Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

It was late by the time darkness fully blanketed the Judean hillside. The black satin of the night sky stretched peacefully above them, a handful of glittering stars shining from its billowy depth. The bleating of ewes calling their lambs had finally quieted as they were reunited to bed down for the night. Shepherds, worn from a day of caring for sheep, slouched against trees attempting to catch a few moments rest before their watch began. Others, already on watch duty, milled about the perimeter of the meadow, senses finely tuned for any nocturnal hunter looking for an easy meal. They were all on guard. They knew their surroundings, the dangers, the pitfalls of underestimation. They knew the sounds of night in the hills, soft footfalls of creeping lions, snuffling sounds of rooting bears. They were prepared for every event. Nothing could catch them by surprise. Nothing except a choir of angels. 

As the quiet settled in, the sheep slept and shepherds dozed, that black curtain of star-studded sky rolled back to reveal the light of God’s glory and an announcing angel. Their expressions must certainly have revealed the extent of their terrified surprise since the angel’s first words were, “Don’t be afraid!”  They couldn’t believe their eyes! An angel had come out of the heavens! And he was speaking. To them. They had to focus. The angel had news they absolutely did not want to miss. The long-awaited, thought-not-to-be-coming Messiah had finally been born! In their town! They could see Him! The angel even gave them directions to His stable. In their astonished state, no one even realized the Baby should be in a house, not a stable! 

Before comprehension could fully dawn, the glowing hole in the sky produced a chorus of angels descending from Heaven, performing a concert of glorious music, declaring, “Glory to God! Peace on Earth! Goodwill to all men!” The shepherds, still frozen in silent awe from the arrival of one angel, watched in amazement as the Heavenly choir joyously sang their anthem. As the final notes of the majestic score faded away, the angels disappeared back up into the night sky, just as they had come. Silence again fell over the darkened hillside. The stars twinkled. The sheep slept. The shepherds couldn’t. They had somewhere to be. 

Racing down out of the hills, leaving their flocks behind, they rushed into Bethlehem. Once there, they found the account true. Every. Single. Word. It was just as the angel said. In a stable, cradled in a feedbox, wrapped up in strips of cloth, lay a baby. It was all true! Jesus, the long-awaited, much-discussed, Messiah had finally arrived. For a few moments, they stood soaking in the joy and awe of that momentous occasion, reveling in the beauty of His presence, awestruck that a handful of lowly shepherds should be given the blessing of faith becoming sight. 

They couldn’t stay there. They had somewhere to be. Leaving Heaven’s baby to sleep in peace, they set out toward their meadow. It took a while to get back. They had a story to tell. Silence wasn’t an option! Everyone needed to hear this sky-splitting news! Friends. Family. Enemies. The beggar on the corner. Everyone! And, as the fingers of sunlight peeked over the edge of the Judean hillside, those shepherds returned to their sheep still worshipping, praising, glorifying God for the nighttime notification that the culmination of hundreds of years of hopes and dreams had, at long last, arrived. (Luke 2:8-20)

The Shepherds weren’t the only ones looking for the Messiah. Scholars from the East were also looking for Him. As they studied the skies, a specific star caught their attention. Was it new? Did it shine brighter? Had it moved? I wonder how long it took them to realize it was the star of the long-ago prophesied Messiah. Were they, too, filled with excited amazement that the prophecies had been correct? Whatever they felt, they knew one thing–they had to see Him. They needed to see this miracle Christ-child. They longed to experience His presence. They wanted to worship at His feet. 

With a weather eye on that star, they loaded up their camels and set off to find the promised Child. Arriving in Jerusalem, they thought surely He would be there, but they found nothing. No one seemed to know anything except what the ancient texts said. Jesus would be born in Bethlehem. So to Bethlehem they went. As they crested a hill looking over the town, houses spilled out before them. Streets bustled with people, fairly teemed with children. How do you find a child in a town full of children? Simple. You follow His star. 

That star they had been watching and following for so long finally stopped moving, settling above one specific house. Overjoyed to have arrived, nervously anticipating the pinnacle of their journey, they knock on the door. I wonder if they held their breath, waiting to see who answered. Did it come rushing out in one big blast as their eyes beheld exactly who they believed they would find? The Christ-child they had read about. He was there. Immediately they fell to their knees and worshipped Him. I’m sure they had a million questions. Things they wished they knew. Answers they wished they had. They didn’t ask. All they did was worship. (Matthew 2:1-12)

As often as I’ve read and heard these accounts, this year I find myself struck by the realization that not one person–not a shepherd, not a wise man, not Simeon or Anna in the Temple–not one person, made any requests of the Messiah. The shepherds didn’t ask that their sheep be safe since they had so irresponsibly left them alone. The Wisemen didn’t ask for more wisdom or safe journeying home. Simeon and Anna didn’t ask for certain favors, make dying requests, or look for special prophecies. Everyone who met Jesus reacted with praise and glory to God. They were simply blessed beyond measure to be in His presence. It was gift enough. 

