Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

An air of anxiety blanketed the people as they slowly began to dismantle the camp. Bags were packed. Tents were folded. Oxen were yoked. It had to be done. It was time to move on. Even if they weren’t ready. And they really weren’t. Thirty days of mourning the man who had faithfully led them through rivers and wars, losses and wins, didn’t seem like enough. They weren’t ready to leave this place. Leave behind the last vestiges of his spirit. It was impossible to envision a future that didn’t include Moses. He’d been there all their lives. His transition from earth to heaven left a gaping hole in their company, their confidence. With Moses gone, everything seemed unsettled, every decision seemed up for debate. Except one. They couldn’t stay here. This wasn’t the promised land. They had to keep moving. They had to place their fragile trust in the previous instruction of Moses and follow his successor into the unknown. (Deuteronomy 34)   

Surely Joshua realized the enormous shoes he was tasked to fill. Certainly he noticed the hesitancy and concern etched on every face. It was understandable. Not because the people didn’t know or have faith in Joshua. They did. He had held positions of leadership before, under Moses. Never on his own. He had never been the one bringing commands from God’s lips to their ears. And, even though they had watched as Moses laid his hand on Joshua and prayed the Spirit of God over him, even though they knew his instructions were to follow God the same way his predecessor had, knowing Moses had been training Joshua for this exact moment, they were still uncomfortable. None of the training or ceremonies, or given instructions mattered. None of this knowledge eased their discomfort. They were still nervous. Because people change. They knew that historically. Personally. Embarrassingly. The children of Israel, themselves as well as their ancestors, were explicit examples. (Numbers 27:12-23)

They had a history of inconsistency. All of them. Rarely did their yes mean yes or their no mean no. With one breath they would vow to strictly adhere to every single command and law God gave them. With the next, they would hare off down their own path. It took very little to make it happen. Like Moses being gone for 40 days. That had been a debacle. Idle hands and minds had designed and built an idol, a golden calf. The people then had danced and sung and partied before it as though it was their saving grace. It wasn’t. God was. They knew that, but their changing hearts led them astray. They angered God and Moses both. Coming back down the mountain into the camp, Moses had done what he always did. Interceded with God for them. Brought them back to the place they were supposed to be. They wondered how Joshua would handle a similar situation. Because there was likely to be one. (Exodus 32)

Admittedly, they were not always an easy people to lead. Their moods were constantly changing. Their frustration was limitless. They frequently looked back to measure what they had in Egypt with what they didn’t have on their journey to the promised land. Yes. They knew exactly how capricious humanity could be. Their constant vacillating between jubilant thanksgiving and thunderous grumbling was a frequent reminder of the fickleness of the human heart. What they didn’t know, what they hadn’t seen, was if Joshua carried Moses’ ability to get them back on track, encourage them when they were struggling, support them when they were weak, and infuse their hearts and lives with urgent desire to obey the words and commands of God. (Numbers 11:1-15)

Knowing Joshua for a lifetime didn’t mitigate their concern. In a moment of complete honesty, they were forced to admit this could go a lot of ways. Still. Moses was gone. He wasn’t coming back. The days of mourning his passing were now expired. It could take months or years for their saddened hearts to recover. But they couldn’t stay here in the wilderness forever. There was only one choice. Believe, however tentatively, that God rested on Joshua. Believe that He spoke to him in a similar way as He did to Moses. Trust Joshua’s wisdom, follow his guidance, adhere to his direction. Even when it seemed ridiculous. Even when they had better ideas. Even when it appeared ill-advised. They had no other option but to follow Joshua to the promised land. 

It must have been equally difficult for Joshua to step up and stand in Moses’ place. Moses, who knew God face to face. Moses, who had led these people every step of their journey. Moses, who was respected and revered. To stand in that gap was a massive responsibility. It would have been easy to feel overwhelmed. God knew that. And He spoke the same promise to Joshua that He gave to Moses. Nothing about God was going to change. Ever. His nature wouldn’t alter with the change in leadership. His heart for the people wouldn’t turn away every time they sinned. His plan for their future wouldn’t be altered by king’s plans or enemies’ devices. God and His plan would remain the same. Always. He would be with Joshua just like He was with Moses. He would never walk away or leave him to figure things out on his own. He would guide every step, direct every battle, and lead every part of the journey until they reached their final destination. Joshua had only to do his part. Be strong and courageous. Be faithful and obedient. Don’t be afraid. Don’t let the people, the enemies, or the unexpected situations cause discouragement. Rely on God. Completely. Trust Him to be with them the entire way. Know that not one word of God’s promises will fail. Ever. God’s got this. (Deuteronomy 34:10; Joshua 1:1-9; 21:45)

