Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

I believe in the power of prayer. I believe when God’s people come before Him with needs and burdens, His heart is moved with compassion to help. I believe there is nothing too small to bring before Him. I believe there is no obstacle so large He can’t move it, move through it, move around it. I believe there is nothing God can’t do. 

I also believe in the power of faith in prayer. Faith that brings a situation to God, lays it down and trusts Him to handle it. Faith that rests in the knowledge that the all-knowing God who inhabits eternity will work on behalf of His people. No matter how impossible the situation, how desperate the need, how short the timing. This faith doesn’t come to God with forceful suggestions, arrogant ideas, pressing plans. It is outrageous faith. Steady faith, even if you are shaking in your boots, confused by the conundrum, stymied by the situation. The kind of faith Jehoash needed but didn’t have. (Isaiah 64:4; Isaiah 57:15)

He wasn’t expecting to play archery games with a dying man when he set out to visit an elderly and ailing Elisha. The visit alone was unusual enough. Since when do kings take time to visit dying prophets? The fact that Jehoash was carrying his bow and arrows was likely more habit than necessity for this engagement. He’d heard Elisha was ill and soon to pass away. He had come to pay his respects and mourn the loss of God’s prophet from the land of Israel. He wasn’t headed out to fight a battle. He had no row with Elisha, no idea he’d be using his weapons that day. He was simply always prepared. 

Elisha was likely not the first person Jehoash had seen or spoken with on their deathbed. In a day of such brutal and violent fighting, he’d probably seen more than he cared to remember.  He’d probably heard many requests whispered from nearly lifeless lips. Regardless of what he had heard in the past, these commands from the lips of the dying prophet of God were likely the most outrageous requests Jehoash had ever heard. Who chooses to shoot arrows in their final moments on earth? Who gets to do so with a king? Who so desperately needs to use an object lesson to make one last point, one final prophecy before meeting their Maker? Apparently, Elisha. Although the fact he needed an object lesson to convey his message is a scathing indictment of his audience, at least Jehoash knew better than to defy the command. 

Indeed, it is a point in Jehoash’s favor that he quietly did as Elisha asked. No questions. No arguments. No alleged concern for the physical limitation of the prophet. Surprised by the command or not, when Elisha tells him to take up his bow and arrows, open the east window, and shoot through it, Jehoash unquestioningly does so. Surely he wondered why. Surely his mind swirled with questions. Had the prophet finally gone round the bend? Was Elisha still in control of his faculties? Perhaps he thought simply to pacify a dying man. Whatever Jehoash was thinking, he set it aside and granted Elisha’s request. 

Was he ever glad he did! That flying arrow was Elisha’s commissioning of him as the one to lead the troops to strike down and conquer Aram. God had spoken through the prophet. Victory would most assuredly be theirs! With his heart doing a bit of a victory jig, Jehoash thinks to put his weapons away. It would seem the oddity of the hour is over. But no. Elisha isn’t done. He has more deathbed instructions. 

“Grab your arrows,” he commands, “Shoot some more.” 

If Jehoash was waiting for specifics, he’d still be waiting. No exacting instructions were forthcoming. There was no explanation for letting more arrows fly. Elisha rested back, expecting complete obedience from the king. And it came. Jehoash nocked another arrow and let it fly through the window. Once. Twice. Three times. Apparently, he thought that should be enough to satisfy the prophet. He lowered his bow, content that Elisha’s wishes had been fulfilled. He couldn’t have been more wrong. 

As he turns to Elisha with satisfaction, Jehoash is met with a stony expression of anger. 

“Why did you stop? Why didn’t you let more arrows fly? You should have sent double that amount! Now you will only strike down Aram three times! If you hadn’t been so timid, you would be able to wipe them out completely!” (II Kings 13:14-20) 

It is easy to imagine how deflated Jehoash felt. After hearing that he would defeat Aram, why didn’t he realize the shooting of more arrows dealt with the same? Proper defeat of the enemy had been within his grasp and he’d been too afraid to claim it. If only he’d had more faith. If he’d just kept shooting arrows out the window until Elisha spoke words of satisfaction. If he’d shot with wild abandon. If his heart hadn’t been too puny to believe in something his eyes couldn’t see. How different the outcome would be if only he’d have asked for the outrageous! 

Most of us find it difficult to believe in the outrageous. We call ourselves realists. We believe in logic and reasoning. We trust what we can see, feel, and write down on paper. We pray the same way. Decide what, exactly, can be done about a situation, then ask for that to happen. Apparently, we aren’t brave enough to believe the infinite Creator can handle our cares without our finite human help. So rarely do we bring things to God and ask Him to handle them, trust Him to take care of them, without also giving Him a list of possible rectifying options.

