Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

It was hardly the greeting party they expected. The mangy, unkempt man racing from the graveyard and across the beach toward them was more than a little disconcerting! His hair was matted. His body visibly unwashed. Bruises circled his wrists and ankles, ranging from purple to brownish yellow, a clear indicator of recent attempts to restrain him with chains. Chains he’d broken to get free. His skin was marred with scars and scabs from incessant cutting. Some wounds still oozed. His desperate aloneness indicated how horrifically he’d terrified the town with his antics. Ridiculous strength. Constant outcries. Self-mutilation. They had cast him out. He wasn’t welcome there anymore. His only home was among the tombs, his only hope of solace with the dead.

Until the docking of this particular boat. He’d surely seen hundreds of boats come and go, scores of people disembark. Although there is nothing to indicate he ran to meet each arrival in search of help and hope, perhaps he did. Perhaps it was his normal behavior. Maybe his venture was spearheaded by curiosity. Perhaps, on this particular day, he was drawn to the docks by the siren song of grace, hope, and rescue available through Jesus Christ. Perhaps he sensed something different about this boat. Maybe he sensed this boat brought hope for his tortured soul, tormented by the unclean spirit. Maybe he realized It carried the answer to the puzzle of his disturbed lifestyle. Whatever reason took him there, it was the best decision of his life. The best day of his life. The best moment he would ever experience. This boat was different. It carried Jesus. 

And Jesus was the answer. The answer to the raging, cutting, horrendous indwelling of the unclean spirit that had ruled and ruined his life. As Jesus stepped onshore, He immediately rebuked the unclean spirit. No hesitation. No waiting to see if someone would plead on the man’s behalf. Just compassionate, immediate relief for the wretched man plagued by the legion of unclean spirits tormenting his soul and ravishing his body. Jesus’ ship had docked. Hope had come. Salvation had been delivered. A rescue had been enacted. The man’s future was finally colored an encouraging hue. 

Or was it? The townspeople’s reactions were varied. They were amazed, yes, but they were also afraid. Their skeptical minds couldn’t believe what they couldn’t conceive. Was it real? Could it be true? Had Jesus really evicted the evil spirit and installed the peace of God? The evidence appeared to be seated in front of them, properly clean, clothed, and with clarity of thought. But it still seemed too good to be true. How long would it last? What if he relapsed? What if it was all just a show, a sham? Could they truly trust this change? 

And what about their pigs? Why had Jesus sent the unclean spirit into their pigs? Their livelihood had just blindly rushed over the edge of a cliff! What else was He going to do? What else would He change? And what would He require of them if He stayed? The fear was overwhelming. Greater than any smidgen of belief in the omnipotence of God they had just seen demonstrated. It ruled their hearts, making them ask Jesus to leave before He did anything else. 

Being here now, knowing all we know, hindsight being so much clearer than foresight, I still find myself questioning the intelligence of their petition. Why would they ask Him to leave? What part of cleansing and rejuvenation was so objectionable they didn’t want it in their town? What were they afraid of? Were they simply too afraid of His unmatched power? Did their fear stem from not knowing someone like Him existed? Or was it something more human? Is it possible they were simply afraid of the changes they would need to make in their own lives if Jesus stayed long in their village? Were they, like our current society, so much in love with their own ways they couldn’t bear the thought of the changes allowing Jesus to stay would surely bring? I don’t suppose it matters. What has been done is done. They asked Him to leave. And He did.

The second scene on the dock must have been nearly as disconcerting as the first. The newly released man so badly wanted to go with Jesus. He tried desperately. Begged. Wheeled. Cajoled. Unfortunately, the answer was negative. But Jesus didn’t leave him without something to do, He left him with a mission. As the man stood in the spot of his redemption watching the departing ship grow tinier and tinier, Jesus’ parting command broke through the disappointment to echo in his ears, “Go home. Tell everyone about the mercy and power of the Lord. Show them how completely I have changed your life. Be a witness for Me in a place that asked Me to leave.”

