Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

He couldn’t believe it! Didn’t dare believe it! This had to be some sort of celestial prank! A baby? Them? Now? He was old. His wife was beyond childbearing age. Was Gabriel sure he was at the right temple? Speaking to the right priest? It seemed enormously unlikely Elizabeth was going to have a child. Not now. Not at this age. Not after all the years they had waited, hoped, dreamed. Not after all the time of unfulfilled longing. Not now that the years of prayers to a silent heaven had culminated in aging barrenness. Zechariah and Elizabeth had quietly abandoned the hope of a child. Until now. 

Now Zechariah stood listening to the angel’s words, his mouth gaping in disbelief. It couldn’t be true. Gabriel needed to check the address on this delivery. The barrenness was a done deal. Babies weren’t going to happen. Not even one. Over time, they had accepted the fact, allowed the darkness of their childless existence to become their norm. Their prayers had stopped. Their hope had dwindled. They no longer dared to dream. The “no” ringing back from the heavens had been heard loud and clear. There would be no child for Zechariah and Elizabeth. They understood. They accepted. They moved on. Sort of. (Luke 1:8-19)

Elizabeth struggled. Often. She didn’t understand it. She and Zechariah lived righteous lives. They obeyed the commands and rules, and regulations passed down from God through Moses. All of them. They were meticulous. Her husband was a priest. Her life was above reproach. Yet here she sat, unable to conceive, and desperately wondering why. Having children was so important. Not just to Elizabeth as a woman, but to her life in society. Being barren carried such a stigma. An air of sin. The often whispered idea that she had somehow displeased God. But she hadn’t. Ever. She had lived honest and upright her entire life. Even when the heavens were silent. Even when her womb was empty. Even when the sadness enveloped her soul in dark grief. Never once did Elizabeth turn from following God. Never once did she douse the light of His presence in her life. (Luke 1:5-7, 24-25)

Knowing the beauty of her soul, Zechariah should have been excited to get home and share the news of his angelic visit with his wife. Except he wasn’t. Because he couldn’t. Not verbally. In the face of his blatant and adamant disbelief of Gabriel’s prophecy, he was rendered mute. He probably deserved that. Maybe he needed it. Time to be quiet and contemplate everything Gabriel had said. Time to spend in private conversation with God. Time to wrap his head around the fact that his son, the only child he would ever have, wasn’t going to be like other kids. At all. He was going to be different. So different. Nothing like Zechariah had dreamed. He wouldn’t follow in his father’s footsteps. He would forge his own path. The path God had chosen for him centuries ago. The one Isaiah said he would take before anyone ever knew who he was or the miraculous circumstances of his birth. Zechariah’s son would be tasked with preparing the people for the coming Messiah. Because the Messiah was coming. Soon. (Luke 1:20-22; Isaiah 40:3-5)

Zechariah was certain of that. Four hundred years of prophetic silence hadn’t dimmed his faith. Jesus was coming. He knew it. He believed it. He hoped it would be in his lifetime. Generations had come and gone in the ensuing years since the final prophecy had been spoken. The Messiah had yet to appear. No matter how hard they prayed. No matter how much they believed. No matter how they strained their eyes in watching. The Messiah hadn’t materialized. Many had stopped believing. Quit hoping. Not Zechariah. Not Elizabeth. Knowing what they did of silent heavens and fruitless faith, neither ever stopped believing the Messiah would come.   

Perhaps that is why they were chosen. Trapped in the personal wilderness of unanswered prayers, they never stopped following God. Ever. Even when it seemed like a logical choice. Even when they felt angry at His silence. Even when the gossip and rumors damaged their spirits and clouded their souls. Never once did they renounce their obedience. Never did they allow despair to win. In the face of personal defeat and discouragement, they continued to live in the light of eternity. Had anyone dared to look past the preconceived notion of unresolved sin robbing Elizabeth of children, they would have seen it. The quiet light of God emanating from her soul, from Zechariah’s soul. With their personal experience in and understanding of the importance of implicitly trusting God in the dark spaces of life, Elizabeth and Zechariah were the perfect candidates to raise the man charged with preparing the way for Jesus. They would need that absolute faith in God’s sovereignty. 

