Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

There are eight Bibles in my office. Eight covers. Eight styles. Eight translations. Today I opened every single one up to the first page of Genesis. The first line read the same in each one. “In the beginning God…” (Genesis 1:1)  In six of them, I had underlined the words. In two of them, I had made notes. In one of them, I had written these words, “God is the beginning of every story. In Him, we find our start, our place, our home.” 

Only vaguely do I remember inscribing those words in my margin. It is my newest Bible, purchased at my birthday for this year’s spiritual trek through its sacred pages. My fifth annual journey through Genesis. I am embarrassed it took me so long to see it. I stand in humble amazement at the magnificent meaning of those words. In the beginning–of me, of you, of everything–is God.

It is a story that never ceases to astound me. Creation. The dark bleakness of the empty universe stirring God to an act of redemption bringing light, introducing color, creating life. The concepts of planets and stars, sun and moon all set in their own part of space boggle my mind. The multitude of fish in the sea, birds of the air, and animals on land are beyond human imagination, even before we consider all their individual types. The plants and trees, flowers, and shrubs far exceed what human minds can enumerate. We think it magnificent. We dub it miraculous. We often fail to realize it was an extravagance Heaven afforded because the most fantastic part of Creation was still to come. (Genesis 1)

God created man. And woman. By hand. Words alone were enough to establish day and night. Simple instructions divided the oceans with land. One command cemented the sun and moon in the sky. The words of His mouth called out fish and birds, animals and plants. Every part of land and sky and sea came about because God spoke and it was so. Every part except humanity. 

Words would miserably fail to describe what God was about to do. He was done speaking things into existence. What He now had to create was far too important. Gently, carefully, powerful hands reached down to scoop dust from His newly created earth. Using Himself as a pattern, those hands shaped and formed that dust into the body, head, hands, and feet that would become known as humanity. When his newly formed creation hung from His hand, limp and lifeless, its lungs starving for oxygen, God lowered His head and breathed into man the breath of life. (Genesis 2:7)

In great omniscience, God created woman. Not from dust. He’d done that already. No, He chose an even smaller medium with which to work. One rib. One delicate, brittle, small rib. Bending to His task, He skillfully crafted more than 200 bones and over 70 organs. All from one bone! I shouldn’t be surprised. I shouldn’t feel astonished. I’ve heard the account dozens of times. Yet still, I sit in awestruck wonder that God, who had no need to dirty His hands molding and shaping teeth and tongue, skin and hair, would readily do that very thing, so great was His love for humanity. (Genesis 2:21-23)

God didn’t stop creating at the end of Genesis 2. He hasn’t rested since. Before anyone knew you were sequestered beneath your mother’s heart, God planned for you to be. He carefully created that place for you to live and grow and develop. As you grew and your presence became known, God was there, too, carefully shaping, meticulously crafting, ingeniously developing your internal organs–brain, spinal cord, and heart. By the time human science was willing to refer to you as a fetus, holy science was already busily forming your nose, carving out your lips, and shaping your ears. When the sound of your heartbeat finally echoed through the machines in the doctor’s office, God had been jubilantly rejoicing over its musical sound for weeks. As family and friends anxiously waited to meet you, see your smile, decide whose eyes you got, God was indulgently chuckling in joy as He formed your tiny hands and feet with painstaking precision. And as all the careful forming and growing and shaping was fulfilled, God prepared you for your miraculous journey into the world. However it was to be, God knew. He was there. He has been there from your beginning.

Unfortunately, as you have grown and matured, your choices have not always reflected His presence. You were distracted by the things of the world, the baubles, the pleasures, the fun. You walked away from God, His will, His work. You frolicked through life squandering your time, your talents, your resources. Eventually, the talents and resources played out. The things the world saw in you dimmed. They lost interest in your company. Alone, in despair, you remembered God and wondered what happened to Him. Had He changed at all since you left? Was He still love and mercy and grace? Was He still interested in having you work for Him? What would He say if you just came back home?

Your questions are answered by Jesus in His parable of the prodigal son. Like you, the boy got distracted by the apparent excitement the world offered. Dazzled at the thought of money and pleasure, he asked for his inheritance early. Unwilling to hold his son against his will, the father complied. A few days later, the son set out to seek the promised worldly pleasures in a faraway town. 