Somehow, it is difficult for us to see Joshua as needing this reminder. We picture him as some pillar of faith who never knew a second of doubt in his life. As children, we listened to the accounts of Jericho’s demise and Ai’s eventual devastation, and Joshua becomes a fearless, faithful, invincible hero. And he was. But he also needed to be reminded, over and over, to abandon his fear and have faith in His God. As he set his men to re-engage Ai after being trounced in the initial attempt. When they were called to help the Gibeonites in their fight against five Amorite kings. When the kings of the northern cities joined forces to form an enormous army and came to attack Israel. Through every event, God’s message never changed. It was always the same. “Don’t even worry about it. Trust me. I’ve got this.” Regardless of the change in leadership, the increasing anxiety, the ferocity of the enemy, or the obvious impending doom, God was still sovereign. He had never reneged on His promises, and He wasn’t about to start. The truth was simple and consistent. There was no need to worry. God had them covered. (Joshua 8:1; 10:8, 25; 11:1-15)

He still does. Centuries later. God still has His people covered. Although it may feel like there are a million things to worry about, to stress over, to prepare for, God hasn’t changed. He never will. He is still the same God. His power hasn’t diminished with time. His authority hasn’t waned with the passing years. No matter who is in power. No matter what is happening in your life. No matter how anxious the news makes you. God is still God. Sovereign. Omniscient. Omnipotent. Omnipresent. He is still calling the shots. All of them. Whether you see it or not. He has not abdicated His throne or tossed the spinning orb of our planet out of His sight. He is busy. He is working. He is making all things new. Just the way He said He would. So. As you sit and fret over the most recent news broadcast, the opinions of the radio pundits, the opposing viewpoints on social media, or the racing and worrisome thoughts in your own mind, take a moment to silence the clamour of those voices and listen to the voice that matters. The only voice that matters. The voice of God. Your God. Hear Him as He soothes your fears and calms your soul. Know that whatever your “this” is, God’s got it. Whatever you are facing or fearing. Whatever you are hoping or dreading. Whatever you are wanting or wishing. God’s got it covered. He is already in the middle of that situation. He is already working for your good. So still your soul. Silence your heart. Listen carefully as He speaks to you the same words He’s historically spoken to His people as they faced horrific battles, unfortunate circumstances, and an unknown future, “Don’t even worry about it. Trust Me. I’ve got this.” Because He does. (Isaiah 26:3, 43:2, 19; Revelation 21:5; John 10:28-30; Psalm 33:11, 55:22, 85:8, 118:6, 136:16; Hebrews 13:6; Philippians 4:6-7; Deuteronomy 31:6, 8; Exodus 14:14)

Eyebrows rose in skepticism as the words resounded over the gathered crowd. Do. Not. Judge. He couldn’t be serious! Did He really want them to throw out their entire rulebook and just wing it? Let everybody in? Let anybody in? It was such a foreign concept. Acceptance without judgment. It simply wasn’t done. For decades they had carefully cultivated rules that, if strictly held, would allow them to judge the holy from the unholy. Traditions that had long been their measuring line for proper living. Conformity was mandatory. No one could be accepted unless they looked like them, acted like them, and talked like them. Now Jesus’ words were turning their whole system on its head. Let everyone in, He said. Without pointing fingers, nudging elbows, or jutting chins. Without whispered comments or ugly thoughts. Simply put, do not judge. At all. It was a foreign idea. (Matthew 7:1)

Judging others was the Pharisaical order of the day. They were used to stringing up their self-made measuring line to determine if others were adhering to their standards. It was its own kind of tradition. Everyone did it. Especially the Pharisees. More than once they whipped out their list of rules and questioned why Jesus wasn’t adhering as they thought He should. Why didn’t His disciples wash their hands before eating? Why did Jesus allow His men to pick and eat grain on the Sabbath? Why did Jesus desecrate their Sabbath by healing the sick? How could He possibly be the Messiah when He so busily engaged in things their rules and traditions stood firmly against? (Mark 2:24, 3:1-6, 7:5; Matthew 7:1, 23:1-39)

He couldn’t. That was their decision. Jesus couldn’t be the Messiah because He didn’t act the way they thought He should. He didn’t strictly follow their rules. He didn’t fully embrace their traditions. Their Messiah would do all those things. They were sure of it. He would strictly obey and enforce their distorted letter of the law and, consequently, prove His credibility. Who He was. What He was. Why He came. It was through this obedience, this outward action, that they would determine if He was the promised Messiah. But they were disappointed. He couldn’t be. He didn’t rigidly follow the rules. From where they stood, judging His every move, it seemed He bent the rules nearly to the point of breaking. His fraudulent claims were quickly apparent. He was not their Messiah. Obviously. And it chafed severely to have Him stand before them, clearly calling them out, and say, “Do not judge.”  

