Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

They were in an incredible mess. The worst of times their short memories could recall. Repeatedly defeated on the battlefield. Frequently raided and plundered. Defenseless against their enemies. It was truly the worst of times. At least the worst time they could remember. And they couldn’t figure out why. Why did victory continually elude them? Why were they constantly being targeted? Why were things no longer working out the way they had when Joshua and his fellow elders had been alive?  

With Joshua leading them, defeat was a foreign word. They were largely unfamiliar with the feeling. They knew how to inflict it, but not how to endure it. From the moment Jericho had collapsed at their shouts, they’d been on a winning streak. Even Ai had been destroyed. Eventually. After the whole Achan debacle. Some of them had watched as Joshua, by God’s power, held the sun at a standstill, bringing victory at Gibeon. They’d seen the five Amorite kings defeated, the Northern kings defeated. The list of victories over kings and kingdoms was nearly too long to name. They had lived in a time of prosperity and victory under Joshua and the elders of his day. Now that generation was gone. They had passed to their eternal reward. It seemed the victories were gone as well. And the people had no idea why. (Joshua 10:1-27)

Gathering together, their heads bowed over battle plans, brows furrowed in thought, they simply couldn’t comprehend what they were doing wrong. The safety of their families was in jeopardy. Their lives hung in the balance. The next battle had every possibility of wiping them out entirely. Their minds were exhausted with the effort of attempting to devise a winning battle strategy. They were clearly forgetting something Joshua had done. What it was they didn’t know. Couldn’t know. Because they had never been told. Their parents hadn’t passed the stories down like Moses told them to. Their ancestors hadn’t kept up the generational warnings. They couldn’t win because they were living fundamentally wrong. 

No one knows when the slide actually began. Perhaps a handful of people started before Joshua passed away. Maybe the grassroots organization gained momentum as one by one the elders of Joshua’s generation followed him in death. Perhaps the pull of something new and strange, the allure of the surrounding nations got in their heads. Whatever the case, the people of that day had completely abandoned the ways of God and given themselves over to following Baal. They didn’t seem to know better. It was as if they had never been warned of the consequences, never been counseled about continual adherence to the true way, never been told the requirements set forth by God. Because they hadn’t.

In stark verbiage leaving nothing open to interpretation, Judges 2:10 states the people had no idea how to live because no one had told them. They weren’t raised knowing God. Had no clue what His requirements were. Remained stymied when it came to the far-reaching effects of failure to follow. They didn’t know about all the things He’d done for Israel in the generations before them. The Egypt rescue. The wilderness journeys. The victorious battles when Moses was still alive. They simply hadn’t been told those things. They hadn’t been told the other things, either. How the people grumbled and complained, strayed and rebelled. They hadn’t heard about the consequences. Plagues. Death. Defeat. Their parents hadn’t told them. Their grandparents hadn’t said anything. The elders of the community had remained mum. One wonders why.

Knowing that adherence to God’s ways and commands was integral to victory, why would the parents and grandparents of the rising generation not share with their children the path to success? For life and battle alike. Why would they not instill in their children the ways of the God who had delivered and sustained them through every moment of their lives? Why did they not simply tell them the importance of following God in words easy to understand yet difficult to forget? Why did they leave them to figure it out the hard way? Perhaps the parents thought it would be instilled by observation, learned through osmosis. Maybe they believed each person needed to find their own way. Perhaps they didn’t want to look at their children and admit they or their parents had once been those people who had abandoned God and His ways, only to end up needing His rescuing. Maybe they didn’t want their children to know who they had been before Jesus found them, even if it was the only way to steer them in the right direction. Whatever the truth, their lack of sharing with their children had a disastrous result. 

In spite of the judges God raised up, the new generation of Israelites continually chose their idols. More and more corrupt they became, loving their evil practices and stubborn ways more than they loved the peace God gave them through the judges. They didn’t care, or possibly didn’t even know, that the covenant with God lay in shreds at their feet. They weren’t interested in following Him. Didn’t want to know Him. Thought they were just fine on their own, doing their own thing, walking in their own ways. They still wanted the blessings and victories of Joshua’s day, but they weren’t interested in living the alleged antiquated standards and principles Joshua lived. They’d never had to do so. No one had encouraged it, enforced it, impressed on them the importance of keeping their covenant with God. It was their hope, their help, their rescue. He would be their God. If they would choose to be His people. On their behalf, I wish their parents would have told them. (Deuteronomy 4:9-10; 11:19)

The story would surely read much differently if they had. If the parents had told their children the stories of their lives, both tragedies and triumphs, they would certainly have been in a much better position to make decisions about their own lives. Had they known the hand of God was there both for deliverance and discipline, it would most assuredly have impacted their choices. If they had taken proper responsibility for their own sins, boldly shared the incidents of treachery and disobedience even when it didn’t cast themselves in the best light, it is possible that this new generation would not have wholeheartedly abandoned God and run selfishly after idols. If only the children had known. (Judges 2:8-23; Psalm 107:2-43)