Upon arrival, the son quickly became popular. He spent like the money was endless, lived as if he’d never die. Whiskey. Women. Pleasure. Fun. Until the money ran out. His friends deserted him. His fun dried up. He found himself destitute on the streets of a city that wasn’t home. Desperate for work, food, warmth, and love. 

Eventually, he found work as a swine sitter. Slop hauler. Muck wader. There were no benefits, no amenities. No one cared for him. No one fed him. His meals came from the same place the pigs ate. Depressed, discouraged, disheartened, he realized his father’s servants had better lives than he did. With nothing to lose, he decided to haul his bedraggled self back home, offer an apology, and apply for a job as his father’s servant. 

The prodigal son must have had a twitter of trepidation as he walked that road toward home. He had no idea what would happen when he arrived. Surely he had questions much like yours. Would his apology be enough? Was there a job opening? Was his father still kind and gracious and loving? What would he say, how would he feel, when he realized his wandering, squandering son had come back home? 

The wait wasn’t as long as he thought it would be. When he was still so far from home the human eye could only distinguish a small dot moving down the road, his father saw him. Always watchful, always hoping for the return of his son, the father stepped to the edge of the porch, leaned over the railing, and squinted his eyes to see. He didn’t need to see, though. His father’s heart knew. That was his son! His boy was coming home!

Nothing could have kept that father waiting at the house. No. He jumped off the porch and dashed down the walk. By the time he reached the road, he was at an all-out sprint. As he reached his son, he grabbed that soiled, smelly, starving kid up in his arms and kissed his filthy cheek. None of the mess mattered. None of the past mattered. His son was home! Let the celebration begin! (Luke 15:11-24)

We all see ourselves in this parable. We are all prodigals, ragamuffins, runaways who left the God of our beginning attempting to find something better in the world. We wasted entire swaths of our lives on things we thought would fill the void in our souls. It was a fool’s errand. Nothing satisfies. Nothing meets our needs. Nothing, no one but Jesus. (Romans 3:23; Psalm 107:9)

Finding ourselves in untenable situations, we have all had to drag our dirty, disheveled selves back to Heaven’s doorstep. Once there, we each discovered the exact same thing. No matter how you come, He will welcome you. Prodigal. Poor. Perplexed. Promiscuous. The mess doesn’t matter. The past doesn’t matter. God doesn’t care what you look like when you arrive. There is no dress code, no special handshake, no secret password. He just wants you to come back home! (I John 1:9; Revelation 22:17; Isaiah 55:1)

There is a place for you there. You belong. You are part of God’s family. God’s child. Lovingly, meticulously created in His image. Your soul will find the rest for which it longs. His promise never to leave you will be proven true. The God who was present in your beginning will fill your earthly days and, finally, transport you to eternal glory. He will be your Alpha through to Omega. Your beginning. Your middle. Your end. That is what will happen if you just came back home. Will you come? (Revelation 1:8; Matthew 11:28-30; Titus 2:11; I Timothy 2:4; Luke 15:7, 10; Zephaniah 3:17)

With deep concern, Peter dipped his pen in ink and set it to parchment. Times were growing increasingly difficult. Persecution was coming. The exiled Christians scattered around Asia Minor were perilously close to feeling the assault on the church. Perhaps some already were. It was a terrifying time to be a Christian. It was also an important time to be a Christian, to follow God, to be holy, and to live like it. 

Peter was especially concerned that they live like it. As the hardships and suffering and persecution rained down, he wanted to know they were able to persevere, stand firm, stay holy. They could quote the verbiage. He wasn’t worried about that. No. Peter was more concerned that they look within. Check their hearts. Determine if they could withstand the coming evil onslaught. Was there anything that would hinder their ability to stand in the evil day? Anything that would distract them? Anything that would beckon them away from their first love?  Was there anything that, when fiery trials, extensive tests, and unprecedented sufferings came, would cause their spiritual spine to buckle and allow them to renounce the cause of Christ? (I Peter 4:12-17) 

It seems Peter has reason to be concerned. He’s made a list of things they might find. The obvious desire of their hearts to engage in evil. Twisting or hiding of truth to promote their own preference. Lifestyles at odds with their purported beliefs. The spreading of lies with the intent of damaging another’s character. The list is disconcerting. Peter has a right to be concerned. He can only see what their actions reveal. What else might be there? What else could their traitorous hearts be concealing?  If his cursory human examination revealed these hideous things, what would the thorough examination of a holy God uncover? (I Peter 2:1) 

