Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

It was a beautiful Sunday morning.  The sunshine reflecting through the stained glass windows of our old brick church added to the peace and serenity the hymns had induced. The musical portion of the service had just finished. Leaving the piano bench, I slipped into the comfortably padded pew beside my husband and settled in to hear the words God had inspired our pastor to speak. 

A wonderful, gentle man of God, he had gotten no further than to read his text and say a prayer when a commotion in the center aisle caught my attention. A latecomer, immaculately dressed in glistening white, fumbled his way past those seated at the opposite end of my pew and plopped down right beside me. Close. Too close. Uncomfortably close. As I turned to extend a welcoming, yet hesitant smile to the newcomer, my eyes widened in shock and horror at what I saw. Dressed as an angel of light, the devil had come to church! (II Corinthians 11:14)

I really don’t know why I was so shocked to see him there. Perhaps it was the lack of other parishioners noticing his intrusion. Perhaps it was his elevated comfort level in a place he was heavily outnumbered. Or maybe it was simply the fact I had no idea, not even an inkling, that the evil one was an avid church attendee. In retrospect, I surmise his attendance record exceeds my own extensive one. His behavior indicates otherwise.

Wiggling down to a comfortable position, he settled in for the endurance. I sighed. It was going to be a long service. He had no intention of listening to the God-given words of wisdom coming from the lectern. He had no intention of letting me listen either. No. He’d come with a plan. A purpose. A goal. Sow discord and discontent. Plant seeds of disgust, disappointment, discouragement. He’d come to destroy the body of Christ. (John 10:10; II Corinthians 11:3)

It took him less than a minute to get started. Intermittently pointing around the church, he rained down questions meant to distract and disrupt. Nothing was exempt from his diatribe. Style choices. Unfounded gossip. Alleged marital discord. Obvious absence of disgruntled members. I did my best to ignore him, attempting to focus on the message I came to hear. When the service finally came to a close and the pastor announced the final hymn, I sprang from my seat, relieved as never before to hear a benediction. 

Perhaps my sense of relief was similar in strength to that of Aaron and Hur when the sun set on the battle with Amalek. It had been a long day. Oh, it had started well. Before the sun rose they had accompanied Moses, carrying the staff of God, up to the top of the hill. They had watched as Joshua led the Israelite army into battle. As the sun broke over the hill and a day began to break, fighting ensued. 

By ordinance of Almighty God, the One who fights for His people, it happened that when Moses lifted up his hands holding the staff, Israel would prevail. Only if the staff stayed raised. It was an arduous duty. Moses did the best he could. But he grew tired. His arms fell asleep. It became impossible for him to keep them raised continually. It began to look like Israel would succumb because of Moses’ humanity.  

Aaron and Hur weren’t about to let that happen. They hadn’t narrowly escaped Egyptian captivity only to be plundered and slaughtered before ever seeing the promised land! They hadn’t wakened before dawn, trudged up a hill, and stood watching a harrowing battle just to see their people ransacked and devastated. They weren’t going to stand by and let evil triumph! Looking around, they found a rock. A big one. Big enough to hold a grown man comfortably. Rolling it in place behind Moses, they urged him to sit and rest. Then, taking up stations on either side of him, they held up his hands when he didn’t have the strength to go on. (Exodus 17:8-16)

What if they hadn’t? What if Aaron and Hur had been gossiping about the men below? What if they’d been critiquing their fighting methods? What if they had been arguing over the proper way to fight a war, whose son would marry which daughter, or who acquired the most treasures from Egypt? What if they blamed Moses when his hands became heavy and things went awry? What would have happened to God’s people then if they hadn’t come alongside to aid, support, and strengthen?

What would happen to God’s people now if you did? What if you came alongside the struggling soul with encouragement? What if you reached out in gentleness to concern one caught in the web of sin? What if you became a burden-bearer? What if the only words flowing from your lips were full of compassion, kindness, humility, and patience? What if forgiveness was a first response, not a last resort? What if the community of believers, the people who so loudly profess to know and love Jesus Christ, acted just like Jesus? How would the landscape change if we took good, excellent, perfect care of one another? (I Thessalonians 5:11; Galatians 6:1-2; Colossians 3:12-14; James 4:10-11: I Peter 4:8-9)

I don’t know for certain what would have happened if Aaron and Hur hadn’t come alongside Moses with non-judgmental support. Most of my imaginations end with bone-chilling results. The Exodus account doesn’t seem to disagree. Without Moses’ lifted hands holding up the staff of God, Israel would have lost that battle. On the heels of their glorious deliverance from bondage and miraculous Red Sea crossing, it would have been a tremendous, gut-wrenching loss. 