John the Baptist wasn’t going to be like other people’s sons. He wouldn’t grow up to fill a role in the temple, take up a trade, or farm the land. He wouldn’t even live inside city limits. There would be no nice house, complete with picket fence, a wife, and half a dozen children. No. Zechariah and Elizabeth’s son would make his home in the wilderness. His diet would consist of locusts and honey. Wine would never cross his lips. His hair would not be cut. He would clothe himself in a robe of camel’s hair cinched with a simple leather belt at the waist. Nothing he did would ever be about himself. He had just one goal. Make a space for the Messiah to fill. Not in the town square. Not in the temple courtyard. Not on a street corner where passersby would hear his words as they went about their errands. No. Speaking from a dry and barren wilderness where nothing seemed to grow properly and life didn’t thrive, John the Baptist set up his stage and set about doing what he was meant to do. Prepare a way in the wilderness. (Matthew 3:1-6)

From every corner of the region, people came to hear John speak. Jerusalem. Judea. All over the Jordan Valley. Distance didn’t seem to matter. No account tells us why. Maybe they simply wanted a glimpse of the miracle child. Maybe they were looky-lou’s out to get a peek at the priest’s kid, who had clearly not followed the family tradition. Maybe he was a spellbinding speaker, pulling people into his lessons and making them hesitant to leave. Maybe they were truly interested in what he had to say. Maybe the hope of the Messiah’s imminent arrival drew them in. No matter the reason, still they came. They heard. They listened. They repented and were baptized. Although not a wide path through the center of town, a swath of land in the suburbs, or a campus of buildings with a list of programs, a way was being prepared. Places for Jesus to inhabit. Hearts and minds, and lives of people were softened and opened to His teachings. Because John the Baptist did what he was sent to do. In a world of spiritual darkness, discouragement, and despair, he cleared a path. Made a space. Prepared the way. For Jesus to come and do His Father’s business. So must we. (Matthew 11:7-10; Mark 1:1-7) 

It is no secret that our world is in trouble. Darkness envelops us. Society is rife with issues. Spiritual decline. Political problems. Financial decay. Employment interruptions. It would be easy to believe God isn’t even paying attention anymore, that He doesn’t care, that He isn’t concerned with the despondency threatening to overtake our souls. Hope seems useless. Faith seems misplaced. Our urgent, desperate prayers seem to go unanswered. No matter how hard we try, it feels impossible to see the hand of God at work through the flourishing evil around us. Despair weighs us down. Fear haunts us. Worry consumes our thoughts. Truly, we live in a dry, barren wilderness, a space crying out for someone to prepare a way for Jesus to do His Father’s business. (Luke 2:49)

You are that person. You are the “someone” God is calling to prepare the way for Him to work and move. In your corner of the world. In your neighborhood. In your circle of friends. You are called to be that voice, crying out of the dark wilderness of this world, pointing discouraged, disappointed, disenchanted souls to Jesus. He is the only hope. He has the words of life. Only through Him can they find peace in the tumult and pandemonium around them. You know that. So tell them. Tell them Jesus is the way through their wilderness. The road to the truth in a world of lies. The only path to eternal life. Tell them He is the light in their deep darkness. Tell them He is bread, strength, sustenance, for their world-weary souls. Tell them that Jesus has come on a mission to seek out and redeem all who are entrenched in sin and wandering in the wilderness of earth. In all the dark places, where evil seems to triumph, boldly speak life. Speak peace. Speak truth. Clear a path. Prepare the way. Jesus has come. (Acts 1:8; John 6:35,68; 8:12; 14:6, 27; I Peter 1:3; Luke 19:10; Proverbs 18:21)  

Listening in shell-shocked silence, the people glanced at one another in question. The prophet must finally have gone round the bend. His words made no sense. They hadn’t disrespected God. They weren’t dishonoring Him. Not really. They were still doing all the things. Attending church. Bringing sacrifices. Offering food. So maybe it wasn’t always new food. Maybe the bread didn’t have the right oil or flour in it. Maybe the animals were just whichever one they could catch the quickest after oversleeping that morning. But they still came. They still brought stuff. They were still adhering to the basic rules. So what if they had made a few alterations? Did it really matter? Did it give Malachi the right to sit there in his pomposity and accuse them of treating God with contempt? They weren’t, but even if they were, God sort of started it. (Malachi 1)   

For decades, prophets had been telling them God was sending a rescue. For them. Preparing to bring them out of captivity. Planning to send a Messiah. A Redeemer. A King. He would be breathtaking in power and authority. Stepping onto the world scene, He would vanquish their enemies and establish a kingdom that could never be overthrown. His kingdom. Over them. They would be His people. His special people. Treasured. Precious. Beloved. They would live in comfort and ease. Their hands would no longer be calloused and workworn. The labors of life would be done by the neighboring people. People, their Messiah had conquered. People who weren’t them. When their King came, he would reign and they would reign with him. They absolutely could not wait for that glorious day! (Isaiah 9:6; 53; Psalm 2; Zechariah 9:9; II Samuel 7:10-13)

They were still waiting. Had been waiting. Released from captivity in Babylon, they had been home for a while. A long while. Long enough to rebuild the temple. Rebuild their homes. Rebuild their lives. Long enough, they expected the Messiah to have already appeared. He hadn’t. Neither had the comfortable lifestyle they believed He would bring. In the waiting, discouragement had filled the anticipatory spaces of their hearts. Disillusioned by their own expectations and the silent passage of their fabricated timetable, they began to question if it was worth it. Was it worth all the meticulous adherence to the laws of Moses? Did they even still apply in this new era? And how could God, with all the love He claimed He had for them, expect them to give Him their best when He clearly wasn’t giving them the best He could? 