Would it uncover adulterers, thieves, and meddlers among them? Would God’s microscope find unbelief, cowardice, fear, idolatry, and evildoing in their ranks? Would the light of God, to whom no heart is hidden, reveal a church, a people, willing to jeopardize their spiritual stability for a few precious sins? Did they realize those same sins would render useless their ability to endure hardness with the confidence of a consecrated people secure in their identity as children of God?  (I Peter 4:15; Revelation 21:8; Romans 8:27; Hebrews 4:13)

That’s who they were. Children of God. Peter has already told them this. He has already explained, in no uncertain terms, who they are in Christ. Chosen. Royal. Holy. God’s own possession. Called out of the darkness of their sinful lives into the glorious light of His holiness. They are redeemed. They are also called to keep the great commandment given by God, passed down from generation to generation, that would keep them walking in His light, “Be holy, because the Lord your God is holy.” Nothing has changed since the words were originally spoken. Not the commands. Not the requirements. Not the results. Holy people will always be God’s people. Without holiness, no one can be. (I Peter 2:9; Hebrews 12:14; Deuteronomy 7:6; Leviticus 11:44; I Thessalonians 4:7)

Unfortunately, throughout history, humanity has attempted to adjust the prerequisites. Scholars and preachers, writers and readers, consistently attempt to re-interpret the commands and requirements for holiness. A twist of verbiage here. A new translation of an ancient language there. An allegedly innocuous refresh of Scripture to make it more relevant to our day. Surely God didn’t mean that for us now. Certainly, in our enlightened and advanced era, God wouldn’t make those requirements. There has to be more latitude in those rules, more flexibility in the commands. Churches and Christians have happily adapted their thinking, their understanding, their living to the newly “discovered” requirements. As I watch them trade holiness for happiness, I find myself in Peter’s position, worriedly wondering if our souls still have the spiritual fortitude to withstand the coming onslaught of fiery trials. Have we hedged our bets on a form of godliness and edited out the holiness? If we presented ourselves today for examination before God, where exactly, would the lines fall? (Psalm 111:8; Luke 21:23; Proverbs 30:5-6; Galatians 1:6-9; Numbers 23:19)

We are in dire need of examination. By ourselves. By godly peers. By God Himself. We have become so complacent. We have let down our guard. We have listened to the convenient ideas of those who seek to water down the Words of Life. Because we embraced instead of rejected the diversion from the truth, we are not the stalwart examples of godliness we once were. Our obedience has flagged. Our holiness has faltered. Our ability to faithfully stand firm in the face of unprecedented testing is highly suspect, possibly impossible. 

Our hearts and lives are full of things that shouldn’t be there. Things Peter called out over 1,900 years ago. Envy, anger, lying, jealousy, fake faith, false love. The list is not exhaustive. It was not applicable only in Peter’s day, either. No. The sins on that list are all very much alive and well today. And Peter’s solution is just as applicable. Put them aside. Evict them. Set them out on the curb like garbage. Get rid of your sin! Straighten up! Use the energy you are wasting on sin to chase after the holiness to which God has called you. Holiness without which you’ll never stand. Not in the easy times. Not in the evil day. Not in the presence of Almighty God. (I Peter 2:1; Ephesians 6:13; Habakkuk 1:13; Revelation 21:27; I Corinthians 6:9-10)

I can’t speak for you, but I so want to stand there. The magnificent presence of Almighty God. What a thought! It overwhelms my soul. My eyes sting with unshed tears. It’s beyond my imagination. Awe-inspiring. Breathtaking. The very thought renders me speechless. But I’m impatient. I don’t want to wait until eternity to stand in God’s presence. I want to revel in it now. Every day. I want God to be an active, vital part of my life, my decisions, my world. I welcome His scrutiny, His judgment to discipline, His examination for my betterment. I must have it. There is no other path to holiness. And, for me, anything less than holiness is not an option. (I Corinthians 11:32; Isaiah 6:1-4; Revelation 3:19; Job 5:17-18)

Is it for you? Is there some form of earthly happiness usurping the place of holiness in your life? I hope not. I hope you long for holiness, seek it with your whole being. I hope you willingly open your heart, your mind, your life to God’s scrutiny. Let Him be your judge. Allow Him to sift through the thoughts, feelings, secrets, and desires hidden in the darkest corners of your soul. Let Him be the judge of their holiness. There may need to be some uncomfortable changes. Welcome them. They are for your good. They are to make you holy. They will increase your strength and enable you to stand when everything around your soul is shaking and failing. (Psalm 144:1-3; Hebrews 12:6-11; Psalm 139:23-24; Matthew 5:48)

Many years ago, a very wise man told me, “God’s job is not to make you happy. God’s job is to make you holy.” The words were true then; they are true now. For me. For you. For our spiritual fortitude. So let God examine your heart. Evict the things that stand between you and full obedience to Him. Consecrate yourself to Him and seek holiness with your whole heart. Seek holiness to the exclusion of all things. Seek holiness over happiness. In seeking, may you find and may your soul come to rest in the happiness of the holiness of God.  