Our loss will be no less. The evil one is busily, endlessly working to spread discord, division, and discontent among believers. He is spreading rumors and lies, gossip and slander in an effort to cull the flock. He is breeding envy and jealousy, hatred and pride, attempting to create schisms in our ranks. Sometimes it feels like it is working. Churches split. Friends become enemies. Neighbors quit speaking. Families fall apart. It almost seems hopeless. Except it isn’t. 

   The Apostle Paul, in his letter to the Roman Christians, exhorts them to live a lifestyle designed to thwart the advances of the evil one. Let your love be true. Hate evil. Cling to good. Be devoted to your fellow believers in brotherly love. Show one another utmost respect and great esteem. Fervently serve God. Rejoice. Persevere. Give. Pray hard. Bless and forgive those who come against you. Share both in celebrations and sorrows. Live peaceably in one accord, never being overcome by evil, but overcoming evil with good. (Romans 12:9-21)

At a time when the world is coming against us on every front and evil seems to have set up camp on our very doorsteps, wouldn’t we be blessed to have a community of believers to come alongside and support us, care for us, encourage us when things get too heavy to handle? Wouldn’t it be a blessing, an honor, to be one of those believers who supported, cared for, and encouraged another? Wouldn’t it be amazing to stop the evil one in his tracks?

 So why don’t you? Why don’t you go be that blessing? Go be the hands and feet of Jesus to the people hard-pressed by the evil one to give up, give in, give over. Give them your prayers, certainly, but give them something else too. Be present. Listen. Help. Hold their hands. Be gentle with their hearts. Be full of Jesus. Be a warrior used by God to crush the efforts of the evil one to bring division, dissension, and destruction to God’s people. Beat the devil at his own game. Go out and take good care of the body of Christ. (Philippians 2:3-4, 4:5; I Peter 4:8-9; II Thessalonians 1:3; Hebrews 10:23-24; II Timothy 2:20-21; Romans 16:20; John 13:34-35)

The sharp bite of betrayal shot through Moses’ soul as he watched the men of Israel walk away. Their words of rebuke echoed like the reverberations of a gong inside his head. Perhaps it had been a mistake to await immediate results of the meeting with Pharaoh. It had gone abysmally wrong. The increased work requirements would not be lifted. The foremen would continue to be beaten. The situation was destined to further deteriorate. Facts for which the children of Israel now blamed Moses and Aaron. 

It was not what Moses’ hoped to hear. After being sent by God to lead the people out of Egypt, Moses had other ideas for the outcome of this meeting. Joyous relief at Pharaoh’s capitulation, for starters. He thought surely there would be dancing in jubilation as they were given permission to gather their things and travel into the wilderness. He had expected immediate deliverance, not increased detriment. He was preparing to safely lead the people out. Not once had he suspected things might go awry. 

 From the moment he stood beside the blazing inferno of never consumed bush and listened to God call him to aid in the rescue of His people, Moses believed liberation would happen. He believed God was going to release His people from slavery. He might not understand how, but he knew it would happen! God was going to bring them out of bondage and lead them into a land of their own. A fertile land. A blessed land. A land of plenty. Moses never doubted the ability of God to do such. Until now.

Standing outside that meeting place, watching the retreating backs of the foremen and feeling the sting of their angry words, Moses’ heart quaked with questions. What had gone wrong? Why was God allowing additional harm to befall an already beleaguered people? Did the fault truly lie with Moses as the Israelite men suggested? Was it his slow speech? Had his inarticulate verbiage somehow created an unbreachable chasm forever increasing hardship for his people? Or had God brought them this far only to renege on His promise?

It was a sickening thought. But the evidence appeared to be right in front of him. Having heard their cries of suffering and wailing pleas for deliverance, God had looked down and seen their bondage, recognized their untenable situation, and decided to do something. He had promised to deliver them. He’d collected Moses and given strict instruction. He’d made an allowance for Aaron, the more eloquent speaker, to accompany Moses. He’d put His words in their mouths and given them an audience with Pharaoh. It all seemed so positive, looked so much like deliverance. Until it started to look like God wasn’t going to finish what He started. 