It was not a new message. Centuries before, God said similar words to the prophet Samuel. Traveling to Bethlehem, he assumed he would recognize the type of king God wanted. Young. Tall. Muscular. Good looking. Old enough to have at least a modicum of life experience on which to base his judgments. A man exactly like Eliab, Jesse’s firstborn. He fit every single descriptor. His height would command attention. His looks would enamor the ladies. Whether or not there was anything but air between his ears, Samuel had no idea, but by appearance alone, he would be happy to anoint Eliab as the next king. Except God wouldn’t allow it. 

God knew Eliab. Really knew him. He wasn’t swayed by a handsome face, bulging biceps, or extraordinary height. God didn’t even see those things. God saw his heart. Something there wasn’t right. Something inside Eliab wasn’t properly aligned with the type of king God wanted to lead His people. Samuel had no idea it was there. He couldn’t see it. Had no idea what it was. There were no outward indicators. Everything he could see looked like the makings of the next great king. But God saw it. Because God doesn’t look at one’s appearance or stature, birth order or authority level. God looks at the heart. And God said Eliab wasn’t the guy. In fact, He turned down the first seven of Jesse’s sons. 

One by one Jesse proudly paraded them before Samuel. One by one, for no reason Samuel could ascertain, God said no. Turning to Jesse, Samuel asked if that was the lot of them. Were there any sons not present? In an offhand manner, filled with dismissal that the youngest son could even be a contender, Jesse said David was off tending sheep. He clearly didn’t consider David able to lead a nation. Perhaps it was his age. Maybe it was his stature. Perhaps he didn’t have the chiseled features of his older brothers. Maybe Jesse didn’t want to lose his shepherd. Regardless of the reason, Jesse didn’t even offer to send for him.

Undeterred by Jesse’s reticence to offer his youngest son, Samuel insists the lad be brought before him. In fact, he says no one gets to eat until David arrives. One wonders what is said in the interim. More importantly, what is not said. What is going on in the minds and hearts of the already rejected elder brothers? Did their hearts twist with envy? Did their features contort with rage? Were their minds actively working out a plan for revenge? Or were they simply stymied how David could possibly be an option? He was the youngest. The last, the littlest, the least. There was nothing to set him above them. Not in looks, stature, experience, or ability. Nothing they could see made him royalty. But it was there. In his heart. God saw it. 

The Bible doesn’t tell us what was hiding in the hearts of the elder brothers that made God deem them unfit to rule. What it does tell us is that God isn’t impressed with the things that impress us. Good looks. High-end clothes. Flash cars. God isn’t interested in eloquent speech and an extensive vocabulary. He isn’t swayed by accolades, accomplishments, or academic prowess. He doesn’t care about the name drops. What God cares about, what really matters to Him, the only thing that counts at all, is what He sees in one’s heart. (I Samuel 16:1-12)

It was the point of His message to Samuel. It was the lesson He spoke in the Sermon on the Mount. It is the point of the words He inspired James to write. Don’t judge. At all. It isn’t your place. You have no idea what you are looking for. You are wasting time measuring one’s wealth and prestige. You are silently appraising their clothes, valuing their car, checking their haircut and manicure, but knowing nothing of the condition of their heart. You have done a thorough inspection of their outward appearance, listened to their excellent vocabulary, been captivated by their storytelling, but that is all you know. You don’t know what they are really all about. You don’t know what is in their heart, yet that is all that matters. What is in the heart is the most important part of a person. And it can’t be seen in a cursory glance. You’ll have to spend time with them to truly know who they are. (James 2:1)

That’s the rub for us. Spending time with people we deem unworthy of our time and attention. The poor. The aged. The ill. The odd. It is easy, enjoyable even, to spend time with the beautiful, active, exciting people of society. We rush to be in their presence. Hang on their every word. Brush off their theological inaccuracies because we so desperately want to be part of their circle. And, where we would never outwardly tell the unfortunately aromatic, socially unacceptable bag lady not to enter our sanctuary, we wish she wouldn’t. We don’t care to spend time with her. We don’t want to know her. We have no intention of determining her theological standpoint, because we have already judged her poorly by what our eyes can see.  

