Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

It is difficult to imagine the height of Ezra’s joy as he led the people back into Jerusalem from Babylon. It had been a gloriously triumphant trek. The hand of God had moved mightily before them, working through the hearts of pagan kings to grant them free passage and donations of gold, silver, and bronze for the temple. There was no question that God had protected and strengthened them along the way. Surely they could only be dubbed a celebration band as they entered Jerusalem filled with awe and praise and glory over the mighty works their great God had accomplished. (Ezra 6-8)

It is impossible to measure the depth of Ezra’s disappointment when, after entering Jerusalem, he is confronted with the news that the previously returned people had failed to keep themselves separate from the pagan people around them. They had taken wives who worshipped pagan gods. They knew the danger in it. Danger to fall away from following the true God. Danger of breaking the commands so meticulously written on tablets of stone. No other gods. No idols. It wasn’t just a handful of rebellious people on the outskirts of town, either. Leaders and officials, priests and Levites, had actually started the whole escapade. In an instant, Ezra’s joy at their triumphant return is turned to mourning the immense indiscretion of his people. (Ezra 9:1-3)  

One would think they would have learned by now, from history if not experience. Over and again the stories of their ancestors’ defeat, captivity, and frequent need of deliverance had been told. The stories themselves were enough to prove that neglecting God’s laws would incur the loss of His protecting presence. If ancient history were not enough, many of them had lived through similar circumstances. Seventy years of Babylonian captivity had just ended. They were finally free. Free to leave. Free to move to Jerusalem and rebuild. Their city. Their lives. God’s temple. And they had. 

The stories they told their children and grandchildren must have been exquisite. Stories of how God had made a way for them where there didn’t seem to be one. How kings had granted privileges and offered gifts they would have never garnered without Divine providence. The answered prayers, miraculous events, and obvious guidance of God were impossible to deny. The treasury of stories reverberated with the joy of the Lord. The accounts alone would be enough to impress on posterity the overwhelming necessity of worshipping and obeying only the true God.  It was what they did. It was their identity. They were God’s people. He was their God. It was the very essence of their being. (Ezra 1-6; 3:11; 5:5; 6:22)

Unfortunately, those events had occurred more than half a century ago. It is possible many people with firsthand knowledge of the Babylonian captivity were elderly or had passed away. The younger generations didn’t really remember it. The accounts became less dynamic, the storytelling less prolific. The tales that used to capture their imaginations lost their luster when told by those who hadn’t experienced it. The people had settled into the mundane. Their spiritual vigilance waned. Apathy set in. They began to drift. 

Their unruly hearts were drawn aside by things of the world around them. Apparently, they forgot they were a holy people set apart for God. (Deuteronomy 7:6; Ezra 9:11-12) They got distracted. Their heads were turned. A pretty girl, a comely widow, a persuasive father eager to marry off his daughter. It doesn’t seem they rebelliously set out to defy God’s laws in the beginning. It was probably nothing so obvious. It likely snuck up, catching them unaware. And when the apparently innocuous opportunity presented itself, they were drawn aside by the lusts and desires of their unguarded hearts and enticed to sin. And they did. (Ezra 9; James 1:14)

From our comfortable seat on the observation deck overlooking the Israelite history, we find ourselves sighing and wondering why they keep doing the same things over and over again. Why do they not stay close to the God of their ancestors who has proven Himself more than capable of admirably handling their care? Why do they get distracted by the people around them? Why do they fall prey to the habits and customs of the world? Surely by now they know what happens when they follow something besides God? Why don’t they just stay the course? 

We should certainly be able to answer that question. We are expert course jumpers. We do the same things over and over again, distancing ourselves from God, cuddling up with the world. We know the rules, the commands. We are aware of the punishments and rewards. We understand the compensation for sin is spiritual death. Yet still, we stray, drawn aside by the lusting of our foolhardy hearts for the things of the world. (Romans 6:23; Genesis 6:5; I John 2:15-17; James 4:17)

Devastated, disappointed, and distraught by the sin of his people, Ezra rips his garments, yanks hair from his scalp and beard, and sits down to mourn, surrounded by those who still hold to the commands and words of God. That must have been quite a sight. A grown man in such outrageous disarray. I’ve never seen mourning like that. Mourning that illuminates the severity of the committed offenses. Mourning so great others are compelled to mourn with you. Mourning that stops the presses, stalls the busyness of the day and starts people thinking what must be done to salvage their relationship with God. The type of mourning we so desperately need today.

We’ve been apathetically drifting for a long time. We have deceived ourselves into thinking that we are spiritually safe, when really, we’ve been edging closer and closer to the world all along. We’ve adopted their habits, their ways. We’ve replaced prayer meetings, revivals, and camp meetings with wealth seminars, marriage retreats, and Christian concerts. Isn’t that a page from the world’s book, with their conferences, networking, and team building exercises? Are we patterning our churches after the world instead of after the Word? 