The current situation resembled deliverance not at all. Words meant to induce kindness and leniency had instead evoked anger and affliction. The bondage increased. The workload soared. The punishments became more menacing. Although Moses had come to them in fearless faith and boldly spoken God’s words of deliverance over them, their deteriorating circumstances seemed to indicate otherwise. As their cries went unanswered, their tears unseen, the people turned their anger and frustration on the messenger. And the messenger, disappointed that it hadn’t happened the way he thought it would and doubting it would ever happen because he couldn’t see the way forward, hurled his anxious accusations at the God he feared had failed for the first time in history.  

Rushing to his place of meeting with God, Moses impetuously cried out, “What are You doing? Why are you allowing the increased harm of Your people? Why did You even send me if you weren’t going to do anything? I did what You told me to do. I gave Your promise to Your people. I spoke Your words to Pharaoh. He did not capitulate. Quite the opposite. The affliction of Your people has intensified. Things are getting worse, not better. From where I’m sitting, it seems You have not delivered on Your promise to deliver Your people!” (Exodus 3-5)

In spite of the fact I have read the story scores of times, I still suck in my breath as I read Moses’ words to the Almighty. That he has the nerve to talk to God that way has me raising a brow in self-righteous judgment. Who, exactly, does he think he is? And just whom does he believe he is addressing in such disrespect? Does he not realize the same God who set that bush to flame from nothing could simply speak and he would cease to exist?

As I begin to unload my full head of steam on unsuspecting Moses, I am reminded of some things I’ve said to God in frustration and fear. I start to rethink accusations I’ve hurled at the heavens when things haven’t gone according to my plan or matched my timing. I remember all the times I’ve thought God failed to keep His promises because I didn’t get what I wanted. The memories shut my mouth and I shamefacedly take a seat beside Moses. We both have lessons to learn. 

Lessons about who God is. Creator. Sustainer. Everlasting God. All-powerful. All-knowing. Limitless. Lessons about how God works. His perfect timing. His perfect plan. His perfect way. None of these are new revelations. We’ve known them for a long time. They are really reminders. Reminding us that we can trust Him to keep His word. Even when we can’t see what He is doing, when we can’t explain it, when we can’t call out the steps. Reminding us that His ways are not like ours, His timing is not kept by our clock, His results are always greater than the ones our finite minds conceive. I frequently need these reminders. Clearly, Moses needed them, too. God was happy to oblige. (Isaiah 40:21-31; Ecclesiastes 3:11; Isaiah 55:8-9; Deuteronomy 32:4)

Reiterating words He’d already used, reminding Moses of things he already knew, God set the record straight. “I am the Lord. The God of your fathers to whom I promised a blessed land. No matter what you think is going on or how badly you think I have botched this, I have not forgotten that promise. I have not left my people unattended. I have heard their cries. I have seen their bondage. I have remembered my covenant. And, Moses, know this and let the people know it too, in my time, in my way, I am going to bring them out of Egypt, delivered and redeemed, to be my people and I will be their God.” (Exodus 6-14)

If you have ever attended a Sunday School class, a vacation Bible school program, or simply read the book of Exodus, you know God did exactly that. With His mighty arm and outstretched hand, He miraculously rescued His people from bondage and affliction. He kept His promise and then some. Why? Because that is what God does. 

God works miraculously on behalf of His people. While we are busy screaming at the heavens, raging on about His shortcomings, God is busy, too. Erecting a way where there isn’t one. Executing a rescue when it seems impossible. Enacting the miraculous when hope has been extinguished. Encouraging a fledgling soul. Enlightening a clouded mind. Enriching the heart of a seeker. God is always working whether you see it or not. He is always busy whether to your standards or not. God is always delivering and redeeming His people because He is our God and that is what He does! 