Conviction strikes deeply as I ponder this fact and compare it to how we approach God today. How little time we spend in adoration and worship. How infrequently we spend time basking in His presence. How short we are on time for God, how long on time for personal pursuits. We start our prayers with a quick “thank-you”, then rush on with a litany of wants and needs and wishes. Essentially we put ourselves above God. Our things, our desires, our progress. Gratitude takes a back burner. Praise is added as insurance God will do the next thing we ask. Unashamed for our rude ungratefulness, we press forward with our selfishness, disregarding His awesomeness. Clearly, we have forgotten in whose presence we stand. 

It appears we need the same eye-opening refresher course God gave Job. Out of a whirlwind, the thundering voice of God breaks through the prattle of Job and his alleged mourners. God poses some serious questions. Questions about the dimensions of the earth, how the ocean knows where to stop, who tells the sun when to shine, where the snow is stored,  or if they have visited the storehouse of hail. Do you know those answers? Have you measured the earth? Can you make things happen? (Job 38-39)  Well, can you?

Can you ride the clouds or walk on wind? God does. Do you give animals instruction on how to build their homes, find their food, or birth their young? No? God does. Does all creation wait for you, rely on you for their food, their breath, their very lives? No? Not your skillset? Above your paygrade? Of course it is! Only the King of Kings, the Master of the Universe, the Creator who doesn’t faint or grow weary does all these things. You are completely impotent without Him. (Psalm 104; Colossians 1:17; John 15:5; Isaiah 40:28) Yet we treat Him like He needs us. Our self-importance has overshadowed His all-importance. We have sacrificed His presence and asked only for His presents. 

I don’t know how we’ve gotten so far off track. I don’t know how we’ve managed to imagine we can separate God’s power from His presence. I don’t understand how we can so desire His power to work on our behalf, to grant our wants and whims, yet be so loath to experience His presence. Not me. I want His presence. I want to live in it. Bask in it. I want the awestruck experience the shepherds had that night so long ago as they stood beside a roughly hewn manger in a smelly stable, staring at a scrawny newborn wrapped in rags. I want the adoring adulation of the scholars as they fell before the Child they had worked so hard to find. I, too, want to be enamored by simply being in His glorious presence. No presents required. Just the blessing of His presence.

This is my hope for you, too. As you sing the carols, listen to the accounts of Jesus’ birth, and celebrate the season, I hope you take time to find something more. I hope you discover the awe of the shepherds. I hope you uncover the adoration of the scholars. I hope you take time to remember in whose presence you stand. I hope you desire Him more than the list of presents for which you pray. Most of all, I hope that, no matter how many gaudily wrapped packages you find under your tree, the greatest gift you unwrap this Christmas is the present of His presence.  

For the first time in my adult life, I own a home with a dedicated guest room. I love that room! The furniture is all brand new and carefully chosen. New bed, new mattresses, new linens. Matching nightstands flank the bed. Matching lamps grace them. In the corner sits a plush chair complete with a soft blanket should one feel a chill. The room resonates peace and calm. It is always ready for guests. Clean sheets on the bed. Clean towels in the cupboard. In spite of rarely having visitors, our peaceful haven stands ready should some friend or relative need a place to stay. Even without the promise of guests, I find peace in its readiness. 

I wonder if Mary enjoyed similar peaceful readiness as she neared the last months of her pregnancy. Had she swept out a little corner of their tiny home to place the simple wooden box Joseph had built for her Heavenly Son? Had she spent hours cutting and sewing clothes to dress her baby, made a blanket to keep him warm? Did she survey her preparations in satisfied anticipation of the Child who was promised to be a son to her and a Savior to the world? Did she rest in the knowledge she was ready for His arrival?  

So many people weren’t ready. A lot of years had passed, a million events had occurred, thousands of Jewish babies had been born since those prophecies were written. Not one had been the promised Messiah. Fervent belief and watchful waiting had faded as generation after generation came and went. Unrealized desire had left a bitter taste in their mouths. They didn’t live in eager anticipation of Christ dwelling among them anymore. It seems their belief had turned to skepticism. Perhaps years of waiting had left them uncertain they would see the Messiah in their lifetime. Perhaps that same waiting had bred unbelief that He would come at all. As a result, they weren’t even remotely prepared to have Him come and live among them. 

The arrival of the unwelcome news requiring Mary and Joseph to travel to Bethlehem must have caused concern. Delivery of the child was certain to be soon. The unenviable walk to Bethlehem would be insufferable. Mary could only hope that when she reached her destination, a kindly innkeeper would have a room for her. A room as ready for her and her soon-arriving child as the cozy, quiet space she had made at home. It was not to be. No one had a space, quiet or otherwise. 