Some things aren’t meant to be shared publicly. Personal things. Private things. Your weight. Intelligence level. Tax bracket. Reasons your employer let you go. Prophetic dreams in which your family members bow down before you in homage. Especially older brothers. Ten older brothers. If you value your neck, you should probably not race out alone to the field and tell your ten older, larger, unsupervised brothers about your dream of their obeisance. You really shouldn’t do it once. It is especially ill-advised to double down. Hindsight is often 20/20.

Joseph was probably thinking similar thoughts as the caravan of traders carted him off to slavery in Egypt. What had he been thinking telling the brothers his dreams? Although being carted off to slavery was better than the possibilities of an overnight stay in a wilderness abyss, it was not what he’d hoped for when 9 of his brothers pulled him out of his living grave. He’d been relieved then, thinking they’d had a change of heart concerning this particular form of retribution. His relief was short-lived. This was not a rescue effort. This was simply a redirection of their hastily assembled plot. The new twist had him riding off to an unknown land, to serve an unknown master, to face unknown suffering and trials.  

It seems the unknown didn’t frighten Joseph as it does us. There is no mention of weeping and wailing. He never violently lashed out in frustration over his circumstances. Not once do we read that he rebelled and infuriated his Egyptian master. He simply, quietly, efficiently persevered, excelling in spite of the disastrous turn his life had taken. Clearly, he trusted that his unknown future lay in the hands of the God he knew. The God of his ancestors. The God of his father. The God he had chosen as his own.  At home with his father or in slavery in Egypt, the Lord was with Joseph and He would bring order to the chaos. 

He landed a gem of a post in Egypt. A position in Potiphar’s house. Captain of the bodyguard, there was no poverty in Potiphar’s house. Joseph was no slouch when it came to work ethic, either. And God was with Him. Did I say that already? God was with Joseph. He blessed him and the work of his hands. Abundantly. So much that Potiphar decided to take a staycation. Joseph could handle the running of his house, the working of his fields. Potiphar would simply come and eat the abundance. It was a flawless arrangement. 

Until it developed a flaw. There truly is no fury like a woman scorned. Ask Joseph. Apparently, Potiphar’s wife had a bit of a wandering eye. Joseph, young and strong and handsome, happened to cross her periphery and turn her head. It was an accident. He had no intention of becoming the most recent object of her affections. He vehemently rejected her advances. Wanted nothing to do with her. Piqued her pride. Gave her a thirst for revenge. She found it, too, in the cloak she pulled from his arms as he made his getaway from her most recent assault. Holding the garment up as an undeniable piece of evidence, she cried out against Joseph. Lied. Retaliated. Landed an innocent man in prison. 

It must have been an enormous blow to find himself locked away with criminals for an act so decidedly un-criminal. I’d overlook it if Joseph wanted to sit in his cell with his face to the wall and sulk. By my measure, he deserves it. He’s had a hard row. Brothers who hated him, sold him, would have killed him had the consequences not been so high. Just when he seemed to have found his footing, the rug was unceremoniously torn from under his feet. (Or the cloak ripped from his shoulders, to be exact!) Now he was sitting in prison. Rotting away. No chance of release. Just day after day of monotony. How could any good, any order, possibly come from this new chaos? 