And he does. He goes back to town, mingles with the people. He tells and retells his God-story every chance he gets to anyone who shows even remote interest. He lives his life. Clean. Clothed. Clear-headed. For those who would rather not hear his story, he lives it out in front of them, living proof that the power of God delivers from all evil. But he didn’t stop just in his hometown. No. He kept going. When he had saturated one town with the knowledge of God’s amazing, rescuing power, he moved on to the next, making his round throughout the entire Decapolis. He didn’t stop. He couldn’t. He had a mission to fulfill, a story to tell. A story of amazing mercy and grace that saved a wretch like him. (Mark 5:1-20)

It is impossible to miss the correlation between this man’s story and ours. We, too, were once deeply steeped in sin, slaves to the evil one, beyond rescue, beyond hope, lost causes, wretched souls. If you think you were ever better than that, think again. Jesus didn’t come to die for a bunch of good-enough people, a bunch of righteous people. He came to die for sinners. For you. For me. For everyone. He came to dig you out of that pit of sin, to rescue your life, to ransom your soul. That is why Jesus came. We were in the same hopeless situation as the scary guy on the beach of the Gerasenes. (Luke 5:32; Romans 5:8; Romans 3:23; I John 1:8-10; Titus 2:11; John 1:12; John 10:10)

Then Jesus stepped in. He came and offered His life, His blood, His salvation to a bunch of people so deeply steeped in their sin a rescue seemed impossible. But He did it. They abused, misused, rejected, and abandoned Him. He still paid salvation’s price. Even though He knew some would never accept His gift of love and grace and mercy, He offered it anyway. When their fears of not being in control, of having to change, of not getting their own way made them ask Him to leave them alone, He respectfully did. But He left those of us who accepted His life-changing salvation with the same mission He gave the man in the Gerasenes. Go. Show. Tell. (Matthew 28:19-20; Acts 1:8; Matthew 7:16-20) 

It is our foremost calling. Not a vocation. Not a job. Not a hobby. A mission. A Heavenly calling with an eternal outcome. Our obedience is imperative. In a society working overtime to evict God and His ways from their midst, we are called to go and tell them about the change grace has made in our lives. Where they have pushed Him out, shoved Him aside, told Him to leave, we are to calmly walk in and bring Him with us. Show Jesus in how we dress, act, talk, live. Carry Him along in our business dealings, our sportsmanship, our social conduct. Take Him with us on every outing, every date, every event. Live loudly for Jesus in a world that has kicked Him out. (Romans 1:16; I John 2:6; Galatians 5:22; Matthew 5:48)

Maybe you will have the opportunity to use words to tell your story. I hope you do. I hope you get to tell your story of grace and mercy and redemption verbally to everyone you meet. However, if you are in a situation that does not allow or encourage you to speak openly about your amazing rescue, I hope you live it out just as loudly as words. I hope you show Jesus’ love to those around you. I hope you make choices that tell of convictions deeply rooted in the Word of God. And I hope that, when people ask about the difference in you, you will be ready at a moment’s notice to tell them your God-story. I hope you go out and live for Jesus, act like Jesus, follow Jesus. I hope you show them Jesus so when they ask questions, and they eventually will, you have the opportunity to share with them the story about a Man whose grace compelled Him to die so they could live. (I Peter 1:15-17; Colossians 4:4-6; I Corinthians 11:1; Romans 12:21)

You need to tell your story. Urgently. Desperately. Continually. You need to tell others what God has done for you. They need to hear it from you. Your words, your testimony are important. Preachers can preach, teachers can teach, writers can write, but the power of a firsthand testimonial will always eclipse the effects of a secondhand story. So go tell it. Tell your God-story. Live it out. Speak it out. Tell how God has brought you out, carried you through, parted your waters, enacted your rescue. Someone, somewhere needs to see the effects of your life-changing meeting with Jesus. Someone, somewhere needs to hear all about it. And there is no one better to tell them than you! (Mark 16:15; Matthew 5:14-17; I Corinthians 9:16; I Peter 3:15)