Humanity has changed so little over the intervening centuries from then to now. We are in no less of a predicament. The newest generation of humans is farther from the truths of God than any previous generation has been. Morally lackadaisical and spiritually complacent, those who should be sharing the power and might, rules and requirements of God have ceased to speak those things. Not in the morning. Not in the evening. Not to their families or friends. Not to their children. Parents, either in hiding their own shady pasts or in allegedly allowing their children to choose their own paths, have failed to tell the true stories of God in their lives. They haven’t shared the necessity of strict adherence to His commands. They haven’t highlighted the consequences of falling away. Instead, they have allowed caveats. Remained silent as good is called evil and evil is called good. They have acquiesced to Jesus lite, diet God, decaf Christianity. And it is costing. Costing us our children, our society, our nation. Costing our children their souls. (Deuteronomy 6:6-8; Joel 1:3; Proverbs 22:6; Psalm 78:4) 

Somehow, I wonder how our society would look if we were honest with our children about ourselves, our lives, our past. What if we quit acting like we have lived perfect lives of absolute holiness with no hidden sins, no twists of envy, no surges of anger? What if we owned our mistakes, our indiscretions, our sins? Past and present. What if we admitted the wayward shenanigans of our youth and told the stories of how God rescued us when we came to Him in repentance and contrition? What if we stopped hiding our past, painting ourselves as perfect, and just owned the mess we were (and sometimes still are) when God’s grace rescued us? What if our children heard and knew the truth about God? That He is a God of unfailing love, unending grace, and unfathomable mercy who saves us from ourselves. What if we told them personal accounts of how that worked? What if we taught them, from personal experience, that the rules and commands and expectations of God are for our good? He never seeks to make us miserable or punish us, but puts those requirements in place to protect and preserve us from soul-killing evil. What if our children knew we were simply sinners saved by grace, the same as them? How would society look, how would our world be different, if only our children knew? (Romans 3:10-12, 23-26; Acts 17:30; I John 1:9; Romans 5:8; Psalm 13:5-6; Ephesians 2:4-5; I John 2:15-29; I Chronicles 16:11; Psalm 121:7; Deuteronomy 5:33; Isaiah 54:13; Psalm 78:5-7) 

Frantic shouts could barely be heard above the raging wind. rattling rigging and snapping of sails in the wind. Ferocious wind. Violent wind. Threatening wind. Vigorous wind that rattled the rigging. Vicious wind that whipped the sails. In untamed wildness it tossed the waters, bobbing their ship around like a toy, eliciting creaks and groans from its hull. It had been wreaking havoc for days. Several days. Not that they had seen the sun recently. They hadn’t. Nor had they seen the stars. It was almost as if the natural skylights were hiding, riding out the storm in the great safety of the heavens. The men aboard the Alexandrian ship envied them that ability. If only they had somewhere safe to weather the apparently endless storm! They didn’t. They were completely at the mercy of the elements. Unwisely alone on the sea, they tried everything in their power to stay alive. 

They were going to die. All of them. There was no chance of survival. The gentle wind of which they had taken advantage to drift out to sea had been a deceiver. Lulled them into a sense of safety and success. Rocked them into complacency. It hadn’t stayed gentle. With amazing speed the winds intensified to hurricane strength, forcing them to lighten the load. Willingly, they hefted cargo overboard. Frantically, they shifted the ship’s tackle into the water. Urgently they discussed the options, searched for a plausible answer. There wasn’t one. Not a viable one, anyway. They had done everything they could do. Everything expendable had been abandoned. With the weight of their own helplessness resting heavily on their shoulders, the men felt their meager hope sink to rest on the sandy floor of the sea. No one was eating. No one was talking. No one was planning to live beyond this event.  

Except for Paul. Paul wasn’t extremely worried. Not anymore. He had been at first. He hadn’t been through anything like this before. The storm’s intensity was unreal. It would not be trifled with. He knew it instinctively. He realized he could die there in those crashing waves before ever realizing the rest of his missionary goals. The fact he was even in this current situation frustrated him. He had warned them about this very scenario. Traveling this route at this particular season was dicey. Everyone knew it. Paul knew it. He’d told them not to go. Advised them to stay put for the winter. Sailing would be a poor choice. A costly one. Things would go badly. Disaster would happen. Gear would be lost. People could die. But that breeze. Gentle. Alluring. Peaceful. The calm waters called to them in that breeze. Sang a siren’s song of safety. They should have ignored it. They didn’t. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Instead they ignored Paul’s advice. He’d been right. They should have stayed. But all they could do now was hunker down and weather the worst storm of their lives.

The Acts 27 account doesn’t tell us the thoughts and emotions in Paul’s heart and mind as he sat there bracing himself against the roll, pitch, and yaw of the boat, listening to the howling winds, and watching his shipmates silently surrender their hope. Admittedly, I wish it did. Somehow, every time I read the account, I imagine his placid countenance registering not one iota of fear or frustration. Ever. Not one fear or doubt crosses his mind. No temptation to abandon hope assails him. No effort is made by the evil to fill his mind with racing thoughts of death, complaints about God’s lack of care, or question marks about Paul’s own worth to the Kingdom. There’s absolutely no spiritual warfare in this at all. Not to me. In my mind, Paul is perfect. Walking unhindered around the ship ministering and praying and believing. He’s full of faith and faithful to His God. He doesn’t waver when the boat dips. He doesn’t falter when the wind howls. Not when I read the story. When I read it, Paul is unruffled by the goings on around him, calmly keeping up his courage and gently asking others to do the same. Until a week ago. 