 The ill-timed trip to Bethlehem was not met with relatives offering snug guest quarters, extra blankets, or baby gifts. Although it was likely Joseph had family in the area, no one reserved them a space. Rooms for rent in area homes were full. Inns were at capacity. The travel-weary couple would soon become disheartened as they tried lodging after lodging only to hear, “We have no room.” I wonder if the responses would have changed had those innkeepers and homeowners realized whom they were turning away. Would they have found space, made room, ejected a less vulnerable guest if they had known the Messiah stood on their doorstep? (Luke 2:1-7)

Eventually, someone carved out a little space in a stable. It didn’t smell great. Stables normally don’t. There were probably a few animals milling about. Perhaps some mice were building a nest in the corner. Possibly the freshest thing in that structure was the hay in the feeding trough. The hay where the Messiah, Redeemer of the entire human race, laid His head His first night on earth. Inadvertently, the stableboys had prepared a place for the Christ-child. It wasn’t grand. It wasn’t spotless. It wasn’t plush or regal. It was simply a mound of hay in a feedbox. Interesting, isn’t it, how Christ unquestioningly inhabits the places prepared for His coming?

I wonder how this story would read if it happened today. Oh, I know. We think we’d do it differently. We’d instantly welcome the overtired mother into our homes in a beautiful display of kindness and compassion. We’d shower her with gifts and give her a warm place to lay her head, regardless of personal hardship, because we are so full of self-righteous goodness. We’d listen to her story of the angelic visit, her claims of birthing the Messiah in tolerant indulgence because our minds are so much broader in scope than those of ancient times. The Christ-child certainly wouldn’t be born in a stable. No. He’d be born in our dedicated guest room on pristine sheets, wrapped in a soft blanket, and laid in a cradle. It would be wonderful. We would be heroes. The story would read as we think it should. 

We deeply dislike the way it currently reads. When we think of Mary and Joseph being turned away from every conceivable place of lodging and sent to a stable, we draw ourselves up in indignant judgment and unrelenting disdain for the insolent innkeepers of Bethlehem. We deem them daft. Uncharitable. From atop our self-righteous high horse, we look down in scathing rebuke at their surliness and write them off as unsalvageable bits of humanity. Incidentally, we miss the point. The point that they were completely, unequivocally, miserably unprepared to host the Savior they had been told was coming. They weren’t expecting Him. They had no plans to welcome Him. They had no place for Him at all. 

It is hauntingly familiar, this lack of space for Jesus. We are there too. We are so busy. Chasing down our comforts. Living our “best lives”. Clawing our way up the corporate ladder. Climbing the social status scale. Indulging in the pleasures of the world. We know the Messiah was born. We’ve been hearing it all our lives. We know about salvation. We go to church. Read a verse or two when we remember. Say a quick prayer before dinner, a fervent one when we nearly rear-end the car in front of us because we were distracted by our phone. If we dare to inspect ourselves more closely, we would realize that, although we would be happy to provide living quarters for a homeless mother and her soon-arriving Child, we are much less interested in making room for His holiness to inhabit our lives. With all the sins we harbor inside, it seems unlikely He’d want to stay there anyway. 

He so wants to be there. It’s the reason He came. He didn’t come to visit and leave you dead in your sins. He came to give you life. Abundant life. Life with Him at the center. (John 10:10) He wants to be a vital, active part of your life, your world. He wants to live in you and fellowship with you. (Revelation 3:20) He didn’t just stop in to drop off our marching orders and then leave, expecting us to wait for the next dispensation. He came to live and dwell among us. (John 1:14) He gave us His Spirit to fill our hearts and guide our lives. (John 14:16) Jesus wants to live in you and do life with you. Jesus wants to make you holy. He comes to you and offers His holiness in exchange for your filthiness. It’s the reason He was born. Without His holiness, no one can see God. Holiness is the way to Heaven. Without it, you can’t get there. A sobering thought in a celebratory season. (I Peter 1:15-17; Isaiah 35:8; Hebrews 12:14) 

In Revelation 3:20 lies a beautiful verbal depiction of how the tables have turned on our judgmental hearts. It portrays the image of Jesus, standing outside a closed door. He is knocking. Asking admittance. He stands there, waiting for permission to enter. He won’t barge in. He won’t force His way. He is waiting for an invitation into your heart, your life. You are now the innkeeper. You have likely heard the knocking. Perhaps you have looked frantically around your sin-littered soul and declared there is no room for Jesus. He wouldn’t want to come in there. It isn’t nice enough, good enough. And You aren’t sure you want to get rid of all the things cluttering up the place, either. You hunker down quietly, unanswering. He knocks again. 