He is the God who has never left His people unattended, never left His promises unfulfilled, never turned a blind eye to our suffering or a deaf ear to our cries. He is always listening. He is touched by our infirmities, moved by our tears. His heart is broken by our sin and elated by our salvation. He is always working on our behalf. When we can’t feel it or see it, He’s working. When we can’t trace His movements or see around the curve ahead, He’s working. When we can do nothing but pray and hope and struggle to keep our meager faith alive, God is still working. Still planning our deliverance. Still enacting our rescue. Still providing for our redemption. That’s what our God does! (Hebrews 4:15; Psalm 145:13; Psalm 66:19; Isaiah 43:19; II Corinthians 4:18)

I don’t know where you are right now. I don’t know what holds you in bondage. I don’t know what torments your mind and soul in the dark hours of the night. I do know this. God is working on your behalf. All those prayers you’ve prayed have not bounced off brass heavens unanswered. God is not immune to your desperation, your situation, your petition. Just as He heard the cries of the bruised and beaten people of Israel enslaved in Egypt, He hears the cries of your distressed soul. He sees your burdens and afflictions and cares. He knows how precariously your faith falters on the cusp of fear. And right now–this very moment–He is working out His plan for your rescue. (I Peter 3:12; I John 5:14-15; Hebrews 4:16; John 14:1; Exodus 14: 11-12; Psalm 42:6; John 5:17)

So don’t stop believing. Don’t stop praying. Don’t stop hoping. Keep the faith. Faith in the God who has never failed to keep His promise. Faith in the power of God that is greater than any other force of this world or another. Faith in the God who sees you where you are, hears you when you call, is moved by your circumstances, and is working–even when you can’t see it. (Psalm 130:5-7; Romans 5:5; I Thessalonians 1:3; Hebrews 11:6; John 13:7)

He was leaving them. The cold, hard truth settled around them like a pall. Fear tightened their throats. Anxiety settled like a ball of lead in their stomachs. They had been through so much together! Jaw-dropping miracles. Soul-stirring messages. Life-changing mentoring. Jesus was everything to them. They had given up everything to follow Him. Yet here He stood telling them He was going away. Without them. 

It had been the disciples’ first thought. Since the moment Jesus called to them, “Come, follow me,” they had been doing just that. Following Jesus. Everywhere. Anywhere. They hadn’t turned back. He’d never asked them to do so. Until today. Today was different. Today He told them He was leaving. Alone. This time they couldn’t follow. (John 14:1-5)

The thought was inconceivable. Not once, in all their years of following, had their finite minds considered Jesus would leave them. So swallowed up in the fervor of service and phenomenon of the miraculous, they had never contemplated the notion. They hadn’t thought far enough ahead to consider the moment when death would separate them for a short while. If there was leaving to do, they assumed it would be one of them. A defector. Humans are like that. Fickle. Variable. Undependable. Not Jesus. Jesus was constant. Dependable. Unchangeable. At least He had been. Until now. 

As Jesus’ words swirled around them, the disciples inwardly reacted. Worry threaded through their hearts. Fear wove its way into their minds. Dread settled in their stomachs. They had a million questions. They had to have. They were human. Although it seems they would explode in a cacophony of questions, only Thomas, Peter, and Judas voiced their thoughts. Perhaps the others were still mulling over His opening statement. Perhaps it echoed in their minds, reminiscent of words He’d spoken to them before. Perhaps they were reliving the last time Jesus had said to them, “Do not be afraid.” Don’t be troubled. Don’t worry. Don’t be alarmed. Trust Me. (John 14:1) It had been another evening when things seemed to be going pear-shaped.  

The bright afternoon sun had long since dipped behind the hills allowing darkness to crowd out the last blush of daylight. Light breezes that had spent the afternoon gently teasing hair and clothing now gained a less playful force. Jesus and His disciples were headed to Capernaum. If they could find Jesus. Everyone else was already in the boat. They’d been waiting quite some time. They needed to leave if they were to race the winds. It would be an arduous journey. Eventually, safety won out. They needed to leave. Jesus would find His own way. He always did. 

Buffeted by ever-increasing winds, the disciples strained to row their boat even a few miles. Muscles pulled and rippled with each stroke, but resulted in little gain. Exhausted from the effort and deeply concerned for their safety, they looked out across the hectic waves, gauging the distance to shore. What they saw stopped their oars and dropped their jaws. Walking toward them across perilously tumultuous waters, came a phantom clearly intent on boarding their vessel.  

