Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

Last Friday, we traveled into the city to take our children back-to-school shopping. We made a day of it. Visited multiple shops. Went out for lunch. Mastered their lists. It was a perfectly normal day. Except it wasn’t. You see, in the back of my mind, choosing backpacks, eating lunch, loading groceries, pumping gas, was the constant awareness that across the globe, in a country I have only heard about, people are experiencing days so far removed from any concept of normal. 

It is nearly impossible to pick up a newspaper, open the Internet, or turn on your television without being bombarded by accounts of the horrific happenings taking place in Afghanistan. Normally, I shy away from writing about the news, but for so many days–weeks–my broken heart has read the stories and been shattered over and over again. My mind cannot turn off the thoughts of people in peril. All the people. Christians. Non-Christians. Normal people doing normal things. Fathers attempting to scrape out a living for their families. Mothers doing their best to care for their children. Teenagers learning the ways of the world around them, dreaming, making choices for their futures. Children playing made-up games, laughing in spite of bleak circumstances. As the tenuous stability of their world crashed down around them, my heart was gutted on their behalf. My urgent prayers have been continual, the requests varied. 

I have battered Heaven on behalf of the Christians facing worsened persecution. I think of them first, my imagination wild with thoughts of what may be in store for them. As a grade-schooler, I listened to a camp meeting speaker from a region that did not embrace the Gospel. It takes only a moment for my mind to travel back to that service and replay the words he spoke. Words of torture, torment, and terror reigned down on believers in his country, spoken in gross detail to indelibly imprint on our minds. Decades have passed since I heard those words. They are as clear today as they were when I sat frozen in terror, sick to my stomach, listening to his accounts. As recent events trigger that memory, my stomach twists and my shattered heart desperately implores the God of the universe, the Father of us all, to protect, deliver, rescue. If God wills it. (Ephesians 4:6; I Corinthians 8:6; John 5:14; Matthew 6:10) 

Admittedly, I can barely push those words past my tightened throat. My heart doesn’t want to say them. I want mountains filled with heavenly warriors, enemies who fight themselves, seas that part for salvation only to crash down for enemy elimination. The flippant prayers of, “Thy will be done,” prayed over which job to take, car to buy, or how much to give in the collection plate become the hardest to pray when someone’s life hangs in the balance. They echo with surrender. They speak of letting go and trusting God. They highlight human impotence, illuminate our inability to change circumstances or end suffering. They force us to,  however hesitantly, subject ourselves, our situations, our brothers and sisters in faraway lands to the omniscient omnipotence of God whose goal is to lift up Jesus so all the world might have the opportunity to know Him. It’s the reason He came. (John 12:32; I Timothy 1:15; Exodus 14; II Kings 6:15-17; I Samuel 14:20)

So I dutifully pray those words, even though my heart breaks and balks because I know God’s ways are not like mine. I gather up my waning strength and lift up those Christians facing persecution we simply do not comprehend. I pray for the underground churches and pastors, beseeching God for strength and peace, and boldness. I pray for the helpless, the elderly, the infirm. I pray for the men and women, believers or not, caught in this terrifying scenario of insurrection and instability. My mother’s heart quakes and nearly faints at the thought of women trying to protect, hide, and console their children, quiet their cries, calm their fears. My eyes fill at the thought of teenagers watching their life dreams die on the altar of someone else’s selfishness. When my anguished heart can take no more news, no more thoughts, no more feelings of helplessness, I do the only thing I can–I place those precious people, their homes, their families, their lives in the capable hands of a loving God who cares more for them than I ever could and fervently entreat Him to do something. It’s all I can do. (John 15:12-13; Ephesians 3:18-19; Psalm 68:5; John 15:9)

At least I thought it was. Until, as I feebly searched my mind to ensure I had prayed for every possible needy soul, a little voice spoke to my heart. You know the one. The voice that tells you things. Hard things. True things. Things you don’t want to hear. The voice of God. In this moment it whispered, “Pray for the perpetrators, the persecutors.” (Matthew 5:44-45)

The words caused my prayer to stumble. They shouldn’t have. I’ve been hearing them for years. When I read of abusers, murderers, pedophiles. When I am wronged. When my initial response is to hope for the worst, God reminds me to pray for the perpetrators. Pray for those society calls hopeless. Pray for the ones deemed too evil to live. Pray for the brat, the bully, the remorseless criminal, the angry insurgent. Jesus instructs us, “Pray for those who persecute you.” And I do. (Matthew 5:44)

Unfortunately, having done so in the past and knowing that Jesus Himself instructs us to do so, does not make the prayers easier to pray. I’d much rather give heavenly air time to the persecuted, perplexed, demoralized, and abused. I’d like to see God step in and stop the events. I want to see my form of justice served. Just once, I want to call down the wrath of God and see an amazing response. Something like the earth opening to swallow the sons of Korah! But my justice is not God’s justice, nor is it my place to mete out that justice. Vengeance is God’s. He’ll take care of it. He has a purpose for keeping the ground intact. (Numbers 16:31-33; Isaiah 55:8-9; Romans 12:17-21; Deuteronomy 32:35)