The scene will play over and over again. Jesus doing what He came to do. Seeking and saving. (Matthew 18:11; Luke 19:10) Calling you to holiness in a world of unholiness. (Matthew 5:48; I Thessalonians 4:7) Holiness in every part of your life. Thoughts. Words. Deeds. He is asking you to choose His holiness when no one else is doing it, when it isn’t popular, when it might get you mocked or scorned. He’s offering you eternal holiness over temporary happiness. Surely you see the magnanimity. 

And still today, Jesus is knocking at your heart’s door, asking to come in and fill you with Himself, His holiness, His hope. He knows there are a lot of other things clamoring for your attention. He realizes you have years of junk piled up in your heart. It doesn’t matter. He’s stayed in worse places. A stable, for instance. So you have a decision to make. Will you continue to follow the world in chasing the next big thing, or will you choose the only Big Thing? Will you choose Jesus? Let Him in. Let Him invade your soul. Will you choose the pervading presence of His holiness? Allow His presence to change your life. Invite Him to show up in your daily activities. Ask Him to change your desires and actions and words. Let Him in. Let your life show the world that the hay-filled feedbox of your heart is full of holiness from the indwelling of the Christ-child. (Hebrews 3:15; II Corinthians 6:2)

In more than 20 years of parenting and countless moments that warrant correction, I have yet to present any of my children with a list of options and ask them to choose their punishment. Ultimatums, yes. Options, no. In my defense, I was never afforded the opportunity to choose a punishment from a list of options when I was a child either. I don’t know anyone who was. Because I have no experience with the concept, it is not surprising how puzzled I found myself as I read the account of David receiving punishment options. Instead of raining down much-deserved punishment for the deliberate disobedience of numbering his troops, God calmly responds by sending a list of possible punishments from which to choose. 

David was likely caught unawares by this as well. I wonder what crossed his mind as, upon completion of his unadvised census, the prophet, Gad, approached him with God’s list of options? He shouldn’t have been surprised that punishment was coming. David knew he had sinned. It was not an unexpected slip-up. It was not an accidental error. He knew before he numbered the men that it was wrong. He knew as he gave the order that he shouldn’t do it. When Joab urged him to reconsider, he hardened his heart and pressed on. As the final numbers came in, his sin weighed heavy on his heart. In the aftermath, his conscience pricked, David turned to the Lord, begging to be released from the guilty condemnation wracking his soul. (II Samuel 24:1-10)

Wisely, David didn’t ask God not to punish him for his sin. He knew he deserved punishment. But even if he was expecting punishment, he was likely not expecting to choose it from a list. A horribly unattractive list. Not one mild option existed. One was not better than the others. All would end in certain death for thousands of people. Three years of famine. Three months of being chased and hunted by their enemies. Three days of plague. Ghastly options. A torturous choice. David couldn’t make it lightly, couldn’t choose destruction for his people without feeling the inordinate weight of his guilt. It was too much. Responsibility for the lives of his loyal friends and subjects lay heavy on his shoulders. Anxious over his predicament and being forced to acknowledge his own sin had created this abhorrent situation, he makes the only sensible decision. “Let it be God that punishes us, not man. God is merciful, humanity is not.” (II Samuel 24:11-14) And so it was. 

A plague swept across the land. David was left to watch helplessly as his people were struck ill and died. The death toll reached 70,000 men. Still, the angel of the Lord wasn’t done. But God was. As the angel moved to destroy Jerusalem, God’s mercy came to the fore. He called back the angel. Stopped the destruction. Ended the horror. We wonder why. God’s anger had been violently stirred by this flagrant, willful disobedience. So why did He call off the angel of destruction? Why didn’t He just give them the punishment they deserved?  Why did He stay his hand when He was well within the construct of serving just desserts? David answered these questions best when he chose the punishment. God’s mercy doesn’t always give us what we deserve. (II Samuel 24:15-16)

 It’s a good thing, too, this unending mercy of God. We find ourselves in need of it often. Our souls would die without it. It wouldn’t be less than we deserve. Job knew it when he posed the question, “How would it go for you if God examined your heart?” (Job 13:9) What do you deserve in exchange for your innermost thoughts, feelings, habits, secret sins? If God was short on mercy and grace, where would that leave you? What would eternity look like for you then? It takes no genius to answer. It’s quite sobering. If God punished us according to our sins, our eternity would look like hell. Literally. It’s a terrifying thought. 

We don’t hear a lot about hell anymore. Many have decided it doesn’t exist. We have lost sight of Revelation 21:8. Words inspired by God, penned by John, preserved down through time so we could have them as a warning. A warning that sin of every kind from cowardice to lying, adultery to murder, when allowed to flourish in our lives, culminates in death. (James 1:15) Spiritual death in this world. Eternal death in the world to come. We have been warned, yet still we sin. 