Dear Faithful Readers and People of Christ. Due to a family emergency, there will not be any new posts until July 21st. We hope that you continue to find peace and direction through Christ and that he shines on your family. Faithfully Yours, Naomi

It must have been a terrifyingly amazing moment to be hawking doves in the temple complex when Jesus decided He’d had enough. Enough of people not taking the temple seriously. Enough of folks being about their own business instead of the business of the Father. Enough of individuals willing to risk their eternity on a paltry sale, a quick dime, a change of coins. (John 2:13-16)

I wonder how long it took between Him seeing the mess they had made of His temple, His house of prayer, and the braiding of that whip of cords. A few minutes? An hour? Or just a moment? It doesn’t matter. Jesus stalks into the temple, outrage turning His face to stone. He wields the whip with authority. Mayhem ensued. Oxen immediately begin clumsily lumbering toward the exit. The sudden tension filling the yard sends a sense of urgency rippling over the animals. They react. Their eyes roll wildly. They pick up speed, fighting one another to get through the gate. Terrified shoppers leap out of the beasts’ way. Horrified parents grab their children from under pounding hooves. Cattle owners, breaking free of their frozen astonishment, race to rescue their frantic livestock. Jesus isn’t done.

As He passes the money changers’ table, His free hand upends their coin holders. The clink and tinkle of falling, scattering, rolling coins mingles with the bleating of sheep busily making good their escape. A flip of his wrist overturns a table. A random chair goes skittering across the floor. In a voice rife with authority and censure, He braces His feet, squares up His shoulders, and bellows, “Leave! Stop using My Father’s house for a two-bit flea market or yard sale! This is a house of prayer, a place to meet with the Father, you are making it a den for thieves to conduct their nefarious business practices!” (John 2:13-16; Matthew 21;12-13; Mark 11:15-19; 19:45-48) 

If He said this to the people of that day, I wonder what He’d say to us now. Not about our church buildings. I’m certain God takes no offense to our buildings of wood and stone or the beautiful windows of stained glass. I doubt He’d be offended by our carpet color or choice of seating. We are not in the habit of holding yard sales or cattle auctions in our pristine sanctuaries. It is likely not the music, our coffee cups, or slouchy state of dress to which He takes offense. No, God is not offended by the manmade temple we visit once a week. If there is an offense, it stems from the way we are treating the temple of God within us. Our hearts, our minds, our souls. The way we live our lives.

You see, we have settled in. We attend church on Sunday, read our Bibles when we remember, say a prayer when circumstances are desperate, but we are not the devoted people of God we should be. We are not so focused on being holy as God has called us to be, as we are on being esteemed by those around us. We’ve become enamored by the world to the detriment of our souls. We have made excuses to stray. Our doctrines have suffered. We have used our technical acumen to cut and paste the Bible, taking out what we dislike and reinterpreting it to something more palatable. We have made sacrifices that have nothing to do with holiness, cleansing or salvation, but have brought starvation and death to our souls. Our church buildings might be immaculate, but our temples are in appalling disrepair.  

The Old Testament people of Judah were in a similar situation. They had wandered so far from God. Completely abandoned Him. Rejected His statutes, His will, His commands. So engrossed in their sinful practices, they left the temple of God to fall into disrepair. They didn’t offer sacrifices or burn incense as they had been instructed. They had blown out the lamps, closed the doors, and danced off down the path of selfish unfaithfulness. They, too, needed a wake-up call. 