My mind ruminates over the possibilities of that purpose. What could God possibly want with a bunch of people threatening, abusing, murdering His followers? Immediately, the Apostle Paul comes to mind. He started out as Saul. Groomed to be a zealot for the temple leaders of his day, he was the cloak minder as stones flew from outraged hands toward Stephen. He likely heard the final prayer before Stephen fell asleep in Jesus. Words similar to the ones echoing from the cross on Golgotha. Words of grace for the persecutors, “Don’t hold this sin against them, Lord.” (Acts 7:54-60)

It seems to have no effect. Saul grew into a deplorable human being with a well-earned horrendous reputation. No one wanted his knock at their door. Searching down Christians. Speaking threats and evil and hate toward them. Dragging them from their homes. Sending them to prison, even death. It appears Stephen’s prayer fell on deaf ears.(Acts 8:1-3; 9:1-2)

It didn’t. Eventually, via an amazing Damascus road experience, a bout of blindness, and the hospitality of Christians, Saul became Paul, preacher, missionary, sufferer for Christ. He reached lands others hadn’t reached. He testified to people in powerful positions others would never have had the opportunity to speak with. His story is an amazing example of how God uses the prayers we pray over our enemies, even if we can’t immediately put a face to our prayers. Even when we don’t see results. Even if we never know the outcome. (Acts 9:3-19; 16:6-10; Acts 24-26; I Corinthians 3:6-8)

The truth is this. God might be trying to reach that teenager brandishing a gun who has been relentlessly brainwashed to believe war and hate and fighting are the path of life. God might be extending mercy and grace to a hardened warrior before his final battle. Maybe, just maybe, one of those men waving the edge of a knife in the face of a Christian needs to see their faith in God to shake him out of his stupor, make him lay down his weapon, and follow Jesus. Maybe the prayers of good people for the souls of evil people is their only hope of ever finding the God who isn’t willing that any should perish. No one. Not you. Not me. Not the persecutor. Not the perpetrator. God intended no one–not one single soul–should die in their sins. So He sent Jesus to bear our sins, die on the cross, and personally tell us, “Love your enemies. Pray for those who persecute you.” (Matthew 5:43-48; II Peter 3:9; Ezekiel 18:32; John 6:40; Revelation 3:20)  

You might be scoffing right now. Maybe you believe I’ve lost my mind. Perhaps you think God isn’t interested in saving some terrorists or insurgents or persecutors of his people. Maybe you’ve marked them as too far gone, a waste of grace. I hope you’ll go read Saul turned Paul’s story again. And again. And again. I hope you’ll read the story of Jesus, hanging on a cross, forgiving the last-minute confessions of the thief beside Him. I hope you’ll read the stories and remember. Remember that Jesus came to call everyone to repentance. Not just the nice people. Not just the attendees at your church or people of like mindsets. Jesus came for everyone. You. Me. The peaceful citizen. The angry insurgent. Jesus came to save sinners. All of us. (Luke 5:32; Mark 2:17; John 1:12; Revelation 22:17; Isaiah 55:1)

No matter how powerless you feel to ease the pain and suffering of a country half a world away, this is no time to do nothing. We must do something. We must do the only thing we can, wield the most powerful weapon in our arsenal. We must pray. Relentlessly. Fervently. We must not become distracted. As the battle rages and time passes, other things may begin to fill our minds and dominate our prayers. I hope you don’t stop praying for the people of Afghanistan. I hope you don’t stop praying fervent prayers of hope and peace and courage and strength over the Christians there. I hope you don’t stop praying for help and comfort for the people as they flee and hide or stand and fight. And I hope, if you aren’t already, that you pray for the perpetrators of persecution. Pray for a Damascus road experience for them. Pray that they turn from their evil ways. Pray in faith, knowing that the God who wants all people to be saved, can work miracles in the hardest of hearts and the most ruined of lives. Pray. Because when God’s people join together to do something, God shows up too. And He can do anything! (James 5:16; I Thessalonians 5: 16-18; Matthew 18:19-20; I Peter 3:12; I John 5:14-15)

I just finished reading the book of Judges…again. I’ve read it more times than I can count, heard more sermons from it than I can remember, and spent countless minutes pondering the same question, “What is wrong with these people?” Seriously. What makes them think their disobedience and sin are going to end differently from the last time they went haring off on their own paths? They remember the ancestral accounts of deliverance from Egypt. Can they not also remember the hard lessons of faith and obedience learned in 40 years of wilderness wandering? How could they possibly misinterpret commands like, “No other Gods except Me”? How could they break their covenant with the God who never breaks His? Why did it always take troubles and tribulations, wars and raids, oppression and starvation, for them to finally be tired enough of their sin to turn back to God? Why did they never tire of the cycle? (Exodus 1-13, 20:3-4; Joshua 5:6)

To be fair, I frequently ask these questions as I read through most of the Old Testament. I find it so difficult to believe the people couldn’t see disaster coming. Were they blind? The entire history of their people is riddled with this type of behavior. That journey out of Egypt they were so fond of remembering? Not exactly an idyllic picture of sweet communion with God! Did He move and lead, save and preserve? Undoubtedly. Did they complain and disobey, frustrate and provoke Him? Absolutely! As much as I shake my head in disbelief at their ridiculous antics then, it is the beginning of Judges that makes me sigh and grit my teeth. I know what’s coming. I can see it. Not just because I’ve read the book so often, but because I know, from their accounts and my own experiences, failure to obey God always ends in disaster. (Psalm 78)