It’s not a new development. We are right back to David again. God’s chosen king of Israel. (I Samuel 16) The triumphant warrior child who killed Goliath. (I Samuel 17) The harpist who soothed Saul’s nerves and dodged his spear. (I Samuel 19:10-24) The Psalmist who penned the words of Psalm 18:20, words that sing of being rewarded for his righteousness and clean conscience. We remember the strong king and able leader. We put him on a pedestal. So often we forget that David was no stranger to God’s judgment. He had chosen sin before, incurring God’s wrath and inciting punishment. Painful consequences. Devastating judgment.

Remember the Bathsheba debacle? The affair resulting from lust and greed. The murder resulting from covering up sin. The baby born from an unholy union. The son Bathsheba birthed from her ill-fated affair with the king became deathly ill. For seven long days, David repented, fasted, mourned, and begged God to save his son. Because of David’s sin, the child died. David had firsthand comprehension of punishment for sin. It should have changed his life. It didn’t. Neither his knowledge or experience changed the fact he chose to directly defy God and count his troops. Nothing would change his mind. Joab tried. In desperation, he attempted to appeal to David’s knowledge of the ramifications for violating God’s orders. It was all to no avail. David had clearly forgotten that the wages of sin bring spiritual death. (II Samuel 12:16-18; 24:1-4; Romans 6:23) 

We don’t hear a lot about that anymore either. Sin. We find it difficult to admit it exists outside of violent murder, adultery, embezzlement. We believe we live above it. It takes an act of God to open our hearts and look inside at the things we’ve been ignoring. What we find is disheartening. Bitterness over past wrongs. Anger over present slights. Hidden lust. Pride. Jealousy. Deceit. See, sin doesn’t have to be some outrageous outward act toward another person. Sin is just as deadly to your soul when it is hidden away in the locked closet of your heart. It is just as deserving of punishment. It is just as damning as if it were done openly. Sin brings death. (Proverbs 28:13; Isaiah 59:2)

Except when it doesn’t. Except when our sin, like David’s, brings us to our knees crying out to God in repentance. (II Samuel 24:10) Except when our punishment options look like grace and mercy. Except when God doesn’t punish us according to what we deserve. (Psalm 103:10) When God punishes us less than we deserve. (Ezra 9:13) When God doesn’t just write us off because His love compels Him to be merciful. (Lamentations 3:22) Sin does not, cannot bring death when we seek the Lord in repentance and find abundant pardon through His blood. (Isaiah 55:6-7) Sin brings death, except for God. 

If we are honest with ourselves, we deserve death and hell. Our sin demands it. Our disobedience, our endless following after the world, our lackadaisical thirst for God all insist upon it. Yet as we stand, holding that great list of offenses, deserving of death, Jesus steps in. He takes that daunting litany of dirty deeds from our hands, erases the debts sin has accrued, wipes away the obligations, and forgives our trespasses all in one fluid motion by nailing that list to His cross. (Colossians 2:13-14) Instead of the death we deserve, God sent His only Son to rescue us, change our lives, sit us at His table overflowing with beautiful, sumptuous fruit, and put a banner of love over our heads. We could never earn it, never deserve it, yet there it is. Because God is too merciful to leave us to die in our sin. (John 3:16; Song of Solomon 2:4-5; Titus 3:4-6)

There will be a million times when you will undergo punishment for your ill-advised actions, misjudgments, and outright sins. Eternity doesn’t have to be one of them. For eternity, you have options. Life or death. Heaven or hell. You don’t deserve to choose. None of us do. Yet still God offers. He is gracious and merciful and longsuffering. So choose life. Choose to love God. Choose to listen to His voice. Choose obedience. Choose blessings. In a world where everyone is busy assigning others their just desserts that cannot be escaped. God is offering an eternal option plan. Choose wisely. Choose Jesus and your soul will live. (Deuteronomy 30:19-20; Isaiah 55:3; John 14:6)

It is amazing they didn’t just hunker down for the long haul. Who would have blamed them? Their world was in chaos. Religious persecution was everywhere. They had been mocked and scorned. Falsely accused, they had been arrested, imprisoned, and forced to sit through kangaroo courts. Stephen had been stoned to death for preaching the Gospel. Men were going door to door arresting Jesus followers. Life for the early disciples of Christ was wildly difficult on a good day, nearly unbearable on a bad one. (Acts 4-8)

We wouldn’t blame them if they chose to pack up, move into a cave, and wait out the raging social storm. We wouldn’t fault them for shuttering their windows, blowing out the candles, and pretending to be away. We, in our dense humanity, might even encourage them to hide out, quiet down, be less conspicuous about their faith. Just reading those events shakes us to our core. Not those early followers. 