Once again emanating that beautiful example of Godly perseverance, Joseph refuses the sulk I’d so gladly indulge him. He becomes a model prisoner. The jailer is impressed. Grows to trust him. Takes a little staycation of his own. Hands his tasks over to Joseph. Allows him the run of the place. Puts all the prisoners under his authority. Giving Joseph the opportunity to hear and interpret the dreams of Pharaoh’s butler and baker. Interpretations that would eventually bring Joseph out of prison and into a position to help rescue the people of Egypt, people in surrounding countries, even the brothers who had treated him so deplorably. Because God is not hemmed in by the circumstances resulting from human machinations. (Genesis 50:20)

You can ask Joseph that too. In spite of his unwise oversharing of dreams with his brothers, their reaction was unexpected. To Joseph. Not to God. No. God was watching and working. He was busy ensuring His plan would be fulfilled. A plan of hope and help and rescue for thousands of starving people. People who didn’t worship Him. People who didn’t love Him. People who didn’t seem to deserve a rescue. People like Potiphar’s wife. People like the dark-hearted brothers who sold Joseph off like so much baggage. (Genesis 37, 39-50)

God never left Joseph. In the suffocating darkness of that abyss, God was there. In the darkness of night traveling to unknown lands as a slave, God was there. In the deafening darkness of an undeserved jail cell, God was there. In the land of his sorrow and affliction, God was there working out His purpose, His plan, in His way, in His perfect time. Joseph never suffered alone. God was with him. (Genesis 39:2, 21)

God was with my family, too. We spent three interminable years in the area of the United States dubbed the Deep South. With 10 interstate moves behind me, I headed into that abyss of unknown newness with only a modicum of concern. I should have been much, much more concerned. It was not what we had heard it would be. The hospitality we had heard so much about was non-existent. The church on every corner and the label “Bible Belt ” were misnomers. I cried every day of the first two weeks we lived there.  

My soul almost died there. There were days I thought it would. The stifling aloneness surrounded our entire family. Our children struggled to make friends. Finding a welcoming church was nearly impossible. People we had never met entirely refused to speak to us. In desperation, depression, despair, I asked God why He brought us there. What was He thinking? What could we possibly do for Him in such a closed society with no time or inclination to include newcomers? 

But God was with us. He sent encouragement, communication, love, and prayers through friends from our previous station. My soul survived. We all did. We even thrived. In the land where we felt abandoned, friendless, afflicted, we found time to uncover abundant life in Christ. My Bible reading and quiet time took on a new dimension. I learned things about God and people. How He feels about them and how He wants me to feel about them, too! My children learned invaluable lessons of acceptance, love, courage, and the grace we can constantly extend to one another. We all grew closer to Jesus; learned lessons about what truly matters. We began to more clearly understand what walking with Him truly looked like–and what it didn’t. And when the doors finally slammed shut on the moving truck to haul us out of our land of affliction, we had an abundance of things for which to be grateful. A small handful of new, lovely friends, an even closer family relationship, a newfound knowledge of God and a deeper relationship with Jesus Christ. Oh, yes! In spite of the hardships, we were certainly blessed in the land of our affliction. (I Corinthians 16:13-14; II Corinthians 1:3-4; Psalm 44:1, 17-18; I Peter 1:6-7; Psalm 94:14)

Perhaps you are enduring your own land of affliction right now. Maybe you’ve been uprooted and replanted in a place you loath. Perhaps you are simply tired of where you are and wish to be somewhere, anywhere, else. I know that feeling. I also know this. Just as God was with Joseph in all his unpleasant places, just as He was with my family through our loathsome living, God is with you. You might not see it, but He is working out His plan. A plan to draw you into a deeper relationship with Him. A plan to teach you life lessons you wouldn’t learn anywhere else. A plan for spiritual abundance even if the land around you is starving. Take heart. Be courageous. Wait on the Lord. Be blessed with His life of abundance even in the land of your affliction!  (Genesis 41:52; Psalm 27:13-14; Psalm 139:7-12; Zephaniah 3:17; Jeremiah 29:7, 10-13; I Peter 5:7; Romans 8:28; Micah 7:7-8; Psalm 73:23-26; Isaiah 40:31)

They had fallen into idol worship again. Same song, second verse. From the king to the beggar, Israel was rife with idolatry. The Baals and Asherah poles were everywhere. Again. It wasn’t the first time they’d turned from God to worship something less. It wasn’t the first time they had traded His power for something powerless. It wasn’t the first time they were desperately in need of returning, renewal, revival. It was, however, the first time anyone had encouraged a contest between their idols and the true God in an effort to rescue their wayward hearts. 

Mount Carmel was teeming with people. Men. Women. Children. Everyone was gathered to watch the display. I can’t imagine why. What question could they possibly have about which God was real and true and sovereign? Did not their history clearly indicate the truth? Perhaps they were not history buffs. Perhaps the stories had grown uninteresting. Perhaps they had taken on a fairy-tale quality they found difficult to believe. Whatever the case, they gathered there on that hilltop all agog, as if the winner remained some well-kept secret. 

