Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

It wasn’t the first time someone had asked the question. It wouldn’t be the last. It may, however, be the final time someone had the nerve to lace the words with this specific undertone. False humility with a heavy side of superiority. “What do I need to do on earth to receive eternal life in death?” It was obviously a test. An attempt to measure Jesus’ knowledge and agreement with their law. A way to determine if His teaching matched their beliefs. The answer was critical. Steadily holding the man’s gaze above the heads of those seated between them, Jesus responded with a question of his own. One, the man should have no problem answering, given his educational status. What did the law say they should do? What was his personal interpretation? Without pause, the man offered up the answer every self-respecting religious person would, “Love God with every part of your being. Love your neighbor as you love yourself.” 

As answers go, he couldn’t have been more accurate. According to the law and according to Jesus. But he had a follow-up question. One that wasn’t specifically covered in the law handed down through Moses. “Who, exactly, is my neighbor?” Who do I need to love well? Who must I care for? To whom am I obligated to offer compassion and understanding? The people next door? Everyone on my street? Those of the same lineage? The right heritage? The Jews? The Gentiles? Please, Jesus, don’t make it those other people whose name shall remain unspoken? Arrogance and superiority faded as the man stood, expectantly waiting for his answer. And Jesus, overlooking his impatience, launched into a story.   

One day, a man was travelling from Jerusalem to Judea. He knew the route before he left. The path as well as the surrounding terrain. He knew the danger. Having weighed the options, he chose the path for its expediency, not its safety. He had taken every precaution. Carefully, he packed his things. Secreted his valuables in hidden pockets of his robe. Tied his money belt securely under his outer garment. From the outside, he looked like an ordinary man headed on an ordinary trip. Inside, he knew the possible dangers ahead. Blind curves hide bands of brutal robbers. Steep drops, thick brush, sharp rocks. All things that made hiding a body easy. If they even cared. The robbers lacked any form of moral fiber, stopping at nothing to steal from those making an honest living rather than work honestly themselves. They had no mercy. They would steal no matter the cost. One’s life was never more important than their potential loot. And there were few, if any, ramifications for their behavior. Still, knowing the road between the two cities was strictly traveled at one’s own risk, the man chose that treacherous path. 

Not far into his journey, all the man’s fears were recognized. Rounding a particularly steep, hairpin curve, he was attacked by a band of thieves. The odds were against him. He didn’t stand a chance. Desperately searching for everything of value hidden on his person, the robbers yanked off his robe, jerked off his money belt, searched every possible fold of fabric for hidden treasure. Then, rather than just make off with the loot, they took the time to beat him. Severely. Grabbing his arms, one man held him powerless as the others landed blow after relentless blow. Pain ricocheted through him as his nose was broken. His lip split and swelled. Both eyes were blackened. Cuts and bruises covered his body. Blood ran down his face and chest. When finally he drifted from consciousness, the robbers tossed his limp body into a ditch by the side of the road and gleefully made off with their ill-gotten gains.  

He would have died there, despite the procession of passersby. Although largely unconscious, his intense fear prohibited him from crying out even in his lucid moments. Not everyone noticed him there. Some were walking on the other side of the road and missed him. Some were deep in conversation with their traveling companions. Others were simply too grossed out to help. They came, looked at his broken self, and walked away. Like the priest. He was aghast at the sight. He could barely drag his eyes away. It was disgusting. Disturbing. Distracting. Not knowing if the man was dead or alive, he didn’t even stop to check. Didn’t speak to him. Didn’t touch him. Quickly, he decided it wasn’t his responsibility. He was a priest, after all. He couldn’t risk touching a dead body. Averting his eyes from the horrible sight, he scurried to the opposite side of the road and continued his journey. The Levite who came along after him did the same thing. Maybe for the same reasons. Maybe for different ones. Maybe he wasn’t sure if the man was a Jew or not. Maybe he wasn’t certain it wasn’t one of the robbers who had gotten his due after double-crossing his mates. Maybe, staring into the possibility of his fate being the same and overcome by the reality of his own mortality, the Levite’s fear overcame him and he, too, crossed the road and hurried on his way. 