In the hustle and bustle to grow a bigger congregation, be the next megachurch, have the best activities, be the next big name in lights, have we foregone the mourning of repentance for the mirth of earthly acceptance? Have our values slipped? Have our morals changed? Do we make more allowances for sin, more caveats for disobedience? What eternal gain comes from following the world? And how can it possibly profit our souls? (Mark 8:36; II Corinthians 6:17: Hebrews 11:24-26; Psalm 103:9-14,18; II Timothy 2:4)

It doesn’t. Worldly mirth doesn’t equal eternal joy. Ezra knew that. Eventually, he changed his stance from sitting in devastation to kneeling in contrition. In search of revival, Ezra makes mourning a fine art poured out as a prayer before God, “I’m embarrassed and ashamed to enter Your presence when my people are in this disastrous shambles. Our immeasurable guilt and iniquity is insurmountable. You have rescued us and blessed us beyond measure, yet we have repaid You by abandoning Your commands. I don’t know what we can say in light of the sin we have welcomed into our midst. We have egregiously broken Your laws and do not deserve the grace You have so mercifully bestowed on us. We know You are righteous because you haven’t struck us down immediately, which we deserve. We humbly bow before You in guilt and shame, because the enormity of our sin makes it impossible for us to stand upright in Your presence.” (Ezra 9) 

Truer words have never been spoken. For the people then and for us today. How urgently we need to learn Ezra’s art of mourning! The art of taking responsibility for our thoughts and words and deeds. The knowledge that we are desperately shabby, and hopelessly far afield. We need to come before God, fall on our faces before Him, admit our sin, our straying, our complacency, our love of all things worldly. We need to own our shame. Admit our guilt. Make no excuses, because there are none. Shoulder the blame because we made the choices. We need to fall before the Lord in weeping, mourning, repentance and change. In mourning we will find rejoicing, for true spiritual mourning births soul freedom and unimpeded, internal joy. Things to which the world has no access. (Ezra 10:1)

Before God, there is no excuse for sin. But there is mercy. Mercy that extends to the drifters, the sliders, the blatant sinners. To You. To Me. To Everyone. We don’t deserve it, could never earn it. We can’t even hold our heads up in His presence, so intense is our guilt.  But God freely offers mercy to all who come to Him in a spirit of mourning seeking the joy and peace found through forgiveness, obedience, and change. So fall on your knees. Rend your heart before God. It is time to seek the Lord. Time to mourn your sin. Time to allow God’s mercy to cleanse your soul and bring you joy from the mourning. (Psalm 103:10; Ezra 9:13; Lamentations 3:22; Ephesians 2:4-5; Joel 2:12-13; Matthew 5:4)

In a raging error I have no intention of repeating, I gave the news more than a cursory glance yesterday. I shouldn’t have done that. I know better. Although I like to keep generally apprised of the happenings in the world around me, I do not allow myself to make a steady diet of news and opinion articles. I detest most of what passes as news. Evil rhetoric staged to sway morals and instill fear is awarded absolutely no time in my day. Usually. Yesterday I failed to hold the line. What I read was discomfiting, jarring, encouraging feelings of fear, helplessness, and anxiety. Feeling likely similar to those burgeoning in the hearts of the people on Jerusalem’s wall as they listened to Sennacherib’s messenger spouting his putrid diatribe in an effort to force their surrender.

“What are you relying on?” he yelled. “You think your God will save you? He’s the one who sent us to destroy you! Don’t listen to your king Hezekiah. Don’t let him convince you to put your trust in God. Don’t think for a minute the Lord isn’t going to hand this city over to Assyria. Make peace with us. Let us in. We promise to make your life grand if you just do what we say. Give up. Give in. You can trust us. You can’t trust Hezekiah. Your God isn’t really going to save you. No other god has saved the people we set out to conquer. Do you really think your God is different? Is that a chance you want to take? Well…do you?” (II Kings 18:13-35) 

For the last several weeks, maybe months, our local news has been deeply disheartening. Daily accounts of homicide, human trafficking, assault, and revenge crowd our headlines. Hate, fear, greed, and all the brokenness of humanity written out in Arial script for all to read. Worse still are national and global headlines. They are rife with consequences for the actions of individuals who love darkness rather than light. (John 3:19-20) Fighting. Arguing. Raging words. Mass shootings. Rioting. Underhanded politics. Corrupt agendas. Selfish ambitions served at the expense of others. All teeming from hearts full of pride, deceit, and moral turpitude. (Jeremiah 17:9) 

