Job 6:25; Jeremiah 29:13)

The first few months of this year have seen a lot of things cancelled. School, church, sports, camps, weddings, reunions–basically everything. It feels like life has been cancelled. It has gone on forever. Early on, some enterprising individuals launched an ad campaign saying things like, “Playing outside isn’t cancelled,” or “Kindness isn’t cancelled.” You probably saw the ads too. Perhaps they gave you hope. Maybe they gave you ideas of what to do with your restless children. Maybe they made you feel just a little less alone, a bit less depressed, a touch less worried.  

Unfortunately, those commercials aren’t playing much anymore. Months after it all began, very little has changed. A few things have begun reopening. Some have opened only to be shut down again. Because we can’t count on anything being normal, it still feels like a large portion of life is cancelled. It’s wearing on us more and more. People have polarized into groups. We are more divided than ever before. Frustration and anxiety have taken over. I understand. I’m frustrated too. The constant uptick of rules and regulations, persistent attempts to encourage fear and angst, continual blaming of one sector or another are making me anxious. Anxious that normal will never return. Anxious about the future. Anxious about raising children in this society. Anxious that life truly has been cancelled. 

I feel like the disciples must have felt as they rocked and swayed on the lake in the middle of the night. The calm waters of hours before have turned into a nightmare. The wind, once a lovely breeze, has turned into a raging force of nature. It whips the sails of their craft, making steering impossible. It’s dark. Their current course is undetectable. Waves are crashing against the boat. Some water has splashed over the sides. The outlook is grim. Death by shipwreck and drowning seems nearly certain. 

When it seems things can’t get any worse, they look up and see what appears to be an apparition walking across the choppy waters toward them. In disbelief, they scrub their hands over their faces. It’s the wee hours of the morning by now. They are exhausted from fighting the storm. Maybe they are imagining things. They open their eyes, but it’s still coming at them. Wind. Waves. Wraith. Terror upon terror upon terror. Their fear has nearly cancelled their faith when Jesus speaks. “Don’t be afraid. Be courageous. I’m here.” (Matthew 14:22-27)

This is all eerily familiar, isn’t it? One thing after another has come along and attacked our faith. We are rocked about by reports, rules, and regimens. Every day there is a new statistic. Every day is more of the same. Fear, unquenchable fear, is the predominant encouragement of the day. Hunkered down, desperately searching for a way to survive the onslaught, we try to find a new thought, a new encouragement, a new hope. It is in that moment, when our faith is nearly cancelled by our fear, if we just listen, we too will hear the voice of Jesus saying, “Don’t be afraid. Be courageous. I’m here.” 

And it is true. When Jesus steps on the scene, we can trust that everything will be fine. Our fear can dissolve into trust. Our courage can rise. We can have faith. Jesus is here. In the middle of your furnace of fear, He is right beside you, just like He was with Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego. (Daniel 3:16-28) In your den of despair, He is there, just as He was with Daniel among the lions. (Daniel 6:1-23) The presence of God isn’t cancelled. 

More than 20 years ago, when I was a teenager at one of the many camps, church services, or revival meetings we attended, I heard a preacher say, “God is as close as your elbow.” I don’t remember who preached the sermon. I don’t remember his text. I will always remember that statement. It’s more important to me today than it ever has been. God isn’t social distancing. God isn’t quarantined to Heaven. He is right beside you. Always. You are never alone. (Psalm 16:8; Joshua 1:5) 

God’s face isn’t covered by a mask, either. You can still hear Him when He speaks. And He is speaking. Saying something you need to hear. “Don’t worry, not about today or tomorrow, next week or next year.” (Philippians 4:6-7; Matthew 6:34) The offer to take our cares and anxieties upon Himself is still open. (I Peter 5:7) He whispers to us, “Don’t be afraid. Have faith in God.” (Matthew 10:31; Mark 5:36) He offers us courage and strength from His limitless supply. (Psalm 31:24) He promises His peace in a world full of unrest, anxiety, discord, and fear. (John 14:27)

Those promises aren’t cancelled. They are still valid today. In 2015, I began keeping a notebook of Scripture passages that specifically stood out to me as I read. Sometimes I recorded a specific date by a passage. Sometimes I listed a specific name or need the passage addressed. Periodically, I pull it out and flip through the pages, taking encouragement from the words that have helped me in the past. They help me every time I read them. A few days ago, frustrated and anxious, I was impressed to get it out and flip through its pages again. On one of the final pages was a passage dated August 2019, “Calm down. Stop worrying. Do not fear or be fainthearted.” (Isaiah 7:4) I could have dated it a few days ago. Today. Everyday. I need to read it now. Maybe you need it too. 

Or maybe you need your own passage. Something that speaks specifically to your need, your day, your moment. It’s there. Pick up your Bible. Dust it off, if necessary. Open it’s pages. Find peace, hope, and faith in the non cancellable promises of God. Make a list. Write them down. Hold on to those passages. Go back and read them in the months and years to come. Mark the ones that hold special significance. Claim them. Like Abraham, trust the God who made those promises is also able to perform them. (Romans 4:20-22)

No matter what, remember this, God’s Word isn’t cancelled. The words He spoke then are still very much valid today. Words of peace, comfort, strength, and hope. Unfailing, unchanging, non cancellable promises from the God who is touched by the feeling of our infirmities, who understands our fears, our concerns, our cares. (Hebrews 4:15) The God who collects our tears in a bottle, meticulously recording each one, is still lovingly speaking those words to us today. (Psalm 56:8) Words that cannot be changed or cancelled by the ridiculous words of the world. (Matthew 24:35) You can find everything you need in Jesus when you take His hand and rest in His words, “Don’t be afraid. Be strong. I am here.” When everything else is cancelled, God’s presence, His peace, His promises are not. 

At a time when worry is trying to run our lives, fear is attempting to control our decisions, and anxiety is doing its best to crush our spirits, we need to change our focus. We have engaged in rigorous self preservation, but ignored our soul preservation. We need to block out the cacophony of rubbish found in reading news, watching statistics, tracking projections, and listing cancellations. Find quiet and peace by listening to and believing the sweet voice of the God who is right beside us, whispering in our ear His promises that nothing on earth can cancel. (Psalm 34:18; Matthew 11:29; Matthew 28:20; Psalm 121) “Don’t be afraid. Be courageous. I am here.”