They got one in the form of a new king. A 25-year-old named Hezekiah. He was heartbroken by the mess his people were in. Their fathers were killed in battle. The remnant held in captivity. The only way to rectify their current circumstances was to assuage the much-deserved anger of God by returning to Him in repentance and reconsecration. The temple needed repair and reconsecration. The people did too. So desperately, in fact, the need evoked this cry from Hezekiah, “Return to God. Don’t be unfaithful and obstinate like your ancestors and those around you. Choose God alone. Follow Him. If you return to God, His grace and mercy will compel Him to return to you.” Thankfully, they listened and found it true. (II Chronicles 29-30) 

Thousands of years later, nothing has changed. Not the predicament of the people. Not the requirement for rectification. Not the necessity of hearing the same message. The temple of God is in miserable disrepair. Not the Sunday gathering building, the 7-days-a-week temple that lives in you. The temple so ridiculously riddled with besetting sins, unmitigated cowardice, and unreserved unfaithfulness. The temple that loudly claims Heaven with its mouth, but earth with its actions. You are that temple. So am I. (I Corinthians 3:16)

Admit it. On the inside, many of us are a mess. Decades ago we prayed a sinner’s prayer and decided we were good to go. It went great for a while. Our dedication to God never waivered. Our conscience was always followed. Our Bible reading and prayer never suffered because something earthly seemed more important. Over the years, we’ve rather let things slip. We haven’t kept our eyes on Jesus. We haven’t listened solely to His voice. We haven’t held our convictions when pressure from outside has become overwhelming. We have let up a little here, a lot there. We’ve changed our ideas of sin. Altered our adaptation of God’s requirements. We have followed our untrustworthy hearts that so desperately want to match the world, fit in, blend. We have found so many things we love more than we love God. Tangible things. Socially acceptable things. Things that draw us aside and cause us to pay more attention to our own earthly business than our Father’s business. Yes, our temples are egregiously in need of cleansing. (Isaiah 53;6; Revelation 2:4; Revelation 3:15-17; James 1:14-15)  

It will not be easy or painless. The uncomfortable scene from II Chronicles 29 comes back to mind. After the priests and Levites have spent days cleansing and reconsecrating themselves and the Lord’s temple, Hezekiah and the city officials roll up out front toting sacrifices. Twenty-eight sacrifices, to be exact. 

The bleating of goats and sheep broke the early morning silence, underscored by the annoyed lowing of oxen. They resent the rousting from their fields and stables. They have no idea what’s ahead. No inkling they are being led to slaughter. No knowledge that by the end of the day their blood will splatter the altar and run in rivulets across the ground. No clue they will be the beginning of the cleansing of God’s people. 

But the people knew. They knew how far they had strayed from God. They knew the totality of their sin. They knew retribution was coming if rectification didn’t. As they watched the atrocious sight of innocent animals being slaughtered, listened to the final cries of dying lambs, smelled the metallic odor of blood filling the air, saw the priests splatter blood across the altar, they knew a choice was being made. A choice to put away the idols. A choice to turn from sin. A choice to stop chasing the world and run after God instead. It wasn’t beautiful. It wasn’t painless. It wasn’t easy. It was necessary. They had to go back to the old ways if they wanted to be in proper relationship with God. And they did. (II Chronicles 29-30) 

It is no different with us. We have developed loves we shouldn’t have, deep desires for things of the world, absolute affections for selfish pleasures. We have developed a profound affinity for all the things the world promises. We are addicted to chasing them down. We are convinced we still have Jesus because we attend the church building on Sunday, all the while failing to acknowledge the fact we have abandoned Him for things of much less worth. But it is time to let those things go. Time to return to the old paths. Time to find peace and joy in wholly following Jesus. Time to throw out the temporal and embrace the eternal even if it is hard, even if it is a sad parting, even if you have to leave some things behind. You’ll have to do it if you want to be in proper relationship with God. (Jeremiah 6:16; I John 2:15-17; John 14:27; Luke 9:23; Colossians 3:1-25) 