Eight hundred and fifty false prophets gathered around the altar they had built to their god. They carefully laid the wood, placing cut-up pieces of an oxen sacrifice atop. In keeping with the contest rules, no one struck a match, no one snuck in smoldering coal. They lit no fire. Both altar and sacrifice were stone cold. They were duped into believing their god would bring the fire. 

Fervently, they began to call on their god. Early morning became mid-morning. Their voices were getting tired, their throats scratchy. No answer came. They kept calling, adding in some dancing and jumping in hopes of a quick response. Noon arrived. Elijah suggested that perhaps their god was asleep, on vacation, or hard of hearing. Somehow they fell for it. They rallied, raised their voices, put on an even greater show. With swords they cut themselves, inflicting deep wounds, running rivulets of blood down their limbs. Wounded or not, they continued ranting and raving, leaping and lunging, erroneously believing their god would send down fire. It was all for nothing. Only evening arrived. No response. No voice. No fire. 

As evening fell and the prophets of Baal continued their obviously impotent pleas, Elijah called the people to where his altar would stand. He arranged twelve stones as God had instructed so long ago. He dug a large trench around the outside of the altar. Arranged the wood. Laid his cut-up ox on top. Then did something the contest did not require. Elijah asked them to pour water on the sacrifice. Four pitchers. Once. Twice. Three times. Twelve pitchers of water. Enough to soak the sacrifice, the wood, and flow around the altar. Enough water to fill the trench. Then Elijah began to pray. 

It took only two succinct sentences. An introduction. A petition. Two sentences and the fire fell. Not a little flash to burn the sacrifice. Not just a few flames and a lot of smoke. No. A raging, flaming inferno consuming everything. The sacrifice, the wood, the stones, the dust, the water lying in the trench. Everything. And the people, in awe and fear, fell to their faces and cried, “The Lord is God.” (I Kings 18) 

It is such a satisfying ending to the story. The unequivocal routing of evil forces. The unquestionable evidence that God is above all. The unforgettable proof that God will do whatever it takes to draw His people back to Him. Even when they’ve drifted down the path of least resistance. Even when they have voluntarily chosen to walk away. Even when they have substituted the passing pleasures of the world for the permanence of His presence. Even when those people are like us. 

We are not so different from the people of Elijah’s day. Our traitorous hearts have become distracted with the baubles of the world, with an easier way, with a path that doesn’t require so much effort and devotion. Although we have not erected altars, cast images, or physically prostrated ourselves before them, we have cast our faith in homemade securities and allowed them to become our gods, chased them down, sold our souls to have them. We have consciously rebelled against the undeniable fact that anything we allow to come between our hearts and complete surrender to Jesus Christ is an idol. Wood. Hay. Stubble. Consumable under the flaming, righteous judgment of God. 

I wonder what it will take to wake us from our stupor. What needs to happen for us to fall on our faces and exclaim, “The Lord is God”? What must occur to bring our languishing souls to the place we joyously welcome Him as Lord of our hearts, director of our lives? What’s it gonna take to bring us back to full surrender to God?

As I look at all the goings-on across the globe, as I read the stories, hear the accounts, I find myself asking this question with alarming regularity. So many days, annoyed, frustrated, worried, scared, I turn my tear-stained face up to Heaven and desperately cry out, “What’s it gonna take, God?” There is so much wickedness running rampant. So much readily available, eagerly accepted evil thriving around us. The darkness presses in so deeply it seems impenetrable. The siren song of sin is luring and beautiful and many have been drawn aside. In response to the heaviness in my heart for the people around me, I find myself asking again and again the question whose answer terrifies me, “What’s it gonna take?” (Ecclesiastes 3:16-18)

What would it take to bring morals and ethics and standards back to our country? What will it take to bring spiritual renewal to our churches? What would it take to bring revival across the land?  What will it take to bring us back from the brink of inevitable destruction? And always,  the voice I know as God’s, echoes back to me, “What’s it gonna take for you?” 