It strikes in the very first chapter of Judges. God sends the Israelites to conquer specific territories. He gives explicit instructions. Conquer. Drive out the current residents. Don’t let anyone, any idols, any trace be left behind. Everyone must go. Every altar, god, and tradition must be eradicated. Completely. Left there, the temptation to seek a tangible god over their eternal God would be too great. They would break their covenant, abandon Him, worship idols. All those precise instructions, as tedious as they might have seemed, were for their good. God was trying to save them heartache. He would have. It was a foolproof plan. Foolproof if they obeyed. (Judges 1:1-20)

They didn’t. Oh, they started out well. God rewarded the obedience of Judah and Simeon, making them victorious conquerors in battle. The account starts out grand and triumphant, instilling optimism that others will follow suit. They don’t. Things fall apart. The tribe of Benjamin chose to allow current residents to stay. It started a trend. Manasseh, Ephraim, Zebulun, Asher, and Naphtali all have failure written next to their names. They didn’t drive out the people, didn’t destroy the false gods, didn’t decimate every possibility of temptation. No. They kept them there. Lived among them. Made them servants. Allowed their gods. Traded their covenant with Almighty God who never breaks His word for a covenant with enchanting, enslaving, erroneous sin. (Judges 1:21, 27-33, 2:1-5)

 Because consequences are a direct result of our own choices, unpleasant lessons of earth-shattering magnitude began to befall them. They found themselves caught in a relentless cycle of sin, slavery, sorrow, salvation. A slide into sin. Eight years of slavery. Forty years of peace. A slip into idolatry. Another defeat. Another 18 years of slavery. Another time of repentance. More begging for a rescue. Another miracle from God. Another victory. Another eighty years of peace. (Judges 3: 7-30)

It’s a long time. Eighty years. A lifetime, really. Enough time I optimistically think the Israelites have finally figured it out. They have surely learned the lesson. They are undoubtedly tired of choosing evil and reaping the same. They are finally ready to obey God alone. Except they aren’t. The pendulum keeps swinging. They choose evil, reap destruction, cry out to God, and His mercy sends a rescue. Over and over and over again they sin. Over and over and over again God sends someone to set them free. (Judges 4:1-23; 6-8)

Until He almost doesn’t. By now, I’ve lost track of the times the Israelites abandoned the true God for the gods of the world. I’ve forgotten how often they have rebelled. Perhaps I simply can’t count that far. God didn’t have any trouble. When, enduring 18 years of crushing defeat and indignity imposed by the Philistines and Ammonites, the Israelites cried out to God for one of His amazing rescues, He has no trouble reminding them how many times their choices have caused their oppression. God literally makes a list of all the rescue efforts He has engineered on their behalf. Time after time He has rushed to their aid, and for what? Abandonment? Every time He has rescued them in the past it was for nothing. They always went back to sin, back to evil, back to idols. Not this time. He sadly responds to their request, “No. Go ask the gods you have chosen to replace me.” (Judges 10:6-14)

Although I’m a bit shocked at that response, a little part of me cheers for God. I’m tired of their pattern. I’m tired of the sinning and begging and forgiving only to sin again. I’m tired of people who want the world for life, but Heaven for eternity. I’m beginning to resent their impertinence. I’m beginning to think God is too. 

Until He isn’t. The patience and mercy and compassion that are the hallmarks of God’s character will not allow Him to abandon the people who call on Him in repentance. He enacts another rescue. Sadly, it won’t be the last. They will abandon Him, do evil, follow the desires of their darkened hearts again and again. They’ll hate the consequences of their actions. Their cries for rescue, release, rejuvenation will reach His ears over and over. And every time they call, He will answer. They just have to get tired enough of their sin, their waywardness, their woe, humble their hearts, and cry out to God in repentance and change. Only then does deliverance come. (Judges 10:6-16; 13:1)

The Israelites are not the only ones to tread this vicious circle. We, too, have left our moorings, surrendered our morals, sacrificed our mindsets. As a society, our moral compass points nowhere near the vicinity of due north. As Christians, we have become comfortable with the enemy in our midst, embraced it, loved it more than God. We’ve created idols of pleasure, money, possessions. We’ve snuggled up close to the world and lived like it. Our impassioned speeches blaming society’s moral and spiritual decline on politics, celebrities, television, and the media fall flat when we realize we, too, stand in incredible decline. We are not the church we used to be. We have accepted a form of godliness. We have become lukewarm. We have excused sin. We have altered the truth. Like the Old Testament Israelites, we have abandoned God. (Jeremiah 26:2-6, 44:1-14; I John 2:15-17; Revelation 2:4, 20, 3:15-20; Deuteronomy 12:32) 

Apparently, we aren’t tired of it yet. We have yet to acknowledge our sin. We refuse to admit our shortcomings. We resent the intrusion of God into our daily lives. We hoard our time for our own desires. We’ve bought into the world’s idea of self-care, but neglected the necessity of soul care. And we are reaping the consequences of our choices. Stagnant churches, starving souls, societal mayhem. We don’t have to live like this. God can change us, change our circumstances, intervene in our world if we humbly repent and ask Him to do so. I guess we just haven’t gotten tired of the mess yet. 