As you settle in your church pew this Sunday, I hope you do some soul searching. How clean is your temple? How deep is your need for cleansing? How far have you slipped off the old paths? How much change and turning and reconsecration do you need? Because you are called to be the temple of God. You are the light of God in a world gone frighteningly dark. You are the salty savor of God in a decidedly tasteless society. You have been instructed to be holy, just like He is holy. So I’m asking, how’s that going for you? Are you as dedicated as you were at first or does your temple need a cleansing? Have you grown lukewarm? Have you put your hand to the plow and looked back? Which have you decided is more profitable–gaining the world or saving your soul? (I Peter 1:15-17; Matthew 5:13-16; Luke 10:3; I Peter 2:5; Romans 12:1; Mark 8:36; Luke 9:62)

They told him everything would be fine. A little skirmish. A few arrows. Some drawn swords. No problem. They told him to go to battle with Ramoth-Gilead. They said God was with him. They said Ahab and Israel, with the help of Jehoshaphat and Judah, would win the day. Four hundred men agreed. Four hundred men encouraged. Four hundred men speaking without consulting God. 

It was the way Ahab wanted it. He didn’t want to hear from God. He wanted results skewed in his favor. He wanted his own way. He didn’t want to hear what the true prophet of God had to say. He had purposely surrounded himself with worthless advisors and “prophets” that would tell him only what he wanted to hear. Men who wouldn’t call him on his sin. Men who would condone his impulses and desires. Men who wouldn’t dare impede his waltz down the path of impending doom.  

Not so Jehoshaphat. As much as the marriage alliance with Ahab made him feel compelled to join the battle against Ramoth-Gilead, his allegiance to God made him ask for one important favor. He wanted to know God’s will before they went into battle. Did they have God’s approval? His presence? His favor? Or should they just stay home? 

He wasn’t willing to leave the decision up to 400 imposters, either. He wasn’t looking for silver-tongued yes-men. He didn’t want to hare off on an ill-advised suicide mission. He wanted to hear what God had to say. He wanted to know that God was on his side. He wanted to hear words from a true prophet of God. So he asked Ahab to consult one.

Reluctantly, with much whining and moaning, Ahab called Micaiah, God’s prophet. True to form, the news was not what Ahab wanted to hear. He wasn’t going to win this battle. In fact, he wasn’t even coming home. Disaster was about to befall him. A lying spirit had entered the mouths of his advisors and he chose to listen. Not to the voice of truth spoken through Micaiah, but to the siren song, the pleasant words, the adulterated affirmation of a lie. The result was calamitous. 

No matter how hard he tried to hide, change his appearance, or order his men to fight on his behalf, Ahab couldn’t change the results of his poor choices. While God covered Jehoshaphat with his protection, Ahab chose to remain on his own, to fight his own battles. He thought he could change the outcome in his favor, prove God’s prophet wrong. He actually believed the lies he wanted to hear. Because he did, he was in the wrong place when a man randomly shot an arrow into the melee, striking Ahab between the joints of his armor. 

Knowing he was badly wounded, aware that death was imminent, Ahab sat propped up in his chariot at the edge of the battlefield, writhing in pain, watching the battle, waiting as his life ebbed from his body. For the rest of the day, he sat there, his eyes glued to the battle before him. At sunset, he exhaled his final breath, his life wasted because he chose a comfortable lie over an unpleasant truth. (II Chronicles 18)

 Although there is nothing in the account to indicate such, it has crossed my mind to wonder if Ahab regretted his choice. Did he sit in that chariot, his life slipping away, and wish he’d stayed home? Did he wish, instead of listening to 400 men trained to immediately bless his choices, he’d have listened to the one who didn’t? Did he regret not seeking God before it came to this? Did he wish he hadn’t chosen to learn the hard way? In the final moments of his life, as the truth he rejected became reality, did he wish he’d lived differently? If he had, perhaps then I could admire him. 