The question is close and searching. In Ezekiel’s day, it took devastation, destruction, and death. I don’t want to be like those people. I have no interest in those things. Yet I find it so easy to be distracted and drawn aside by the worries and cares of life, by the pretty baubles of the world. It is so simple to skimp on Bible reading, pray on the run. So many things are vying for my attention, my time, my energy that I can easily be drawn into a situation where something else has taken first place before Jesus. In that moment, I can cry and beg and plead and hope for my city, my nation, my world, but the prevailing truth remains, returning, renewal, revival has to start in me. (Ezekiel 22; 28:22, 24, 26; Mark 4:18-19)

   Chances are high you are in the same spot. The distracting things of the world grab your attention more often than not. The cares of life pull you aside more frequently than you wish they did. Other, lesser, things have crowded in and taken the top spot in your heart. Your relationship with Jesus is struggling, your surrender has waned. You want to cry and beg and plead and hope for your city, your nation, your world, but the prevailing truth remains, returning, renewal, revival has to start in you. (Galatians 5:7; I Corinthians 9:24)

So what’s it gonna take? What will it take for you personally to know, understand, acknowledge that God is the Lord of all things? What’s it going to take for you to throw your idols on the altar before God and make Him Lord of your life? What would it take for you to allow God to make you His kingdom on earth? What’s it going to take to make you surrender completely to His will, His way, His plan? Seriously. Ask yourself. What would it take to make you put all your chips in the middle for God, throw the applause, awards, accolades of earth to the ground, and surrender to Him completely? (James 4:7; Matthew 16:24)

That’s where it’s at. Complete, total, nothing held back surrender to God in whom all things exist, who holds all things together, and in whom we live and breathe. Are you there? Are you willing? Will you tear down your idols and put God back in the proper place of authority in your life? Will you let worldwide revival begin in your heart? If your answer is “no,” may I ask, what’s it gonna take? (Ephesians 4:6; Hebrews 3:4; I Chronicles 29:12; Acts 17:28; Exodus 20:3-5; Psalm 135:6)

With a weary sigh, he rested his forehead in the palm of his free hand. From the fingers of his other hand dangled the letter he’d just finished reading. The news was not uplifting. The sweat and tears and time he’d put in seemed not to have been enough. Perhaps he hadn’t spent enough time among them. Perhaps he hadn’t covered all the topics as well as he’d thought. Perhaps he had. Perhaps, in their young, vulnerable state, the evil one had set upon them and was wreaking havoc one little seed at a time. Whatever the situation, the church Paul had planted at Corinth was struggling.

Sin had been accepted into their circle. Immorality. Apparently overlooked by most members. Too arrogant to recognize their precarious situation, perhaps thinking they were too good to be troubled by this indiscretion, they didn’t mourn and reject the sin. They didn’t call out the member bringing sin into their midst. They didn’t rebuke the evil one. By not speaking their disapproval, they proclaimed their approval. It was not supposed to be that way.

Heavy-hearted, Paul sat ruminating over ways to help them, to reach them, to make them understand. He needed them to recognize the slippery slope they were teetering atop. Overlooking, accepting, allowing even one sin among them would begin the gradual unleashing of a fury of sins. It would spread among them. First one would be accepted. Then another. Then another. Their parameters of sinful behavior would become so distorted they would eventually be rendered unable to distinguish good from evil. He couldn’t let it go. He had to address the subject. Their souls depended on it.

The words would be hard. The lessons would be difficult. The directions he gave would possibly be ill-received. It didn’t matter, couldn’t matter. Paul wasn’t interested in coddling secret (or not-so-secret) sins! He wasn’t inclined to ignore or allow the spread of wickedness in their midst. He was wholly unwilling to risk the spiritual life of the church at Corinth by allowing the leaven of sin to remain and spread. It had to be removed. It could not be tolerated. It could not be embraced. He would do everything in his power to prevent their trek down the murky pathway of altering God’s laws in adherence to the current social status quo. 

Drawing a fortifying breath, he drew out a sheet of parchment, dipped his quill in ink, and began to write. Get rid of the sin among you. Literally. Kick it out. Do not ignore it. Do not approve it. Do not embrace it. Rebuke it. Reject it. Remove it. There is no caveat, no alternative. Sin must be eradicated or, much like yeast in bread dough, it will spread, puff up, and engulf the church in an arrogantly erroneous sense of spiritual accuracy. (I Corinthians 5:1-7)

Paul’s yeasty bread dough analogy works well for me. I bake a lot of bread. Occasionally I’ll think I’ve killed the yeast with over-warmed liquid. I still set it in the bowl, cover it, and wait to see if it will rise. Turns out yeast is harder to kill than I thought. More often than not, that dough rises. If left too long, it just keeps rising, creating a mountainous bubble, nearly obscuring the bowl. I punch it down, roll it out, shape it into loaves. They look almost pitiful in the pans. Again I cover them and set them to rise. Again the yeast rises. And I understand exactly what Paul is saying. 