James, in his epistle, talks candidly about this behavior. He nearly quotes Jesus’ command. Do not judge. Only James uses different words. Do not show favoritism. Don’t bestow honor and favor on the one who strides confidently into your midst spouting wisdom and drenched in obvious riches. Don’t offer them the best place in the house. Don’t fawn over them. Don’t treat the poor person who follows them into your church as if they are less than the one who preceded them. Don’t dismiss them. Don’t make them feel unwanted or out of place. Don’t judge people based on what you see, because, quite frankly, your eyesight is cloudy. You don’t see the whole picture. The poor person may be a prayer warrior, full of faith, and deeply in love with Jesus. The rich person might be the world’s best actor, faking spirituality and leading people astray. They may be doing all the right things on the outside, quoting all the right words, yet their heart is hardened and darkened by sin. You will never know by looking at them. You can’t see their hearts. Only God can. (James 2:1-7)

In a startling truth that resounds from the page centuries after he lifted his pen, James issues a sobering truth. When you judge others and show favoritism, you are sinning. You are flagrantly breaking the commandment Jesus called the second greatest. Love your neighbor as yourself. Treat others how you would like to be treated. Do to others what you wish others would do to you. Are you doing it? Really doing it? From your heart? Are you speaking and acting in a way that reflects a heart changed by mercy and grace? Are you engaging with others in a way that makes them feel respected and loved no matter who they are or how they look? Are you welcoming people, all people, into your life, your church, because the love of God is alive and working in you? Are your words and actions a correct depiction of the secrets you keep in the deepest recesses of your heart? Are you a fraud or a follower? Rest assured, God knows. (James 2:8-13; Luke 6:31, 16:15; Ephesians 4:32; Mark 12:31; Matthew 12:34; Proverbs 21:2; Jeremiah 17:10; John 7:24) 

It wasn’t as if they hadn’t been warned. They had. Clearly. Concisely. In an eloquent speech, Judah’s king, Abijah, stood on Mount Zemaraim and listed Israel’s sins. Some of them, at least. Their entirety was likely longer than he had time to detail. They had divided the kingdom of David. They had rebelled against God and His appointed king. The people had banished the priests of the Lord and chosen new priests to preside over the worship of the golden calves their newly chosen king had created for them to worship. And now they had come against Judah as if they could win a war against the Lord’s kingdom. (II Chronicles 10)

Maybe they could. In theory. By the numbers, it wasn’t impossible. Judah had four hundred thousand warriors. Israel had twice as many. Measured in physical strength alone, Israel clearly had the advantage. Any other kingdom would be terrified to face an army of such magnitude. Any other people would be worried for the lives of their friends and family. Any other king would have scoured the countryside for more men to enlist, more kingdoms to unite with, more people to engage in the battle. Not Judah. Not Abijah. They weren’t worried. At all. Not even a little. They didn’t need to be. 

All of Judah knew who their God was. They knew His power. They knew His consistency. They knew they could trust Him. They had been doing it for a while now. Having chosen God as their Lord, they had never abandoned Him. Every command He issued was followed with diligent accuracy. Every requirement He set forth was their delight to fulfill. They had dedicated themselves, their hearts, their lives to be God’s alone. He was their leader. In everything. They wouldn’t march into battle on the flimsy hope to somehow come out on top. No. They would confidently stride out to face an army twice their size, knowing God went before them. He would deliver them. God would never abandon the people who had not abandoned Him. 

This was the warning Abijah issued before the ambush was set, before the first battle cry rang out, before the first sword was drawn, before the priests of the Lord blasted their trumpets. He begged Jeroboam and the army of Israel to listen up. Evaluate their choices. Consider the consequences. Decide if this action was in their own best interest. Because it wasn’t. Fighting against God never was. It would never be successful. Those who chose not to follow the requirements God had explicitly laid out for them would never succeed in a battle against Him. God would always win. His people would always be victorious. Choosing to start a fight with them was pointless. Yet Jeroboam refused to listen. 

No one knows why Jeroboam chose to proceed with the battle. Arrogance? Ignorance? Purposeful obtuseness? Regardless of the reason, he pushed Israel’s army ahead. Dividing his men, he strategically surrounded Judah’s army. The visible army faced them. The ambush approached from the rear. Judah had nowhere to turn. No space was free from impending battle. Fear gripped their hearts. Panic clawed at their throats. Concern for the outcome of the battle teased the corners of their minds. Then they remembered the choice they had made. The one to follow God. Always. Obey God. Consistently. Dedicate themselves to the service of the Lord. Forever. And they remembered His promises to those who did so. Victory. Looking around that battlefield, seeing the opposition on every side, knowing they were grossly outnumbered and the odds were severely stacked against them, Judah did the only thing they could do. They called in the heavy artillery. They cried out to the Lord. (Deuteronomy 28:1-13)

We don’t know what they said to God. There is no record of their pleas. There is no indication of how long they prayed or how quickly God answered. We have no way to know how much time elapsed between the first frisson of fear and the triumphant blast of the priests’ trumpets. Those things aren’t really important. What we need to know is written in the account. When things got tough, when it looked impossible, when they were hugely outnumbered by the enemy, Judah had such a committed relationship with God that they called on Him and He answered. Their commitment to and dependence on God is the reason they succeeded. The only reason. It wasn’t strength or cunning. They had neither. They weren’t blessed with the most strategic military minds. Their weapons weren’t advanced or superior. The reason they won, the cause of their success, was because they chose God to be their Lord. They chose obedience to Him when it wasn’t popular or easy. They chose to depend on God’s strength rather than their own, and they felt comfortable in doing so, because they knew from historical records, if not personal experience, that no one wins against the Lord. 