As it stands, there is little to admire about Ahab. His laudable qualities are few, if indeed he had any at all. Yet as I read the accounts of his life, I find it impossible to miss how like him all humanity is. We are selfish, arrogant beings desperate to have our own way, hear only the things we want to hear, do only the things we want to do. We want to believe we are right when we choose the path of least resistance, the shortcut, the plan that doesn’t seem to require approval from God. We are highly susceptible to the voice of the liar. It’s the voice we want to hear. It gives us the answer we seek. It says we are right even when we are wrong. It enables us to block out the voice of truth and encourages us to wholly seek our own desires. And we do. 

If you are reclining in your easy chair skim-reading this because you believe it can’t possibly apply to you, look again. Be honest. Re-evaluate. How often do you decide something God calls sin can’t possibly be sin because “everyone else” is doing it? How frequently do you decide His Word doesn’t apply in our day and age? Do you repeatedly allow the voices of the world, the lies of the 400 advisors, to obscure the voice of truth? Do you continually find yourself treading water in the shoals when you could be cruising in the deep? You could be, but you chose to believe the agreeable lies and ignore the objectionable truth. 

We aren’t the first generation to do this. Believe lies instead of truths or seek our own way instead of adhering to God’s perfect plan. It’s been happening since the dawn of time. Eve believed a lie and ate the fruit for which she lusted. Their consequential ejection from the Garden of Eden and introduction to a life of hardship, illness, and pain hardly seems worth that taste of forbidden fruit. How much joy and peace and blessing did Adam and Eve sacrifice for just a moment of their own way? (Genesis 2:15-3:24)

A group of the children of Israel, angry at the lack of amenities in their wilderness experience, begged for some creature comforts until God gave in. They got their wish but paid a steep price. With the first bite of quail, as they began to chew, a severe plague struck. People became ill. People died. Those who lived would testify to the fact that the results of their badgering, complaining, and discontent, were absolutely not worth the reward. (Numbers 11) 

They won’t be for you either. You can enjoy the pleasures of sin for a time. You can choose to believe you are entitled to Heaven and God would never allow a being He loves to spend eternity in Hell. You can hope you are right. You aren’t. You can blindly follow the world as it races to destruction, condoning what God calls sin, arguing to mitigate or change God’s commands, telling you to trust yourself above all things. You can adhere to their philosophy, and hope they are right. They aren’t. You can ignore all the people who come to you in love and ask about your relationship with Jesus. You can tell them it isn’t their business. You can brush aside their concern. You can even pretend to listen and adhere. You can attend church, sing the songs, nod your head and say, “Amen.” You can tell yourself it is enough. It isn’t. (Isaiah 5:20-21; Romans 1:18-23; James 1:22)

The only “enough” there will ever be is the wholehearted following of the true words, commands, and statutes of God. They might be uncomfortable. You might struggle over following them when no one else is doing it. You might not even see the point. The evil one won’t make it any easier. The voice of that liar will come to you and whisper that it is okay to let up, change, ignore those soul safeguards. Don’t be deceived. Don’t scorn God’s words. It didn’t work for Ahab, it won’t work for you. The wages of sin are still eternal death, no matter what the world is trying to tell you. (Deuteronomy 30:19-20; John 8:44; Galatians 6:7; Romans 6:23) 

It is unfortunate that Ahab didn’t have or chose not to adhere to Proverbs 14:12 in his day. It perfectly sums up the answer to the conundrum of choosing palatable lies over unappealing truth. The writer simply pens these words, “There is a way that seems right to a person, but it ends in spiritual, eternal death.” The bottom line? You can use all your human powers of deduction, selection, logic, and reasoning, but unless you are following God’s way, listening only to His voice, you are headed for destruction. It’s unavoidable. (Romans 6:16; Proverbs 30:12)