Time passed. Perhaps minutes. Maybe hours. Enough that the wounded man’s injuries severely impacted his chances of survival. His breathing had become erratic. The few waking seconds had revealed pain so intense that he welcomed the return of the enveloping darkness. Nearing the crossing between this life and the next, the dying man didn’t hear the clip-clop hooves of an approaching donkey. He didn’t see the man walking along the road. Didn’t notice his clothes, his wealth, his social status. He didn’t even try to open his eyes. Not as the man stopped to check on him. Not when he pulled out his first aid kit and began washing and dressing his wounds. Not as he was carefully lifted, wrapped in the man’s own cloak, loaded on his donkey, and hauled into town. Approaching the nearest inn, his savior booked a room and spent the night nursing him to stability. The physical wounds would take a few weeks to heal. The mental scars would take longer. That was okay. He didn’t need to go anywhere. The man who stopped to save his life had to leave, but he could stay. For as long as he needed. His bill was covered. By a Samaritan. (Luke 10:25-37)

It would have been quite a shock for a Jewish man to discover his savior was a Samaritan. No one was more repulsive. There was an unwritten no-contact order between them. If the tables were turned, it is unlikely the currently convalescing man would have stopped to help the other. But that was then. That was before. Before the man had experienced the love of a neighbor, the way it was meant to be. Love that treated him not only how the Samaritan would want to be treated, but how the Samaritan himself had experienced love. 

For as long as I can remember, this parable has been used to encourage us to treat others the way we want to be treated. That may not be incorrect. But recently, I have begun to wonder if we have missed something. Lost something in translation. Have we focused so much on “loving your neighbor as you love yourself,” that we missed the real meaning of the words? Is it possible, probable even, that Jesus’ actual words meant, “Love others the way you have been loved?” By God. With exquisite tenderness, unending kindness, unfathomable grace. Look on one another with eyes of compassion. See yourself in the injured and infirm, those on the fringes of society, the lost souls, the least respected, the frequently rejected. Feel their pain and, rather than judge from a distance and excuse yourself from rendering aid, respond with the same love, compassion, and care you have received. From God. Because loving your neighbor isn’t about how much you love yourself. It’s about how much you have been loved. And that is abundant. Because you were once that half-dead traveler. (John 13:34)

 At one point or another, you were cautiously picking your way through life, hoping to make the right decisions, seeking to further yourself, your ambitions, your hopes, your dreams. You were the one set upon by the thief who comes to steal and kill and destroy. Your hope. Your dreams. Your joy. You found yourself spiritually broken and left for dead by the side of life’s road. You were not pretty. There was nothing about you that would draw anyone to your side. In fact, plenty of people saw your fall from grace and chose to pass by, forming judgments, spouting opinions, doing more damage to your already bruised and battered heart. You didn’t believe help would come. Then Jesus showed up. Maybe you didn’t recognize Him at first. Didn’t hear the dulcet tone of His voice as He called you His beloved. Maybe you were afraid to trust His words because your love for yourself was non-existent. You hated what you had become. Maybe you were scared to put yourself in His care, worried that He would require more than you had to give. Which was nothing. You had nothing left. No strength. No courage. No faith. Yet, in the back of your mind, you knew there was no other way you were getting out of that ditch. So you made a choice. (John 10:10; Song of Solomon 6:3)

Looking into eyes brimming with compassion, you tentatively placed your hand in His outstretched one. As your fingers touched, you looked down and noticed something. His hand was scarred, too. In that moment, you knew. He had been where you were. Bruised and beaten, slaughtered by the best efforts of the devil to triumph over the souls of mankind, but He hadn’t let hell win. He’d triumphed. Overall of it. Death. Grave. Hell. The steadfast, unmovable, faithful love of the Father had carried Him. The same love now flows through Him and over you. Not because of who you were or what you had done, but because Jesus loved you with the same love He had known. The love of God that transcends our circumstances, our situations, our sins. Love that offers us life when the enemy thinks he has sealed our death. Love of God spread so heavily in our hearts that it flows out of us and onto the people we meet. Everyone. Everywhere. They are all our neighbors. Each one deserves to experience the love of God we ourselves have known. And it should come through us. (Romans 5:5; Psalm 103:1-22)

It hasn’t happened. Not everyone knows this love. That’s our fault. We haven’t loved others the way we have been loved. Not our friends. Not our enemies. Not our neighbors. We haven’t loved unconditionally. When people meet our standards and expectations. When they don’t. When we understand them. When we don’t. When they are struggling, striving, seeking, sobbing. When they are soaring. We haven’t silently sat in the suffering of others. We haven’t cared for their grief, wiped their tears, held their hand. We haven’t truly loved. Real, true, genuine love is gentle, tender, compassionate, kind. It holds our hearts in careful hands, offering courage and strength, help and hope. It is not judgmental. It is firm and honest, but never harsh. It is everything we read in I Corinthians 13, but fail to embody in everyday life. It is how we should treat every person we meet. With the same love God has loved us. (I Corinthians 13:4-8; Colossians 4:6; Ephesians 4:32; Romans 12:15; Luke 6:37)