As the stories, accounts, opinions, and facts swirl in a nauseating eddy of indecipherable truths and lies intent on instilling fear, swaying ideals, jading hearts, and chipping away at our faith, the prevailing question riding on the surface is still that posed by Sennacherib’s messenger. “What are you relying on?” Do you really believe that God follows through on His promises? Do you know in your soul that His vow never to leave you still stands? Does your heart subscribe and fully adhere to the command issued by God over and over again to not be afraid, be courageous? Do you trust in the truth of the words of Jesus, “Nothing is impossible with God?” (II Corinthians 1:20; Romans 4:21; Hebrews 13:5; Isaiah 41:13; Lamentations 3:57; Matthew 10:31; Luke 12:32; Matthew 19:26; Luke 1:37) 

There must have been some magnificent battles against fear waging in the hearts of those Israelite people as they sat on the city wall enduring this verbal assault. The law of averages says at least a few hearts were shaking, wondering, asking some serious questions, grappling their courage. In the end, they made their choice. Sennacherib’s messenger and all his men rode off through the eerie silence of God’s people choosing to do what Moses had commanded their ancestors to do as they stood beside the Red Sea watching Pharaoh and his army bearing down on them. “Don’t be afraid. Stand firm. Watch God take care of you. The battle is His. Stop fretting, worrying, talking. Be quiet and let God be God.” ( II Kings 18:36; Exodus 14:5-14) 

It’s a daunting task, that one. I wonder at the sheer strength of their self-control as they battled their own fears and reactions to the doom-filled words they had just heard. Were they tamping down the desire to run home, gather their families, and head for the hills? Were they mentally staking claim to a cave in an undisclosed surrounding mountain where they could hide until the impending calamitous events had passed? Were there some considering capitulation? Were they still vacillating between faith and fear when God spoke words of peace to Hezekiah through Isaiah the prophet? Words that echoed the ones they had already followed as they engaged in silent warfare on the top of the wall, “Don’t let the things you just heard scare you.” The king of Assyria could send out all the silver-tongued speakers he wanted. He could line up all his horses and chariots and armies. None of it would matter. Even if they couldn’t see it, couldn’t feel it, could hardly believe it, God was already at work. (II Kings 19:5-7)

Admittedly, some days I can’t see God’s hand or feel Him working. I look at the headlines, interact with society, listen to the stories my children bring home from school and feel the suffocating darkness of this world close around my soul. In all my schoolgirl dreams of marriage and family, never once did I imagine a society so sinful, a world so full of evil, in which to raise my children. I wonder how we got so off course. Then I realize, it’s because we listened to the voice telling us that following God, trusting God, living for God was folly. It happened when we listened to the loudest, most eloquent voice instead of the still, small one. It all started when that silky, tempting voice offered us the world if we would just relent, give in, give up–and we did. We have sown the wind. It seems only the whirlwind awaits. It is not a refreshing thought. (I Peter 5:8; II Corinthians 11:14; Hosea 8:7)

Several months ago, my daughter started taking horseback riding lessons. A slightly built, often reserved child, I wasn’t sure how she’d do. It’s been remarkable. There is no problem with the tack, grooming, or mounting, no fear of riding. The hardest thing she’s had to learn is that the one who holds the reins, reigns. So often the horse will take off on his own path across the arena. He’ll choose to go visit a friend or stop walking to take a nap. Her instructor consistently reminds her that she is the one in charge. She holds the reins. My tiny baby girl probably feels like a fly on the back of that big old horse. He thinks he can do whatever he wants. Then she picks up the reins and he learns a new lesson. The one who holds the reins, reigns. 

It is such a beautifully refreshing, spiritually restoring thought. Even more so when I came across the words of Psalm 99:1, “The Lord reigns!” There are no caveats. No exceptions. No joint arrangements with world leaders. The Lord reigns, end of story! No matter what is going on in your life, your community, your country, or the world at large, our sovereign God has not abdicated the heavens. He has not given His authority to anyone else. He still has the reins, and He reigns!

Maybe you aren’t like me. Maybe worry never plagues your mind. Maybe that unsettled feeling never nags your soul.  Maybe doubt in God’s sovereignty never threatens to overtake your heart. Maybe the darkness around you never starts to cloud your spiritual skies. I hope that’s you. But if it isn’t, if you are just like me, I hope you’ll open your Bible and find refuge in Psalm 99:1 and every other passage like it. I hope you’ll remind yourself that God is sovereign. The reins of this world are solidly in His hands. His power is limitless. His promises are eternal. He is the light that confounds the darkness, drives it back, and makes a way where there doesn’t seem to be one. And He always takes care of His children. (Numbers 11:23; Psalm 97:1; Psalm 73:26; John 1:5; John 8:12; Isaiah 43:16; Matthew 6:25-34)