Well, I am. I’m tired of it! Tired of the lukewarm, decaf “Christianity” that has pervaded our churches. Tired of emotional stirring but spiritual stagnation. Tired of Christians who play more than they pray. Tired of buzzwords and gimmicks to build congregations of people who choose Jesus as long as He comes with a big dollop of the world. Tired of evil masquerading as good. Tired of begging God to change the hearts of our leaders when the modern church and its inhabitants refuse to let God change theirs. Tired of longing for revival that isn’t welcome. Tired of the apathy, the atrophy. Tired of the repercussions from the choices we’ve willingly made. Tired of the deep spiritual slumber that keeps us from tiring of our mess and crying out to God for a desperately needed rescue. (I Peter 4:17)

 So wake up, church! Wake up and pray! Shake off your spiritual stupor. Get out of your religious rut. Throw out your idols. Eradicate all those things God said have no place in your hearts. Get on your knees. Bombard Heaven with your prayers! Repent. Reconcile with God. Rectify the error of your ways. Choose Jesus once and for all. Choose Heaven over the world. Stop playing games. Stop swinging the pendulum of sin and repentance. Commit to walking in truth alone. Sincerely cry out to God for a rescue. Keep praying until it comes. 

And it will come. Perhaps not with an ox goad, a double-edged sword, or a strongman, but it will come. You can count on it. Because the God who always keeps His covenant responds when people, tired of their sin and its consequences, call out to Him. He can’t help Himself. His great heart of love and compassion and mercy compels Him to respond, to rescue, to restore, every time you get tired of the error of your ways. The question is, are you tired of it yet? (Judges 3:21,31, 16:29-30; I John 1:9; Acts 3:19; II Chronicles 30:9b; James 4:8; Joel 2:13; Zechariah 1:3b)

It was truly the worst of times. The worst in Gideon’s memory, at least. Heavily oppressed by the Midianites, his people had gone into hiding. Mountains and caves had become their homes. Some had built strongholds for themselves. Their crops were continually ransacked by the enemy. Food was scarce or nonexistent. Their animals had disappeared, been killed, or stolen. The Midianites had effectively placed Israel below the poverty level. They were miserable and starving, their future the darkest it had been in recent memory. 

The Israelites were not innocent, their current circumstances a revolting result of their penchant for evil. Choices had been blithely made. Consequences disregarded. Whatever they interpreted God to mean when He told them to serve and obey only Him, they had been woefully incorrect. His words necessitated no interpretation. They stood as spoken. “I am your God. Do not worship any other.” They had disobeyed. The repercussions were inevitable. (Judges 6:10)

In desperation, they cried out to God for a rescue they didn’t deserve. His scathing reply through the prophet was a rebuke for their lacking love, their errant eyes, their honorless hearts. It was a perspicuous reminder that sin brings punishment. Discomfort. Destruction. Death. They were getting no less than they had bargained for. Mercifully, God takes no pleasure in the despair of the people He loves. His heart beats steadily with mercy and grace. It has to. There is no other explanation for the curious conversation Gideon had with the angel of the Lord or the intriguing rescue that ensued. (Romans 6:23; James 1:15; Ezekiel 18:20; Isaiah 54:10; Lamentations 3:22-25)

If Gideon was not surprised by the visit from the Angel of God, he most definitely was surprised by the message he brought. Him? A mighty warrior? Hardly. Had the angel gotten the wrong guy? Was he supposed to visit the neighboring tribe and somehow ended up in the wrong set of caves? Gideon didn’t come from a line of warriors. His family wasn’t known for strength and battlefield prowess. Quite the opposite. So clearly were they not cut out for battle that Gideon wasn’t busily discussing a strategy for revolt with his peers. He was busy threshing wheat with a wine vat! 

As strange as that sounds, everyone was doing it, finding ways to creatively harvest food. They had to. How else could they hide their activity from the Midianites and salvage their meager crop? But surely, as the angel of God sat resting against that oak tree observing Gideon, he would have noticed a certain talent for farming and a dearth of one for war. Gideon’s work left no question as to his aptitude as a warrior. He wasn’t one. It was as simple as that. No matter his boyhood dreams or clumsy teenage efforts with a sword, Gideon had never made the cut. Yet the angel stood and approached, addressing him by the moniker, “mighty warrior.” Someone was clearly confused. 

Oddly, that confusion was not the first item Gideon felt compelled to address with the angel. No. He had questions. He needed to know things. Things about God. His character. His promises. His faithfulness. His love. Gideon needed to know that his depleted faith, no matter how deficient, was still placed in a God of ultimate sufficiency. Thus questions came spilling out in response to the angel’s salutation. Questions whose answers were of utmost importance if he was to truly be God’s mighty warrior.  