In a world where we judge quickly and condemn harshly, we need to go back and sit in God’s love for us. Silently. Soak it in. Stare at our wretched attitudes, unworthy performances, and ridiculous arrogance and admit how unlovable we are, then revel in the exquisite tenderness with which God loves us still. We need to sit in that space for as long as it takes. Until we feel it in every part of our being. Then go share it. Actively look for opportunities to exhibit the love of God in human form, in ways that truly count. Be present. Sit in the space of mourning with them. Mourning sin. Mourning loss. Give comfort. Render aid. Speak words of compassion. Do acts of service. Help with housework, cooking, or childcare when unexpected illness strikes. Confidently pray God’s peace into the turmoil of their lives. Be available. No matter how far their fall from grace, how desperate their situation, how dark their circumstances. Sit in the ditch beside them. Gently clean their wounds. Kindly bandage the injuries inflicted on their hearts by the evil one. Constantly bathe their souls in the love of God with which you are so intimately acquainted. Be the love of God shining throughout the world. Indiscriminately. Continually. To everyone. Everywhere. No matter their age, race, religion, political affiliation, or sexual orientation. Allow the love of God that flows to every human being without discrimination, multiply and fill your heart so greatly that it overflows to every soul around you. Impact the world for Jesus by compassionately choosing to obediently love others, all others, as God has loved you. (Colossians 2:13; I Timothy 4:12; Romans 5:8; I John 4:7-8; John 4:19) 

Over the past two decades, our family has moved eight times. Interstate. Intrastate. East Coast to Pacific Northwest. Deep South to far North. Over the years of our travels, we have had the opportunity to live in several different homes. Newer homes. Older homes. Much older homes. We’ve rented more than once. We’ve also enjoyed the mixed blessing of being homeowners. It’s a goal most of us have. The hope of someday owning a home and living “the dream.” Whatever that dream may be. Unfortunately for those of us who have been blessed to achieve the goal, we have been met with the abrupt realization that the dream isn’t always what we think it is. Homeownership isn’t all back porch barbeques and front porch leisure. There’s a lot of work involved. Work you never think about when you simply pay the rent and rely on the landowner to take care of the upkeep. 

As a renter, you have the luxury of relaxing while someone else mows the lawn, weeds the planters, and does general maintenance. It’s their responsibility, not your concern. It is also their responsibility to handle your emergencies. Heating system glitch in the dead of winter? Call maintenance. Plumbing issues? Contact the office. Roof leaks in the middle of the night? Ring up the landlord. Don’t worry about the cost or whether it will get fixed. That isn’t your problem. The homeowner holds that responsibility. They have to call the insurance, hire professionals, find the answer, pay the bill. It’s quite simple, really. For the renter.  

Not so when you are the homeowner. When the tree falls on the roof in the middle of the night, the plumbing reverses into the shower rather than the drainfield, or the air conditioner blows hot instead of cool in triple-digit weather, the responsibility falls on you. When the yard needs mowed, the fence repaired, the siding has hail damage, that’s all you. When the termite inspection needs done, the siding needs power-washed, or the driveway needs repaved, guess who’s up? You. You have to mow the yard and fix the fence. You have to schedule the exterminator and hire a crew to clean your siding. You have to call the insurance company, wait for an adjuster, get a quote, find a repairman, and pay the deductible. You. You alone are responsible. And some homes are more susceptible to problems than others. Believe me, I know.

In the aftermath of the pandemic, when the housing market was at its most ridiculous, we purchased a 20-year-old property sight unseen. Yes. We knew it was risky. We knew it then. We know it now. It didn’t stop us. The previous owners had proudly designed and helped build the house. It looked wonderful on the outside. Beautiful, well-kept yard and gardens. Huge wrap-around porch. Fantastic fire pit. Coordinating paint job. It made a lovely picture nestled there in the valley surrounded by hay fields and barns. The sight hinted at peace and calm, a place of rest and security. Funny, isn’t it, how often looks are deceiving. 

Although the inside of the home had pretty wood floors and a lovely little sunroom, it was in desperate need of some upgrades. Obvious ones. We did them. Granite countertops in the tiny kitchen. Roller shades in the windows. New carpet in the bedrooms. Water-saving commodes. New heating and air conditioning system. We renovated and updated nearly every room in the house. And every time we did a renovation, we found an issue. The master washroom wall wasn’t plumb anymore. If it ever had been. The plumbing hadn’t been installed properly or with the proper number of vents. Some electrical work was questionable. And regular repairs had been done with obvious lack of care for accuracy or longevity. Previous poor repairs had to be righted before proper repairs could be done. Everything took twice as much work and double the time. It was exhausting. It seemed the only dependable thing about the house was the foundation. Never once did the house sink or the floorboards shift. No cracks appeared on the walls as evidence of a faulty foundation. No questions about its quality ever occurred to us. But even if the foundation was solid, the house standing on it didn’t always seem to be. 