Don’t trick yourself into believing this is faith. It isn’t. Faith does not tell God how to do His job, it simply trusts that He will. Faith does not require logic and reasoning, it knows our ways are not God’s nor His ours. Faith operates outside the realm of logic and reasoning. Faith operates in the unknown. Faith goes into action when we open the windows of our lives and hearts and repeatedly fire prayer arrows into our unknown, trusting God to make it known in His time. Prayer is the bridge that takes us from the stodgy logic of our humanity to the boundless broadness of God’s infinity. Faith in God and prayer to God make all things possible, even if we have no idea how they will come about. (Hebrews 11:1-40; Matthew 21:22; Matthew 17:20: Mark 10:27)

Admittedly, I frequently find myself attempting to help God answer my prayers. I often present Him with requests followed by possible options to acquire the desired outcome. I’m learning, though. Learning that God has better ideas than mine ever were. Learning that His timing is more perfect than mine ever could be. Learning that even when my puny heart is shaking, prayers of faith–for big things and small–reap outrageous results. 

Recently, I found myself presenting a dire need to God, but being sorely out of ideas to remedy the situation. A personal acquaintance had been in a downward spiral for some time.  

Skateboarding the rails of sin, leaving the shredded pieces of her life in ruins behind her, she desperately needed a meeting with Jesus. I’d prayed for her on several occasions, though probably not as often or fervently as I should have, possibly because I didn’t have any rectifying ideas to present with my prayers. I offer no excuses. 

One morning, I couldn’t shake the burden of her calamitous circumstances. Deeply burdened, I felt encouraged to ask God to give her a Damascus road experience. Like Saul, she needed a head-on collision with Jesus Christ. A life-changing confrontation with God that would forever alter the course of her life. I remember praying these words, “Lord, I don’t know how You are going to do it. I don’t have any suggestions, but please give her a Damascus road experience.” (Acts 9:1-9)

Just a few days later, word came that she had been hospitalized. An innocuous accident had caused pain not in keeping with the event. A serious underlying condition was revealed. It took several days for her to be released, and then with cautions. The change has been remarkable. Not that there isn’t still work to do, but clearly, God is working. God is answering our prayers. And I’m still praying. Not because I have ideas, answers, remedies, or quick fixes, but because I know when we launch out in pure faith and let God do what He sees fit, outrageous, amazing, miraculous things happen. 

I’d have never chosen or asked for God to plague our friend with illness. I wouldn’t have prayed for hospitalization or dire warnings of impending death if medical advice was ignored. No one prays that way. Nor am I encouraging you to start. I’m simply saying that when we cast aside our preconceived notions and arrogant directives and come to God in blind faith, we can trust Him to do His job.

At a time when there are so many things to pray about and for and over, I hope you pray outrageous, courageous prayers. I hope you ask God for things you can’t imagine, things you can’t make happen, things you have no idea how to enact. I hope you pray over the unknown. I hope you keep praying. I hope that, when you are tempted to pray once and quit, you’ll keep praying anyway. When you feel like God isn’t answering because too much time has elapsed, don’t give up. When your faith shakes and shudders and weakens beneath the force of your human desire to know and do and rationalize, I hope you gather up the vestiges of your puny heart, boldly pray outrageous prayers, then sit back and watch God work. (Lamentations 3:25-26; I Thessalonians 5:16-18)

And He will work. He always does. So keep shooting arrows. Keep praying outrageous prayers, even when your faith is timid and puny. Keep asking. Keep seeking. Keep knocking. Keep watching. You don’t want to miss it when God’s outrageous answer comes. (Matthew 7:7-8; Jeremiah 29:13; I John 5:14; Ephesians 4:20)

A minister once stood before a chapel full of students and, speaking of Heaven, declared, “I want an abundant entrance.” I’ve sat under too many preachers to remember his name, heard too many sermons to remember every sentence, but this particular phrase has been unforgettable. So was his meaning. That man of God wasn’t speaking of a private dream for angels to line the streets and play his personal theme song on golden trumpets as his entrance was announced over a loudspeaker. He was not anticipating confetti filling the air, congratulatory saints of yore slapping his back, or people chanting his name. He had no delusions of celebrity status upon arrival. This was not his meaning.  

He wasn’t interested in slipping through the gate just before it clicked closed, either. He had no time for question marks about his eternity. He was wholly opposed to reaching Heaven’s gate to find the angels frantically searching the Book of Life, hoping to find his name. No. He wanted that eternal entrance to be a testament of how he lived his earthly life. The angelic gate guards would know him on sight. There would be no hesitation over whether he belonged. He would be welcomed into the joy of His Lord. Jesus would welcome him home. It would be a glorious entrance. A victorious entrance. An entrance like Stephen’s. 