Where was the God who had rescued his ancestors from Egypt, anyway? Vacation? Where were the miracles they had all heard He could perform? Where was their rescue? Did He no longer care about His people? Had they strayed too far, done too much? Or had God’s faithfulness run out, His love gone cold, His care for humanity dimmed? Could they still count on Him? Was the loving care of God he’d heard so much about still unfailing? Would He still be faithful even if they themselves had failed? (Exodus 15:3, 34:6)

Miraculously, God’s love for them was still intact. They didn’t deserve it. After all their blatant disobedience, unconcealed idolatry, and lavish lusting after the world, God was still going to rescue them. But they were going to have to make some changes. Changes He’d enact through Gideon’s obedience. The greeting was not at all off the mark. With God, Gideon would indeed be an impressive warrior. (Judges 6:12) 

Gideon didn’t get it right away.  Maybe he was caught off guard by the approach of an angel. Maybe he was too focused on his own frustrations, fears, and frailties. Whatever distracted him, he had to hear it again in more direct verbiage. He got it the second time. The Lord was actually telling him to rise up and defeat the Midianites! “I am sending you to defeat the Midianites and free your people. Gather your strength and go do it.” 

There really could be no misinterpretation. The straightforward command left room only for obedience, yet Gideon felt the need to notify God of his own inadequacies. His family was the weakest of his tribe. He was the youngest of his father’s sons. Warrior training had gone uncommonly poorly. He was really just a farmer, secretly threshing grain in a wine vat. He was hardly a great choice to defeat the people that had oppressed them these seven years. God planned to win, right? So was He sure Gideon was the right choice for the task? 

Absolutely! God doesn’t make mistakes. When He plans a rescue, He executes it flawlessly. When He chooses a warrior, He chooses one who finds their strength solely in Him. Gideon was unequivocally the right choice, in spite (or possibly because) of his shortcomings. He had no confidence in his own abilities or strength. It would all have to come from God alone. So with one phrase, God silences the arguments flowing from Gideon’s tongue. “I will be with you.” And it was so. 

From the destruction of the idols in Israel to the death of Midian’s kings, God made Gideon, a man of no strength, no fighting skills, no aptitude for war, into a mighty warrior he thought he’d never be. Rescue came to Israel because one man who thought himself weak and useless was willing to follow God and allow His power to work in and through him for the good of his people. (Judges 6-8)

I hope you can see the correlation between Gideon’s story and ours. We are distressed on every side. Evil is rampant. So many around us have chosen disobedience to obedience, the temporal over the eternal, Hell over Heaven. We find ourselves hanging perilously in the balance, begging for a rescue, concerned it isn’t coming, yet desperately hoping it will. As the world around us continues its headlong plunge into eternal darkness, caring nothing for the consequences of their hazardous living, God is still speaking. Speaking to you. Speaking to me. Speaking of a rescue for the people He loves in spite of their sin and degradation. God is speaking and He is calling us to do something. (Ecclesiastes 8:11; Acts 1:8) 

Admittedly, I have never felt so completely inadequate as I do today. The sorry state of our world has me wanting to gather my family together and hide. But God is calling. He’s calling me to write words on paper, type words in posts, speak words in conversation. Words that mean something. Words of hope. Words of peace. Words of forgiveness. Words that speak of rescue. Mercy. Grace. Second, third, fourth chances. Words that convict. Convict me. Convict someone else. Words of action when I feel completely inadequate, totally hesitant, entirely terrified to act. (Psalm 73:26; II Timothy 4:2)

Today, in the midst of my self-doubt, God speaks these words to me:

“You are a mighty warrior because I said so. Your prayers and words and actions are all part of my plan. Just because you can’t see Me working, don’t see miracles of Biblical proportions, evil forces collapsing, or milestones of godly change in the world doesn’t mean I’m not busy. I am still working. Gather the strength you have. Not your own strength. Mine. Draw from My unending supply. Use as much as you need. I never run out. Throw your inadequacies, hesitancies, insecurities out the door and follow me. Do what I have called you to do. You are not alone. I am right beside you. I’m not going anywhere. I’m working through you. Trust Me. Go and do it.” (Psalm 121:8; John 5:17; Isaiah 41:10) 

The words are not just for me. He is saying the same things to you. You are valiant through God. You are His warrior. You have His strength. You are useful to God. You are integral to His kingdom. He has a purpose and a plan for you. There is no one too weak, too faulty, too timid to do something for God. None of those things matter. You simply have to be willing. (Psalm 60:12; Psalm 18:32-34)

So go do it, warrior. Do that thing God is calling you to do. Visit that neighbor. Befriend that lost soul. Pray that prayer. Make that move. Fight that battle. Take that stand. Do whatever it is He’s called you to do. Go and do it. Draw from His inexhaustible strength supply, put your boots on the ground and let God do the rest. Do it and you will find that God uses the willing, not just the strongest, the loudest, the most articulate. No. God uses the weak as long as we are willing. Just lay your willing weakness at His feet, go in His strength, do as He asks, and let God make your weakness His strength. (I Corinthians 15:58; II Corinthians 12:8-10; Deuteronomy 31:6; Ephesians 6:10; II Timothy 1:7; I Corinthians 1:27; Romans 8:31-37)

As children, we would play a game where one of us would close our eyes and allow the other to lead them around. I suppose we thought it an exhibition of trust if we actually kept our eyes closed. It really wasn’t. We only played the game indoors. We were already familiar with the area, knew where we could possibly stub our toes, knock our knees, or bump into a table. More comforting was the knowledge that no matter how tightly we closed our eyes, the moment we felt uncertain, we could pop them open to see where we were, what was around us, and what trickery the leading child was up to. Because we had never actually experienced blindness, even our uninhibited imaginations could never properly grasp the concept of being blind. 