The house hadn’t received the type of upkeep it should have had. Where the previous owners clearly took care of their outdoor lawn and gardens, berry patch, and hay field, they hadn’t been as fastidious indoors. Inside, window sills were loose and casings ill-fitted, allowing air to flow around them. Mold was discovered in the attic. Unsealed openings around pipes welcomed rodents. Unfinished floorboards put splinters in feet. And a safety railing was missing from the side of the stairs. We’d never have guessed it by looking at the outside. But it was there. Lurking on the inside. Ruining the safety of the house. Damaging it from the inside out. Making it more of a shambles than a home. Because somewhere along the way, the owners had become negligent concerning the upkeep of the house.

I get it. I do. It is easy to put off repairs that aren’t immediately threatening life or limb. The fun factor is low. The funding often high. They still have to be done. Internal upkeep of your home is as important as external manicuring of your property. And it’s not only true for the physical house you inhabit. It is also true of your spiritual house, the inner part of you that no one else can see. The part that is easy to let slide so long as you keep the outside looking good, use all the right words, attend church regularly, and raise your hands at the right part of every song. The inner part of you that is so easy to ignore in the busyness of life. The part that isn’t fun to evaluate. The part that costs to tend, but will cost far more if you don’t. The part on which your eternity rests.

The wise writer of Ecclesiastes penned words of warning about those who are lazy and neglect to care for their houses. He says those structures will come to disrepair, leak, and fall in. His meaning is echoed in the New Testament parable of Jesus as He tells of a property owner who was preparing to go on a journey. Calling his three servants to him, he entrusted each of them with a specific amount of money according to what he felt was within their ability to handle. Then he left on his trip. The servant who had received the most money went off and turned that money into twice its original amount. The second servant did the same. The third servant didn’t. He didn’t even try. Instead, he buried his singular allotment in the ground and waited for the man to return from his trip. (Ecclesiastes 10:18)

Eventually, the owner came back to reclaim his money. The first man confidently returned his allotment and the interest it had gained. The second man followed suit. Both were handsomely rewarded. Then the third man approached the owner. In his hand he carried a filthy, rotting sack with one tiny coin at the bottom. The same coin he’d been given so long ago. He was full of excuses. He was scared. He wasn’t sure what to do with it. He was distracted by other pressing matters. In the aftermath of the owner being gone and all the duties he had to do, he had failed to retrieve the coin and do something profitable with it.  

Rarely had the servant seen rage like that now crossing the owner’s face. Red, hot, menacing anger seethed from his eyes and spewed out his mouth. With everything the servant knew about him, with all his obvious exacting standards, the servant had done nothing with his money?! He’d left it to rot in the ground, to be found by anyone who happened along, to be lost, forgotten, gone forever? Not only had the servant not tended the money properly, making more with the little he had been given, he had been careless and negligent with it. His laziness spoke more than his words ever could. He wasn’t responsible enough to look after the owner’s possessions. If left to him alone, the entire estate would have fallen down around his ears. The same can be said for the lazy and negligent of soul. (Matthew 25:14-30)

You see, friend, it takes work to keep your spiritual house in order. No matter how firm the foundation of Jesus Christ, there can be no relationship, no growth, no strengthening without effort. Your soul will flounder and fail without constant, daily communication with God. So read your Bible. Alone. The actual Bible. Not a book about the Bible (although they have their place). Read the Word of God for yourself. His words. To you. Listen as He reveals His words and His will to you. That’s why the Bible was written. So you could know God. Not just about Him. Know Him. Personally. Intimately. Have a relationship with Him. Build your life, your beliefs, your convictions in Him and on His Word. Examine your heart, your soul by the Word of God. Allow it to pierce any part of you that is hardened from neglect and clean up the parts that are in disrepair from spiritual laziness. Pray. Talk to God. Regularly. Take time to listen. Sit in silence before God. Hear His voice. Know His nudging. Familiarize yourself with His Spirit working in and around you. Clean up your act. Take care of your house. Build your soul on a firm foundation, and do the upkeep to stay there. (Ephesians 6:11-12; Matthew 26:41; I Thessalonians 5:17; Psalm 119:105; II Corinthians 13:5)