Stephen’s entrance must have been fantastic! Following a pointed indictment of the stiff-necked and rebellious people of his generation, Stephen comes under attack by the enraged congregation. Knowing there was only one place to look for guidance or help, Stephen looked up to Heaven and caught sight of what his entrance would be. There, before his eyes, the glory of God was on full display and Jesus stood at the right hand of the Father. Overcome by the Holy Spirit and the awe of the moment, Stephen cried out his vision. It did not elate the crowd. (Acts 7:51-56)

The infuriated mob violently hauled Stephen out of the city and began hurling stones. No one spoke out on his behalf. No one attempted to intervene. Like the people of our day standing around videoing instead of helping, the witnesses stood idly by, mesmerized by the events as Stephen was martyred. When they retold the event throughout the town that night, I hope they remembered the best part. The part where Stephen never renounced his dedication to God. The part where his faith never faltered. The time when, as fist-sized rocks ricocheted off his skull and thudded into the soft tissue of his back and abdomen, he cried out with absolute certainty his eternal destination, “Lord, receive my spirit!” (Acts 7:57-59)

Stephen knew from where he came. A world tarnished with sin. Rampant rebellion. Raging hate. Lovers of self rather than lovers of God. Stephen also knew where he was going. He knew there would be no hesitation at Heaven’s gate. No rifling through the Book of Life. No sidebar conversations or waiting for a verdict. He would be welcomed with rejoicing because, no matter who he lived among on earth, what they taught, said, or did, Stephen spent his life living as close to Jesus as he could possibly get. Stephen knew and was known by God. (Acts 6:8-7:60)

It must have taken enormous courage to preach Jesus Christ crucified in Stephen’s day. He wasn’t afforded the luxuries so many of us now have. Freedom of speech. Freedom of religion. This lack of freedom didn’t stop Stephen from preaching. It didn’t dampen his desire to see people brought to saving knowledge of Jesus Christ. When all around him, people of power were resisting the Holy Spirit, persecuting and killing the prophets, some even responsible for the death of Jesus Christ, Stephen braced himself and kept preaching. Regardless of what society was saying or doing, no matter the consequences, even when it cost him his life, Stephen chose to do what God had called him to do. Live his life for Heaven while dwelling in suburbia hell.  

In light of Stephen’s circumstances and all it cost him to follow Jesus, it is embarrassing that we, basking in the luxury of freedoms the prophets of the past and some people in the present do not have, find it so monstrous a task to follow God wholeheartedly. We sit in our easy chairs whinging and whining about how hard it is to share Jesus in today’s society. From the quaint corner cafe, we cry into our five-dollar coffee and complain how hard it is to live for Jesus in our upper-middle-class neighborhoods. Amid the siren song of the world enticing us to chase after wealth and pleasure and popularity, we find ourselves lured into complacency and failing to live for eternity. 

Somewhere we have adopted the ridiculous notion that we are living in the most difficult time to be a Christian. Pardon me? Was your life threatened as you strolled into church last Sunday? Were all the Bibles stripped from your home in a militant attack? Are you part of an underground church, struggling to spread the Gospel beneath detection, but ready to endure persecution if you are discovered? Perhaps in some other countries, yes, but here in America? Not yet. So, tell me, exactly, how is this the most difficult time for you to be a Christian?

Is it difficult because you would rather fit in with the world? Would you rather follow the new trends and habits and standards than stand up for Jesus? Is it difficult because the choice between your own unruly heart and Jesus has fallen on the south side of right? Is it difficult because you’ve set up idols like cars and sports and houses and job titles? Or is it difficult because the work God is calling you to do is not as glamorous, lucrative, or prestigious as you hoped? What, exactly, makes you think this is the most difficult time to be a Christian? (Exodus 20: 3-4; Matthew 6:1)  

I’m sorry, friend, this is not the most difficult time to be a Christian. In our “you do you” society, there has never been an easier time to adopt Christianity. I would, however, submit that this is the most dangerous time to be a Christian. The lines between being a Christian and being religious have been so badly blurred they are nearly imperceptible. The religious keeping of a series of rules and regulations in an effort to earn Heaven seems so good, so appealing. It allows you to follow yourself and the world so long as you turn up at church on Sunday, put money in the collection plate, and grab a communion cup on your way out the door. You don’t have to think about Jesus the rest of the week. You don’t have to follow Him, read His word, pray, or do His work. It doesn’t require standards and morals. It only requires a veneer of good works, enough to make people believe you are a Christian. You might even deceive yourself into believing it. But God isn’t confused and He holds the keys of death and hell. Are you interested in taking that chance? (Proverbs 21:2; Ephesians 2:9; Revelation 1:18)

Our churches, comfortably cradled in the fleshly arms of spiritual apathy, have largely become dormant halls of religiosity lacking the power and presence true surrender and following Jesus brings. The members, lulled into spiritual sleep from the boredom of complacency, have dropped their guard, changed their standards, shifted their morals. They are happy to have a form of Christianity, verbal godliness, but they lack the presence and power that comes with having the real thing. Ah, yes, it is a very dangerous time to be a Christian. (II Timothy 3:1-5; Matthew 24:10-12)