Five hundred thousand warriors of Jeroboam’s original eight hundred thousand died that day. It was unnecessary. There was absolutely no reason for those men to lose their lives. They had every chance to change their minds. They were warned. Not just with a single sentence warning, but with facts and evidence that highlighted their inevitable defeat. If they chose to come against the people who had chosen God as their Lord, defeat was unavoidable. And it wasn’t just a blow to the army of Israel. It was a blow to their chosen king as well. Jeroboam found his power slipping away. Eventually, the Bible tells us, God struck him and he died. (II Chronicles 13)

None of that had to happen. Not one man had to die. No one had to lift a sword against another. If they had all simply decided to make the Lord their God, the skirmish would never have occurred. We wouldn’t read about it. Wouldn’t even consider it. They could all have lived to a ripe old age. If they had listened when they were warned. If they had made the right choice. If they had chosen God as their Lord. 

Abijah tried to warn them. In carrying out the commands and requirements of God, he attempted to put them on the right path. Warning them of the dangers of creating other gods and appointing priests to treat them like God. He carefully adhered to the words written in Deuteronomy. He kept his own house clean. No idols. No false priests. No worship of anything that wasn’t God. He challenged Jeroboam to do the same. He tried to watch for Jeroboam’s soul. He admonished him and his people to stay true to God and bear good fruit. He warned them of the consequences and offered them the option of changing their minds. When it was all said and done, they opted out. But Abijah and the people of Judah didn’t. They held to what they knew to be true. They chose to follow God rather than running off down a nicer path, an easier route, a justifiable detour. And God blessed them with victory. (Deuteronomy 29:9, 16-21)

It is such a familiar tale. Perhaps not this exact account, but the concept. Nearly every day, I hear another report, read another article, watch another broadcast underscoring just how closely our day relates to Abijah’s. Everyone is divided. Countries. Communities. Churches. That one worries me the most. The people who claim to be God’s are divided among themselves. They are all choosing their own truth. Determining their own god. Forging their own path. The commands and principles of God, written by His own hand and inspired by His Holy Spirit, are up for discussion and subject to re-interpretation. That frightens me. Because God’s words, His truths, His rules don’t bend or break. His word doesn’t change. Nor does God Himself. He is always the same. (II Peter 1:21; Matthew 24:35; Hebrews 13:8; Malachi 3:6; Isaiah 40:8)

We are the ones who change. When our hearts turn aside to the thing we love more. When our eyes fix on something we want more. When our souls yearn for something instant and earthly. It is then we begin to finagle God’s word to say what we want it to mean. Unfortunately for us, no amount of verbal maneuvering or theological manipulation will change the meaning and intent of God’s original commands. God’s word stands. Alone, if necessary. And we are called to do the same. Called to stand with Judah and Abijah. Called to stand up for right and truth in a world constantly altering its perceptions of those things. Called to firmly plant our spiritual feet and proclaim, “As for us,” we refuse to abandon the words and teachings of God. We won’t change them to be more palatable. We won’t give them new meaning that better fits society’s desires. We won’t engage in the dangerous business of adding or taking away from them. For us, right now, today, we choose the Lord as our God. Forever. (Psalm 119:89, 160; Numbers 23:19; Proverbs 30:5-6; Deuteronomy 4:2; Matthew 5:18)

Are you there? Have you made your choice? Popular or unpopular. Comfortable or uncomfortable. Have you taken your stand, planted your feet, and proclaimed your intentions? Have you purposefully chosen to follow God? Is He your Lord? Are you meticulously adhering to His requirements? No matter what friends or family choose. Regardless what society says. No matter how persuasive the pundits are. Do your actions and words unmistakably reflect your choice? As for you, have you chosen the Lord as your God? Forever. (Joshua 24:15; Deuteronomy 30:19, 31:6; Exodus 19:5-6; II Peter 2:1-3; I Corinthians 15:58; James 1:12; II Thessalonians 2:15; Ephesians 4;14-19; Colossians 2:8; Jude 1:4, 12-13, 19)

They had all seen him a hundred times. Maybe a thousand. They were used to him sitting there at the place travelers entered and exited Jericho. He had been an unchanging fixture there for years. Unkempt beard. Worn clothes. Sightless eyes staring out of an expressionless face. Tin cup held out in the hope of a coin dropping from a compassionate visitor’s hand. They didn’t socialize. At all. They didn’t want to. It simply wasn’t done. Wasn’t socially acceptable. The sighted people busily going about their business, and the blind beggar conducting his own form of business had nothing in common. Not one thing. At least not one they could see. 