Not so for Bartimaeus. He knew all about it. Intimately. He lived it. Every. Single. Day.  His routine never changed. It couldn’t. Sameness was necessary to survival. Shuffle to the side of the road in Jericho. Sit down. Spend hours begging for whatever charitable donations compassionate hearts would dole out. Hours hoping someone would speak kindly, drop a coin in his cup. Days spent desperately wishing someone would see his humanity, not just his disability. 

It was not a lucrative career. Unfortunately, most of the people walking past his space were used to him being there. They didn’t pay attention to him anymore. They didn’t hear his voice. They didn’t see his need. They didn’t feel compassion when they looked his way. He had become a fixture, a normal part of walking the road. He was largely ignored. There, but not there. Among them, yet alone.  It was degrading, humiliating, frustrating. 

Yet the fact he blended into their surroundings became his greatest blessing. It allowed him to hear things. Deep conversations of people walking by. Conversations they thought private. He was blind, not deaf! They might have been ignoring him, but he was hearing them. Hearing conversations. Hearing gossip. Hearing things they didn’t know he heard. Accounts of miracles. Rumors of mercy. Murmurs of a man named Jesus. Whispers of hope.

Bartimaeus badly wanted to meet this miracle-working Jesus. He desperately wanted his sight.  He wildly hoped that if Jesus passed by his roadside some drops of that great mercy would fall on him. He’d nearly despaired of having his dream realized. What were the odds of Jesus passing by his spot? What was the likelihood such an important Man would stop to visit with a dirty, unkempt ball of rags? Was there even a possibility Jesus would hear Him over the roar of the crowds that surrounded Him? Was it all just futile wishing, useless grasping at the wind? 

Clearly, it was not. It happened. His dream became reality. In the middle of his ordinary, uneventful life, something amazingly unusual happened. The sound of a large crowd approaching reached Bartimaeus’ ears. Questions bombarded his mind. What was going on? Who was coming? What were they doing? Did he need to get out of the way? Was he in danger? If only he could see! Reaching out, he grabbed the hem of a passing robe, managing to gain a moment of someone’s time to inquire about the source of the commotion. The answer caused his heart to leap, his hope to soar. His dream was being realized. Jesus was passing by. 

Bartimaeus wasn’t about to miss his chance, this was no time for timidity! Without hesitation, at the top of his voice, he cried out, “Jesus, have mercy on me!” The people around him tried to hush him, embarrassed that this blind beggar would think he deserved an audience with the great Teacher, concerned his outburst would mar the facade of their perfect politeness and leave a bad impression. Surely they were doing Jesus a favor. He wouldn’t want to be bothered by a blind man. He had more pressing things to do. 

Apparently, they knew little about the Jesus they thronged. Maybe they hadn’t had front row seats to observe His work. Maybe they were living vicariously through the stories they heard. Perhaps they selfishly sought to keep His amazing power for themselves. Regardless the reason for their hushing, it is clear they hadn’t done much traveling with Jesus. They had no inkling what was coming next. They were in for a grand surprise!

Hearing the insistent cries of the blind man, Jesus commands Bartimaeus to come forward. He doesn’t have to issue the command twice. Bartimaeus was already in motion! Exhibiting amazing speed for an unsighted man, he tore off his coat, tossed it aside, jumped awkwardly to his feet, and made his way to Jesus. Maybe some kind soul guided him. Maybe he stumbled a bit as he felt his way through the crowd. Maybe they parted to make a path because they wanted to see what Jesus was going to do. It doesn’t matter. Bartimaeus would have done anything, climbed mountains, forded rivers to get to Jesus. He had called, Jesus had answered. When Jesus called, Bartimaeus would most certainly answer as well. 

Arriving before Jesus, breathless and a little disoriented from his hurried approach, Bartimaeus must immediately come up with an answer to the question, “What do you want from Me?” In spite of excited, rattled nerves and gulping breaths, the answer is certain, immediate, “I want to see!” And Jesus makes it happen. 

Bartimaeus looks around. He can see! Green trees and bright flowers. White clouds and blue sky. The little brown dog that used to come and lay beside him, the only bright spot in his once miserable existence. He could see! He could walk without feeling his way or being let by the hand! And walk he did. He began to follow Jesus because, although he could physically see and choose whatever vocation he desired, he could spiritually see too, and there was nowhere else he wanted to be than close to the heart of God. (Mark 10:46-52)

I wonder what Bartimaeus saw when he looked at the people around him. People who had helped him. People who had hated him. People who had harped at him. I wonder if he saw only the outside wrapping, the image they wanted him to see, or if the opened eyes of his heart illuminated underlying meaning in previous conversations. I wonder if he saw perfectly coiffed brokenness, educated ignorance, religious sight shrouding spiritual blindness. Did Bartimaeus’ newly sighted eyes see deeper than the facade of perfection, success, status? Did he see the longing for Jesus buried deep in the heart of each one?