You see, true Christianity, true living for Jesus has to be different. Different from religion. Different from the world. True Christianity requires repentance from sin and acceptance of the free gift of salvation offered through the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ who gave Himself as a sacrifice on the cross. It is acceptance of a gift we could never earn or deserve. It doesn’t stop there. It is daily living as close to Him as possible, emulating His heart for others, and choosing to follow His commands above all else, before all else, instead of anything else. No matter what. It is consistent self-denial, complete surrender of our hearts and lives to God. It is consciously choosing to live for Heaven in a world that is decidedly unheavenly. (John 3:36; Ephesians 2:1-10; Romans 5:17-18; Philippians 2:15)

The truth is, the evil one isn’t playing. This isn’t a game to him. This is war. A battle for your very soul and he will fight with pleasant words and pretty excuses to pull your heart off track. He will dangle the eternally valueless trinkets of the world in front of you as if they are pearls of great price. He will deceive you at every turn. You have to keep your focus. You can’t afford to be distracted. If your eye isn’t firmly fixed on Heaven, your face isn’t set like a stone, your heart isn’t completely surrendered to Jesus, you are dangerously close to a disastrous eternal entrance. (Isaiah 50:7; Colossians 3:2; I Peter 1:13-15; II Peter 3:10-12; Matthew 7:13-14)  

So don’t forget what you are doing here. Don’t forget the end game. Don’t take your eyes off the prize. Don’t forget your mission. Live for Jesus when no one else is. Live for the eternal when others are focused on the temporal. Live to gain abundant Heavenly entrance even if your current residence seems to be suburbia hell. (Ephesians 2:18-20; Philippians 3:20)

It is difficult to imagine the height of Ezra’s joy as he led the people back into Jerusalem from Babylon. It had been a gloriously triumphant trek. The hand of God had moved mightily before them, working through the hearts of pagan kings to grant them free passage and donations of gold, silver, and bronze for the temple. There was no question that God had protected and strengthened them along the way. Surely they could only be dubbed a celebration band as they entered Jerusalem filled with awe and praise and glory over the mighty works their great God had accomplished. (Ezra 6-8)

It is impossible to measure the depth of Ezra’s disappointment when, after entering Jerusalem, he is confronted with the news that the previously returned people had failed to keep themselves separate from the pagan people around them. They had taken wives who worshipped pagan gods. They knew the danger in it. Danger to fall away from following the true God. Danger of breaking the commands so meticulously written on tablets of stone. No other gods. No idols. It wasn’t just a handful of rebellious people on the outskirts of town, either. Leaders and officials, priests and Levites, had actually started the whole escapade. In an instant, Ezra’s joy at their triumphant return is turned to mourning the immense indiscretion of his people. (Ezra 9:1-3)  

One would think they would have learned by now, from history if not experience. Over and again the stories of their ancestors’ defeat, captivity, and frequent need of deliverance had been told. The stories themselves were enough to prove that neglecting God’s laws would incur the loss of His protecting presence. If ancient history were not enough, many of them had lived through similar circumstances. Seventy years of Babylonian captivity had just ended. They were finally free. Free to leave. Free to move to Jerusalem and rebuild. Their city. Their lives. God’s temple. And they had. 

The stories they told their children and grandchildren must have been exquisite. Stories of how God had made a way for them where there didn’t seem to be one. How kings had granted privileges and offered gifts they would have never garnered without Divine providence. The answered prayers, miraculous events, and obvious guidance of God were impossible to deny. The treasury of stories reverberated with the joy of the Lord. The accounts alone would be enough to impress on posterity the overwhelming necessity of worshipping and obeying only the true God.  It was what they did. It was their identity. They were God’s people. He was their God. It was the very essence of their being. (Ezra 1-6; 3:11; 5:5; 6:22)

Unfortunately, those events had occurred more than half a century ago. It is possible many people with firsthand knowledge of the Babylonian captivity were elderly or had passed away. The younger generations didn’t really remember it. The accounts became less dynamic, the storytelling less prolific. The tales that used to capture their imaginations lost their luster when told by those who hadn’t experienced it. The people had settled into the mundane. Their spiritual vigilance waned. Apathy set in. They began to drift. 

Their unruly hearts were drawn aside by things of the world around them. Apparently, they forgot they were a holy people set apart for God. (Deuteronomy 7:6; Ezra 9:11-12) They got distracted. Their heads were turned. A pretty girl, a comely widow, a persuasive father eager to marry off his daughter. It doesn’t seem they rebelliously set out to defy God’s laws in the beginning. It was probably nothing so obvious. It likely snuck up, catching them unaware. And when the apparently innocuous opportunity presented itself, they were drawn aside by the lusts and desires of their unguarded hearts and enticed to sin. And they did. (Ezra 9; James 1:14)

From our comfortable seat on the observation deck overlooking the Israelite history, we find ourselves sighing and wondering why they keep doing the same things over and over again. Why do they not stay close to the God of their ancestors who has proven Himself more than capable of admirably handling their care? Why do they get distracted by the people around them? Why do they fall prey to the habits and customs of the world? Surely by now they know what happens when they follow something besides God? Why don’t they just stay the course? 