About a week ago, as I read this narrative, I noticed things I hadn’t seen before. Things about Paul. Human things. Things that made me think he had fears and concerns just like you and me. Like why did it take days of angst before Paul stood up and spoke courage to the men on board? That’s not really the Paul we’ve seen throughout the book of Acts. Bravely he spoke out the way of salvation in towns where it wasn’t welcomed by the leaders of his day. Knowing beatings and prison and possible death could ensue, Paul boldly pressed forward. Before kings and rulers who could instantly end his life, Paul preached the same message of forgiveness of sins by faith in Jesus Christ alone. When people listened. When they didn’t. When they loved him. When they hated him. Paul preached no matter what. Except on that rocking boat stuck in the storm. There, he spent several days in silence. No preaching. No teaching. No encouragement. Paul simply sat in his feelings until God spoke. (Acts 13-26) 

Appearing beside him in the inky blackness of night, the angel of God came with a message for Paul. A message from the heart of God bringing hope and the assurance of help. Words to help Paul continue ministering when the strength to do so was depleted, when the urge to give in to despair was strong. Encouraging words that spoke to the exact space Paul inhabited. “Don’t be afraid.” Not of the storm. Not of the oncoming shipwreck. Not of the soldiers on the boat who would actively consider the idea of killing all the prisoners. As awful as the outlook seemed, it would get better. He’d get through this. They all would. Even though it didn’t look like it from where they were sitting. Even when the sky refused to lighten and the winds refused to quit. Even when the bad news kept on coming. Everything would turn out fine. Better than fine, actually. They simply needed to keep up their courage and stay the course.  

Straightening his shoulders and shoring up his own faith, Paul finally stood and shared the words with his shipmates. Don’t let the fear overwhelm you. Hang on to your courage. Hold on to your faith. Stay the course. Ride out the storm. God would see them through. He would protect them. He would preserve them. The ship and all its cargo might be lost. Their personal belongings were currently floating out to sea. There would be no souvenirs left from this adventure. But. They would all walk unscathed from the experience with an amazing story to tell. Everything would be fine. Eventually. Just keep up your courage. 

It didn’t really change anything on board. Not the assurances or the call to courage. The men were still anxious and filled with worry. For 14 days fear kept them from eating. They were tired and weakening by now. Even if an escape route became available, one wonders if they would have had the strength to take it. Paul must have wondered that too. Scavenging the galley, he managed to find enough bread to feed the lot of them. All 276. Taking it to the men, he reiterated his previous words. They were going to be fine. All of them. They were going to survive. They needed strength to do so. Everyone needed to eat. Refusing to accept “no” for an answer, he blessed the bread and handed it out among them.   

Through the finally lightening sky, the men saw land and decided to make a break for it. Cut the anchors. Try to gently run aground. It worked. Except for the “gently” part. It was more of a wreck than a docking. The bow stuck fast in the sand. The stern was shattered by the raging surf. The men were left with few options. Die with the ship. Swim to shore. Grab a piece of broken boat and hold on for dear life in hopes it would carry them safely to the island. It did. They all made it to shore. A safe shore. An inhabited place where the islanders were hospitable. They were cared for. Fed. Allowed to stay for the rest of the winter. Provided with a ship to continue their journey when the weather cleared. Nothing about that voyage had gone according to plan. At least not man’s plan. Yet nothing had ever been outside the grand plan of God. When it seemed everything was crashing down around him and things couldn’t possibly get worse, God was simply setting the stage for more good things to happen. When Paul couldn’t see the next step ahead, God said, “Take courage.” And Paul did. (Acts 27:1-28:16)

I’ve never known anyone who endured a chaotic voyage ending in shipwreck and marooning on an island. I do, however, know how it feels to have those words accurately describe the feeling of your current season. You probably do, too. Perhaps you identify with them right now. Maybe, one on the heels of another, discouraging news, horrific events, impossible circumstances have flooded into your life. Staring at the irreparable damage to your well-laid plans, you are overcome with despair and discouragement. You feel helpless. Hopeless. In your weakest moments, when you are grasping at straws for a viable solution, the evil one enacts his plan to take over your soul. Into your ear he whispers that God doesn’t love you, doesn’t care about you, has left you alone to struggle and suffer. He might even say God enjoys watching you do so. He suggests you quit, give up, walk away. From life. From God. And you are tempted to do it. Very tempted. I hope you don’t.