No one really saw him. Not because they couldn’t see, but because they chose not to. Mostly, they ignored him. It was a practice many had perfected. So accustomed were they to his presence, they could attend their business without so much as a glance in his direction. To those passing by daily, the begging blind man didn’t exist. At all. Men ignored his voice, kept their distance, averted their eyes. Women switched sides of the street to avoid him. Mothers carefully guided their small children away, tucking them behind voluminous skirts as they passed. No one stopped to chat. No one asked how his day was going. No one regularly placed a piece of bread in his hand to ward off hunger. Even with sighted eyes, the people missed his presence. They didn’t see him. Not really. Not as a person. Not as useful. Not as worthy. They had never seen him that way. No one had. Until Jesus passed through town. (Mark 10:17-22)

Exiting the town of Jericho, a large crowd encompassed Jesus. Their progress was slow, impeded by their own urgency to have a personal encounter with Him. Their voices were loud, leaving no mistake about who was passing by. As they approached the blind man’s spot, they didn’t stumble or grind to a halt. People simply went around him. Ignoring him, as usual. But they didn’t stop talking. Their mouths kept going, making it impossible for the blind man to miss who was passing by. Jesus of Nazareth. He’d heard of Him. Of course, he’d heard of most people. He knew the gossip. It was the only perk of being the ignored, rejected blind beggar by the road. No one was particularly careful about what they said in his presence. Apparently, they thought blindness included lack of intelligence. It didn’t. He knew many things about many people. Things they would never tell him. Things they wouldn’t necessarily want him to know. He definitely knew about Jesus. He knew He was a Healer. He knew Jesus didn’t ignore the disabled, discouraged, disenfranchised, or depressed. He wasn’t impressed with social status or acceptability. In fact, Jesus’ reputation suggested he was more familiar with the tattered margins of society than the leading edge of power and prominence. It seemed Jesus saw everyone. Even people like him.  

Determining he had nothing to lose should another human decide his existence was superfluous to requirement, the blind man gathered his courage and called out to Jesus. Loudly. Loud enough to get the attention of the men on the nearest edge of the crowd. And they weren’t having it. Whirling around in his general direction, they issued menacing warnings. He needed to shut up. Stop yelling like a madman. Quit trying to get attention. Don’t be embarrassing. Jesus wasn’t there to see an unkempt, uncouth social reject. They couldn’t imagine He would be interested in conversing with a useless scrap of humanity. Except He was. 

Utterly surprising, the crowd surrounding Him, Jesus requested the blind man be brought to stand before Him. A ripple of astonished whispers must have whipped through the crowd. Regardless, they did as He asked. Making a path, some men helped the blind man to his feet and walked him safely to Jesus. As he stood there, his knees knocking, his heart in overdrive, his stomach in knots over what may or may not happen next, Jesus gently asked a simple question. What did he want? What did he need? What was he hoping to take away from this encounter? There is no surprise in the blind man’s answer. He wanted what everyone in his position would want. He wanted to see. He wanted to be healed. He wanted to be equal to the people currently crowded around him who didn’t see him or hear him or speak to him except to scorn and scold. He wanted to be healed so he could be accepted in his world. And Jesus obliged. 

With not even a modicum of drama, Jesus healed him. He could immediately see. He could go clean up his filthy little spot by the side of the road and go home. Scrub up. Learn a trade. Get a job. Find a wife. Have a family. Live happily ever after. He could be integrated into the society that had long held him at arm’s length. Why? Because Jesus saw him through the eyes of His compassionate heart. He looked beyond the bedraggled, disabled outer shell and saw his inner potential. When everyone else saw a pointless blight on society, unworthy of their time or attention, Jesus saw the possibilities of usefulness and worth.  (Luke 18:35-43)