We should certainly be able to answer that question. We are expert course jumpers. We do the same things over and over again, distancing ourselves from God, cuddling up with the world. We know the rules, the commands. We are aware of the punishments and rewards. We understand the compensation for sin is spiritual death. Yet still, we stray, drawn aside by the lusting of our foolhardy hearts for the things of the world. (Romans 6:23; Genesis 6:5; I John 2:15-17; James 4:17)

Devastated, disappointed, and distraught by the sin of his people, Ezra rips his garments, yanks hair from his scalp and beard, and sits down to mourn, surrounded by those who still hold to the commands and words of God. That must have been quite a sight. A grown man in such outrageous disarray. I’ve never seen mourning like that. Mourning that illuminates the severity of the committed offenses. Mourning so great others are compelled to mourn with you. Mourning that stops the presses, stalls the busyness of the day and starts people thinking what must be done to salvage their relationship with God. The type of mourning we so desperately need today.

We’ve been apathetically drifting for a long time. We have deceived ourselves into thinking that we are spiritually safe, when really, we’ve been edging closer and closer to the world all along. We’ve adopted their habits, their ways. We’ve replaced prayer meetings, revivals, and camp meetings with wealth seminars, marriage retreats, and Christian concerts. Isn’t that a page from the world’s book, with their conferences, networking, and team building exercises? Are we patterning our churches after the world instead of after the Word? 

In the hustle and bustle to grow a bigger congregation, be the next megachurch, have the best activities, be the next big name in lights, have we foregone the mourning of repentance for the mirth of earthly acceptance? Have our values slipped? Have our morals changed? Do we make more allowances for sin, more caveats for disobedience? What eternal gain comes from following the world? And how can it possibly profit our souls? (Mark 8:36; II Corinthians 6:17: Hebrews 11:24-26; Psalm 103:9-14,18; II Timothy 2:4)

It doesn’t. Worldly mirth doesn’t equal eternal joy. Ezra knew that. Eventually, he changed his stance from sitting in devastation to kneeling in contrition. In search of revival, Ezra makes mourning a fine art poured out as a prayer before God, “I’m embarrassed and ashamed to enter Your presence when my people are in this disastrous shambles. Our immeasurable guilt and iniquity is insurmountable. You have rescued us and blessed us beyond measure, yet we have repaid You by abandoning Your commands. I don’t know what we can say in light of the sin we have welcomed into our midst. We have egregiously broken Your laws and do not deserve the grace You have so mercifully bestowed on us. We know You are righteous because you haven’t struck us down immediately, which we deserve. We humbly bow before You in guilt and shame, because the enormity of our sin makes it impossible for us to stand upright in Your presence.” (Ezra 9) 

Truer words have never been spoken. For the people then and for us today. How urgently we need to learn Ezra’s art of mourning! The art of taking responsibility for our thoughts and words and deeds. The knowledge that we are desperately shabby, and hopelessly far afield. We need to come before God, fall on our faces before Him, admit our sin, our straying, our complacency, our love of all things worldly. We need to own our shame. Admit our guilt. Make no excuses, because there are none. Shoulder the blame because we made the choices. We need to fall before the Lord in weeping, mourning, repentance and change. In mourning we will find rejoicing, for true spiritual mourning births soul freedom and unimpeded, internal joy. Things to which the world has no access. (Ezra 10:1)

Before God, there is no excuse for sin. But there is mercy. Mercy that extends to the drifters, the sliders, the blatant sinners. To You. To Me. To Everyone. We don’t deserve it, could never earn it. We can’t even hold our heads up in His presence, so intense is our guilt.  But God freely offers mercy to all who come to Him in a spirit of mourning seeking the joy and peace found through forgiveness, obedience, and change. So fall on your knees. Rend your heart before God. It is time to seek the Lord. Time to mourn your sin. Time to allow God’s mercy to cleanse your soul and bring you joy from the mourning. (Psalm 103:10; Ezra 9:13; Lamentations 3:22; Ephesians 2:4-5; Joel 2:12-13; Matthew 5:4)

In a raging error I have no intention of repeating, I gave the news more than a cursory glance yesterday. I shouldn’t have done that. I know better. Although I like to keep generally apprised of the happenings in the world around me, I do not allow myself to make a steady diet of news and opinion articles. I detest most of what passes as news. Evil rhetoric staged to sway morals and instill fear is awarded absolutely no time in my day. Usually. Yesterday I failed to hold the line. What I read was discomfiting, jarring, encouraging feelings of fear, helplessness, and anxiety. Feeling likely similar to those burgeoning in the hearts of the people on Jerusalem’s wall as they listened to Sennacherib’s messenger spouting his putrid diatribe in an effort to force their surrender.