Admittedly, that is the difficult part. The upkeep. The daily, weekly, and monthly consistency of abiding in Christ. When everything is the same day after day. When nothing miraculous breaks up the monotony. When something worldly glistens, catches your eye, and tempts you to turn aside, to leave the responsibilities of caring for your spiritual house for just a little while. When you are tired and worn and weary. When your energy is low and your anxiety is high. Forcing yourself to be on guard and keep your soul solid is sometimes the hardest thing you will do. Especially with all of the distractions of our day. Everywhere we turn, there is something begging for our attention. Our phones are constantly pinging. Our schedules are always demanding. Our souls are frequently smothered as we attempt to keep up with the earthly at the expense of the eternal. We become negligent saints. Lazy Christians. And if we aren’t careful, our spiritual houses will collapse without great care to keep them solid. (Galatians 6:9; John 15:4-5)

In a ringing warning, the writer of Proverbs says those who slack off are negligent, who allow laziness to crowd their souls will suffer the consequences. Their house and grounds will come to ruin. Spiritually, they will be overcome by evil. Those who are idle, lazy, negligent about the keeping of their spiritual house fall prey to sin. Easily. They are drawn aside by the lusts of their own hearts that become prominent when the preeminence of Jesus Christ is smothered. So take care of your house. Do the upkeep. Consistently. Meticulously. Keep your soul from evil. Words. Thoughts. Actions. Guard your heart with vigilance and care. Don’t let laziness or negligence spoil your soul and steal your reward. Take the time. Make the effort. Put in the work to make your soul solid, your eternity secure. (Proverbs 4:23, 24:30-34; Romans 12:9-21; Thessalonians 3:10-12; Luke 6:45; Colossians 3:2; I Peter 5:8; James 1:14)

Silent tears ran in rivulets down faces of young and old alike as the words of the edict sliced through the air. Panic tightened their throats. Terror struck their hearts. Numb minds desperately tried to make sense of what they had just heard. The day of their death had been appointed. Circled on the calendar. Meticulously staged in intricate detail. Rubber stamped by King Ahasuerus. It caught them by surprise. So did the verbiage. It reeked with hate and evil. Destroy. Kill. Annihilate. All. Every single Jew in every single part of the kingdom was destined for death. In the city. In the country. No one was safe. Infants and aged. Male and female. Wimp and warrior. All were to be slaughtered. With no provocation, no insurrection, no discord, the date of their death had been carefully scheduled. What, exactly, were they supposed to do now? 

Hearing the news of impending doom, Mordecai went into mourning. For himself. For his people. He tore his clothes, donned sackcloth, piled ashes on his head, and walked through the city to the King’s Gate. He couldn’t go further. It wasn’t allowed. No sackcloth could go beyond that point. It was fine with him. Joining the mourning of his people, Mordecai took up his post in the city square. Loudly and bitterly, he wept over their impending doom, uniting with his people scattered throughout the kingdom in fasting and prayer, begging God for help and deliverance. He wasn’t certain from where it would come, but he had an idea. They had someone on the inside for exactly a moment like this.

Tucked up inside the palace, wholly unaware of the fear enveloping her people, sat Esther. Clearly, the king had been more concerned with looks than lineage. He didn’t even know he had signed her death warrant. Had no idea about her family heritage. Didn’t know whom he’d crowned queen. But Mordecai knew. She was the reason he spent so much time outside the palace. King Ahasuerus’ chosen queen was the same young lady Mordecai had raised as his own daughter. He worried about her. Feared for her safety. Wondered how she was getting along. So he stayed close. Often. Esther’s handlers knew him. Her female servants. Her eunuchs. Everyone close to her recognized him. When they heard and saw the scene he was making out front, it was immediately reported to Esther. She needed to know. Needed to do something. Needed to make it stop. 

Sending out a change of clothes, Esther attempted to get Mordecai to put on respectable garb that would enable him to come closer so they could have a discussion. He refused. The situation was too grave to allow him to leave off his mourning without resolution. Undeterred by his refusal, Esther sent a eunuch to uncover what Mordecai was doing and why. She wasn’t expecting the answer she got. Destroy. Kill. Annihilate. All the Jews. Abused and enslaved as they had often been, not once had she thought the lives of her people would be valued in silver for the king’s treasury and signed over to slaughter. No matter how many times she read the decree, she couldn’t comprehend the impetus behind it. Nor could she stop the anxiety clawing its way through her stomach at the terrifying demand of Mordecai. Go petition the king to save her people.  