Do you? What do you see when you drive through town, walk through the store? What do you see when you read the news? Does your heart fill with compassion for the entitled, the abusers, the politicians, the criminals? Do you see people in need of Jesus? Or do you see annoyances for which you have only ugly things to say? Are you blind to the real needs hidden under the obvious chaos? Have you allowed Jesus to give sight to your heart? (Mark 8:2; Luke 7:13; Matthew 15:32, 20:34, 14:14, 9:36)

You need to. Having a sighted heart is paramount in this world where multitudes hide behind facades. Happiness. Fulfillment. Acceptance. Success. Faith. We need hearts with the eyes of God to see beneath the layers and recognize the deep need in the soul next to us. The person in the church pew, beautifully attired, heartily singing, fully engaged, yet deeply longing for someone to offer love and support for the struggle hidden beneath. The co-worker climbing the ladder of success with alarming speed whose work and dedication is merely a cover for intense loneliness and desperate longing for fulfillment only Jesus can give. The addict, the prostitute.The homeless, hopeless, helpless. All crying out to be seen, not for what they are on the outside, but for what they need on the inside. All desperately searching for a touch, a word, a glimmer of hope, a story of mercy, the possibility of recovery. All deeply hungering, tirelessly seeking, endlessly waiting for Jesus to pass by. 

Perhaps it will be you. Maybe you will be that glimpse of Jesus for which they search. Maybe you can be that glimmer of hope. Perhaps you could be the first in a long line of mercy extenders. Maybe, if your physical eyes disregard what they see and you follow the eyes of your heart. Maybe, if you choose not to be so narrow-minded as to determine the impeccably dressed CEO is more important than the raggedly attired bag lady. Maybe, just maybe, you could be the hands and feet of Jesus if your sighted heart will look beneath the exterior and see the need. Maybe you could offer everyone Jesus. You could, but only if your heart has Jesus vision. (Matthew 5:14-16)

So cry out to Jesus. Ask Him to make you see. See yourself, your sin, your shortcomings. Allow Him to cleanse, heal, and change your heart. Then ask again. Beg Him to give you the vision of the Father. Vision that sees beneath the exterior, beyond the facade. Eyes that see people, truly see them, regardless of appearance, social status, or tax bracket. A heart that reaches out in love, extending hope, offering help. Ears that listen and truly hear. Lips that speak of the relentless mercy and unending grace of the Father. May you shield your seeing eyes and view others from a sighted heart. (Psalm 51:10; I Samuel 16:7; Luke 6:24; Ephesians 4:2-3; John 13:34; Romans 12:10; Galatians 6:2)

I deeply believe in miracles wrought by the hand of our omnipotent God. I believe in them because I have seen them. I also believe in the lessons those miracles teach us. I believe in them because I have learned from them. Five and a half years ago I learned an exquisite lesson from a miracle I was almost embarrassed to ask for.

In an attempt to deter our youngest child’s request for a baby, we added a puppy to our family. She was an adorable little ball of black and tan weighing in at 5 whole pounds. What she lacked in size she made up for in sass and spunk. We named her Delilah. 

We picked her up on a cold February day, wrapped her in a blanket, and set out for home. She cried the entire way. She wasn’t used to it. She didn’t know us. She wanted her brothers and the puppy pile they slept in. She wanted the cage and the heat lamp. She wanted the familiar. She didn’t realize we were going to take better care of her than some stinky cage with a bunch of brothers. She didn’t know she had a huge pen with brand new, hand-sewn blankets, lined with toys waiting for her. She didn’t know, couldn’t know. She hadn’t seen it, so she didn’t trust. 

We didn’t know either, the kind of care she would end up needing. The first few weeks were fun and adventurous. Vet visits. Chewed shoes. Spilled laundry baskets. Potty training. Leash training. Puppy cuddles. She wiggled her way deep into all our hearts. 

Just as we were settling in and she was learning things, Delilah went to the vet for her second set of vaccines. Within a short period of time, we saw something was terribly wrong. Her back legs became stiff and would barely move. I had to carry her outside, bring her food to where she lay. She didn’t play with the toys anymore. She was clearly deteriorating. 

 We rushed her back to the vet. They ran a multitude of tests, collaborated with the local veterinary college, and treated her for everything they thought could possibly be causing her decline. Eventually, they determined she was having a negative reaction to the vaccines. The knowledge was good, but nothing was healing our pup. We were heartbroken and worried and scared. Every day we waited and hoped and watched for improvement. 

One evening, while reminding God how adversely my youngest would be affected by the loss of her pet, I felt compelled to place my hands on Delilah and pray over her. Now, I’ve always believed in putting our hands on people and praying over them for whatever their need or situation might be. But a dog? I’ve never known anyone to do that. I wasn’t even sure it was proper. I did know this. God cares about the sparrows and the wildflowers, names the stars in the sky, and tells the ocean where to stop on the beach. So, surely He also cares about a little black-eyed puppy whose life seemed to be hanging in the balance. (Matthew 6:25-34; Psalm 147:4; Job 38:10-11; Jeremiah 5:22; Acts 6:5-6)

Gathering up the remnants of my depleted faith, I walked over to where Delilah was stretched out on her side. Kneeling beside her on the floor, I put my hands on her hind legs and I prayed. I don’t remember the words. I have no idea what they were. I do remember the fear, the worry, the angst. I remember the tears. I also remember that when we got up the next morning, Delilah’s back legs were better. There were still some kinks in her step and some stiffness in her body, but she was so much better than the night before. 