“What are you relying on?” he yelled. “You think your God will save you? He’s the one who sent us to destroy you! Don’t listen to your king Hezekiah. Don’t let him convince you to put your trust in God. Don’t think for a minute the Lord isn’t going to hand this city over to Assyria. Make peace with us. Let us in. We promise to make your life grand if you just do what we say. Give up. Give in. You can trust us. You can’t trust Hezekiah. Your God isn’t really going to save you. No other god has saved the people we set out to conquer. Do you really think your God is different? Is that a chance you want to take? Well…do you?” (II Kings 18:13-35) 

For the last several weeks, maybe months, our local news has been deeply disheartening. Daily accounts of homicide, human trafficking, assault, and revenge crowd our headlines. Hate, fear, greed, and all the brokenness of humanity written out in Arial script for all to read. Worse still are national and global headlines. They are rife with consequences for the actions of individuals who love darkness rather than light. (John 3:19-20) Fighting. Arguing. Raging words. Mass shootings. Rioting. Underhanded politics. Corrupt agendas. Selfish ambitions served at the expense of others. All teeming from hearts full of pride, deceit, and moral turpitude. (Jeremiah 17:9) 

As the stories, accounts, opinions, and facts swirl in a nauseating eddy of indecipherable truths and lies intent on instilling fear, swaying ideals, jading hearts, and chipping away at our faith, the prevailing question riding on the surface is still that posed by Sennacherib’s messenger. “What are you relying on?” Do you really believe that God follows through on His promises? Do you know in your soul that His vow never to leave you still stands? Does your heart subscribe and fully adhere to the command issued by God over and over again to not be afraid, be courageous? Do you trust in the truth of the words of Jesus, “Nothing is impossible with God?” (II Corinthians 1:20; Romans 4:21; Hebrews 13:5; Isaiah 41:13; Lamentations 3:57; Matthew 10:31; Luke 12:32; Matthew 19:26; Luke 1:37) 

There must have been some magnificent battles against fear waging in the hearts of those Israelite people as they sat on the city wall enduring this verbal assault. The law of averages says at least a few hearts were shaking, wondering, asking some serious questions, grappling their courage. In the end, they made their choice. Sennacherib’s messenger and all his men rode off through the eerie silence of God’s people choosing to do what Moses had commanded their ancestors to do as they stood beside the Red Sea watching Pharaoh and his army bearing down on them. “Don’t be afraid. Stand firm. Watch God take care of you. The battle is His. Stop fretting, worrying, talking. Be quiet and let God be God.” ( II Kings 18:36; Exodus 14:5-14) 

It’s a daunting task, that one. I wonder at the sheer strength of their self-control as they battled their own fears and reactions to the doom-filled words they had just heard. Were they tamping down the desire to run home, gather their families, and head for the hills? Were they mentally staking claim to a cave in an undisclosed surrounding mountain where they could hide until the impending calamitous events had passed? Were there some considering capitulation? Were they still vacillating between faith and fear when God spoke words of peace to Hezekiah through Isaiah the prophet? Words that echoed the ones they had already followed as they engaged in silent warfare on the top of the wall, “Don’t let the things you just heard scare you.” The king of Assyria could send out all the silver-tongued speakers he wanted. He could line up all his horses and chariots and armies. None of it would matter. Even if they couldn’t see it, couldn’t feel it, could hardly believe it, God was already at work. (II Kings 19:5-7)

Admittedly, some days I can’t see God’s hand or feel Him working. I look at the headlines, interact with society, listen to the stories my children bring home from school and feel the suffocating darkness of this world close around my soul. In all my schoolgirl dreams of marriage and family, never once did I imagine a society so sinful, a world so full of evil, in which to raise my children. I wonder how we got so off course. Then I realize, it’s because we listened to the voice telling us that following God, trusting God, living for God was folly. It happened when we listened to the loudest, most eloquent voice instead of the still, small one. It all started when that silky, tempting voice offered us the world if we would just relent, give in, give up–and we did. We have sown the wind. It seems only the whirlwind awaits. It is not a refreshing thought. (I Peter 5:8; II Corinthians 11:14; Hosea 8:7)

Several months ago, my daughter started taking horseback riding lessons. A slightly built, often reserved child, I wasn’t sure how she’d do. It’s been remarkable. There is no problem with the tack, grooming, or mounting, no fear of riding. The hardest thing she’s had to learn is that the one who holds the reins, reigns. So often the horse will take off on his own path across the arena. He’ll choose to go visit a friend or stop walking to take a nap. Her instructor consistently reminds her that she is the one in charge. She holds the reins. My tiny baby girl probably feels like a fly on the back of that big old horse. He thinks he can do whatever he wants. Then she picks up the reins and he learns a new lesson. The one who holds the reins, reigns. 