It was a ridiculous command. Esther hadn’t seen the king in a month. He hadn’t summoned her, and she certainly wasn’t going in without his request. She didn’t have a death wish. She couldn’t be certain he would raise that golden scepter of his, sparing her life. So she stayed to her duties. Tended her business. Obeyed the rules. Now Mordecai was asking her to break the mold. Change things up. Step out in faith for her people. Clearly, God had placed her in a prestigious position at a pivotal time to do His imperative work for the miraculous rescue of His people.

 Mordecai knew it. Believed it. If there was any hope for the Jewish people residing in Susa and its surrounding areas, Esther was it. God wasn’t sleeping when she was chosen as queen. He was busy. Planning. Protecting. Providing. Mordecai believed it. And he wasn’t buying Esther’s excuses. She needed to go talk to the king. Plead for them. For her people. For herself. Those palace walls weren’t going to save her. Whether or not Haman or King Ahasuerus knew her background, someone was bound to realize Esther was a Jew. They would come for her. She would not escape. The risk of approaching the king uninvited was not greater than the threat to her own life if she didn’t. God would find another avenue of rescue for His people, but Esther wouldn’t be included. This was her moment to act.  

Challenged and encouraged by Mordecai, Esther opted in. No matter how fearful she felt. Regardless of how hopeless the situation. No matter how helpless she felt. She would go in to see the king. Plead their cause. But she wasn’t going in directly. Not today. Not even tomorrow. She had some requirements. Everyone, from those in the far reaches of the city to the maids at her side, must fast and pray for three days. Pray for God to help them. Direct them. Deliver them. Pray for courage and strength to fulfill her duty. Pray for wisdom as she chose her words. Pray that the king’s heart would be softened toward her so he would allow her an audience. Pray that God would go before her and make a way where none seemed to be. 

People across Susa were already doing that. Praying. It was the only thing God’s people could do. Sitting in their own fear and helplessness. Stuck in the waiting. Searching for answers and help, and hope. Seeing human powers at work against them and being forced to admit their impotence. All they could do was cry out to God for a rescue, bombard Heaven for deliverance, pray that the king’s heart would be directed by God like water flowing through a channel. Because, stuck in a space where evil runs rampant and there appears to be nothing the righteous can do to alter the impending chain of horrific events, God’s people have one option. Pray. (Esther 3-4; Proverbs 21:1)

It worked for Esther and her people. At the sight of his queen in the doorway, the king readily lifted his golden scepter. He accepted her invitations–for both himself and Haman. He heard her story and believed her words. He destroyed their enemy and issued a second decree mitigating the first. Not because Esther was beautiful or biddable. Not out of imagined duty to his queen. Not to save face or secure slaves to work in his kingdom. No. King Ahasuerus acted in their favor because Esther and her people prayed. And God worked. (Esther 5,7) 

Centuries later, surrounded as we are by a deluge of unfortunate events, unmitigated evil, unharnessed hate, it is so easy to look around in helplessness and fear and wonder what we can do about it. What can we do to turn a country actively fleeing righteousness back to God? What can we do to stop hate in the world? What can the tiny number of righteous do to triumph over the tidal wave of wickedness surging over our society? It feels like nothing. Nothing we can do or say, teach or live seems to have any effect on the burgeoning bent toward evil around us. Acknowledging our impotence and falling victim to our fears, we helplessly shake our heads and ponder the question, “What can the righteous do?” In this day, at this hour, in the middle of these out-of-control circumstances, what can the righteous do to restore order, offer hope, render aid? (Psalm 11:3; II Chronicles 20:12; Habakkuk 1:4; Micah 7:2-4; I Timothy 4:1-2; II Timothy 3:1-5; Colossians 4:2; Jeremiah 29:12)

Friend, there is so much you can do. You can do everything. Without getting out of your chair. Without leaving your house. Without opening your computer or making a post. You can pray. Pray when the answers don’t happen. Pray when the news leaves you anxious, terrified, horrified. Pray when everything seems hopeless. Pray when things are on the upturn. Pray when they go downhill. Pray whether the outlook is bright or threatening. Pray in the car, the shower, the front yard. No matter where you are or what you are doing, don’t stop praying. Because, in times of trouble and trial and terror, when there is nothing left in the silly little arsenal of human machinations, the righteous don’t get discouraged or wander aimlessly about asking what they can do. No. The righteous pray. And God works. (James 5:16; I Thessalonians 5:7; Romans 12:12; Luke 18:1; Philippians 4;6-7; I Peter 3:12; Proverbs 15:29; Ezra 8:23)