Vigorously rubbing shaking hands over terrified faces, the disciples cautiously looked again. Surely it had simply been the effect of their overtired imaginations! But, no.  It was still there. Still walking. Still headed straight for their boat. Terror clogged their throats and bulged their eyes. They sat in frozen shock until they heard the words. Words of peace. Words of calm. Words of Jesus. “It is me. Do not be afraid.” (John 6:15-20) 

Although His current command resonated with the same peace and calm of the one He issued across those wild sea waters on the way to Capernaum, their response was not the same. He was announcing His imminent departure. Their hearts were stricken with grief and sorrow. Their minds were whirling with questions about an uncertain future. Fear for their lives held them in its icy fingers. Yet Jesus stood there calmly commanding, “Do not allow your hearts to be overtaken by fear, anxiety, distress, or worry. Put your faith, your confidence in God, and trust His plan.” It would not be an easy command to follow. (John 14:1)

Things were coming that they had yet to truly understand. No matter how Jesus had tried to prepare them for His betrayal, trials, beatings, and death, they failed to fully grasp the weight of  His words. They didn’t understand what it would look like to follow Jesus to the end of His life. They were too focused on following Him to the end of theirs. The idea of Jesus ever not being physically present was completely foreign to them. Surely, when faced with the loss, their hearts nearly fainted within them. 

So often I get the feeling the disciples never really comprehended what Jesus was telling them in John 14 until they found themselves sequestered in fear after the crucifixion. Closed in on yet another evening, they huddled in fear. Doors locked. Windows shuttered. Candles gutted. Words were few and only whispered. Terror hung almost tangibly in the air. Their hearts were troubled. Their souls were distraught. Their minds were frazzled by worry. At the end of their resources, when hope seemed lost, Jesus came.

Stepping into their hideout, He spoke the same message He’d spoken so often before. A message of peace. A message of calm. A message of hope. “Peace be with you.” Peace in the middle of chaos. Calm in the midst of fear. Rest in a world of tumult. Hope in a risen Savior who had gone, not to leave them alone forever, but to prepare for them an eternal inheritance that cannot, will not fade away. Jesus hadn’t left them. He had simply gone to do His Father’s business. In all the turmoil around them, they’d forgotten His promise of a Comforter and allowed fear to extinguish their faith. (John 20:19-29; John 14; I Peter 1:4; John 16:7)

The feeling is so familiar. In our world so devoured by a culture of fear, it feels there is nothing to do but cower. Our society is hurtling down a collision course with Hell. Flagrant violations of Biblical proportions are lauded as good. Sin accepted. Evil condoned. My ears echo with the cries of the weeping prophet, Jeremiah, as though he were walking our streets, bemoaning our sin, calling out to the people of our day, “Go back to the old paths. Remember the path your forefathers walked to follow God. Find it. Follow it. Find rest for your souls.” Sadly, his words fall on deaf ears. (Jeremiah 6:16)

As a Christian living in these times of pressure and panic, worry and fear, I find myself constantly drawn back to the words Jesus spoke to His disciples. Words of faith. Words of peace. Words of strength and hope. Words of Jesus to those who traversed the evils of that day and we who must carefully travel the thorny paths of ours,  “Peace I leave with you; My peace, the peace of soul only I can give, I gift you. Do not be deceived. My peace is not the same as the passing peace the world has on offer. My peace passes all understanding, settles down in your soul, and stays there. So. Do not allow your hearts to be troubled, worried, anxious, rattled. Do not be afraid…because I am with you now, will always be with you, no matter what is going on in the world.” (John 14:27; Matthew 28:20; Philippians 4:6-7; John 16:33; I John 5:4)

Don’t let the evil one’s fear extinguish your faith. Don’t be worried, rattled, troubled, or fearful of the things happening around you. Don’t let the world trick you with false peace, fake goodness, or faux joy. It will all pass away. Only the peace of Jesus Christ will last. May the peace of Christ rule in your heart above all things and allow you to walk boldly through the gauntlet of this world unworried, unrattled, untroubled, and unafraid. (Isaiah 26:3; Psalm 119:165; II Thessalonians 3:16; Isaiah 12:2; Colossians 3:15)

It is January. I would know it even without the benefit of a calendar. I’ve walked the shops, read the sale advertisements, heard the commercials, seen the billboards. It is absolutely January. The gyms are running membership deals. Diet plans are offering fabulous results. The shop aisles that just weeks ago were cluttered with cookie tins and a thousand bags of prettily wrapped chocolates are now laden with protein drinks, dietary supplements, and low-calorie snacks. Endcaps fetchingly display workout clothes, weights, and yoga mats. Their pristine beauty beckons to shoppers. It all seems like such a good idea. A great start to all those resolutions you made but are so reticent to keep. 