If, in those hours of predawn darkness when panic and fear have a stranglehold on your mind, you manage to calm your soul, quiet your heart, and listen, you will hear the voice of God.  He’s going to change the narrative. He’s going to rewrite your story. He’s going to veer off your plan and implement His own. He’s going to give you peace. Why? Because He loves you. He cares about you. He’s got your back. And He knows that, as good as your plan may seem, His plan is better. It was made with your entire life’s picture in mind. Beginning. Middle. End. God knows your life in its entirety and He knows what events will place you in the perfect space to experience His blessings and be a blessing to others. So don’t be afraid. Follow His plan even when you can’t see the path ahead. Trust Him even when it’s hard. Believe in the goodness of God. Know that you are going to get through this storm. Things are going to be fine. You will be okay. God’s got this. He’s got you. You can trust Him. Take heart. Be faithful. And keep up your courage. (John 14:27; Psalm 118:6; Deuteronomy 31:6; Isaiah 41:13; Matthew 10:29-31; Jeremiah 31:2-3; Psalm 139:1-6; Jeremiah 29:11; Proverbs 3:5; Psalm 100:5; Isaiah 43:2-3)

Much of it wouldn’t last. It wasn’t deep enough. The surface-level amazement would wane. The awe over the miraculous would fade. The tentative belief in His true identity would dim and eventually die out. Their fervor would weaken with the unveiling of what it truly meant to be His disciples. Hours, days, weeks from now, not everyone who staunchly swore belief in Him would still be saying the same. Jesus knew that, knew what was in every heart, knew the future of every soul present. Those swearing allegiance. Those skeptically questioning. Looking out over the sea of faces, He read minds and thoughts, hearts and intentions. He knew not everyone would continue to follow Him when things got rough. Some would balk at His requirements. Some would be distracted by the cares of life. Some would choose the fun of the present over future fulfillment. Some, so bound by rules, regulations and religious traditions, would weigh the options and allow fear to convince them legalism was the proper path. Others would never choose Him over themselves in the first place. He would still extend the option. It was the reason He came.

Before trading the opulence of Heaven for the poverty of earth, Jesus knew what the outcome would be. He knew not everyone would believe. Not everyone would follow. Not everyone would choose to sacrifice the perishable pleasures of earth for the imperishable joys of Heaven. He knew the people in His own hometown would choose to doubt, foregoing miracles. He knew the rich young ruler would walk away. He knew Judas would defect. He knew Pilate would cave to the people. Yet still, knowing salvation could come to no one if He didn’t come for everyone, God sent Jesus to earth so that anyone who chose to believe in Him could have eternal life. No matter what Heaven knew in advance, still Jesus came to save all people from their sins. (John 2:24-25; Proverbs 5:21; Mark 6:5; 10:17-27; Matthew 26:47-50; 27:11-26; John 3:16-17)

God was never confused about how things would go on earth. As He separated light from darkness, stretched out the canvas of sky overhead, pushed back the waters and formed dry land, God knew the path humanity would choose. When He spoke the words creating plants and trees to feed the people He would soon create, God knew they would take His work for granted. Filling the sky with sun, moon, and stars, flooding the waters with fish, the air with birds, the fields with animals of every possible variety, God stood back and said, “It is good.” Yet, as He uttered those words, He knew the people for whom He had created this paradise would choose their own traitorous hearts over Him. He knew, yet still He chose to create them. (Genesis 1-3; Isaiah 46:10)

As the serpent approached Eve in the Garden, purporting his perversion of truth, God was not taken by surprise. When Eve cajoled Adam into eating the forbidden fruit, God did not hold His breath in desperate hope Adam would refuse. He knew he wouldn’t. Entering the Garden in the cool of the day to speak with the people He had so lovingly created, God didn’t ask where they were because their hiding place escaped Him. No. He knew where they were. He knew why they were there. He knew their hearts and minds had been irrevocably changed. He had always known it would be this way. Saddened but not surprised by the outcome, God still came to speak with them. (Genesis 1-3; Isaiah 46:10)

Listening to the desperate pleas of His people enslaved in Egypt, the great heart of God churned with compassion. Looking down on their oppression and suffering, He desired nothing more than to deliver them and bring them into a land of peace, rest and prosperity. Raising up Moses to lead them out of bondage and head them toward Canaan, God miraculously rescued them. Brought them out of bondage and set them on a path toward the land of promise. And it turned out exactly as He always knew it would. His rescued people didn’t respond with unwavering faithfulness. The ransomed multitude didn’t exhibit unflinching trust. The emancipated congregation failed to resurrect even a modicum of hope. Just as God knew they would, the people grew unhappy when the benefits of the Promised Land were not immediately available. Grumbling commenced. Complaining ensued. In the waiting, they allowed their hearts to be turned aside and worshiped a god made by human hands. They actively chose to live in fear and defeat when faith would bring victory. Yet God, knowing the outcome before beginning the endeavor, still chose to deliver His people. Not once did His plan change. Ever. (Exodus 2:23-18:11; 32)