So seek the Voice of Truth above all other voices. If you desire human advice, choose your advisors with caution. Choose your inner circle, your closest friends with prayerful care. And listen. Listen when you feel the prick of conscience, the subtle leading in a direction you wouldn’t necessarily choose. Listen when your godly advisors steer you down a path paved with Scriptures even when it isn’t what you want to hear. Examine yourself when trusted friends gently, lovingly point out signs of gathering resentment, bubbling rebellion, or necessary restitution in your life. Listen. Adhere. Remember this. As uncomfortable as all these things may be, as much as you don’t want to hear them, don’t want to admit them, don’t want to follow them, the reward will certainly be worth the adherence. Peace in your soul. The smile of God’s approval. The guiding care of His hand. The joy of a Heavenly eternity. There is nothing more valuable than these! (Psalm 119:105, 133; Proverbs 12:26; Galatians 5:16; Romans 12:2)

It was impassable. They’d rushed out of Egypt on foot, taking everything they could carry. Infants and toddlers were strapped to mother’s backs. Young children were clinging to their father’s legs. Behind them, Pharaoh and his army were thundering down on horseback and in chariots, breathing out threats of re-capture and increased workloads. Before them, roaring and swirling was the Red Sea, too deep to wade, too wide to swim. Without looking, they knew there was no bridge, no side route, no alternate path to safety. The only way out was across. They had to ford that sea. 

But how? How could they cross a river with lumbering herds and tiny children? Could the wives carry each household’s possessions as the men managed the herds? Was it even possible to cart the elderly across those waters? There was no time to build rafts. No time to put their heads together for ideas. No time to weigh options. Every moment brought recapture by Pharoah closer. They needed to cross that river now, but it was utterly impassable. 

Just when it seemed like all was lost, their defeated return to Egypt a certainty, the God of the impassable showed up. “Stretch your staff out over the sea,” God commanded Moses. Immediately he obeyed. And, like a scroll, the waters of the sea rolled back revealing dry land. A path ahead. A walkway through the water. No boats necessary. No rafts needed. No soaked oxen. No drenched toddlers. They crossed completely on dry land because, with God, the impassable becomes passable. (Exodus 14)

Judah’s victory was improbable. Their predicament was horrific. They were surrounded. Death or capture seemed certain. Before them stood the army of Israel and Jeroboam intent on mayhem and destruction. Behind them, much to their surprised astonishment, was an ambush team sent by Jeroboam. There was no way out. No escape. The time for negotiations had passed. Terrified at the turn of events and worried about the improbability of escape, Judah does the only thing they know to do, the only thing anyone can do in improbable circumstances. They call on God. 

They know they can. They know He will hear. They know He will help. They know this because they have been following His commands, doing His will, walking in His ways. They know the improbable is probable because they have not abandoned Him. Resting in the knowledge He never abandons His people, they call out to Him and wait for His response. 

And it comes. As the priests blow the trumpets and the soldiers shout their battle cry, God fights their battle for them. His magnificent power miraculously routs the enemy forces. Although they flee, God hands them over to Judah and Abijah, over to the people who have been observing His commands and following His ordinances as if their lives depend on them–because they do. They successfully subdued their enemies because they depended on God, with whom the improbable becomes probable. (II Chronicles 13)

  Humanity was in a damnable state. Infested with the intrinsic sinfulness of their own selfish souls. Infected with the far-reaching effects of evil hearts and devious minds. Squandered souls adrift on the sea of life. Darkened hearts perilously hanging over the edge of a lost eternity. Desperately in need of redemption. Urgently searching for hope. Critically in need of help. Starving for salvation that seemed impossible to reach.

The blood of bulls and rams couldn’t save them. The offerings of birds and grain couldn’t buy their pardon. Their souls cost so much more than that. More than they could sacrifice. More than they could give in exchange. Far more than they could ever hope to afford. The overwhelming hopelessness of the impossible situation would have been a crushing blow. It would have been if it hadn’t been for the God of the impossible. (Matthew 19:26; Jeremiah 32:27)

 As humanity bobbed on the perilous waters of spiritual death and destruction, the God of the impossible heard their cries for help. Their desperate anguish and horrifically sinful circumstances had Him erupting off the throne of Heaven, giving orders, enacting a plan. A plan to save humanity, to give them a chance at the peace they crave, the Heaven for which their hearts so fiercely long. A plan to send His Son, Jesus, as a final, eternal sacrifice, offering forgiveness for sin, redemption, and peace. A plan to make the impossible become possible. 