The Luke account tells us that all the people who saw the blind man receive his sight praised God. I wonder why. Not because it isn’t praiseworthy. It is. I wonder because it seems so out of character for people who were previously attempting to shut him up, thwart his attempts to speak to Jesus. I find I have questions about their motivation. Were they truly happy on the man’s behalf, or were they simply excited to be in the presence of a miracle? Were they ecstatic to no longer have to pass the beggar on their travels, thrilled to have one less blight on society? Or, is it possible, the scales had fallen off their own eyes? Did they get Jesus’ message? The unspoken one? The message Jesus lived out in word and deed every day of His life. Love your neighbor as yourself. Don’t judge someone based on their outward appearance, visible shortcomings, or obvious inabilities. Treat others the way you wish to be treated. Include the despised and rejected of society. Do to others what you would like them to do to you if the tables were turned, the shoe was on your foot, the disability, inability, or inequality was yours to bear. (Matthew 22:36-40, 25:40; Luke 6:31; Ephesians 4:32; Deuteronomy 15:10-11; Proverbs 19:17, 31:9; I John 3:17-18; John 7:24)

It was a lesson to the crowd then. It is a lesson to us now. One we often miss. It is simple. You do not have an edge on Jesus’ love and attention because you are physically whole, mentally well, emotionally stable, or spiritually solid. Jesus came for everyone. Clean. Dirty. Wealthy. Poor. Able or disabled. No one is excluded. We miss that fact. We forget that the love and tenderness of Jesus has no boundaries. His grace and mercy transcend every human situation and circumstance. We look with our eyes and determine one another’s worth based on their looks, speech, or abilities. We forget the lesson Jesus embodied with every person who crossed His path. Love one another. Always. Love everyone. No exceptions. See one another through the eyes of Jesus. Look for good in one another, even when it isn’t obvious. Don’t shy away from those who are different, disabled, or distasteful to look at. Love them. See them. Sit down beside them. Spend time there. Talk to them. Share Jesus with them. You never know whose life you can change when your heart sees like Jesus. (I Peter 4:8; Matthew 5:16; John 13:34-35, 15:12-13; I Samuel 16:7; I Corinthians 4:5; Mark 16:15-16: Hebrews 13:16) 

Leaning back to peruse his writing, he took a moment to stretch his aching back. He had been bent over this parchment far longer than anticipated. What had begun as a simple letter had become a multiple-page sermon. His shoulders were tight from holding the same position. His fingers were beginning to cramp. He wasn’t done yet. Some of the most important bits were still coming. Truths about God. Truths about humanity. Truths so closely interwoven they could not be independently held. Concepts so important John felt compelled to read them over and over again before sending them on. The verbiage had to be exact. There could be no room for misinterpretation, no space for misconceptions, no chance at misunderstanding. If they were living in the awareness of being sons and daughters of God, residing in His amazing love for them, their lives would show it. Every day. They would reciprocate His love. They would keep His commandments. Willingly. But there was only one way to make that happen. Stay away from idols. (I John 2:3-6,15; 3:1, 11, 17; 4:15-16, 20-21; 5:2-3, 21)

John tacked those exact words to the end of his letter. A postscript meant to underscore the whole. Guard against idolatry. Stay away from other gods. Don’t become enamoured with things that aren’t God. Don’t let anything take God’s place. Not fleshly desires. Not earthly things. Not pride in possessions, prosperity, or prominence. Idols of any kind are dangerous. They will distract you, draw you aside. Destroy your relationship with God. You don’t want that. At all. So. Remember who you are in Christ. Remember you are loved and treasured by God. Remember you are forgiven by Him. Remember you are His child. Then live like it. Don’t allow the desire for things temporal to displace your love for God eternal. It was not a new concept. (I John 1:9; 2:7, 28-29; 5:21)

Since the dawn of time, this had been God’s instruction and expectation of His people. In the Garden of Eden, He commanded Adam and Eve to stay away from the center tree. Don’t touch it. Don’t pick its fruit. Don’t eat even one bite. Leave that tree alone. Completely. It was the one rule. The only rule. They didn’t keep it. Enticed by the idea of being as wise as God and captivated by the tantalizing color of the fruit, Eve picked just one piece and tasted. Adam didn’t stop her. Not when she picked the fruit. Not when she bit into it. Not when she offered him a bite. Complicit in her disobedience, either because he also wanted to be wise or he simply didn’t wish to refuse his partner, Adam sided with Eve and chose something earthly over things eternal. (Genesis 3: 1-7)

Achan made a similar choice. After Israel’s exhilarating triumph over Jericho, God’s command had been clear. Rescue Rahab and her family. Burn the city. All of it. To the ground. Only the silver, gold, bronze, and iron were to be taken and placed in the treasury of God’s house. Nothing was to be kept for personal use, stored in a trophy cabinet, or kept for a rainy day. Everything had to go. Everyone knew it. No one was ignorant of the order. But as he wandered around the city, Achan saw things. Things he thought he could secret away without anyone noticing. Things he wanted for himself. A beautiful Babylonian garment. Things that already belonged to God. Five pounds of silver. A bar of gold. Achan’s eyes lusted after those things. His heart desired those earthly possessions more than it hungered for the eternal God. Achan forgot, if only for a moment, that he was one of God’s beloved, precious people and, in that moment of weakness, chose death over life. (Exodus 19:5; Joshua 6:22-7:26)