Rubber met road there. In that human, mental space where a God of love should have come through for His people, the way He promised, yet had failed to perform. At least up until now. Maybe things would change in the next weeks or months or years, but it wasn’t looking like it. Their hope that the words of past prophets would be fulfilled had long since dissipated in the years of nothing. Because their expectations hadn’t been met, it was determined God didn’t love them. Their coffers weren’t full. Their barns weren’t bursting. Their tables weren’t overladen with goodness. Life wasn’t easy. If God loved them, He would prosper them. By their measure, He hadn’t. So clearly, He didn’t. They couldn’t see His hand and chose not to trust His heart. 

What they could see, what was so plain before their eyes, was the prosperity of the wicked. Evil seemed to flourish. Everywhere. Wealth fell on those who chose to follow their own desires. Blessings poured out on those who were arrogant against God. Whatever they were doing, it certainly seemed to be working. And, where the Israelites might not have been excited about completely abandoning God and all His ways, they were at least open to altering His commands. That’s how they ended up in this space in the first place. Right here, listening to Malachi not only rebuke their actions, but openly call out the thoughts and intentions of their hearts. 

In frustration and an attempt to force God’s hand, the people had turned from obeying His commands. They hadn’t abandoned the practices, just modified them. Made them more palatable for their lifestyle, more comfortable in society. Yes, they still offered sacrifices, but they weren’t the best of the flock. Now they were mercy killings. Gracious ending of lives for animals living with disease or lameness. Their food offerings were not of the finest flour and oil. It wasn’t always even new bread. But one mustn’t waste, right? So grab the oldest bread, the lamest lamb, and hustle up to the temple. Any sacrifice is better than no sacrifice. And God, being a God of unfailing love, will overlook our disobedience and happily accept whatever we give Him, right? (Malachi 2-3)

No, actually. God is not in such a position as to be forced to accept your sloppy seconds. He is not desperate for any morsel of attention you deign to give Him. God asks for your best. Demands it. Expects it. There can be no substitutions, no half measures, no alterations. To offer God less than your best is to show flagrant disrespect for His sovereignty over the universe and His authority over the world. When we cheapen our sacrifices, we dishonor His name. The name that is above every name. The powerful name that makes demons tremble. The name before which every knee will one day bow. People then. People now. You. Me. We will all bow before Him. And we will give an account. For everything. Every sacrifice. Proper or not. (Romans 14:12; James 2:19; Philippians 2:9-11; Deuteronomy 6:4-5; Colossians 1:18; Psalm 103:19; Matthew 28:18)

Living beyond the day of sacrificial animals and offerings of wheat and oil, it is easy to read the words of Malachi and think they don’t apply to us. Perhaps we should look again. We really aren’t so different. We are guilty of looking around, seeing the prosperity of the wicked, and wondering if all the sacrifices we make to follow God are really worth it. What earthly advancement are we gaining from our honesty and morality that makes it worth holding God’s exacting standard? What are we gaining by pouring ourselves into God’s work when that same time could be spent building our own fame and fortune? What difference does it make if we spend 3 minutes rather than 30 in prayer? What is truly hurt when we alter the commands of God to better suit our schedules, our society, ourselves? Based on the truth that God’s love never ends, we have convinced ourselves that God is desperate enough to take any scraps of ourselves we throw at His feet in passing and be grateful to have them. It simply isn’t true. 

God doesn’t need your praise, your promise, your prosperity. He owns everything. Always has. Everything you have belongs to Him. Life. Breath. Time. Talents. Wealth. It’s all His. Always has been. We treat it like it isn’t. Like it is ours. Like we brought ourselves to where we are, built our own wealth, brought about our own fame. We didn’t. God did. And we owe Him. For every gift God has given us, we should be offering a portion back to Him. Not just monetarily. Although necessary and good, we need to sacrifice more of ourselves than simply writing a check or making an online donation. We need to sacrifice our time. Lay down the tablet, laptop, or cell phone. Turn off the television. Pick up the Bible. Dust it off, if necessary. Spend time reading and studying, and contemplating what God has to say to you. Pray. Really talk to God. Have a conversation. Listen to His voice. In the busyness of your life, make time to take time to spend time in the presence of God. Stay for as long as it takes to draw close to Him. Find yourself in a place to sacrifice your talents to Him. Get that instrument out of the closet, dust it off, and join the praise band. Find your way to the choir loft. Fill a spot in the children’s ministry. Help with the sound team, the tech team, the website. Be a janitor, a landscaper, a snow shoveler. Just don’t be a bystander. Don’t be so busy that church is simply another box to check on your to-do list. Be active for God in every part of your life. Sacrifice yourself. All of yourself. It is the only acceptable sacrifice, the ultimate act of worship. A sweet-smelling aroma to the Lord your God. (Romans 12:1; Hebrews 13:15-16; Colossians 3:17; I Samuel 15:22; Leviticus 1:9; Matthew 6:33; Psalm 46:10, 50:7-14; John 1:3) 