So on your darkest days, when the enchanting voices of the enemy and the world come calling, telling you to just give up, give in, give over–don’t. When you can’t see Him, can’t feel Him, can barely find the strength to believe He is working, stand on these words from Deuteronomy, “The eternal God is your dwelling, and underneath you are His everlasting arms.” (Deuteronomy 33:27) It may not seem like it when you read the headlines, scroll your social media feeds, or talk to the neighbors. That makes it no less true. When everything is spinning out of control and the whole world is on a collision course with hell, be quiet. Be still. Be courageous. Place your faith, your hope, your confidence in the God who promised to never leave you alone. Know that He sees every predicament, temptation, trial, fear and isn’t stymied by them. Remind yourself that your help comes from God. He makes His dwelling in you and is greater than anything the world has on offer. He is not napping. He is working out His plan. His authority is eternal. His Kingdom is forever. God is sovereign. He reigns. And you can trust Him. (Psalm 37:39; II Timothy 4:18; Colossians 1:16; II Chronicles 20:6; I John 4:4; Psalm 115:3; Daniel 4:17, 32, 34-35; Psalm 9:10; Isaiah 26:3; II Corinthians 10:4)

Because my oldest daughter plays softball with a local league, I spend a lot of time around sports fields. Bleachers, dugouts, batting cages. I talk to a lot of people. Umpires, coaches, players, parents. I do a lot of listening, a lot of hearing. So much of what I hear makes me cringe, some of it breaks my heart, all of it deepens my understanding of James’ words. “The tongue is a fire…no one can tame it….” (James 3:6-8)

From my spot near the dugout entrance, I’ve heard many parent-to-child conversations. Most are encouraging. Some are not. Children have been called names, sworn at, told they were an embarrassment. I’ve sat beside them as they cried, their hearts shattered at the words that told them they were not enough. Not enough to waste time watching the game. Not enough to make their parents proud. Not enough for anything. I’ve seen the fear when they strike out, miss a pop fly, get tagged out at second. Fear of the coming words reiterating what they have already heard. They have failed. They are not enough. The damage breaks my heart.  

I’ve stood and talked to coaches who tell me how they go to church and dream of taking their family on overseas mission trips. It’s a lovely thought, a great idea, all called into question as that same coach violently curses the umpire, causing their own ejection from the game. Their words then in stark juxtaposition to their previous declarations. The words of James again echo in the back of my mind, “With it (that tongue of raging, destroying fire) we both praise God the Creator and curse man whom He created in His likeness. Blessing and cursing come from the same tongue, but it’s not supposed to be this way.” (James 3:9-10)

More than a decade of my life was lived at the end of a gravel road nestled up against the base of a mountain in Montana. At the four-way stop, where a right turn would bring you down our little lane, sat an imposing mountain with a handful of houses and pastures at its foot. It was not a particularly beautiful mountain, not as high or well-treed as some of its surrounding counterparts. There was no green, grassy top above the treeline. It was quite unremarkable, really. We called it Cinderella. 

One year, we had a particularly bad fire season. Seemed we were surrounded by fires. Mountains and gulches lit up in rapid succession. Fire camps were set up for round-the-clock firefighter rotations and filled with out-of-state aid. Aircraft dropping retardant or water was a regular sighting. Although we kept track of what was burning and how close it was, as long as there were no fires on our road, we felt comfortably safe.  

When word came that the backside of Cinderella was on fire, we became diligently vigilant. As forest fires go, it wasn’t so far away. No highways to jump or rivers to cross. Only a small creek surrounded by vegetation, houses, and pastures. In an effort to remain calm, we told ourselves we’d worry when it crested the peak. We worried anyway. Watched and worried. 

Fire is an amazing site, when it’s far away from you, at least. I remember watching the flames lick up the ground, flash up trees, and move on to the next living thing. It sucked the life right out of Cinderella. Crested the peak. Came down our side about halfway. They finally got it under control, but the damage was done. The mountain was littered with burned tree trunks and scarred, blackened earth. It would take years for the vegetation to grow back. The people below would live with the visual reminder of what almost happened to their homes. Life would go on, but it wouldn’t be the same. Neither is the life of someone whose heart has been scorched by the blazing torch of the uncontrolled tongue. 