Even King Solomon, with all the wisdom he had, all the wealth he had, all the good he did, still fell prey to idols. Actual idols. Wood. Stone. Unseeing. Unhearing. Impotent foreign gods belonging to his wives. Wives he should never have had in the first place. Wives, God commanded the Israelites not to take. But Solomon loved women. Many women. He must have. His seven hundred wives and three hundred concubines attest to that fact. Little by little, Solomon’s wives turned his heart away from his God. He followed their gods. Built altars to them. Allowed the burning of incense and offering of sacrifices to them. Completely disregarded his relationship with God Almighty. Entirely forgot who he was. A king chosen by God, blessed by God, prospered by God. A child of God. Distracted by the beautiful women in whom he delighted, Solomon traded spiritual integrity for physical intimacy, sacrificing the constancy of God’s presence for fleeting earthly companionship. (I Kings 11:1-11)

The list could go on. Over and over we read the accounts of those drawn aside by the very things John cautions against to follow their own nefarious desires, chart their own path, become their own person, do their own thing. We read of people drawn into outrageous sins because they forgot who they were. They forgot they were God’s people. They forgot how immense His love for them was. They got distracted by earthly things, their love for God grew cold, and they forgot to live for eternity. They forgot the historic words of Moses as he led the Israelites through the wilderness, “You are sons (and daughters) of God.” You are His children. Your lives should reflect it. Your words should echo it. Your hearts should rest in that truth. You should carefully obey all the things God has commanded because you are beloved, precious children, chosen by God to be His alone. That is who you are. And it should show. In how you live. In what you value. In who you worship. (Deuteronomy 11:16; 12:25-32; 13: 1, 16, 22; 14:1-2; Exodus 20:3-6)    

You see, friend, who you know yourself to be matters. Immensely. Your identity is pivotal to your performance. When you live in the awareness of being a loved, precious child of God, it changes you. Your outlook. Your worldview. Your focus. Belonging to Jesus makes you different. In every way. Being loved by God changes your life. It opens you up to love God in return. Love Him with your whole heart and mind, and strength. Loving God changes your actions. It changes everything about the way you live your life. It changes how you interact with others–who you run from as well as who you run toward. Loving God above everything else in your life enables you to willingly comply with His commands. No drudgery. No hesitancy. No resentment. When you know who you are in Christ, you live like it. (Psalm 26:3; 90:14; 106:7; John 13:24) 

We have come a long way since the day Moses stood before the congregation of Israelites and reminded them that they were children of God. Society has enormously changed since John penned the letter reminding his readers that they were sons and daughters of God. Yet we, centuries later, living in an entirely different society, still need the same reminder. We are children of God. Precious to Him. He has redeemed us. His love for us is steadfast and unchanging. We can count on it. We can also count on a million distractions from the world crowding our minds and attempting to draw our hearts away from following Him. We need to remember John’s postscript. Stay away from idols. All of them. Anything that would draw your mind, heart, or soul away from God. We need to remember that if we allow something, anything, to take the place of Jesus Christ in our lives, if love for money, things, success or power becomes more important to us than God, if we choose to run hard after anything that isn’t of God, we will lose our relationship with Him. Our souls will be in danger. We must be constantly on guard, always watching, because possible idols are everywhere. (Isaiah 43:4; John 3:16-17; Micah 7:20; Lamentations 3:22-23; Romans 12:21; Deuteronomy 6:4-7)

Idols aren’t only wood and stone creations made by human hands, named by human tongues, worshipped at handmade altars. No. Idols are anything that mean more to you than your relationship with God. They are the things you would shortsell your soul to have, do, or be. And they may not be things you can touch or see. Maybe it’s the zeroes on your bank statement. Maybe it’s the letters behind your name. Maybe it’s a posh address, a flashy car, a pretty boat, or a limit-free credit card. It doesn’t matter. Big or small, whatever drives you to do the things you do is your idol. If you love God most, it will show. He will be the driving force behind all you do. His words will be your words. His actions will be your actions. His choice will be your choice. Every day. All day. When you love Him, when you find your identity solely in being God’s child, you will keep His commandments. Because that is who you are. (I John 3:2, 10; Galatians 3:26; Romans 8:16; 12:2; I Peter 2:10; John 14:15; Psalm 40:8; I Corinthians 3:16-17; John 10:3-5)