In the face of intense persecution and possible death, they don’t sit down and shut up. They spread out and keep talking. (Acts 8:4) Their message doesn’t change. They keep preaching what Jesus preached when He was on earth. Repentance. Forgiveness of sins. The indwelling presence of Jesus Christ. (Acts 3:19) They preach change. Change that lasts. Change that can only be found through salvation by faith in the shed blood of Jesus on the cross. Nothing altered that message. 

As they scattered and preached this unchanging message, they were often met with resistance. Over and over again they ran for their lives, only to stop in town after town to spread a message so stirring, so life-changing they couldn’t help but share it. The audience didn’t change the message. Jews and Gentiles. Governor Felix and cloth maker Lydia. King Agrippa and the paralyzed man. (Acts 3, 16, 24, 26) They all received the same message because the message is for everyone. Jesus Christ came to save sinners. (I Timothy 1:15) You are one. I am one. (Romans 3:23) The blood of Jesus is the only antidote. (Hebrews 9:22) At a time when no one would have faulted them for hiding in terrified silence, they ran and taught, too stirred by the potency of their message to keep it to themselves. 

It’s been a lot of years since those first brave Jesus followers took their stand, refusing to be shaken from the truth they knew. A lot has happened since they risked their lives to share a message that burned so brightly in their hearts it couldn’t be extinguished or altered by outside opinions, social pressures, or rocks launched at their heads, intent on death. So much has changed. Religious freedom came to the Western World. We became comfortable, cocksure, complacent. As time passed, we have preached more peace and prosperity than sin and salvation. We have forgotten the shed blood of Jesus. We have crushed the uncomfortable idea of sin. We call it progression. I’m not so sure. 

Regression is more accurate. What we hear today is nothing like what those original fearless followers preached.  Nothing that calls us to change and reformation. Nothing that sets our souls on fire. Nothing that stirs us to the point we have to share it with all and sundry. Today we are much more likely to hide from religious dissent. Capitulate to demands for watered-down beliefs. Alter our theology to fit mainstream ideals. Shaken by the fear of not being liked or accepted, we have quelled the stirring message of the Gospel and replaced it with something that makes everyone feel good but requires nothing of anyone. We have embraced a light version of Jesus. It shows.

Our apathy toward spreading the true gospel of Jesus Christ has brought us to a treacherous state. As people bow to earthly idols of prosperity and popularity, the world lies in wreckage from the rampant havoc of unrestrained evil. It appears to triumph on every side. Choking fear grips society, nurturing anger. Anger breeds hate, pitting people against one another. Violence breaks out in cities all around the world. As the swirling eddy of terrifying news intensifies, we find ourselves running into our homes, our friend circles, our churches, slamming the door and throwing sure the bolt. Feverishly looking for a way to protect ourselves and our loved ones from the alleged coming onslaught, we find ourselves shaken with fear, sick with worry, overcome with anxiety. It seems like a terrifying time to be a Christ-follower.

It is such an exciting time to be a true follower of Jesus Christ. There is so much joy in knowing the God who throughout the entire Bible has delivered His people from trouble over and over again. There is so much peace in resting in the promises of the God who has never failed to keep one word He said. (Numbers 23:19; Joshua 21:45) There is abundant jubilation in the knowledge of forgiven sins and reconciliation with the Father through the shed blood of Jesus on the cross. Unabashed rejoicing in the very same message that so stirred the disciples in Acts that they were willing to risk everything to share it with everyone, because anyone who will, may come. (Revelation 22:17) 

Anyone. Everyone. In Acts 11, Peter shares with his fellow disciples the vision he had of the net full of things deemed unclean. When God told Him to eat of the unclean animals, he, being a stalwart Jew, refused. Three times the net appeared. Three times Peter refused to eat. Three times the message was the same. God doesn’t play favorites. He loves everyone. He died for everyone. And anyone who repents and believes will receive forgiveness. (Acts 10:34-35,43) For Peter and his fellow disciples, it was a command to share the Gospel with the Gentiles. For you and me, it is a command to share the Gospel with everyone, everywhere, no exception. (Acts 10-11)

At a time when the whole world is crying out for something better than the current upheaval, we have the answer, the hope for which they are searching. We should be desperate to share it. We know that God is capable of rescuing people from some significantly noxious places. We know because many of us have been there. We were once those people deemed unworthy, unreachable, undeserving of grace, mercy, love, salvation. Yet someone was so stirred by the change in their own life, by the knowledge of salvation in their own heart, that they talked to us, prayed for us, walked with us until we, too, realized the message of the Gospel could and would change our lives. It excited us then. It should still stir us now. 

