Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

Decades ago, before seat belt laws and booster chairs for children, my family was making road trips across the United States. East to West. West to East. Northward. Rarely Southward. We meticulously packed our suitcases, loaded the cooler with sandwich ingredients, filled the snack bag and water thermoses, and set it all out for Dad to puzzle piece into the back of our station wagon.  

Our order of travel was always the same. Rise earlier than any human should. Grab all the last-minute items. Load up and pull out before sunrise. I’ve watched more sunrises from the middle of the back seat than anywhere else. It was my designated spot. The middle of the back seat, squeezed between my siblings. There wasn’t a lot of room back there. Not for my purse and teddy bear and coloring book. Not for their things either. Sometimes I would sit on the floor and rest my head on the seat to take a nap, or use the seat as a desk to color. Sometimes we played travel games, spying what was green or searching billboards for letters of the alphabet. Between sleep, play, and excitement, the first few hours of the trip went well. The next few hours would be a different story.   

Eventually, the newness and excitement would wear off. Someone would grow uncomfortable or bored. Elbows would hit rib cages. Sometimes unintentionally. Sometimes not. The young beings in the backseat would grow irritable and snarky. They would start picking at one another. My sister would grow annoyed with my brother leaning up over the edge of the driver’s seat. The older two would tire of my kneeling on the seat so I could better see out the windscreen.  Accusations would be thrown. Someone was taking more than their share of the seat. Someone else was kicking. Words would grow heated. Things would grow tense. At least one child would end up pouting, and one or both of our parents would sternly remind us that there was to be no fighting in the back seat!

As often as I heard the words from them, it came as an enormous surprise to find they were not the original authors! Joseph, having revealed his identity to his brothers, prepares to send them back to collect their families and belongings. He watches their caravan fall into line. Loaded wagons. Donkeys laden with grain and bread and supplies. His brothers in the new clothes he had gifted them. Before they mount donkeys and climb aboard wagons to leave on their journey, Joseph has one more stern command,  “Don’t quarrel on the journey!” (Genesis 45:21-24)

It seems such an odd thing to say to the band of adult brothers who had exhibited enough unity to covertly ship him off to a foreign country and neatly cover their tracks. There had been little enough discord surrounding that decision! They had managed to successfully make the journey to and from Egypt more than once without throwing anyone else in a trench and shipping home a blood-soaked tunic. There isn’t any record of them even being tempted to sell another sibling into slavery. Benjamin never seemed to find himself the object of their jealousy and irritation. In fact, they are all quite of one mind in this situation. Starvation and famine was all around them. It wasn’t getting better. Food was in Egypt, a land that had just been freely opened to them. Why would they ever argue about the move? 

Clearly, Joseph knew the way of siblings well. The move would be long and arduous. There would be squabbles and disagreements. Perhaps Reuben and Simeon would each believe they knew the best way to load the wagons. Maybe Levi and Judah would argue over the best route back to Egypt. The journey would be difficult enough without Dan and Asher arguing over who would care for the elderly, ailing Jacob. Their fighting and fussing would delay the trip. Their discord would make it a horrendous journey. It would slow them down. Someone might well end up in another trench. Joseph didn’t want that. He didn’t want them wasting time arguing over little, inconsequential things. He wasn’t interested in stroking egos. He needed them to lay themselves aside and join together in solidarity. The troublesome journey would be more bearable if they would work together and help one another without the nitpicking and quarreling.  

The Apostle Paul wanted the same thing. In his first letter to the church at Corinth, Paul specifically points out that there are quarrels and divisions among them. He says they have to cease. There can’t be any divisions in the church of Christ. If you are all children of God, why are you arguing among yourselves? Stop it! Don’t boast in the person who baptized you, in the church you attend, or the catchy phrases you use. If you are going to boast, boast in God’s goodness, know that we have all received goodness of the same fount, and treat one another as if you believe it! (I Corinthians 1:10-31)

Peter has a similar message for the dispersed exiles scattered across Asia.  Evidently, they were struggling to uphold the fervent love for one another so desperately necessary to unify believers. Things had gone a bit pear-shaped. Envious hearts had loosened tongues to speak unkind words against one another. ill-concealed irritation and ill will for one another created schisms and chasms in what was once a cohesive group. Their fleshly desires, human wishes, selfish wants came in and chipped away at the unity. Eroded the love. Destroyed the very things that held the people together in times of trial and tribulation; things they would so tremendously need if they were going to remain a cohesive community of believers. (I Peter 1:22-2:11)

Fighting on the journey will do that. Quarreling over little, inconsequential things will stall spiritual progress. Fractures in the body of Christ over perceived slights, alleged affronts, purported insults. Frustration, irritation, aggravation chafe and rub away at your soul, creating a breeding ground for strife, anger, bitterness, division. Envy, anger, disgust with fellow sojourners will fester and bring decay. Words will be said. Rumors will be spread. Friendships will become strained. Relationships will fall apart. The community of believers will shrivel. Fellowship and unity will die an untimely death at the hands of the evil one’s greatest weapon against the community of believers–fighting, bickering, quarreling on the journey. 