The conversation was getting old. Very old. No one had really said anything new in quite some time. Points had been belabored. Arguments had been worn out. He was well and truly over it. Tired of being railed against. Weary of defending his innocence. Exhausted, both from physical suffering and the mental anguish of having more questions than answers. He would probably never have answers. Not before he met the Almighty face to face. An event that seemed closer now than ever before. The great culmination to the onslaught of disaster recently descended on his household. His earthly goods were gone. His servants were dead. His children were deceased. His body was painfully rotting before his eyes. His wife abhorred him. His friends had abandoned him. Except for the four silently sitting nearby. 

Job had been surprised to see the men approaching. They were better described as fair-weather friends. Happy to visit in good times, scarce in the bad. The fact they had taken the time to visit at all should have made him wary. Their reaction to his current condition should have had his guard all the way up. Wailing. Throwing dust in the air. Sinking down in silence to stare. At him. For a week. Seven days. Seven nights. Silence broken only by the sound of the pottery piece scraping the sores on Job’s flesh. 

It had been a very long seven days. And nights. No one spoke. No one could find words to begin the conversation. Job’s friends had no idea what to say to a man who had lost everything in one fell swoop. The enormity of the situation glued their tongues to the roofs of their mouths. Until Job had enough of the silent staring. In a move he may later have deeply regretted, Job tossed the conversational ball into the middle of the ring by cursing the day of his birth. Everything about it. He wishes his mother had never been pregnant, the day had never dawned, or his infant self had never drawn that first breath. It was apparently the winning penny in the slot machine, the diatribe that loosened everyone’s tongue. Suddenly, they all had things to say. Eliphas. Bildad. Zophar. Each man presenting his opinion on the cause of Job’s recent afflictions. Arguments that boiled down to one general idea. Job had sinned and not repented. 

Well. Job knew that wasn’t true! Even God would back him up on that. He was a man of integrity. Righteous. Godly. Prayerful. Carefully offering sacrifices for even the supposed sins of his children. His unequivocally rejects their idea. Although Job had no idea why God is picking on him, he fully believes it is not his own fault. His friends remain unconvinced. They argue. Back and forth the conversation goes. Finally, realizing they will never convince Job to repent and move on with his life, the three eldest friends fall back into silence. Irritated silence. Annoyed silence. Silence weighed down with heavy disapproval. Arms folded, faces set, they waited for Job to relent in penitence and, finally, reconciliation. (Job 1-31)

He had been waiting for this moment. The time when the older men had finally come to the end of their words, so he could start at the beginning of his. Elihu had so many things to say. He was angry. Very angry. At the other mourners for their implication that unrepented sin is the only reason for suffering. At Job, for his adamant defense of his own character while allowing the character of God to be impugned. He had listened in amazement at the back and forth, wondering if the men actually heard what they were saying. And now, sitting in the silent space created by the stubbornness of Job’s older three friends, Elihu finds his platform and speaks his truth. 

Verbally tugging Job’s hand, Elihu takes him on a word journey about God. With greater eloquence than one would expect, Elihu reminds Job of who God is. Older than time, God is the Creator and Sustainer of the entire universe. Nothing continues to live unless God chooses to breathe into it the breath of life. The world as we know it ceases to function without God’s vast knowledge and understanding. He creates dew and rain, feeding the earth with no help from mankind. With the words of His mouth, God sends the snow where He wills it. He gives the animals wisdom to care for themselves, leading them to food and water with no guide to lead them. He changes the seasons, moves the clouds, controls the sun and moon, all with the power of His voice. His glory and majesty strike awe in the hearts of mankind. His acts are amazing. His miracles are astounding. His person is clothed in incomparable splendor. Human words would exhaust before we could even scratch the surface of an explanation of God’s character. Yet still He chooses to speak to us. Simple humans. People who may or may not choose to listen. Still God, in justice and mercy and love, chooses to speak to us. Chooses to offer forgiveness and grace to those who come to Him in repentance and change. (Job 32-37) 

Elihu stops for a breath, giving Job the perfect opportunity to respond. Except he doesn’t get the chance. It is God’s turn. He has patiently been silent, listening to the conversation, but no more. Picking up where Elihu left off, God thunders from the whirlwind, verbally pulling Job up to the window of time and walking him through creation. Could Job have done those things? Suspended the planets in midair. Thrown stars in the sky. Drawn borders for the sea. Created day and night. Filled storehouses with snow and hail. Imagined rain and lightning and thunder and ice. Taught animals to care for themselves in hunting, birthing, raising their young. Given them abilities to fly and flee, and fight. Allowed them to instinctively know how to maintain their lives with no help from a caretaker or guide. Could Job have done those things? Was he wise enough? Was he powerful enough? Would he have been as meticulous, not leaving out one tiny detail? Well, Job? Could you? Would you? Did you? 