Sin does the exact same thing. If allowed to remain in your life, it takes over. The excuses you make to keep it, coddle it, will become the building blocks for accepting more sin. It will blind you to the truth. Maybe you will find a Scripture passage and interpret it to accept your sin. Perhaps you will find a preacher on television who will tell you it’s okay because everyone sins. Maybe a friend will salve your conscience. Society will happily endorse your self-indulgence. Perhaps you will choose to believe them. Don’t. It will never be just that one sin. Once begun, it will grow and breed and feed into a multitude. It will fill your life, infiltrate every part of your heart. And sin, when its work is perfected, will bring death to your soul. (Ezekiel 18:20)

This is why Paul felt so desperately that he needed to address the issues in the church at Corinth. It is why the words seemed terse, the rebuke harsh. They were allowing sin to take over. They thought they knew it all. They thought they had arrived. They thought they were on a cruise ship to Heaven. They were headed for disaster. Paul knew that. But he loved them too much to allow them to float away without a warning. So he sent one. A forthright rebuke liberally laced with loving edification. (I Corinthians 8:1)

I hope they read it as such. I hope they read those difficult to hear words and felt the love beneath. As harsh as the words sounded, as difficult as the message might have been to receive, as ruthless as the set down seemed to be, Paul wasn’t hating them. He was loving them. He wasn’t yelling at them. He was enlightening them. Informing. Illuminating. Uplifting. Paul was more worried about their eternity than his eloquence. His love and desire for the people of Corinth to know and serve Jesus far outweighed his concern for the pleasantness of his tone or the gentleness of his words. He loved them too much to speak in such a way they might miss his meaning, leaving unresolved sin among them. Instead, his love forced him to say hard things, honest things, so they could be fully informed concerning the outcome of choosing to allow sin to infest their hearts, their lives, their church. Paul spoke the truth in love, seasoned it with salt, to the edification of their souls. (Ephesians 4:15, 29; Colossians 4:6; I Thessalonians 5:11; Romans 14:19; I Timothy 4:12)

Perhaps you haven’t noticed, but we are in dire need of the same edification from Paul.  It is difficult, if not impossible, to find an area untouched by sin. It clutters our hearts and chokes out the light of God within. It infests the world and pushes against our soul on every side. Sometimes we let it in. We sweep it under the carpet, hide it behind the cabinet, coddle, tolerate, ignore. We think we can control it. We think we can handle it. We can’t. Clearly. We have become a society that accepts wrong in place of right. We have become churches full of theologians that tweak Scripture to be more inclusive and accepting of our sins. We have become the nation depicted in Isaiah, calling evil good and good evil. We have wholeheartedly embraced the leavening of sin, a decaffeinated gospel, and are so full of ourselves we can’t even see how much damage we have done. (Isaiah 5:20; Proverbs 16:18; Deuteronomy 4:2; John 9:41; I Corinthians 2:14; Proverbs 30:6)

Yes, we desperately need an epistle from Paul. A letter full of truth. Hard words. Pointed lessons. Spiritual rebukes. Eternal realities. So many churches, homes, and lives are overwhelmed with the multiplying leaven of sin. They are starving for truth; many will be lost without it. But who will bring it to them? Paul has long since transitioned to his eternal reward and, although his letter to the Corinthians remains, many have entirely stopped reading it. So who is going to tell them? Who is going to warn the wayward preacher? Who is going to inform the faltering parishioner? Who loves deeply enough to lovingly speak truth for the spiritual edification of a world that is dying for lack of correction and reproof? Is it you? Is it me? (II Timothy 3:16; Luke 10:2) 

It has to be. Both of us. All of us. You. Me. Every Christian the world over. The responsibility lies at our door. We must become the loudest voice in the room. It is up to us to speak the words. Consistently. Preach the message. Don’t waiver. Don’t falter. Hold the line. Live it out. Don’t let even one little sin remain in your heart, your life, your home, your church. Fight for freedom from sin. Everywhere. Preach it. Teach it. Live it. Eloquent or not, speak the words. Lovingly edify. Someone’s eternity depends on it. (II Timothy 4:2; I Timothy 5:20; Luke 17:3; Titus 1:13; Proverbs 28:23; I Thessalonians 5:21)