It never has. Knowing humanity would need rescuing, God planned it from the beginning. At just the right moment, He sent Jesus, His perfect, spotless, only Son to earth. Because humanity needed Him. They needed to hear the teachings that came from His lips. They needed to learn from His actions and reactions. They needed to feel the touch of His hand as He brought healing and love to wretched souls in desperate need. They needed to know the truth. About God. About themselves. Words of life, for life eternal. They needed to comprehend selflessness. The kind of love that makes one without obligation willingly endure the shame and humiliation of public death on a rugged cross so people living in the darkness of sin could choose to be forgiven, could choose to be saved from the disastrous mess they’d made for themselves. (II Corinthians 5:21; Isaiah 53:12; John 6:68-69; Matthew 27:32-56)

They needed to find the empty tomb. Discover the completion of His work. Sink down in the beauty of the promise that, although He was no longer physically with them, His Spirit, His presence, His peace, always would be. They needed to know that Jesus was alive, sitting at the right hand of God the Father, praying for them just as He prayed for them when He was on earth. Praying that their faith wouldn’t fail, their hope wouldn’t weaken, their trust wouldn’t be shaken in the storms and temptations of life. Praying they would remember His promise that where He was, they would someday be also.  If they chose to follow Him regardless of the cost. (Matthew 27:57-28:10, 16-20; John 14:1-3; 16:1; 17:6-26; Luke 9:57-62; 14:25-34; Romans 8:34-35)

It seems to be the cost that gets us. Trips us up. Stops us in our tracks. Makes us second-guess our choice. Convinces us that we can puzzle out this eternal life thing on our own without pain, suffering, or sacrifice. We can’t. There is only one door to eternal life. There is no side entrance. No window left ajar. No underground tunnel. There is only one entrance. Planned from the beginning of time. Forgiveness of sin through faith in the shed blood of Jesus Christ on the cross and salvation through the power of His name. Redemption from sin. Salvation from ourselves. (John 10:1-18; 14:6; Acts 4:12; 16:30-31; Ephesians 2:8-9; Romans 10:13)

Humanity has never had a history of proper choices unaided by solid wisdom and sound direction. I don’t. Neither do you. No one does. Instead, our checkered pasts are a muddle of hideous decisions, made through clouded vision, that often jeopardize our souls. God knew it would be that way. Before you or I were ever born, He knew the choices we would make. Bad. Good. Horrendous. He knew where we would be when we hit rock bottom. And He planned a rescue. From ourselves. Unwilling that you, me, or anyone should miss Heaven, God made a plan. A costly plan. One that would sear His own heart with pain and anguish. The only plan that had any possibility of rescuing lost humanity. He sent His only Son to earth. Allowed Him to be tortured and tormented, hung on a cross to die in abject humiliation. And Jesus chose to be obedient to the plan of God. Why? Because He didn’t come to simply save us from our sins. Jesus came to save us from ourselves. Our poor decisions. Our jaded choices. Our overly impressionable minds. Jesus came to save us because we are hopelessly lost on our own. Jesus came to save us from ourselves. 

I don’t know about you, but there is something immensely profound about those words for me. I know me better than anyone else on earth. I acknowledge the poor choices I’ve made on my own, and recognize the ones I would have made if Jesus hadn’t rescued me. Perhaps you are in the same space. Amazed and humbled by the steadfast love of God that pursues and persuades, providing a way to escape the choices you made while still lost in the chaos of your own wilfulness. Astounded by His grace and mercy that gently pulls you back every time your feet go astray, your eyes get distracted, or your mind contemplates giving up. Forgiven, you rest in the knowledge your future is in Heaven. You have been rescued, ransomed, saved. From death. From sin. From yourself. Knowing you were under no obligation to accept Him, Jesus still came. Still died. Still rose again. Still offers eternal life to those who believe. May our hearts resound with gratitude! In spite of everything He knew about humanity, still Jesus came. (Romans 6:3; I Corinthians 3:18-20; 15:53-58; 6:9-11; Psalm 40:1; 145:8-9; I John 2:2; Colossians 1:13-14; II Corinthians 9:15)

They could do this. Win the battle. Conquer the land. Enter Canaan. He believed it. Knew it. In his head and his heart. They could win this. All of it. The fertile farmlands, the burgeoning orchards, the thriving vineyards. Their cattle could drink from the crystal clear streams. Their people could rest and build and inhabit the lush countryside. Their children and grandchildren could know a good life in a good land. The opportunity to realize all the dreams they had dreamed while enslaved in Egypt lay before them, ripe for the picking. They could have it all. If they simply stiffened their spines, went up and took it. 

Caleb wasn’t being an obtuse optimist. He knew the score. He’d been on that spying mission right along with the rest of them. He’d seen all the good things in Canaan. Wanted them as much as anyone. He’d also seen the inhabitants of the land. Big men. Huge. Enormous. They would certainly make a formidable foe to anyone daring an attack. But they weren’t unbeatable. In fact, if the people of Israel would stop going to pieces every time things got difficult and start casting their faith in the God who had miraculously brought them safely to the borders of this good land, they would find that same God would fight the battle for them. He would give them the land. Caleb knew it. Believed it. They simply needed to trash their fear and trust their God instead. 