James speaks strong words concerning quarreling on the journey. He says those quarrels and fights, murmurings, and disingenuous mutterings, all stem from the same place–the filthy, selfish lusts of your own sin-bent heart. He says it is a desire to remain friends with the world that causes us to make allowances for such reprehensible behavior. He also says we can’t stay in step with the world and remain in harmony with God. It isn’t possible. God requires our whole hearts. It takes our whole hearts, completely devoted to God, to overlook the shortcomings in our fellow travelers that make us sigh, cringe, or grit our teeth. It takes complete infiltration by His spirit, His grace to stamp out the squabbles that make the journey unpleasant, the trip untenable. (James 4:1-6)

Thankfully, James didn’t leave us to figure it out by ourselves. He left detailed instructions. A step-by-step plan. Simple words. Hard choices. Submit to God. Resist the evil one. Absolutely refuse to be drawn aside by whatever he dangles in front of you or whispers in your ear. Draw near to God. Get just as close to Jesus as you can. Don’t leave room for anything between your soul and His heart. Cleanse your hands and purify your hearts in the shed blood of Jesus Christ. Mourn your sin. Weep over it. Be broken to the point of never going back to those sins again. Humble yourself before God and let Him do the rest. (James 4:7-10; Isaiah 1:16-17; I Peter 5:6; Proverbs 22:4)

Then, in newness of heart filled with the grace of Jesus Christ, shut your mouth! Don’t take part in gossip or backbiting. Don’t say things that don’t need to be said. Don’t let the look on your face say them, either! Remember that God is the Judge. Not only of the person who is wearing on your nerves, He’s your Judge too. Remember that. Carry it with you everywhere you go. Know it. Live like it. Treat your fellow travelers like you believe it. And remember, there can be absolutely no fighting on the journey! (James 4:11-12; Psalm 75:7; Isaiah 11:3-5; Romans 12:16; Titus 3:1-15; Ephesians 4:29-31; Luke 6:37)

If you were to ask me the thing for which I am most thankful, my answer would most assuredly be grace. Calvary’s grace. I am unendingly grateful that God sent Jesus to die for my sin. My heart is filled with wonder and amazement that God would count me worthwhile enough for such a sacrifice. I am unequivocally thankful that the veil in the Temple was torn and we were given access to God the Father. That He doesn’t mind hearing my incessant chatter is such a long-suffering gift! I am blessed beyond measure and ecstatically pleased that my salvation, my eternity no longer rests on the slaughtering of animals, the mixing of flour, oil, and frankincense, and the burning of each in turn. Thank You, Jesus!(Leviticus 1,2)

Reading Leviticus heightens my gratitude. It completely engages my senses. I picture innocent sheep being led to slaughter, pulling against their leads as if they know what fate awaits them. I can hear their bleating, begging to stay in their warm stable. My mind’s eye can see the pull of the knife, envision the spurt of blood. The detestable scent of burning animal flesh fills my nostrils. I picture the altar. The place of redemption. Unchecked rivulets of bloodstream down to pool around its base. Sacrifice after sacrifice. Slaughter. Butcher. Burn. Repeat. Somewhere between the unblemished lamb and the turtle doves, my stomach turns, my gag reflex triggers, and I find myself immensely grateful that Jesus Christ died once for all the sins of the entire world. For this, I am truly grateful. (Hebrews 7:22-27)

Once my stomach has calmed and my mind can again focus, I find my mind brimming with questions. How did they keep all those sacrifices straight? How did they know what to bring for each sin? Were multiple sacrifices needed for multiple sins? What if they brought the wrong sacrifice? How could they know their sacrifice was acceptable before they offered it? There were no lists magnetically posted on refrigerators. There was no tablet of paper in a dedicated spot for scribbling reminders. There was no Google to question, no Alexa to ask, no Siri to implore. How, exactly, did they remember what and how many, where, and how a sacrifice was supposed to be made?

Honestly, I don’t know. I have been unable to find an answer to my question. Perhaps it is as it appears. Perhaps they memorized them. Taught them to their children. Recited the parameters over and over again. It would make sense. They wouldn’t want to forget them. Couldn’t afford to forget them. This knowledge was too important. It was their lifeline. They needed to meticulously observe those guidelines. They had no other options. Their salvation, their eternity depended on the integrity of those sacrifices. 

I would like to believe they were incredibly grateful. I want to think they were thrilled to have a way, any way, for their transgressions to be erased. My mind wants so badly to be convinced they realized how blessed they were to have a way of escaping a lost eternity. My overzealous imagination desperately attempts to convince my heart that they walked away from those sacrifices with hearts full of praise for the meaning behind the sacrifice. 

Unfortunately for my hopes, I have read the rest of the Old Testament. The people stray. They welcome idols. They follow heathen practices. They live lifestyles unapproved by God. The sacrifices become rote and meaningless. Their sin becomes so much a part of their lives it causes Isaiah to prophesy woe against them, Jeremiah to weep over them, and me to wonder what was so important that they were unwilling to put it on the altar as a sacrifice to God. What was so important they would rather keep it, carry it and sacrifice peace, rest, and joy?