Encouraged by the answer and impatient for a full recovery, I got down on my knees, laid my hands on her, and prayed a second time. I still don’t know what I said. It doesn’t matter. It wasn’t instantaneous, but we began to see marked improvement. Day by day she recovered more and more. Today you have to watch closely to know anything was ever wrong with her or that she has to spend hours at the vet having antihistamine injections every time she gets vaccines. Most people don’t notice her back legs move differently than a normal dog. It doesn’t slow her down. More than five years later, our miracle dog is still mischievously wreaking havoc and indiscriminately doling out cuddles because God miraculously rescued her, not because we couldn’t have gotten another puppy, or even to save us the heartache, but because I needed the lesson that miracle taught. The lesson of rest and trust in God. (James 1:2-4; Romans 5:3-5)

Every time I meet with circumstances whose answers look impossible, improbable, or inconceivable, God takes me back to the moment I prayed in meager faith over a little black and tan puppy and watched Him rescue her. I remind myself of other things too. Things God has done. Miraculous things. Big things. Little things. Situations He’s made possible. Mountains He’s made passable. Unlikelihoods He’s made probable. I remember those things and I get it. I understand. I comprehend. In the depths of my heart, I know. God is omnipotent and He’s got us. The knowledge makes my soul rest. 

What amazes me is that the disciples were even slower learners than I. They were exasperatingly obtuse. They had front-row seats! How could they have missed it? How could they be fussing over the fact they had remembered only one loaf of bread when they had Jesus right there with them? How could their dinner have more importance than the lesson Jesus was trying to teach? Hadn’t they been watching? Hadn’t they seen? Were their memories so short they couldn’t call to mind the 5 loaves that fed 5,000 and created enough leftovers for a multitude of to-go boxes? Had they suffered amnesia concerning the 4,000 fed by seven loaves and the massive amounts of leftovers then? What was wrong with them? Why didn’t they get it? Why didn’t they see it? Why didn’t they understand who was dwelling with them, walking among them, working through them? (Matthew 14:13-21; John 6:1-14)

Jesus asked those very questions. He seems frustrated. He has every right to be. He’s trying to warn them about the trash the Pharisees are selling and they are busy worrying about food. Were they really that ignorant? They had seen Jesus perform miracle after miracle. He’d healed people, fed people, turned water to wine. It was ridiculous of them to believe He would let His disciples starve because they had forgotten to bring along extra bread. It was preposterous of them to think Jesus’ warning about the Pharisaical teachings of the world had anything to do with actual food. But they did. In frustration, after rattling off a litany of miracles they had witnessed, Jesus ends His diatribe by asking, “Do you still not get it? Don’t you know Who you are riding with? Is it still unclear whom you are following? Do you still doubt My abilities? Doubt My care? Are you still uncertain Who I am? After all you have seen and heard, don’t you get it yet?” (Mark 8:11-21; John 2:1-11; Matthew 8:14-17)

He could be talking to us. We too, put more emphasis on the physical than the eternal. We, too, forget the lessons of past answered prayers and observed miracles. We find ourselves in an unfortunate, unpleasant, untenable situation and immediately forget what we know about God. We forget who He is. We forget what He’s done. We focus on our earthly needs and lose sight of the spiritual lessons He is trying to teach us. Faith. Trust. Hope. Confidence. Comprehension that, no matter what, He is God, He is with us, and we are under His divine care.

The evil one doesn’t want you to remember those lessons. He wants you to be drawn aside by worry and fear about your past choices, current circumstances, future possibilities. He doesn’t want you to remember all the times God has proven Himself to be more than enough. He doesn’t want you to focus on your spiritual health and trust God with the rest. He wants to keep you sidetracked with your current conundrum so all that fear, anxiety, stress, and worry will distract you from following God. 

Don’t do it. Don’t let him win. Don’t let him distract you with the things of the world, the cares of life, the anxieties that plague your mind. Look back. Remember what you have seen and heard. Remember all the miracles God has done in your life, your church, your circle of friends. Then throw your faith in Him. Refuse to be distracted. Trust God to do His part, stay the course, and follow hard after Jesus.  (Psalm 63:8; Hosea 6:3a; Psalm 25:15; Psalm 141:8)

There’s a 5-and-a-half-year-old black and tan, 65-pound, floppy-eared, overexuberant, over-talkative, sparkly-eyed dog running around my house today. Her manners are slightly deplorable. Some days she’s ridiculously annoying. I love her like crazy. She is a living, breathing, bed-hogging reminder that there is no one like my God. She is also a reminder that no matter what upset I am facing, God’s got it. I can trust Him to handle it. I don’t need to hover over Him with ideas and input. I don’t need to worry. I simply need to remember what I know about Him, what I have learned about Him in the past, keep spiritual focus, and let God be God. And I’m trying because I get it now. 

I don’t know what’s worrying you today. I have no idea what you fret over in the wee hours of the morning. Income. Health. Housing. Employment. I do know these things. God will, in His own way, His perfect time, always take care of His people. I know you can trust Him. I know He doesn’t want you to spend even one more minute worrying over things you can’t control, can’t change, can’t do. What He wants is for you to roll your cares, concerns, conundrums over on Him, trust Him to handle them, and determinedly resolve not to be drawn aside by the theories of the world but to follow Him no matter what. I get it now. Do you? (I Peter 5:7; Philippians 4:6-7, 19; Psalm 55:22; Luke 12:7; Ecclesiastes 3:1; Proverbs 3:5-6)