And so it was. Jesus took on the form of humanity. He was born to earthly parents with human nature and fallibilities. People with whom many things were completely impossible. He lived among people who didn’t believe in Him, wouldn’t befriend Him, and tried to trick Him. Eventually, one of His closest friends betrayed Him, offering Him up to be brutally murdered for absolutely no reason. No reason except you. Except me. Except all humanity. When everything seemed lost and worthless and pointless and hopeless, God, through Jesus, showed up to save the people He so deeply loves. (John 3:16; Romans 5:8; I John 4:9-10; Romans 8:32) 

It’s what He does. God shows up for people. People in impassable, improbable, impossible circumstances. People who have lost hope, lost courage, are lost in sin. People who, without His grace, would be glumly staring into the shadows of a lost eternity. People facing circumstances so difficult, so dark they seem impassable. People who need a rescue, a refuge, a redemption. People who need deliverance from all the “imps” hanging over their pathways, discouraging their progress. (Habakkuk 3:2,13-19) 

The truth is this. The evil one has a lot of imps in his employ. He sends them out, armed with fear and doubt, to test, torment, and try to derail humanity. His sole goal is your spiritual destruction. He’s desperate to steal your eternity. So those imps come to you with incredible tales of “imp”assable, “imp”robable, “imp”ossible circumstances. They tell you God won’t get you through your horrible situation. They say God will probably fail when you need Him most. They say you are too far gone, too lost to be a recipient of the grace and mercy He so lovingly extends. I know. I’ve heard them. You’ve heard them, too. (II Corinthians 11:14; I Peter 5:8)

Just because you’ve heard the voices, because they’ve been the loudest in the room, doesn’t make them accurate. They’ve never been more wrong. At your cry of agony, angst, apprehension, God shows up. He comes to those enslaved by the chains of sin, fear, anxiety. He shows up for those condemned to eternal death. Our conquering God steps on the scene of impish impossibilities and things change. For saints, absolutely! For repenting sinners, without a doubt! When you cry out to God, no matter your circumstances, God shows up. He never abandons those who walk uprightly before Him. (Psalm 102:19-21; Psalm 9:9-10; Psalm 50:15; Acts 3:19; Proverbs 28:13; II Chronicles 30:9b) 

I don’t know what’s going on in your life right now. Perhaps you are beset by a path so blocked by obstacles it seems impassable. Perhaps you are facing situations where the likelihood of a positive outcome is improbable. Perhaps you are overcome with doubt and fear, hopelessness and despair. Or maybe you find yourself so deeply steeped in sin it seems incredible, unbelievable, impossible that God could ever enact a rescue great enough to give you Heaven, or that He’d ever even want you there. If any of these are you, and even if they aren’t, listen up!

God lives to rescue people. To saints facing deplorable, discouraging, desperate situations, He comes to bring hope and help, comfort and peace, direction and guidance. To sinners, no matter the depth of their disgrace, desertion, defection, He offers pardon, redemption, peace, and cleansing. So call on Him. Ask Him into your impassable, improbable, impossible circumstances and know that when you call, He answers. And when He answers, the imps of hell disappear. They can’t stand against His power. Our God is the Conqueror of the “imps” who makes all things passable, probable, and possible. And no matter your circumstances, you can trust Him. (Isaiah 25:4; Psalm 91:1; Jeremiah 33:3; Psalm 17:6; Acts 16:30-31; Ephesians 2:8-9; Isaiah 41:10; II Corinthians 12:9-10))