Excitement shot through his veins at the words. Finally. Today was the day! Now was the moment he’d been anticipating. Knowing it was coming had nothing on its actual arrival. He would jump and skip and clap his hands if it was socially acceptable. His joy was all-consuming. His heart was overflowing. The tears on his face came from a place of thanksgiving. What God had promised, He had done. The land of Hebron was finally his. Not one word of God’s promise had failed. Not that Caleb had expected them to. He hadn’t. He knew they wouldn’t. No matter how long he had to wait for it. (Joshua 14:6-14)

Forty-five years ago, God had made Caleb this promise. The land of Hebron would be his inheritance. A gift for his faithfulness. He’d been 40 years old at the time. Old enough to have a wife and family. Old enough to want land and space of his own. Old enough to strategize battles, lead troops, go to war. Old enough to stand up for what he believed when nearly no one else would. Old enough to understand the value, the necessity, the urgency of believing in God’s power and resting in His promises even when things looked impossible, improbable, impregnable. Unaware his position was one of a minority, Caleb was caught off guard by the things he heard the men report, the doubt in their voices, the adamant refusal to go up and conquer Canaan when they had the opportunity.       

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing! Had they not all gone to the same place? Had they not toured the same land, spied on the same people, drank from the same clear streams, and walked the same lush grasslands? Hadn’t they all been heavily laden with grapes and pomegranates and figs as they came back into camp? Yes, they had also seen the people. Yes, they were descendants of Anak. Yes, they were large–huge, even. But this was clearly the land God had promised them. This was obviously where they were supposed to dwell. Yet the guys around him were calling “retreat” rather than yelling “advance.” 

Why? What had happened to them? Who had gone soft? Who was scared? Who was so faithless as to believe the people, arguably giants, of that land were greater than the God of Israel? Were they even acquainted with God? Had they already forgotten what he was capable of doing? Did they doubt, even for a millisecond, that God couldn’t, wouldn’t defeat these people for them? Did they really believe God would fail to do what He promised? Did they think God would tease them with the fantastic plethora of goodness before them, yet pull back and fail to deliver? Ridiculous! God would never renege on His promise. He said it. He would do it. Whether now or later. It would happen. Caleb believed. 

He said so. Into the bickering and dissenting, Caleb spoke. His distress at their unbelief was obvious. What was wrong with them? They could do this! They could win! Now. Today. God was with them. Right now. This place was what He had in store for them. It was exactly what He said it would be. A good land. Extremely good. Excellent, even. Overflowing with lush pastures and clear streams. Laden with loaded fruit trees and heavy grape vines. Every physical need would be met if they set up residence here. This was definitely the place. This was absolutely the moment. Now was the time their faith needed to triumph over their fear. The day when they girded their shaking selves in armor and went into battle trusting not in their own swords, spears, or strength, but fully trusting in the power of God to do exactly what he promised. Victory was certain. If they would just go do it. 

Unfortunately, Caleb was outnumbered and outvoted. Only Joshua stood with him. While they were ready to go fight the battle and take the land for themselves and their children, the rest of the men weren’t. The picturesque land with its abundant goodness wasn’t enough to erase their memory of the people there. It may even have been embellished between the visit and the report. By the time they got home, the men were talking of immensely strong people inhabiting impossibly fortified cities. Giants were in the land. Terrifying giants. The six-fingers on one hand kind of giants. One of those men could crush ten of their men with one hand. It was horrible. It was panic-inducing. It couldn’t be done. Wouldn’t be wise to go engage. The wonderful harvests of the land weren’t worth the obvious loss of life they would suffer. They needed to abandon the idea. For now, at least. Maybe forever. They simply didn’t believe this was God’s plan for them right now. Maybe it never would be. 

Frustrated and disappointed, Caleb stood his ground. He wasn’t budging. Had no reason to do so. God hadn’t brought them this far only to let them down. He wasn’t going to fail this time. If God was sending them to conquer the land of Canaan, He would make sure it happened. God would go before them. God would fight beside them. Caleb’s faith knew He could trust God’s strength to give them victory. But when the consensus came down, the majority disagreed. They didn’t want to go up. They were too scared. Too faithless. Too unbelieving. They simply didn’t believe this was the land God had promised as He delivered them from captivity in Egypt.  