Having no response, Job chooses to shut his mouth. Finally. But God isn’t done. In even more articulate words and exact examples, God highlights His greatness, His power, His authority. Everything in Heaven and on earth belongs to Him. He has created every single thing. He has bestowed on each beast and being their abilities. He has provided for every part of their lives. And He didn’t need human input to do so. He didn’t need help or suggestions from any of us. Not one of us is in a position to question God’s wisdom. Because God is omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent. He always has been. He always will be. Before the dawn of Creation to the final echo of the last Amen, God is and will always be. His wisdom is unsearchable. His power is unfathomable. His love is infallible. His word is unbreakable. He owns everything and needs nothing, and He gives good gifts to His children. Come and see! (Job 38-41; Isaiah 40:26; Acts 17:24-25; Jeremiah 23: 23-24, 32:7; I John 3:20; Matthew 7:11; Romans 11:33; Hebrews 6:18-20; Lamentations 3:22)

It doesn’t always feel like it. Ask Job. It didn’t feel like it to him, either. As his carefully created world collapsed around him, Job began to question if God really is just and fair. Does He really give good gifts to His children? Is there truly a good reason to live an upright, honest life if God isn’t going to spare you the unpleasantness of suffering? In essence, Job started to measure the greatness of God by the goodness of His gifts. Maybe you are in that same space. Perhaps those questions are your own. Is God still doing something good for you in the middle of your illness, your furlough, your endless job hunt, your financial overload? If the physical gifts stop flowing, is it still worth obediently following God? I would speak to you the words of Psalm 66:5, “Come and see.” 

Come and see the works of the Lord. Grab your Bible and read. Go back to the beginning of time and see how meticulously He worked to make the world a place where you could safely live. Follow the mind-boggling twists and turns of His imagination as He made day and night, land and sea, sky and stars. Consider the planning involved. Would you have thought to stop the oceans and create dry land? Would you have thought to make the plants produce oxygen to keep humans and animals alive? What about gravity? Involuntary movements? Blinking? Breathing? Heart beats? If you had tried to create this world on your own, what sorry state would it be in? So why do you question the work God is doing in your life? He clearly has this. Even if it is uncomfortable, unpleasant, undesirable, God is still working. He is working all things together for your good. Eventually, you will see it. In the interim, stop worrying. Choose instead to see all the things God has done. The things you take for granted. Go out of your way to find them. Stop in the middle of your day and think about them. Purposely consider the works of God from the beginning of time and know that you can trust Him with your life. The proof is all around you. Come and see. (Genesis 1; Philippians 2:13; Romans 1:20, 8:28; Psalm 8:3-6, 19:1, 100:4-5; Acts 14:17; Proverbs 3:19-20; Ecclesiastes 7:13)

Rising from the rough-hewn table before him, the elderly gentleman stretched his back and flexed his fingers. He’d been sitting there a while. Hunched over pieces of parchment. His fingers wrapped around a quill. His eyes squinting to see in the dimly lit room. The letters were finally written. All seven of them. His heart was filled with mixed emotions. The congratulatory remarks and corrective comments spoke volumes about the state of the churches outside his prison exile. As he contemplated the words he had just recorded, John’s heart bubbled with mixed emotions. The opening sentiment of each letter resounded ominously in his ears, giving him pause, and birthing the impossible desire to deliver the letters in person, “I know everything you do.” (Revelation 2:2, 9, 13, 19; 3:1,8,15)

It wasn’t news. Not really. Definitely not new information. The truth that God sees every caper humanity gets up to was not an astonishing revelation. Not to John. Not to the members of the ancient church. It was a story as old as time. First exhibited when Adam and Eve decided to eat the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden. Further proven when Cain played innocent over Abel’s murder. Echoed through history in the sound of Sarah’s uncovered laughter at God’s promise of a child. Underscored by the prophet Nathan’s scathing rebuke of David’s secret affair with Bathsheba and the ensuing murder of Uriah. And it wasn’t just outward actions God saw. He knew their thoughts. Read their hearts. Saw the state of their souls. He knew when they were obeying on the outside but rebelling on the inside. Like the Pharisees and religious leaders of Jesus’ day. (Genesis 3; 4:8-10; 18:1-15; II Samuel 11:1-12:18)