Perhaps it is obvious, but, for the record, I am not a New Year’s resolution maker. That is not to say I have never made one. I have. I’ve simply never kept one. Not because I haven’t started well. I’ve done that too. Yet somehow, as the shine of the new year dulls, so does my ambition to keep my resolutions. As I watch the heavily panting joggers in brand new spandex traipse past my windows, change lanes for safety while passing the brightly attired bicyclist on the street, and see the religious gym-attendees exit after their hour of cycling, strength training, and yoga, I straighten my spine and cling more tightly to the first line of I Timothy 4:8, “Physical exercise profits little.” 

Yes, I do realize Timothy was not exhorting us to sit on the couch, watch endless reruns on television while popping bonbons and crunching potato chips. But we have settled into that type of lifestyle nonetheless. Not physically. (I hope!) Spiritually. So many of us have been enticed into a religious lifestyle of relaxed complacency that encourages us to sit back, relax and enjoy the ride. You prayed the sinners’ prayer when you were five, were baptized when the preacher said you should. You attend church most Sundays, often take your Bible, and frequently manage not to glance at your cell phone more than a couple of times during the sermon. You’ve been faithful to your spouse, haven’t killed anyone, have taken excellent care of your family. Surely you deserve to relax and wait for Heaven.

Unfortunately, that’s your bonbons and potato chips talking, not God. Your flippant, devil-may-care attitude has played your soul right into the evil one’s territory. He is extremely good at what he does. Mesmerizing tricks. Comfortable lies. Enticing sideroads. Your unguarded heart falls prey to his evil devices with barely a glance. It will likely be much later before you notice how far you’ve strayed, how lost you are, how many idols you’ve erected.  

It happened to the Children of Israel. A lot. Even though they were God’s chosen people. Even though they had sworn a covenant to be His and His alone. Even though their very history proved them susceptible to straying. They didn’t keep their guard up. Over and over again they become complacent. Their heads are turned by the things around them. Earthly things. Strange practices. Enchanting promises. Strange gods. Time after time they find themselves far from the God they are sworn to follow, trailing after gods of wood and stone who have no power, no wisdom for guidance, no ability to save. Often it takes something enormous, oppression, affliction, or battle, to bring them running back to the God whose omnipotence they so desperately needed. 

I’ve read and heard the accounts of their multitudinous returns dozens of times, yet I am still busily fist-pumping the air every time I read they have turned back to God. Again. I am excited when they choose to re-dedicate themselves to God. I am thrilled when they renew their covenant to be God’s people. God’s alone. My excitement is barely contained as they clean out, tear down their idols, and throw them out on the heap. The eviction is exciting. The eradication of uncleanness from places reserved for holiness brings a cry of joy to my lips. And, as they throw themselves on the unending mercy of the God who is full of compassion and loving-kindness, who doesn’t keep His anger forever and who turns to listen to those who come to Him in penitence, I am there too. My cries mingle with theirs as, from the bottom of my heart, I covenant with them to be His. Fully. Completely. Only. Always. I mean it every time. (II Chronicles 23:16-17, 29:5,10; Isaiah 54:7-8; II Chronicles 30:9; Lamentation 3:22-23)

You probably do too. Every time you realize the extent of wandering you’ve done. Every time you hear a compelling sermon or read a convicting quote. Every time you suffer circumstances that turn your thoughts toward eternity. In those introspective moments, when your mind clears and you see where your complacency has led, you take stock of your life, check your spiritual temperature, and bring yourself back to God for cleansing. You cry out in reconsecration, rededication. You vow He will be the only God in your life. You make a covenant to be His and His alone. And you mean it every time. 

But crises don’t last forever. Pithy quotes are forgotten. Words from the pulpit fade. Over time you forget your covenant. The complacency returns. Your guard drops. Things begin to go pear-shaped. The world becomes more attractive. The place that once was reserved for holiness becomes cluttered with the unholy. It might not have even been a conscious choice, just a subtle drifting, a quiet parting, the choice of a path just off the truth. If, through the ungodly haze of worldliness, you happen to gain a moment of clarity, you will notice you have breached your covenant. You have abandoned your commitment. You have checked your resolve to belong solely to God at the door of earthly pleasures. Around your feet, you will notice the ashes of your good intentions. 

Someone, somewhere once stated, “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.” I have no idea where the phrase originated. I’ve only heard one person use it. No one before them. No one after. In fact, I’ve only ever heard it said one time. No one seems to use it. No one except myself. I use it. Regularly. I need it. I need reminded that the evil one is constantly throwing things in my path to turn my head, capture my attention, and draw me away from being fully consecrated, completely covenanted to be God’s and God’s alone. My intentions cannot be saved for another day. I must do them now. I must constantly be watching, guarding, keeping my spiritual house cleared of idols, my heart uncluttered by the unholy.