Strongly and audibly, the people disagreed. Caleb was clueless. He had clearly been too mesmerized by green, leafy trees and tall, waving grasses to see the giants roaming the land. They hadn’t been. No. They might have glimpsed the lovely foliage in their periphery, but front and center in their vision then and their hindsight now was the sheer size of the men they would have to defeat in order to inhabit the land. Slipping into old habits, they allowed fear to overtake their faith. Determine their future. Convince them it would be a suicide mission. No matter what Caleb said. No matter how strongly Joshua agreed with him. No matter how many times their God had bailed them out in the past, they held no such confidence for this battle now. The people flatly refused to go. 

It didn’t change Caleb’s convictions. Their negativity didn’t rain on his parade. Not one word of it gave him pause. He had no second thoughts. He didn’t want the people to miss out on something amazing because a couple of giants loomed in the path ahead. He didn’t want them to forget that pleasing God would always bring victory. Teaming up with Joshua, he made every effort to convince them to change their minds. Stop their grumbling and wailing. Forget their fears. Trust their God. Go conquer the land. 

Unfortunately, his words fell on deaf ears and closed minds. Angry with his attempts at sharing his convictions, the people discussed stoning him. They all but had the stones in their hands when the Lord appeared to have a word with Moses. Caleb’s breath left his lungs in a grateful exhale at God’s immediate deliverance. Not that the stones would have changed his mind. They wouldn’t have. Caleb wouldn’t have renounced his convictions concerning God’s ability, His requirements, His promises, even if they had launched those stones in his direction. He would always choose to follow God wholeheartedly. He would never turn from his convictions. And God rewarded him for it. 

All the men who had gone to explore Canaan and returned with a negative report causing grumbling and lack of faith in the community died by a plague. Everyone except Caleb and Joshua. They remained unscathed.  Their stronghold on their faith and devotion to their convictions kept them from death. Allowed them to travel safely through the next forty-year journey through the wilderness. Brought them safely into the promised land. Because God is faithful to those who are faithful to Him. He rewards those who follow Him wholeheartedly, who trust His promises, who live according to His standards and abide by their convictions, regardless of what those around them are doing. (Numbers 13:17-14:37; Joshua 14:6-9)

Daniel found it so. Exiled in a foreign land, surrounded by foreign gods and practices, commanded to give up praying to any god but the king, ensnared by his enemies, Daniel held his convictions and prayed to his God. Three times a day. Every day. Out loud. In front of an open window. He didn’t hide in a closet. Didn’t close the windows. Didn’t silently mouth the words. No. Daniel did what he had always done, what his convictions demanded he do. In spite of the king’s most recent decree, he went to his window, opened the shutters, dropped to his knees, and audibly prayed to his God. 

Rubbing their hands together in delight at the seamless success of their plot against Daniel, the satraps, and administrators nearly tripped over their feet as they raced to tattle to the king. Daniel was praying. To his own God. They heard him. He had blatantly violated the king’s decree. King Darius had to do something about it. He had to uphold his decree. No matter how distressed he was that the offender was Daniel, he couldn’t set a precedent that his decrees were negotiable. They weren’t. He had no choice but to order Daniel thrown into the lions’ den. But the king had been watching Daniel. He knew Daniel’s convictions. He knew about Daniel’s God. He knew if there was any hope of a rescue it would have to come from the God to whom Daniel was wholly devoted. 

Anxiously following Daniel to the mouth of the den, the king issued one last hopeful plea. Maybe the God to whom Daniel was so faithfully devoted would save him. Maybe He would send a rescue. Maybe this ill-advised plan could be thwarted. If Daniel continued to stand according to his convictions, if Daniel continued to pray. Maybe God would deliver him from the tearing mouths of the vicious beasts below. Regretfully watching Daniel enter and the stone be rolled back over the opening to the den, King Darius pressed his signet ring to the rough surface, sealing Daniel’s fate. Heavy-hearted, he walked away, knowing that nothing short of a miracle from Daniel’s God would stop the carnage below. He would have to wait and see if all that dedication, all those convictions would result in salvation. It was going to be a long night. 

Streaks of dawn were barely breaking the horizon when the king rushed down to the lions’ den. Drawing near, he called out to Daniel. Had his God saved him? Had he survived the harrowing experience? Had the wholehearted commitment Daniel made to serve God alone paid off? Had he been rewarded, rescued for adhering to his convictions? Standing with bated breath, King Darius awaited the reply. Finally, it floated out. Not only was Daniel alive, not one hair on his head had been touched. He walked safely among the wild beasts and slept peacefully beside them. Why? Because God rewards those who follow Him wholeheartedly, who honor their convictions regardless of decree, peer pressure, or possible negative outcome. (Daniel 6:1-22)