See, every time you speak, your words kindle something in another person’s heart. The words you choose have the power to inspire peace, joy, strength, and encouragement or evoke anger, fear, bitterness, and self-loathing. You can make someone’s day or ruin their week with just one phrase. You can lead someone to Christ or turn them from Him in one short exchange. And in that one phrase or short exchange, you will tell the whole watching world what is in your heart, because your tongue only says what your heart thinks. (Luke 6:45; Proverbs 15:4, 16:24; Matthew 15:18)

And what does your heart think? What’s lurking in the dark, cobwebby corners of your soul? Do you know? Or do you refuse to acknowledge what’s there? Whether you choose to see or own the contents in the darkest corners of your heart, everyone else knows it. They can’t help but know. It’s spewing out of your mouth every time you speak. Every kindness. Every critique. Every congratulation. Every condescension. Every caustic word. (Proverbs 4:23)

There are a lot of caustic words floating around our world. Even our churches. We call it sarcasm. We think it’s funny. We call it acceptable. After all, a growing contingent of church attendees and religious leaders have decided Jesus was sarcastic. Maybe He was. Maybe He wasn’t. I’m not about to argue it out with anyone. I don’t know. I wasn’t there. Neither were you. I do know this. Whatever Jesus said or did, He is God and His heart and intentions for humanity were always good. (Psalm 34:8; James 1:17)

I also know this. You are not God. On a good day, your intentions are dicey. On a bad day, you’d rather not be held responsible for them. So using Jesus’ alleged sarcasm as a way to excuse your own caustic words to denigrate or decimate the people He meticulously crafted in His likeness is an incredibly poor choice and places you squarely in the congregation depicted in James 1:26, “If you claim to be religious, yet can’t control your tongue, your religion is worthless.” 

Which begs the question, if your religion is worthless, where, exactly, does that leave you? Where does your relationship with God stand? How does your eternity look? In Matthew 12:36-37, Jesus tells us every idle word will be judged–the good, the bad, the ugly. On that day, in Heaven’s courtroom, we will stand before Him, the record will be read back, and we will be asked to give account then for every word that crosses our lips now. In fact, we’ll be judged by them. Perhaps some of us should stop speaking altogether!  (Romans 11:22)

The truth is, we have so much to learn. We have so much business to do with God about our words and the hearts from which they spring. We desperately need to listen to Him before we speak. Our humanity tends to speak first and think later. We need to change, learn a new way. Learn that our need to speak is less important than how those unedited words will affect the hearer. Above the raging melee of our humanity, we must learn to hear God as He patiently, constantly reminds us that our words have consequences. For ourselves. For others. We must train ourselves to ruthlessly reject the ill-tempered need to cut, jab, and scar others with words in an effort to make ourselves feel wiser, stronger, better. We must staunchly refuse to jeopardize our soul’s eternity by placating our finite humanity. (Romans 12:2; Hebrews 12:14)

It’s a monumental task, but there’s a lot riding on it. Your soul health, your life witness, and your eternal destiny are at stake. So allow God to cleanse, purify and fill your heart with Himself. Seek His kingdom first–for yourself and for others. Constantly pray the words of Psalm 19:14, “May my public words and my private meditations be pure and holy before You, Lord.” Guard your heart. Know what is there. Call out the sin. Remove it. Allow your heart to be Christ’s home and let His rivers of living water flow through and out of you to a hopeless world that is longing for just a taste of the goodness of God. (Matthew 6:33)

It took Cinderella mountain years to recover. There was nothing we could do but wait for the vegetation to grow back. Fire does that. Scars things. Destroys things. Not everything can be repaired, sometimes we have to completely rebuild. Your words are like fire. Raging, searing, scarring, damaging the hearts of the people on whom you sharpen your tongue. The damage can’t always be repaired with an apology. Some scars take years to heal. Some never really heal at all. So choose your words wisely, graciously. Be kind or just be quiet. In light of the heavenly accounting you will have to give, put your humanity aside, guard your words and save your soul. (Proverbs 13:3; Psalm 141:3; Proverbs 10:19; Ephesians 4:29; Colossians 4:6)

Last week I had the privilege of visiting with a gentleman from the Philippines. After several twists and turns, the conversation landed on fishing. With a longing glint in his eye, he described the water there as being so clear you can see the fish swimming through it. I’m not a fisherman, but I’ve seen water like that before. Not in the Philippines. In the mountains. Creeks, streams, even rivers so clear you can see the rocks at the bottom, know where to place your foot, be assured you won’t fall on slippery moss or unseat an unsuspecting snake. It’s a comfortable feeling to see and know what’s ahead. No faith required. You can see exactly where you are going. The water is clear. The path straight before you. Clear water is as good as it gets. 

It’s most certainly the type of water Naaman wished was flowing in the Jordan River. Clear, cool, obvious stepping stones. A perfect path to recovery. It was not to be. As he rides up to Elisha’s home expecting at least moderate bowing and scraping, he is shocked to be approached by one single servant bearing a less than pleasant message. “Go dip in the Jordan river seven times.” (II Kings 5:1-10)

Personally, I like to think if I had been in Naaman’s shoes, I’d have mounted my horse and ridden hell-for-leather to the Jordan river and plunged right in. Sharp rocks? Dirty water? Snakes? A drop-off? Who cares? Healing is apparently under the waters of that river! The cure for a cureless disease is somewhere in that river bed. I’d be intent on finding it!