It is such a beautifully refreshing, spiritually restoring thought. Even more so when I came across the words of Psalm 99:1, “The Lord reigns!” There are no caveats. No exceptions. No joint arrangements with world leaders. The Lord reigns, end of story! No matter what is going on in your life, your community, your country, or the world at large, our sovereign God has not abdicated the heavens. He has not given His authority to anyone else. He still has the reins, and He reigns!

Maybe you aren’t like me. Maybe worry never plagues your mind. Maybe that unsettled feeling never nags your soul.  Maybe doubt in God’s sovereignty never threatens to overtake your heart. Maybe the darkness around you never starts to cloud your spiritual skies. I hope that’s you. But if it isn’t, if you are just like me, I hope you’ll open your Bible and find refuge in Psalm 99:1 and every other passage like it. I hope you’ll remind yourself that God is sovereign. The reins of this world are solidly in His hands. His power is limitless. His promises are eternal. He is the light that confounds the darkness, drives it back, and makes a way where there doesn’t seem to be one. And He always takes care of His children. (Numbers 11:23; Psalm 97:1; Psalm 73:26; John 1:5; John 8:12; Isaiah 43:16; Matthew 6:25-34)

So on your darkest days, when the enchanting voices of the enemy and the world come calling, telling you to just give up, give in, give over–don’t. When you can’t see Him, can’t feel Him, can barely find the strength to believe He is working, stand on these words from Deuteronomy, “The eternal God is your dwelling, and underneath you are His everlasting arms.” (Deuteronomy 33:27) It may not seem like it when you read the headlines, scroll your social media feeds, or talk to the neighbors. That makes it no less true. When everything is spinning out of control and the whole world is on a collision course with hell, be quiet. Be still. Be courageous. Place your faith, your hope, your confidence in the God who promised to never leave you alone. Know that He sees every predicament, temptation, trial, fear and isn’t stymied by them. Remind yourself that your help comes from God. He makes His dwelling in you and is greater than anything the world has on offer. He is not napping. He is working out His plan. His authority is eternal. His Kingdom is forever. God is sovereign. He reigns. And you can trust Him. (Psalm 37:39; II Timothy 4:18; Colossians 1:16; II Chronicles 20:6; I John 4:4; Psalm 115:3; Daniel 4:17, 32, 34-35; Psalm 9:10; Isaiah 26:3; II Corinthians 10:4)

Because my oldest daughter plays softball with a local league, I spend a lot of time around sports fields. Bleachers, dugouts, batting cages. I talk to a lot of people. Umpires, coaches, players, parents. I do a lot of listening, a lot of hearing. So much of what I hear makes me cringe, some of it breaks my heart, all of it deepens my understanding of James’ words. “The tongue is a fire…no one can tame it….” (James 3:6-8)

From my spot near the dugout entrance, I’ve heard many parent-to-child conversations. Most are encouraging. Some are not. Children have been called names, sworn at, told they were an embarrassment. I’ve sat beside them as they cried, their hearts shattered at the words that told them they were not enough. Not enough to waste time watching the game. Not enough to make their parents proud. Not enough for anything. I’ve seen the fear when they strike out, miss a pop fly, get tagged out at second. Fear of the coming words reiterating what they have already heard. They have failed. They are not enough. The damage breaks my heart.  

I’ve stood and talked to coaches who tell me how they go to church and dream of taking their family on overseas mission trips. It’s a lovely thought, a great idea, all called into question as that same coach violently curses the umpire, causing their own ejection from the game. Their words then in stark juxtaposition to their previous declarations. The words of James again echo in the back of my mind, “With it (that tongue of raging, destroying fire) we both praise God the Creator and curse man whom He created in His likeness. Blessing and cursing come from the same tongue, but it’s not supposed to be this way.” (James 3:9-10)

More than a decade of my life was lived at the end of a gravel road nestled up against the base of a mountain in Montana. At the four-way stop, where a right turn would bring you down our little lane, sat an imposing mountain with a handful of houses and pastures at its foot. It was not a particularly beautiful mountain, not as high or well-treed as some of its surrounding counterparts. There was no green, grassy top above the treeline. It was quite unremarkable, really. We called it Cinderella. 

One year, we had a particularly bad fire season. Seemed we were surrounded by fires. Mountains and gulches lit up in rapid succession. Fire camps were set up for round-the-clock firefighter rotations and filled with out-of-state aid. Aircraft dropping retardant or water was a regular sighting. Although we kept track of what was burning and how close it was, as long as there were no fires on our road, we felt comfortably safe.  