It is so easy to sit in judgment on a generation centuries past. It is so simple to read someone else’s story and emphatically denounce their actions. It requires little effort to imagine ourselves as paragons of virtue and towers of strength, bursting with internal fortitude. Unless we decide to be honest. Uncomfortably honest. Judgment day honesty as we ask ourselves what it is that we are willing to hold onto, to hide away, to carry in our hearts that causes us to sacrifice our peace, forfeit our rest, surrender our joy? What keeps your heart so engaged that it impedes your ability to praise the Lord? Anger? Bitterness? Hate? What impinges your ability to freely rejoice in the blessings of God? Worry? Anxiety? Fear? What do you need to lay on the sacrificial altar so you can live in a state of constant praise to God? Pride? Selfishness? Striving? And what is it, exactly, that prevents you from making the sacrifice? (Hebrews 13:15)

Although I know a handful of people who seem to be veritable fountains of praise no matter their circumstances, most of us do not find praise instinctive. Our eyes open in the morning to count our aches and pains instead of our blessings. We do not walk blithely through life’s unpleasantness dancing to the beautiful songs of praise reverberating in our souls. Rarely do we face uncertainty, infirmity, anxiety while making a melodious sound of praise. Our moods are much more somber, our demeanor more subdued, our soul in tremendous turmoil considering and re-considering the things we cannot change. Sadly, praise is not our first reaction, it is our last resort.

In the middle of trials and tests, tricks and tribulation meant to irreparably infiltrate our souls, we initially tend to succumb. We wallow in self-pity. We stamp our feet in righteous indignation. The battle cry of every beleaguered soul resounds through our territory. “Why me?!” Gathering our sympathetic friends around us like a shroud, we whimper and worry, fuss and fume. Unrestrained, the ugliness festers, seeps through our souls, stifles our joy, snuffs out our praise, suffocates our gratitude.

The truth is, we have so much for which to be thankful. Material things being immaterial, take a moment to count your blessings. The real ones. The ones that count. The eternal instead of the temporal. God–His grace, His goodness. Jesus–His life, His sacrifice. The Holy Spirit–His patience, His guidance. Salvation. Heaven. If none of those things evoke a spirit of praise in your heart, you need to go back and read the Bible again. Cover to cover. Look at how God created the world, the beauty of nature, you. Watch how He carefully crafted human society, raised up a people who would someday birth a little girl destined to become the mother of Jesus Christ. Remember the humble birth, far below His station. The moderate upbringing. The misunderstandings, the naysayers, the temptations. Ultimately, remember Jesus’ death–beaten, bruised, bleeding before He even reached the cross. Hear the taunts. Watch His pain. Feel the last breath leave His body. Know that it was for you. It was all for you. All so that, when you stand before the judgment seat of God, you can rest assured of a Heavenly eternity. If you can truly imagine it, really feel it, your heart can do nothing but fall prostrate in adoration and praise. There will be room for nothing else. And nothing else will matter. 

Eons ago in a class called Wisdom Literature, a professor told his class that their main purpose on earth was to glorify God. I might have doubted him then. I don’t question it now. When I sacrifice all the things that limit my ability to praise Jesus, I find a song in my soul that flows out of my lips. My outlook changes. My relationships change. My interactions with strangers change. Through my heart full of praise, Jesus is lifted up and glorified. Like Moses’ statue serpent in the wilderness, I become a place where others can look and find the path to eternal life. The joy of the Lord becomes my strength. It fills me. There is room for nothing else. Nothing else matters. (Numbers 21:4-9; Isaiah 43:7; Nehemiah 8:10; Psalm 86:12; John 12:32)I don’t know what you need to lay down today. I don’t know what plagues your soul in the wee hours of the morning. I don’t know what secrets you hide, what sins you coddle. I do know this with absolute surety, you need to lay them down. You need to toss those joy impingers on the altar of sacrifice, burn them up and let God pour over your soul the oil of joy. Let Him clothe you in His exquisite garment of praise. Let Him rejoice over you. Love you. Fill your heart with peace, rest, and joy. Find your strength in Him and discover the release of joy that comes from sacrificing everything for an attitude of praise. (Ephesians 5:18-20; Psalm 50:23; Psalm 69:30-31; Isaiah 61:3; Zephaniah 3:17; Philippians 4:7-9; Psalm 16:11)

I don’t know what you need to lay down today. I don’t know what plagues your soul in the wee hours of the morning. I don’t know what secrets you hide, what sins you coddle. I do know this with absolute surety, you need to lay them down. You need to toss those joy impingers on the altar of sacrifice, burn them up, and let God pour over your soul the oil of joy. Let Him clothe you in His exquisite garment of praise. Let Him rejoice over you. Love you. Fill your heart with peace, rest, and joy. Find your strength in Him and discover the release of joy that comes from sacrificing everything for an attitude of praise. (Ephesians 5:18-20; Psalm 50:23; Psalm 69:30-31; Isaiah 61:3; Zephaniah 3:17; Philippians 4:7-9; Psalm 16:11) 

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)