No one could fault their keeping of the law. They were meticulous. About everything. At least everything one could see. They kept the Sabbath. Fasted regularly. Prayed openly. Gave publicly. They followed the verbiage of the law entirely, even if they left out the spirit of those words. They kept every tradition to the fullest extent and expected others to do the same. Their outer piety was legendary. Until Jesus called it worthless. Meaningless. If they were relying on their good works and proper words to get them to heaven, they were in for a sorrowful surprise. Their hearts were filthy. Underneath all the proper behavior and carefully phrased conversations that had others tricked into believing they were holy, their hearts were filled with greed, selfishness, hypocrisy, and sin. But Jesus wasn’t fooled. He wasn’t confused. He wasn’t taken in by their good works. He looked at their hearts. He saw their attitudes and intentions. He saw the deadly desires buried deep within. He knew them and had cautionary words for their situation. Watch your heart. Know it. Understand that he sin you harbor in your heart will eventually push its way out and become the thing that defiles you. Evil thoughts. Hatred. Adultery. Lying. Slander. Know yourself. Know your heart. Because God already does. He sees you. All of you. Public acts. Audible words. Private thoughts. Secret desires. (Matthew 15:1-20; 27:25-28)

The opening words of the letters to the churches held a similar message. God saw their actions and their circumstances, but He also knew their hearts. He commended them on their endurance and discernment, their faith and boldness, their obedience and strength. He applauded those who were constantly improving in service to God. These were all good things. But for most of the congregations, little things were creeping in. They were tired–physically and spiritually. The battle for their souls, their churches, and their lives was raging on and wearing them out. Exhaustion was winning. Every day seemed like a monumental effort to put one foot in front of the other. They were struggling, and it showed. Their love for God wasn’t as strong as it had been. Their fervor was waning. As a result, their strength to weed out false prophets and teachers had grown soft. They had become permissive. Adopted a “live and let live” philosophy inside God’s church. They had become complacent. Fallen asleep spiritually. Grown cold and indifferent. The parameters God had set for His church to uphold had wobbled, and bits had fallen down. As many good and commendable things as they were doing, they were also struggling. And they needed to tighten up. 

That was the purpose of these letters. John knew it. With every heartbreaking word he penned, with every tear that fell on the parchment, with every direction God spoke, John wished he could be there in person to remind them that God knows everything. What you do. What you think. What you feel. What you allow to take root in your heart and life and church…and why. He wished he could walk among them, sit down with them, personally remind them that God knows the thoughts and intentions of every heart, He sees every action in public or secret, and He will mete out the deserved punishment or reward. Yet there John was, a prisoner, with only a pen to share the words of God with the people of God. Only a prayer that the letters would reach them in time. Only a long shot hope that centuries later, the modern church of God would read those words of God and, being the people of God, would follow the ways of God. Without regret. Without apology. Without alteration. (Revelation 2-3)

In a moment of complete transparency, we must admit it hasn’t happened. In the ensuing centuries, we have often given way to complacency and hypocrisy. We have been tired and lackadaisical, distracted and careless. We have slipped from what we once had. Our dedication to God is often lackluster. Our devotion to Him is lukewarm. The holy fire present in the church of God in the book of Acts is clearly lacking today. We have adopted modern thinking, allowed alleged scholars to tamper with and twist the commands of God. We have become permissive, excusing sin and arrogantly presuming upon the grace of God. We have been happy to hear sermons that give us warm fuzzies, but less than content with ones that don’t. We aren’t looking for truth that comes close and searches our hearts. We are content the way we are. Happy to attend church, do good deeds, and pretend everything is okay. Content to continue believing that if we do all the right things and say all the right words, God will be tricked into believing we still love Him as much as we did at first. Know this now, He won’t. (II Timothy 4:3; II Peter 2:1-3; Matthew 24:11-12; Psalm 139:23-24)

God will not be mocked or tricked, or confused. He never is. He sees everything clearly. All the things you do. All the things you think. All the things you secretly hide in your heart. He knows if you are truly surrendered to Him and His will or if you are simply putting in the actions, speaking all the words, putting up a front like the Pharisees. He knows where your thoughts run in times of turmoil and trouble. He knows the private battle you fight. He is deeply, painfully aware when you choose to give in, give up, give over. And, if you listen, He will speak. To you. Words similar to the ones He sent to the seven churches. Congratulatory commendations. Careful corrections. Words reminding you that He knows everything you do, say, think, and feel. Words that call you to clean up, tighten up, toughen up. Words of love in the form of discipline, because everyone God loves, He disciplines. (Revelation 3:19; Hebrews 12:11; Galatians 6:7; Matthew 7:16-18; II Corinthians 9:6)