We should be excited, stirred to share His message, no matter what is going on in this old world. It’s the greatest message ever told. There is no other like it. No other name under heaven that can save us. (Acts 4:12) From our sins. From ourselves. From our fears and anxieties. Nothing else can do what the message of the Gospel can do. 

Yet we’ve lost sight of it. In the furor of news, politics, and social rage, we’ve forgotten the only news that matters. We’ve forgotten what happened when we knelt at the foot of the cross. We’ve forgotten the rejoicing in Heaven as our names were written in the Book of Life. (Luke 15:10) We’ve forgotten the freedom from burdening sin. We’ve allowed ourselves to be shaken by fear of current events and uncertainties and forgotten the absolute joy that flooded our hearts when we found salvation. We have forgotten the desperate necessity to share it with others. Not to our credit, we have been shaken and shell-shocked instead of stirred and sharing.

It is an amazing, exciting time to be a Jesus follower. It is an amazing, exciting message we have to share. Jesus Christ came to die on a cross so filthy, detestable sinners could inherit spotless, beautiful eternal life. (John 3:16) Me. You. The murderer, the rapist, the angry mob, the politician, the preacher, the philanthropist. Everyone is a sinner. Everyone needs salvation. Everyone can have it through repentance and faith in the shed blood of Jesus Christ at Calvary. (Romans 10:13; Acts 2:21) Let that sink in. Let it stir you more than your fear shakes you. Let it stir you to action. There’s so much to do. So many people who clearly don’t know. The ripest harvest we have ever seen lies before us, but we can only reap it if we are stirred, not shaken. (John 4:35)

Years ago, around the time dinosaurs roamed the earth, I spent a couple of years at a small Christian college. One of the classes my course of study required was Wisdom Literature–a study of Job through Song of Solomon. The professor, a stern, normally unsmiling doctor of theology, would stalk into class each day and start off with the words of Psalm 34:1, “I WILL bless the Lord at all times.” He spoke it just as I wrote it. Emphasis on “will”. As I’m certain it was meant to, it lodged in my mind and has yet to depart. I’ve been saying it that way ever since. “I WILL bless the Lord…”

It causes me pause, though, vowing those words. Saying them is easy. Keeping them, not so much. Not every moment of every day fills me with praise. Sometimes it seems not an ounce of blessing can be found in my barren soul. As I peer through the shadowy darkness of my bedraggled life, I often despair. How do you bless the Lord in times like these? In times when everything that can possibly go wrong, does, indeed, go wrong. When life’s waters are choppy. When I’m buried in a pit of despair. When a shroud of despondency settles over my heart. How do I bless the Lord in the middle of adversity, fear, sorrow, disappointment, pain? Is it even possible to bless the Lord at times like this? 

One of the most intriguing Biblical accounts is that of Job. He’s a pillar among men. His life appears flawless. Perfect integrity. God-fearing. Rejecting evil in all its forms. The father of 10 children and owner of an enormous estate, he was considered the greatest man in his region. Job had it all. Local respect and status. The perfect life. A perfect spiritual pedigree. He was the perfect man. Perfect for unimaginable trials. (Job 1:1-3)

At least God thought so. When Satan comes looking for someone to bother, God actually offers Job on a platter! “Have you looked at Job? He’s perfect.” (Job 1:8) Like a pouting child, Satan pokes out his lower lip, folds his arms over his chest, and bemoans the fact that God’s protection surrounds Job, his family, and all he owns. He goes so far as to allege that Job serves God faithfully only because God prospers him. It’s easy, he points out, to follow God when He is raining beautiful circumstances down on you! In an unprecedented and hugely unexpected move, God agrees to withdraw His hand and allows Satan free rein with everything Job owns. Only Job himself is not to be touched. (Job 1:9-12)

Satan has a field day. Chasing on the heels of one another, escaped servants rush to report calamity after calamity crashing down on Job. His large herds of oxen and donkeys were stolen. His 7,000 sheep were struck by lightning. His 3,000 camels were stolen. His servants died–with the exception of those who escaped to report. His children, all 10 of them, were killed when the house they were partying in collapsed. And Job, upon hearing the news, wracked with grief and overwhelmed with disbelief, shredded his clothes. Shaved his head. Fell to his knees. And worshipped. (Job 1:13-21)

My jaw drops with incredulity. How? How could Job possibly find something, anything, to bless the Lord for in those circumstances? How was his grief not all-encompassing? How is it possible that in all of this, through every worsening report, through the loss of everything he owned and loved, how did Job not cry out in anger, grief, disappointment, pain? How did he manage to stare insurmountable adversity in the face and not sin, not lash out at God? How did he find the strength to bless the Lord in that breathtakingly horrible moment? (Job 1:22) 