Not so Naaman. Angry no one made a fuss and disgusted someone would ask him to dip his clearly superior posterior into that muck they call a river, Naaman stalks off. He’s going home. There are rivers there too. Clean rivers. Rivers in which he was unafraid to dip his disease-ridden flesh. Why did they send him to dip in that mud stream? Seven times at that! He’d be lucky to live through it once! No. He’d just head home. He had clearly wasted a trip. 

In the middle of Naaman’s tantrum, as he’s about to wheel out of Elisha’s yard, his servants make one last impassioned plea. Just try it. Give it a chance. “If he had asked you to do something great and awe-inspiring, even dangerous, you would have done it. This is simple. Why don’t you just give this a shot?” (II Kings 5:13) Really. Why not? 

He had nothing to lose. He would get worse if he went home with no cure. He would get worse if the Jordan mud bath didn’t work. Either way, the only risk was one of staying the same or being healed. We chalk it up to arrogance, pride, social status. We deride him for all manner of evils. I have to ask, is it possible that buried under all the blustering arrogance that makes us gag there was an enormous boulder of fear weighing Naaman down? Was hope just too hard?  He’d probably tried a hundred cures already. Nothing else had worked. Why should he believe this crazy idea had merit? Was Naaman really afraid of dirty water, or was he afraid to step in where he couldn’t see the landing, couldn’t trace the future, couldn’t ensure the outcome? 

Whether arrogance, fear or a bit of both, the servant’s words broke through Naaman’s fog. He truly has nothing to lose. So off to the murky Jordan he goes. Cautiously he wades in and slips beneath the surface. Once. Twice. Three times. By the seventh dip he was probably hoping he didn’t come out with something even more severe than his current condition. As his head breaks back through the river’s surface for the seventh time, Naaman looks down to watch his arms appear and sees his meager faith become sight. Skin. Clean. Disease-free. It had all been worth it. Blind faith. Murky waters. Everything. Healed by following a plan that didn’t add up by human standards, but made perfect sense in Heaven’s calculations. (II Kings 5:14)

Elisha knew the benefits of blind faith. He’d watched Elijah practice it for a long time. He wasn’t new to situations where only faith in God’s prevailing sovereignty would pull him through. God’s prophets were constantly threatened. Someone was always seeking to take his life. He wasn’t worried. Even when Elisha couldn’t see how things were going to shake out, he calmly placed his faith in the sovereign God of the universe who constantly looks after His own, and kept walking. (II Kings 6:8-16)

Perhaps that was why he sent Naaman off to the river without ever speaking to him. Elisha knew it wasn’t the cleanliness of the water or the power of his presence that could heal Naaman. His healing would only happen if he laid everything else aside, exhibited blind faith, and stepped into the muddy current. The rivers of Damascus would never have had the same effect. Why? Because God’s requirement is blind faith. Placing his feet where only God could see the next step, even if his foot landed in muck. (Hebrews 11:6)

Elisha had to teach his servant the same lesson. Rising early, the servant stepped outside their Dothan dwelling to find the city surrounded by soldiers, horses, and chariots, a threatening gift from the king of Aram. In a panic, he rushed to Elisha crying, “What are we going to do?” Elisha didn’t fall to his knees and cry out to God for deliverance, a host of avenging angels, or a raging fire. He didn’t need to. He knew the God who had proven Himself to be Deliverer over and over again would come through. He knew His God was bigger. He believed without physical evidence or some grand event the world could see. Elisha believed God would care for them. And He did. 

Turns out the hills around the city were teeming with a heavenly host of horses and chariots of fire there to fight for them. There were more with them than could ever come against them. They were never in any danger. God already had the situation in hand. Elisha knew that because his faith was safely placed in the knowledge that even if you can’t trace the hand of God marking the path ahead, you can always trust God’s heart of love and care for His people. (II Kings 6:8-17)

Jesus took time to teach Simon Peter the same lesson. They’d come in empty-handed from a long, useless night of fishing. Not for lack of trying. They’d cast their nets a dozen times. Nothing. Not even a minnow. Back on shore, disappointed, exhausted, and with nets still to clean, Simon sees Jesus walk onto his boat. He asks Simon to push out a bit from the shore and cast anchor. Simon obliges. As they sit there, bobbing on the water, Jesus teaches the people. He wants them to know things. True things. Things about Himself, His kingdom, His laws. I bet Simon wondered why Jesus chose that morning to teach from the water and that boat to be His stage. 