In expertly written and beautiful to read words, the Psalmist dutifully reminds us that there is no where we can go or be that will remove us from the sight and presence of God. He knew you would be in this specific place at this specific time in your life. He knows your future as well as He knows your past. Nothing you have done in the past is hidden from Him. Nothing you will do in the future is unknown to Him. The number of days allotted to your earthly existence are already written. God knows their beginning, middle, and end. He knows the events that will fill them. He also knows what fills your heart. Yesterday. Today. Tomorrow. So examine yourself. Determine if you are truly walking with Him, living for Him, submitted to Him. Find out if you are hot or cold spiritually. Know if hypocrisy, complacency, or indifference has begun to infiltrate your heart. Get back into right relationship with Him. Allow Him to give you His presence, peace, strength, and endurance. Ask Him for wisdom and discretion. Embrace obedience. Stand firm against the things that grieve His heart. Remembering this. God knows all the things you do. In public. In private. He searches your thoughts and intentions. He knows the posture of your heart and whether or not it matches the actions you show the world. And He wants to be lord of it all. Every single thing you do. (Psalm 139:1-18; I Corinthians 8;6; II Corinthians 13:5; Lamentations 3:40; James 1:5; Ephesians 6:12-14; I Timothy 6:15; Jeremiah 17:10)

The offer seemed nearly too good to be true, too simple to be trusted. They had never liked him. They despised his parentage, chased him off their land, vowed he would receive no portion of his father’s inheritance. Now his half-brothers, legitimate sons of his father, were calling for his return. Begging. Pleading. Promising. They needed him. His strength. His commanding presence. His head for battle. The Ammonites were on the war path, and Israel was scared. Terrified, really. The army encamped against them was worrisome. At the end of their wits and the bottom of their resources, the worried men of Gilead sent word to Jephthah. If he would come defeat the Ammonites, they would make him their ruler. Simple as that.   

Jephthah’s reputation clearly preceded him. He was a mighty warrior, a strong leader. He’d had to be. His life had been spent fighting. For a space at the table, a place to belong, an area where he was recognized for who he was, not for who his parents were. The son of a prostitute, his father may have taken him in, but his half-brothers despised him. Bearing the brunt of his mother’s scorned profession and his father’s indiscretion, Jephthah lived ready to fight. After being unceremoniously ushered from his father’s land without an ounce of inheritance, his ability to lead had been proven by the formation of his own ragtag group of rebels. Jephthah wasn’t sitting around waiting for his half-brothers to come calling. He was building a life for himself. Married a wife. Had a daughter. No other children had come along, but that was fine. He adored his daughter. And now, just as his life seemed to be settling into a decent rhythm, the people who had pushed him out of Gilead were back begging for his help and making promises he wasn’t sure they could keep. 

Not that he wasn’t interested in testing the theory. He was. Jephthah was absolutely interested in becoming the leader of the people who had kicked him out. What a boon that would be! And the Ammonites were being ridiculous. They had no claim to the land. If they had a claim, if they really wanted it, they wouldn’t have waited 300 years to come and try to take it. Not once in that time had the Ammonites attempted to take it back, by force or any other means. What stirred them up now was anyone’s guess. Yet here they were, claiming the land had been stolen from them generations past and demanding that it be peaceably handed back. As if that was going to happen. 

It wasn’t. Not today. Not any day. Not so long as Jephthah had any say about it. The way he understood the story, Israel had never taken the land. They had never been anything but peaceable about things. Asking permission to cross lands rather than simply barging across. Going out of their way to appease the kings of Edom and Moab. Trying to work with King Sihon. Unfortunately, his response to their request was to start a war against Israel. A war God finished. In response to the military attack by King Sihon, Israel defended itself. And God brought an astonishing victory. One that gave Israel control of the entire region. They had been there ever since. God’s victory. God’s land. God’s gift to Israel. The Ammonites were welcome to come try to take it. And they did. (Numbers 21:21-35)

The Ammonite king wasn’t picking up what Jephthah was laying down. Perhaps the man was daft. He was bent on war. And he got it. Gathering fighting men from throughout the land, Jephthah built a mighty army. He lined them up in a battle array. Then Jephthah did something that seems completely unnecessary given his seemingly faith-filled speech to the king of Ammon. Something that seems to indicate his heart might have been more interested in that position of power than he previously let on. Something that appears to reveal doubt lurking just below the surface of his brave facade. Jephthah bargains with God. Not just any bargain, either. Jephthah makes an “If you…I will…” vow. If God will give them victory over the Ammonites, Jephthah will give God the first thing that comes out of his house to meet him when he returns. As a sacrifice. A burnt offering. 

The Bible does not record a response from God to this vow. Nothing verbal. No special sign. Lightning doesn’t flash to seal the deal. The earth doesn’t shake. God seems to remain silent where the vow is concerned. But He does give them victory. Jephthah and his army crushed the Ammonites. Devastated their towns. Scattered their armies. Left absolutely no question as to who now owned that land. God gave Israel victory. And Jephthah had a promise to keep.  