But Satan wasn’t done. Angry that his plan had failed and wanting another chance, he takes himself back to lodge a complaint with God. Apparently being wrong once wasn’t enough for Satan. He’s a slow learner. Regardless, he presents himself to God and suggests that Job would surely curse God if he were to fall horribly ill. So God, knowing Job far better than anyone else does, grants permission for him to be struck with miserable, painful illness. Satan does a little jig, strikes Job with boils from his soles to his scalp, and rubs his hands together gleefully thinking surely this will do the trick. Job will fall. In an ugly twist that seems composed by Satan himself, Job’s wife turns against him as well.  His helpmeet, his partner, his last remaining family member, comes to gaze on him in evident disgust and say, “Obviously your dedication to God is misplaced. You might as well give up on Him and die!” (Job 2:1-9) 

Enthroned on a pile of ashes, clothed in rags, scraping oozing sores with a piece of a broken jar, Job made a pitiful picture. Bereft of all his earthly possessions and mourning the loss of his children, he is now worthless to his wife. He is completely alone in the world. Yet in the face of all this adversity, the horror, the pain, Job speaks words of truth that echo down through time to reverberate in our hearts today, “Is it fair to think we will only receive good things if we follow God? Shouldn’t we accept, even expect, adversity as well?” (Job 2:10) 

It is easy to do all the religious things, be grateful, bless the Lord, when our lives are full of unicorns and rainbows. When everything is going well. When we get our way. When the test results are negative, the bonus check comes in. When the cupboards are full, the checking account fat, and the family healthy. It’s easy to bless the Lord in the good times. But can we, do we, choose to bless the Lord in the middle of adversity? Is God not still good when situations are bad? Do we resolve to bless the Lord at all times, no matter what, or do we let our trials define our faith? How can it be possible to bless the Lord when everything around us seems bad?

Perhaps the answer to the conundrum is wrapped up in the words of Job. As he kneels there in his ruined clothing, economically broken, grieving extensive familial loss, Job speaks words we all know but don’t truly grasp. “I was born with nothing. I can take nothing with me when I die. Everything is God’s. He can loan it to us and He can call in the loan. Regardless what He chooses to do. I choose to bless the Lord.” (Job 1:21) Everything, from your pennies to your person, belongs to God. If He is allowing you to borrow it for a while, you have reason to bless the Lord. If He decided to take it back, you have reason to bless Him for the time He allowed you to borrow it. Blessing God during the first is easy. Nothing will be more difficult than blessing Him during the second.  

Over the last 18 months, I have watched two friends journeying through cancer diagnoses. I have seen health fail. Vacations desist. Milestones missed. Frustrations and fears abound. Through it all, I have seen faith flourish. I have watched both individuals, though years apart in age and on opposite ends of the prognosis spectrum, choose to bless the Lord in the middle of their adversity. When life as they know it has changed completely and is possibly slipping away entirely, they still find a way, a reason, to bless the Lord. It is beautifully inspiring. 

Their attitudes have made me introspective–and extrospective. At what point did we become so far removed from God that we blatantly refuse to bless Him? Do we really believe the prosperity gospel telling us there will be no adversity in the life of a believer? What if that adversity is the blessing? What if that adversity changes your life, your world for the better? What if you learn a lesson from a tough situation? What if your adversity helped you breach a gap that seemed uncrossable? Did it heal a relationship? Draw you closer to God? Is adversity awful? Undoubtedly. Is God still worth blessing? Yes upon yes upon yes. 

Adversity is the blessing that draws us to God.  When entitlement runs rampant, when we mistakenly believe God owes us something, when we harbor sin in our hearts, God allows adversity to draw us back to Himself. Toward the end of the book of Job, God speaks. As you read the words, you can almost hear His voice roaring through the whirlwind, reminding Job, and us, that everything in every corner of the universe is the result of His hand. The upkeep of the world is managed by His supreme power. The wind, waves, rain, and sun are at God’s command. Indeed, the whole of creation–planets, animals, and man–all survive and thrive by the acts of God. (Job 38-41) There is every reason to bless the Lord at all times because everything exists through Him and for Him. Without Him, we are nothing. (Nehemiah 9:6; Colossians 1:16; John 1:3)

When the world is in chaotic disorder, when horror story after horror story unfolds before you, when adversity dogs your every step, choose to bless the Lord, to worship, to allow that adversity to draw you closer to God. No matter what comes, what happens in your life, what travesty goes on in the world around you. No matter how tempted or taunted you are by circumstances, people, or the evil one himself. When the outlook is so dark you can find nothing to be grateful for, bless the Lord for the adversity that draws you back to His side over and over and over again. You can make no better choice.   (I Thessalonians 5:18; I Peter 1:6-9; James 1:2-4; Psalm 84:4)