Caleb and Daniel weren’t the only ones who chose to live by their convictions no matter the outcome. James sacrificed his life for his convictions. Peter endured prison for the cause of Christ he so deeply believed. Stephen preached when silence would have spared his life. Paul and Silas preached and prayed and praised through beatings and imprisonment. Persevering through arrests and trials, shipwrecks and house arrest, Paul continued to share his beliefs, live out his convictions, never stopping to count the physical or social cost. And it must surely have cost him. When he fell to the ground blinded, it seems he lost his followers as well. The henchmen traveling with him aren’t mentioned as staying around to ensure his recovery. They didn’t attempt to take him back home. For all intents and purposes, he was an outcast the moment he talked to God. The instant he changed his focus. The second he aligned his convictions with those of Heaven. When Paul chose to follow Jesus, his fans chose to unsubscribe. Yet still he chose to live according to his convictions, fully comprehending that knowing Christ on a personal level was more valuable than everything he’d ever had and everyone he’d ever known. (Philippians 3:4-11; Acts 12:1-11; 9:1-31; 16:16-26; 21-28)  

It behooves us to believe the same. At a time when churches are flooded with concessions but grievously skimping on conviction, we must each know what we believe, where we stand, in whom we place our faith. We have to know our God. Personally. Pressured by an increasingly complacent society to modify our convictions, alter our beliefs, adjust our speech to a more socially acceptable rhetoric, it is imperative to hold fast to what we know is true. No matter how tempting it is, we don’t dare be pulled off course, change the requirements, or lower the bar. We can’t afford it. Why? Because God rewards the faithful. He blesses those who choose to place their faith and hope and trust in Him and stay the course of absolute righteousness no matter what the rest of the world chooses to do. God honors those who live according to their convictions. So, do you? Do you live in such a way that everyone around you knows what you believe? Do you live your convictions out loud? Does your life reflect your faith in God? Do your words reveal your confidence in Him? Are your standards and beliefs solid or negotiable? Do you live according to your convictions regardless of the cost or are you selling your soul at the concession stand of the world? (II Timothy 3:1-7; Romans 1:18-32; Matthew 13:45-46; Isaiah 50:7; Ephesians 6:10-18; James 1:12-22; Jeremiah 17:7; I Samuel 2:30; John 12:26; I Peter 3:15; Acts 20:22-24)

Admittedly, his mind was wandering. Not in a disrespectful way. He wasn’t imagining his next fishing expedition, contemplating dinner plans, or fretting over his decided lack of income. He was actually still listening to the preaching. Partially. Half of his mind was running down a different trail not entirely far from what Jesus was preaching. His directives about removing sin from among the body of believers had Peter thinking some thoughts, asking some questions, wondering what, exactly, the etiquette was for the ones injured by those sins. Really. How many times was one required to forgive those who wronged, hurt, or abused them? What would be enough? At what point, if any, was forgiveness no longer available to those who continued on in their own selfishness, hurting and offending others, yet never changing their behavior? Forgiving the first offense could be difficult enough. It seemed unfair that a repeat offender should receive the same response multiple times. Having pondered the options and come up with a distinctly generous number, Peter posed his question to Jesus. How many times should one forgive another who sins against them? If one were to keep track of absolutions, would seven be a respectable number? 

Calculators work differently in Heaven, it seems. Jesus’ equations computed a shockingly different number. Without taking into account the type of sin, the level of damage, the amount of offenses, He threw out a staggeringly high number. He multiplied. Enormously. Seventy times seven. Four hundred and ninety. More times than a person would ever spend the energy to track. Then he launched into an explanation by way of a parable about money that had nothing to do with finances and everything to do with what’s in the heart. 

A man once owed a king ten thousand bags of gold, but found himself unable to pay. The king, desiring to recoup his money, called the man before him, only to learn he was overextended and remained unable to repay the loan. As was the normal process of the time, it was ordered that the man and his entire family be sold to pay his debt. In great distress at the pronouncement, the man fell to his knees, begging for mercy. If he could just be given time to make some adjustments, he could repay everything. Surprisingly, the king capitulated. In a moment of amazing compassion and enormous mercy, the gracious king chose to cancel the debt entirely, allowing the man and his family to go free. 

Joyously tripping away from the confrontation, the man left the king’s presence only to go out and confront a man who owed him one hundred silver coins, a mere fraction of the debt he’d just had dissolved. Grabbing the man by the throat, he raged at him to pay what he owed. Right here. Right now. Cough it up! Like the first man, this one couldn’t pay, either. He needed time. In a nearly mirror image to the man who had just received grace, the second man fell to his knees and begged for mercy. Unfortunately, he wasn’t kneeling before the king whose heart was full of grace and compassion. No. He was begging a man whose heart was full of rage and greed. Rather than extend the same forgiveness he had received, the dark-hearted man called for the debtor to be thrown in prison until he could pay every last cent. 

Appalled by the course of events, nearby workers carried the story of injustice back to the king. He was not amused. His mercy had been flouted. His forgiveness taken for granted. Calling the original debtor back before him, he required a full account for his actions. There was no excuse. As a recipient of mercy, he should have extended mercy in return. His failure rained misery on his own head. His debt was reinstated. He was turned over to the jailers until he could pay everything he owed in full. Then Jesus tacked an ominous warning to the end of His parable. This type of treatment should be expected by all those who refuse to forgive others in the same way God forgives them. From their hearts. The parable about money wasn’t actually about money. It was about what’s in your heart. (Matthew 18:21-35)

Ananias and Sapphira could have learned something from the underlying message of Jesus’ parable. Not about forgiveness. About how what is in your heart leaks out through your life. How what you love most controls your thoughts and decisions. How your heart needs to focus on something besides money. At a time when the believers were of one heart and mind and sharing their possessions and finances, some chose to sell property and donate the proceeds for use among the community of believers. It wasn’t a rule. No one was under compulsion to sell or donate. Nor does it appear to have been an expectation. No record indicates Peter was preaching the sale and donation as a prerequisite of Heaven. It was simply a choice some people were making. The givers were not promised better seating, higher standing, or greater authority in the congregation. There is no indication of any perks accompanying the generosity. Except in the minds of Ananias and Sapphira. 