When He finished speaking, Jesus startled Simon by saying, “Let’s go out to the deep part of the lake and catch some fish.” You can almost audibly hear Simon groan. He’s tired. He’s literally just been out there. If there were schools of fish worthy of a net, surely he’d have seen or caught them when he’d been there. All. Night. Long. But Jesus is asking. So, sucking in a fortifying breath, Simon replied, “We’ve been out there all night. We haven’t seen one fish, certainly not enough to put out a net. However, if You say it, I’ll do it.” (Luke 5:1-5)

If the fish were sleeping before, they were schooling now! Simon was about to be schooled too. Those fish swam in so fast the nets could barely hold them! When they realized their nets were beginning to tear, the men frantically signaled their buddies on shore to come and help. Even after dividing the catch between the boats, they were so full of fish they almost sank. Simon Peter hadn’t been able to see the fish. He didn’t think there were any there. He didn’t have faith for a great catch. He didn’t see a reason to row back out there. When he didn’t see the point, didn’t know the outcome, he still blindly took that step. The reward was certainly worth it. (Luke 5:6-7)

Sometimes everything around us looks murky and suspect. We can’t see the next step, find the next foothold. Sometimes we can’t see what God is doing, how He is working, where He is leading. We are tempted to sit still, hunker down, wait it out. Before you do, hear this. Just because the waters of your life are too murky to see the next step, when you can’t figure out how walking through the deep waters of now will bring victory then, when you can’t put the pieces together and determine the destination before you take the first step–still take that step! 

Keep following God. Even when you can’t see the next flat rock. Especially when you can’t see the next flat rock! Cast your faith in the God who has proven Himself over and over and over again. Throw your gear in the boat, pick up the oars and start rowing with Simon. Brace yourself and edge your toes into the muddy, silt-laden waters with Naaman. Stand outside your doorway, lift up your eyes to the hills, above all the things of earth that batter your faith, and know from where your help is coming. Just step out in faith and let God do what He does best–care for and lead His people. His promise of continued presence wasn’t just for the Old Testament Israelites or New Testament disciples. It is for you. It is for me. It is for everyone who chooses to place their faith in the great God of the universe who holds all things together, through whom all things occur and exist, and whom you can trust with your very life. (Psalm 121; Isaiah 41:10; Colossians 1:17; Ecclesiastes 3:11-14; Hebrews 2:10)

So do it. Trust Him. When doubt stirs up the waters of your soul, swirling silt and mud to obstruct your view, don’t let it stop you from taking the next step. Don’t let murky waters keep you from following the path God is asking you to take. Don’t be rattled by what you can’t see–the next step, the next win, the next school of fish. Instead, blindly place your faith in the One you know is Sovereign over all, who never stops caring for His children. Boldly place your hand in His and walk courageously into the plan perfectly crafted for you. It will be worth it. Faith in God always is. (James 1:6; Proverbs 3:5-6; Romans 8:28; Psalm 9:10; Psalm 112:11; Hebrews 11:6; John 14:1)

With Lent 2021 solidly in the rearview mirror, I find myself wondering how many folks woke up Easter morning with their own cry of, “It is finished.” How many coffee cups sitting empty since Ash Wednesday were filled first thing Easter morning? How many had donuts for breakfast? Who made certain to pencil in time for binge watching that show they eschewed for Lent? Who quietly rejoiced at no more midweek fasts, extra prayer time, or extended Bible study? How many of us woke up Sunday morning, checked the Lent box on our religious to-do list, and straightaway picked up the habit we’d laid down? How many of us stepped back on the throne of our lives the very moment we sang “He Lives”?

Unfortunately, the transition from Lent to life as we previously lived it, is ridiculously easy. With little to no conscious thought, we slip away from new practices, drifting back into old habits. Within a matter of days, we will have forgotten we even celebrated the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ as we fight through the endless race for earthly gain, human praise, social notoriety. Of course, we are still interested in going to Heaven! We are still thankful for the death and resurrection of Jesus giving us the opportunity of eternal life. We are happy to have Him live in our hearts. It’s our lives we aren’t certain we want Him indwelling. (Luke 24:45-47)

We aren’t so interested in purposefully dwelling in the constant awareness of Jesus Christ as resurrected, living, and active in our lives. We aren’t always comfortable having Him hear all our conversations, watch all our actions, or go all the places we go. We would rather not weigh our words, consider our emotions, evaluate our tantrums. In fact, many are more than happy to leave Jesus at home to collect dust with their seldom-used Bibles. They will call if they need Him.  

Jesus’ disciples would stand in jaw-dropped amazement at our blase attitudes. Whether before or after His resurrection, they would likely have some choice words for us. Words of condemnation, disbelief, disgust. I’m sure they would question our devotion to the Savior. It would be within their purview.