This task is not for the faint of heart. It requires extensive vigilance. Those idols will surprise you. We think we know what they are. Things like cars and clothes and houses. We picture them as physical–looks, money, prestige. Maybe so. Maybe not. Idols can be other things as well. Less visible things. Less noticeable things. Secret things. Deadly things. Things like envy and hate, bitterness and unforgiveness. Things like lust and pride. Things like fear. Things that bind us spiritually and keep us from living in the beauty of the covenant God makes between Himself and His people. (Philippians 4:6-7; Colossians 3:5,8; Proverbs 6:16-19; Hebrews 13:5)  

Like the ancient Israelites, we desperately need to clean house. Not just once a year. Not simply when hardships come. Not only in January when we are considering resolutions. Our commitment to the covenant we have made to be God’s people must be stronger than that. We must constantly be on guard against the things the evil one brings against us. Whether as a roaring lion bringing fear and desperation, or an alleged angel of light tempting us down the path of least resistance, the evil one doesn’t take time off. Neither can we. If we want to be covenant people, we must continually be watching, guarding, checking every spirit, every voice, every thought against the Word of God. (I Peter 5:8; II Corinthians 11:14; I John 4:1-5; Proverbs 4:23; Romans 12:2)

If we continue reading Timothy’s passage beyond the alleged negating of exercise, we will find this truth, “Godliness is the most profitable thing you can cultivate. It will give you spiritual strength, the greatest necessity for time and eternity.” So lay everything else down. Bag up all the things that hinder your relationship with God and throw them in the bin. Discard the excess that weighs you down, draws you aside, turns you away from following God. Cleanse your heart of the clutter, the complacency, the sin. Consecrate yourself to God. His service. His work. His plan. And covenant to be God’s alone. (I Timothy 4:8; Hebrews 12:1; Romans 13:12; Job 36:11; Isaiah 1:16-17)

I hope you will. January or June. Good times or bad. Feast or famine. I hope you make this covenant. A covenant with God to be His. Only His. A covenant to eradicate every unholy thing from the spaces of your heart and life and dedicate those places to holiness. A covenant to consecrate yourself for time and eternity to Christ. A covenant to leave the things of the world, the cares of the world, the pleasures of the world behind knowing that you will gain Christ, the greatest gain, for time and eternity. I hope you keep that covenant. Today. Tomorrow. Next week. Next month. Next year. Forever. In a world of broken promises, breached contracts, and nullified covenants, I hope you choose to be God’s covenant people. People sworn to be His alone, to do His will alone, no matter what. Covenant people of God. (Isaiah 43:1; I Peter 2:9; Ephesians 4:20-5:21: Colossians 3:1-3; Isaiah 5:3)

The skepticism that pervaded their group of colleagues at their peculiar request was now doing its best to settle into their hearts as well. The journey seemed unending. The scenery rarely changed. The star never stopped moving. Neither did they. But they were tired. The cross-country trek had lasted longer than anticipated. They missed home, family, decent food, decent beds. Doubt was lurking at the edge of their minds. A mental barrage of questions meant to keep them from completing their mission were firing in rapid succession through the silent hours of the trip. 

What if their colleagues were right? What if those words they had marked down to jealousy were words of wisdom instead? What if they had followed their excitement rather than the announcing star? What if the skeptics were right? What if they had embarked on a fool’s errand?

As they exited yet another town that could tell them nothing about the Child they sought, surely, they were tempted to quit wandering, quit seeking, quit following. They knew how to get back to where they had started. They didn’t know how to go forward. The uninviting sea of desert sand between them and the next town had no visible path for travel. They had no way of knowing what dangers lurked along the way. There was no highway patrol. No emergency services. No rest stops with maps to guide their way. There was only a star. Yet still they chose to follow. 

 Greater than an oasis in the desert must have been their relief upon arriving in Jerusalem and finding people who actually had information regarding their quest. Not just any information, either. Critical information. Practically a GPS pin drop. Bethlehem of Judea. The current priests and scribes, quoting a prophet from centuries before, said this is where they should go. They didn’t even unpack their camels. 