One wonders why they didn’t believe. Or, perhaps more accurately, what they didn’t believe? Did they not believe they could win the battle, or did they not believe they would have to fight for it? Were God’s people under the impression He would easily hand them this magnificent land on a silver platter because He had chosen them as His special possession? Did they really believe there would be no work to do, no pain involved, no hardship to come? Would it be such a shock if they did? They had made a lot of assumptions in the time since they left Egypt. It seems they believed they would reach the promised land very quickly once they escaped. They didn’t see a reason for the detour around Philistine territory when a shorter path existed. They weren’t expecting a journey where food was simple and water was scarce. Within a short period of time, the Israelites were acting like entitled brats. Whining. Complaining. Demanding. Expecting. But they weren’t expecting God to make them fight for the promised land. No. They expected Him to simply hand it to them. Except for Caleb. (Exodus 13-17; Numbers 13-14, 32:8-13)

Caleb wasn’t having any part of that mess. Yes, he wanted to be in the promised land as much as anyone. Yes, it would be fantastic if the current inhabitants quietly pulled up stakes and moved on before the Israelites got there. But God hadn’t planned it that way. He’d planned a battle. And Caleb knew that if God had planned a battle, He had also planned a victory. For His people. Standing squarely on that fact, he faithfully cast his vote with God and refused to budge. He would follow God. Completely. Unreservedly. Unequivocally. And God saw that. He saw Caleb’s faith in His power and promise. He saw Caleb’s willingness to be obedient. And God blessed him with a promise. He would have that land. He would own it. Every place he had just explored would belong to him and his descendants. Eventually. (Deuteronomy 1:36)

That is where we would have tripped up. Every one of us. We don’t do “eventually.” We operate in the here and now. Right now. We pray and expect an answer the minute the words leave our lips. We receive a promise from God and expect it to fit our timetable. We believe expectant waiting is honored in our version of a preferred timetable. We hear “I will take care of you” and expect a sudden six-figure income, an instantaneous healing, an immediate change of someone’s heart. We ask for the salvation of friends and loved ones, then become discouraged when it doesn’t happen that very week. We call on God for needs and wants, but start to doubt when the answer doesn’t come in the way and time we thought it would. We pray for direction, but falter in fear and look for an alternate route when the obstacles in the path seem insurmountable. We aren’t at all about waiting for God to make good on His promise. We want it and we want it now. 

No doubt Caleb would have preferred his reward right then as well. He was just as human as we are. There is no passage to indicate he had infinite patience. There must surely have been times when doubts assailed his mind, making him question if he had correctly heard the words God spoke to Moses. He must have wondered how long it would take. As his sons were born, it is likely he considered whether or not he’d have that land to pass down before his boys were looking for plots of their own. And yet, as the years passed with no land grant occurring, Caleb’s faith didn’t grow weaker, didn’t falter, didn’t fail. Caleb believed God would make good on His promise. And He did. Four and a half decades later. 

Caleb was eighty-five when God fulfilled His promise. The land God had promised him half a lifetime ago was finally his. God had preserved him for this moment. He’d seen many battles, but survived them all. He’d aged in years but not in body. He was still fit and well, and strong. God hadn’t let him become frail and old and unable to enjoy the land. God had protected and preserved Caleb and was now prospering him because of his faith. Not just the faith of decades ago that encouraged them to advance on the land and take it because of God’s promise, but the faith Caleb exhibited in the ensuing years after the promise was made. Tested faith. Victorious faith. Faith that gave him the patience to wait for it. (James 1:3) 

I don’t know what promise God has given you. Redeemed situations. Restored relationships. Rescued lives. I don’t know how long ago you first heard those words. Days. Weeks. Months. Years. I do know this. No matter how long it takes, God will do it. He never falls short on His promises. He doesn’t write checks the bank of Heaven can’t cash. God doesn’t spend His words unwisely. He says only what He means. He does exactly what He says. You can take His word in full confidence that whatever He promised, He will perform. Even if you have to wait for it. Even if you wonder when. Even if you doubt yourself and your ability to hear God speak. Don’t doubt God. He will keep His promise. In His way. In His time. He will do it. So wait for it. (Ecclesiastes 3:11; Psalm 27:14; Hebrews 10:35; Matthew 21:21; II Corinthians 1:20)

Wait as long as it takes. Pray for it. Over and over again. Bring it back to His attention. Not because He forgot. He didn’t. Bring it to His attention because it helps you leave it with Him and keeps your faith resting on His power alone. Do the things you need to do. Walk the path He puts before you. Live your life while you wait for His promise to be fulfilled. Because it will be. Now. Later. It doesn’t matter. God never fails. Your soul knows that. So rest in that truth. Clutch His promise to your heart and refuse to doubt. Refuse to be dissuaded. Put your faith in God and keep it there. Believe He will perform what He has promised. Even if you have to wait for it. (Romans 8:25; Numbers 23:19; Luke 1:37; Psalm 37:7, 34; 105:8; 130:5; Hebrews 10:23)

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)