They were blessed to spend every day in the physical presence of Jesus. They traveled with Him, ate lunch with Him, served with Him. They watched His miracles, listened to His teachings, presumably lived according to what He taught. Their sainthood seems certain. Their heavenly mansions reserved. Because of my lofty opinion of those men, I find myself reeling in shock when one of them begs Jesus, “Teach us to pray!”  (Luke 11:1)

What?! How can they possibly need to be taught how to pray? Their Example is right in front of them. They’ve been listening to and learning from Him for a while now and they are asking to learn to pray? Jesus doesn’t blink an eye or pause for a second, He starts their lesson immediately. Proper salutations. Proper place. Proper authority. In Heaven. On earth. Now and then. “May your kingdom come. May your will be done. Not just in Heaven where you dwell, but here, now, on earth.” Help us, whether You are here in the body or present only in spirit, to live in the constant awareness of the presence of Jesus Christ as risen and alive. And, Father, help us to act like it. (Matthew 6:9-10; Luke 11:1-2)

Easter Sunday, when you sat in church and sang songs about serving a risen Savior who lives in your heart, this is what you were saying. As you waved your hands, looked toward the heavens, and fervently intoned those words, you were affirming that the kingdom of God lives in you, reigns in your heart, rules your life, and that His will is done in and through you, just the way things are done in Heaven. Your heart is God’s home. His word is the final authority. On that day, as you celebrated the resurrected Savior who is alive and working in your life and world today, as you loudly acclaimed and proclaimed Jesus as your King, this is what you were claiming. Did your life reflect those words on Monday?

It is not enough to observe 40 days of Lent sacrificing coffee and donuts and television if it doesn’t deepen your desire to be God’s kingdom on earth. It is not enough to spend one Friday a year reflecting on the horror of the cross if it doesn’t strengthen your resolve to follow in Jesus’ footsteps and do the Father’s will. It is not enough to rejoice in triumphant Easter celebrations proclaiming He lives if you are going to live every other day as if He is still in the tomb. 

It is so easy to forget. We so quickly forget He is living and moving among us today. His death and resurrection happened so long ago. We’ve heard the account so often. It’s such a staple of our belief system, we forget the astonishment, the amazement at finding an empty tomb. We forget the staggering awe, the unmitigated joy of Mary Magdalene as a living, breathing, newly resurrected Jesus called her by name. We give little thought to the burning hearts of the men on their road to Emmaus. We have only passing knowledge of the mixture of disbelief and joy that flooded the hearts of the Eleven as Jesus stood among them, showed them His wounds, and asked for a bite to eat. Because we limit His resurrection to one day a year, we miss out on the awe of the awareness of a living Savior the rest of the time. We forget to be His kingdom. We decline to do His will. Is it possible for us to miss Heaven because we forgot the resurrection? (John 20:1-16; Luke 24:19-42)

In a captivating conversation with Martha, Jesus states, “I am the resurrection and life. Everyone who believes in me will live. Always. They will never die.” (John 11:25) He wasn’t saying everyone who claimed Jesus as their Savior would physically live forever. He was promising eternal life to the ones who knew Him, believed in Him, and lived for Him. Why make the distinction? Because you can know all about Jesus and believe He exists, but if you have not had a life-changing encounter with the resurrected Savior, if you are not living every day as His kingdom where His will is done, you must certainly ask yourself if you truly serve that Savior you so sincerely sang of on Easter Sunday. Do you truly believe in your dependency on His death and resurrection for your soul’s salvation, or is that just something tradition demands, not something your heart resounds? (Acts 4:11-12; Matthew 7:21; James 1:22; Hebrews 10:36; Mark 3:35)

In Heaven, the kingdom of God, His will is the only thing that is ever done. It is perfect. It is flawless. It is absolute. There are no other options. On earth, the place we treat as our own, there are myriad options, mostly disreputable. Down here, we have to choose to be God’s kingdom. We must choose to do God’s will. It is rarely easy. It is never popular. It is always necessary. You’ll be tempted not to participate. When you are, I hope you remember Easter. Remember Jesus wasn’t thrilled to be participating in that gruesome crucifixion even though He knew the outcome was the resurrection. Remember He, through drops of blood, prayed, “Not my will, but Yours.” (Luke 22:42) Remember He did it anyway. Remember He rose from the dead. Remember He is alive and interceding for you, pulling for you to make the choice be God’s kingdom, do God’s will. (Romans 8:34) Remember Easter. Every day. Remember Jesus’ death. Remember His resurrection. Remember it was all to give you eternal life. Remember that eternal life doesn’t start when you die. Eternal life starts the moment you place your faith in Jesus’ Christ, choose to be His kingdom, delight to do His will. Daily remember Easter and live like it. (John 6:47; John 17:3; Psalm 40:8; Romans 14:17)