Cautiously optimistic, they set out for Bethlehem, carefully following the directions laid out for them in their last meeting with Herod. It had been an odd meeting. Clandestine. Reeking of desperation and something else they couldn’t quite define. Something strange. Rather than sending his own delegation on the short journey, Herod requested they find the Child then come back and tell him where to go so he could meet Him also. Apparently, he was incapable of traveling the six miles necessary for faith to become sight. 

The Magi were not. They were ready to go. What was a few more miles compared to what they had already traveled? And the star was on the move again. They probably had clear directions to Bethlehem. They likely didn’t need the guidance of the star to get there. But they’d been relying on it for so long it was like second nature to keep their eyes glued to that star. Map or no map. Directions or no directions. Well-beaten path or off-road journey. They were following that star. 

It’s a good thing they were. Without it they might not have found the Child for which they sought. Even in a small town, a door to door search would have taken much longer and they might have missed Him. Perhaps He’d have been out in the village with Mary. Maybe they’d have been out for a walk. Maybe He’d have been down for a nap and Mary wouldn’t have wanted to waken Him. The maybe’s simply don’t matter, because they were unswervingly following the finger of God in the form of a star leading them to the place their faith, no matter how battered, beat upon or beleaguered it had become during the trek, could become sight. It’s a good thing they never lost sight of that star! (Matthew 2:1-12)

What if they had? What if halfway through their journey, after another dead-end inquiry, they decided to give up and turn back? What if their desire for the comforts of home and pleasures of their normal lives superseded their need to discover the miracle to which the star was leading? What if, when they talked to Herod and found neither he nor the local priests and scribes felt it imperative to make the short journey at the possibility of meeting the Christ Child, they had rendered it unimportant and stopped short? What would they have missed if they had, even for a moment, stopped following the leading star of God?

My heart rejoices that they didn’t stop. Those men, wise in the eyes of their colleagues, wandered for miles, wondering where that star was taking them. If they were wrong, their credibility would be shattered. Their work viewed with a jaundiced eye. Their future employment jeopardized. By all human standards, it was an incredible risk requiring enormous faith. 

Following God often is. Ask all those men to whom Jesus simply said, “Come. Follow me.” He didn’t try to sell the journey by outlining unfathomable miracles of healing and cleansing and wine-making. He didn’t warn them of perilous times of narrow escapes and unrighteous judgment. He didn’t give them a list of options and the results of their choices. He simply called them to follow. And they did. Without question. Without directions. Without distraction. (Luke 5:10, 27-28; Mark 1:17-18; Matthew 4:19-22; John 1:43)

So must we. At a time when everything seems uncertain, when expressing our faith is frowned upon, when being a true follower of Jesus Christ is uncommon and unaccepted, Jesus speaks to us the same words He spoke to the men who would become His disciples, “Come. Follow me.” Like the wise men who were called through God’s star and the disciples who were called by Jesus Himself, you, too, are being called to follow Jesus. The choice is yours. Will you follow Him regardless of the uncertainty? Will you keep following when you can’t see the next step? Will you trust His heart even when you can’t see His complete plan? Will you allow Him to fill your heart with the wonder of His presence and let your enamored soul wander wherever He leads you? (Luke 9: 57-62; Matthew 10:38; Mark 8:34; John 12:26)

There are about two feet of pristine, glistening snow covering our front pasture. It looks like a lovely, even blanket spread before our house. Not everything is as it seems. If you were to trudge out across that field you would soon recognize that fact. As you approached the middle, the snow would deepen and become even more troublesome to traverse. Why? Because it dips there. You can’t see. Have no way of knowing it is there, no way of preparing for the snow that will most certainly fall down inside even the tallest boots. You can’t prepare for it unless you talk to us first. We know it’s there. We can tell you everything you need to know. 

It is the same with God. He knows every bump in the road, every turn, every dead end. He isn’t stymied by them. He has a way around, over, under, through. But you can only know that path if you are following Him, seeking Him, trusting His hand. When people seem skeptical of your calling, when the comforts of the world beckon you back, when the offers of fame and fortune, prestige and power attempt to turn your head, I hope you keep your eyes on Jesus. I hope you keep following Him. I hope you never turn back. I hope, as you walk into the blank pages of this new year, you confidently put your hand in His, settle your eyes on Him, and wisely wander wherever He leads. (Psalm 37:23; Matthew 6:33; Luke 9:23-25; Ephesians 5:1; Matthew 16:24-25)