Returning home, Jephthah should have been riding high on the wave of glorious victory. He wasn’t. His heart was heavy. His soul was burdened. His mind kept replaying the rash vow he made to God. What had he been thinking? Why had he said those words? What momentary blip occurred in his brain to make him vow such a thing? It had the potential to end badly. He knew it. In his spirit, he knew things could go enormously wrong. And they did. 

Nearing his home, Jephthah watched in disbelief as the door flew open and his daughter rushed out. His only child. His cherished girl. Beautiful. Vibrant. Full of life and joy. Her tambourine was in her hand. Her feet were dancing. Her face was brimming with celebratory joy and pride in her father. And Jephthah’s heart shattered. The blood drained from his face. He fought to keep himself upright. When he made the vow, he was only thinking of wheedling and cajoling God into giving them victory so he could be the ruler over the people who wronged him. He hadn’t considered the consequences. Until now. Until he stood facing the daughter he loved more than his own life and realized he had promised God he would offer her as a sacrifice to Him. Jephthah didn’t consider the ramifications of his vow until it came time to perform it. Now he was hesitant to do so. (Judges 11:1-35)

One wonders if Jephthah’s hesitancy would have been the same had something or someone else exited his home. If an animal had come out the door and down the path, would he have fulfilled his vow on the spot with no remorse? If someone of whom he was not fond exited as he approached, would he have found his promise as difficult to keep? Probably not. It doesn’t work that way for us, either. When the promises we make to God are easy and palatable to keep, we have no problem fulfilling them. When they cost us little or nothing, we fulfill our vows and move on. But what about the ones that cost us? The ones we make in the dark of night when our prayers are urgent, our situation dire, our needs and wants so pressing we will do anything to bribe God into doing what we want done. What about those promises? Will you really give extra money to missions if God rescues you from joblessness with a six-figure income? Will you dedicate your free time to charity work if He heals your crippling illness? Will you devote your entire life to spreading the gospel all over the world if God grants you whatever wish you have at this moment? Do you really believe the God who made everything and needs nothing is selling His blessings for the paltry sum of your good intentions? When it is all said and done, when God has given you what your heart desires, when your promise is lying next to your trouble in the rearview mirror, do you truly intend to keep the vow you made, or is your heart already searching for a way to renege? 

It seems Jephthah’s heart was looking for a way around his vow. A loophole. A caveat. An opportunity for alteration. At least his daughter thought so. And she wasn’t having it. Although the brunt of the vow fell on her, she bravely took it up. Looked her waffling father straight in the eyes and told him to keep the vow. He had to. He promised. And he did. After two months of roaming the hills, mourning the fact she would never marry and have children, devastated though they were, Jephthah’s daughter came back, and he kept the vow he made to God. Not because it was easy. Not because he wanted to. Not only because he couldn’t find a way around it. Jephthah kept his promise to God because God had done what he asked when he promised. (Judges 11:36-39)

Admittedly, there is no limit of argument among scholars over the vow of Jephthah. Why he made it. Whether or not he was obligated to keep it. How he fulfilled it. The posture of his heart when he did. I’m not really interested in the argument. What interests me, what feels very real for us today, is the pointed way this account depicts for us the truth of Proverbs 20:25, “Don’t make promises to God rashly. Consider the cost first.” I find we are no better at following this advice than Jephthah. (Proverbs 20:25)

Caught in the tension of our own desires and the possibility that God’s plans do not match our own, we often find ourselves bargaining with God. We wrestle. We beg. We plead. We attempt to manipulate. If He will give us the money, the miracle, the motivation, we will give Him something, anything in return. Sitting in that space where our fear outweighs our faith, those promises get out of control. When the clouds finally part and our minds are clear, we look back on them with regret. We search for loopholes, for caveats, for opportunities to alter the wording. Unfortunately, the truth of Deuteronomy 23:21 still holds. God doesn’t take your promises to Him lightly. He doesn’t look at them as possibilities. He expects you to keep them. All of them. (Numbers 30:2; Ecclesiastes 5:4-5; Psalm 76:11; Deuteronomy 23:21) 

So are you? Are you living the life you promised HIm you would when you first came to Him in repentance? Are you following the career path you promised to follow when you heard His call? Have you made the changes you vowed to make when He lovingly highlighted the error of your ways? When conviction settles in your heart, are you obediently keeping the promises you made to salve your conscience and restore your peace? When your desperation to manipulate the outcome of your situation had you throwing yourself on your knees and making promises to God, are you keeping those promises? Are you keeping the promises you made to God in the middle of your storm, your sadness, your suffering? In the face of God’s unfailing love that will not force you to do something against your will, is your word still your bond? Does your integrity show? Are you keeping your promises to God? All of them? Even the ones made in secret and known only to Him? (I John 2:5; Proverbs 11:3, 20:27; Psalm 66:13-14; Malachi 1:14; I Kings 8:39)