In what can only be explained as a quest to gain the alleged status and accolades for themselves, Ananias and Sapphira chose to sell a piece of property. It was a cash sale. The smooth coolness of the coins felt so good in their hands. The weight in their pockets reminded them of all that could be done with the amount. As they hunkered over their kitchen table stacking and recounting the small fortune before them, their hearts turned toward the things they loved most. The things that filled their hearts. Money. They loved it. They wanted it. They also loved status and accolades. They wanted both. Wanted to be perceived as people of means who gave heavily to the Christian community. More concerned with the perception of their peers than being honest before God, they concocted a plan to trick everyone. Including God. 

Why they believed they could trick God remains a mystery. It wasn’t something they would have heard from the lips of the apostles. They didn’t get it from Sunday school or church. The Bible study leaders never taught the concept. The only place it could have originated is the darkness of their sin-filled hearts. Talking in hushed tones, they plotted and planned. How much to give. How much to keep. What lie to tell Peter yet still attain the status they desired. How to look good, seem holy. Appear as wealthy benefactors. Gracious donors. They also decided Ananias should go alone to make their donation. And so he did. 

Gathering their chosen allotment together, Ananias traveled to where the apostles were gathered and laid the portion at their feet, declaring it the entire amount. Immediately Peter knew he was lying. Maybe Ananias faltered on the verbiage. Perhaps his gaze shifted to the left as he spoke. Maybe he seemed nervous, antsy. More likely, God gave Peter the discernment to know a lie when he saw one. Calling Ananias out, Peter incredulously questioned the purpose of the deception. Why would he attempt such a thing? They were under no compulsion to sell the property at all. Once sold, there was no law or rule or obligation to donate the money to the church. The choices they made were theirs and theirs alone. They chose to sell. They chose to divide the funds. They chose to lie. To the apostles. To Peter. To God. 

Both Ananias and Sapphira would pay the ultimate price for that lie. Their sin would cause their demise right there at the apostles’ feet. First Ananias. Then Sapphira. The things their hearts loved the most were their undoing. They sacrificed everything to gain nothing. Died for a lie they didn’t even have to tell. Because their deceitful hearts loved money and status more than anything, valued them above everything, even honesty before the God who knows every secret of the human heart. (Acts 5:1-11 Mark 2:8; I Samuel 16:7; Luke 16:15)

Perhaps you haven’t noticed it before, but neither of these lessons is about money. We read them and get all wrapped up in the money and numbers. We think they are about our bank balances and the donation line on our tax documents. They aren’t. At all. They are about your heart. What’s there? What isn’t. What should be. The lessons aren’t about the size of the house you inhabit. The type of car you drive. The number of zeroes in your paycheck. The balance in your mutual funds or the amount you donated to charity last year. Those things are all earthly. They stay here. The point of every one of these events is that the desires of your heart, the emphasis you put on money or things or status or self, will draw you away from Jesus Christ. You won’t follow Him as hard as you should. You won’t spend as much time with Him as you could. Your focus on earthly things will cost you eternal treasures. It’s the message in both of these lessons. And it’s not about the money at all. (James 1:13-15)

In the Gospel of Luke, Jesus speaks another parable to a man who was desperate to make his brother share the inheritance with him. He tells of a man who has done very well for himself, to the point he has nowhere to store his wealth and must build larger spaces to hold it. Lulled to spiritual complacency by his store of earthly goods, the man forgets that God is the Giver and Sustainer of life. With or without the money, God is sovereign. His life and times are in God’s hands. So focused on the earthly things his heart loves, he finds himself rich on earth but bankrupt in eternity. Again, the parable isn’t about money, it’s about the content of your heart. (Luke 12:13-21; Psalm 31:14-15; Hebrews 1:3; Psalm 139:14)

You see, friend, there is nothing more important than what is in your heart. What you love. What you hate. What you eschew. What you condone. The things that inhabit your heart affect every part of your life. They show when you think they don’t. They impact your decisions, your actions, your words. They choose your eternity. So check your heart. Know what’s there. Earthly accounts or eternal savings. Then seek the things that are above, the things not of this world. Seek the things of Heaven. Chase down the things of God. Follow hard after Him. Know that the wealth of your eternal treasure chest is worth more than the numbers in your earthly portfolio. Because it’s not about the money. It’s about your heart. (Matthew 6:19-20, 33; Luke 6:45; Proverbs 4:23; Psalm 63:8)