When word came that the backside of Cinderella was on fire, we became diligently vigilant. As forest fires go, it wasn’t so far away. No highways to jump or rivers to cross. Only a small creek surrounded by vegetation, houses, and pastures. In an effort to remain calm, we told ourselves we’d worry when it crested the peak. We worried anyway. Watched and worried. 

Fire is an amazing site, when it’s far away from you, at least. I remember watching the flames lick up the ground, flash up trees, and move on to the next living thing. It sucked the life right out of Cinderella. Crested the peak. Came down our side about halfway. They finally got it under control, but the damage was done. The mountain was littered with burned tree trunks and scarred, blackened earth. It would take years for the vegetation to grow back. The people below would live with the visual reminder of what almost happened to their homes. Life would go on, but it wouldn’t be the same. Neither is the life of someone whose heart has been scorched by the blazing torch of the uncontrolled tongue. 

See, every time you speak, your words kindle something in another person’s heart. The words you choose have the power to inspire peace, joy, strength, and encouragement or evoke anger, fear, bitterness, and self-loathing. You can make someone’s day or ruin their week with just one phrase. You can lead someone to Christ or turn them from Him in one short exchange. And in that one phrase or short exchange, you will tell the whole watching world what is in your heart, because your tongue only says what your heart thinks. (Luke 6:45; Proverbs 15:4, 16:24; Matthew 15:18)

And what does your heart think? What’s lurking in the dark, cobwebby corners of your soul? Do you know? Or do you refuse to acknowledge what’s there? Whether you choose to see or own the contents in the darkest corners of your heart, everyone else knows it. They can’t help but know. It’s spewing out of your mouth every time you speak. Every kindness. Every critique. Every congratulation. Every condescension. Every caustic word. (Proverbs 4:23)

There are a lot of caustic words floating around our world. Even our churches. We call it sarcasm. We think it’s funny. We call it acceptable. After all, a growing contingent of church attendees and religious leaders have decided Jesus was sarcastic. Maybe He was. Maybe He wasn’t. I’m not about to argue it out with anyone. I don’t know. I wasn’t there. Neither were you. I do know this. Whatever Jesus said or did, He is God and His heart and intentions for humanity were always good. (Psalm 34:8; James 1:17)

I also know this. You are not God. On a good day, your intentions are dicey. On a bad day, you’d rather not be held responsible for them. So using Jesus’ alleged sarcasm as a way to excuse your own caustic words to denigrate or decimate the people He meticulously crafted in His likeness is an incredibly poor choice and places you squarely in the congregation depicted in James 1:26, “If you claim to be religious, yet can’t control your tongue, your religion is worthless.” 

Which begs the question, if your religion is worthless, where, exactly, does that leave you? Where does your relationship with God stand? How does your eternity look? In Matthew 12:36-37, Jesus tells us every idle word will be judged–the good, the bad, the ugly. On that day, in Heaven’s courtroom, we will stand before Him, the record will be read back, and we will be asked to give account then for every word that crosses our lips now. In fact, we’ll be judged by them. Perhaps some of us should stop speaking altogether!  (Romans 11:22)

The truth is, we have so much to learn. We have so much business to do with God about our words and the hearts from which they spring. We desperately need to listen to Him before we speak. Our humanity tends to speak first and think later. We need to change, learn a new way. Learn that our need to speak is less important than how those unedited words will affect the hearer. Above the raging melee of our humanity, we must learn to hear God as He patiently, constantly reminds us that our words have consequences. For ourselves. For others. We must train ourselves to ruthlessly reject the ill-tempered need to cut, jab, and scar others with words in an effort to make ourselves feel wiser, stronger, better. We must staunchly refuse to jeopardize our soul’s eternity by placating our finite humanity. (Romans 12:2; Hebrews 12:14)

It’s a monumental task, but there’s a lot riding on it. Your soul health, your life witness, and your eternal destiny are at stake. So allow God to cleanse, purify and fill your heart with Himself. Seek His kingdom first–for yourself and for others. Constantly pray the words of Psalm 19:14, “May my public words and my private meditations be pure and holy before You, Lord.” Guard your heart. Know what is there. Call out the sin. Remove it. Allow your heart to be Christ’s home and let His rivers of living water flow through and out of you to a hopeless world that is longing for just a taste of the goodness of God. (Matthew 6:33)

It took Cinderella mountain years to recover. There was nothing we could do but wait for the vegetation to grow back. Fire does that. Scars things. Destroys things. Not everything can be repaired, sometimes we have to completely rebuild. Your words are like fire. Raging, searing, scarring, damaging the hearts of the people on whom you sharpen your tongue. The damage can’t always be repaired with an apology. Some scars take years to heal. Some never really heal at all. So choose your words wisely, graciously. Be kind or just be quiet. In light of the heavenly accounting you will have to give, put your humanity aside, guard your words and save your soul. (Proverbs 13:3; Psalm 141:3; Proverbs 10:19; Ephesians 4:29; Colossians 4:6)