Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

The offer seemed nearly too good to be true, too simple to be trusted. They had never liked him. They despised his parentage, chased him off their land, vowed he would receive no portion of his father’s inheritance. Now his half-brothers, legitimate sons of his father, were calling for his return. Begging. Pleading. Promising. They needed him. His strength. His commanding presence. His head for battle. The Ammonites were on the war path, and Israel was scared. Terrified, really. The army encamped against them was worrisome. At the end of their wits and the bottom of their resources, the worried men of Gilead sent word to Jephthah. If he would come defeat the Ammonites, they would make him their ruler. Simple as that.   

Jephthah’s reputation clearly preceded him. He was a mighty warrior, a strong leader. He’d had to be. His life had been spent fighting. For a space at the table, a place to belong, an area where he was recognized for who he was, not for who his parents were. The son of a prostitute, his father may have taken him in, but his half-brothers despised him. Bearing the brunt of his mother’s scorned profession and his father’s indiscretion, Jephthah lived ready to fight. After being unceremoniously ushered from his father’s land without an ounce of inheritance, his ability to lead had been proven by the formation of his own ragtag group of rebels. Jephthah wasn’t sitting around waiting for his half-brothers to come calling. He was building a life for himself. Married a wife. Had a daughter. No other children had come along, but that was fine. He adored his daughter. And now, just as his life seemed to be settling into a decent rhythm, the people who had pushed him out of Gilead were back begging for his help and making promises he wasn’t sure they could keep. 

Not that he wasn’t interested in testing the theory. He was. Jephthah was absolutely interested in becoming the leader of the people who had kicked him out. What a boon that would be! And the Ammonites were being ridiculous. They had no claim to the land. If they had a claim, if they really wanted it, they wouldn’t have waited 300 years to come and try to take it. Not once in that time had the Ammonites attempted to take it back, by force or any other means. What stirred them up now was anyone’s guess. Yet here they were, claiming the land had been stolen from them generations past and demanding that it be peaceably handed back. As if that was going to happen. 

It wasn’t. Not today. Not any day. Not so long as Jephthah had any say about it. The way he understood the story, Israel had never taken the land. They had never been anything but peaceable about things. Asking permission to cross lands rather than simply barging across. Going out of their way to appease the kings of Edom and Moab. Trying to work with King Sihon. Unfortunately, his response to their request was to start a war against Israel. A war God finished. In response to the military attack by King Sihon, Israel defended itself. And God brought an astonishing victory. One that gave Israel control of the entire region. They had been there ever since. God’s victory. God’s land. God’s gift to Israel. The Ammonites were welcome to come try to take it. And they did. (Numbers 21:21-35)

The Ammonite king wasn’t picking up what Jephthah was laying down. Perhaps the man was daft. He was bent on war. And he got it. Gathering fighting men from throughout the land, Jephthah built a mighty army. He lined them up in a battle array. Then Jephthah did something that seems completely unnecessary given his seemingly faith-filled speech to the king of Ammon. Something that seems to indicate his heart might have been more interested in that position of power than he previously let on. Something that appears to reveal doubt lurking just below the surface of his brave facade. Jephthah bargains with God. Not just any bargain, either. Jephthah makes an “If you…I will…” vow. If God will give them victory over the Ammonites, Jephthah will give God the first thing that comes out of his house to meet him when he returns. As a sacrifice. A burnt offering. 

The Bible does not record a response from God to this vow. Nothing verbal. No special sign. Lightning doesn’t flash to seal the deal. The earth doesn’t shake. God seems to remain silent where the vow is concerned. But He does give them victory. Jephthah and his army crushed the Ammonites. Devastated their towns. Scattered their armies. Left absolutely no question as to who now owned that land. God gave Israel victory. And Jephthah had a promise to keep.  

Returning home, Jephthah should have been riding high on the wave of glorious victory. He wasn’t. His heart was heavy. His soul was burdened. His mind kept replaying the rash vow he made to God. What had he been thinking? Why had he said those words? What momentary blip occurred in his brain to make him vow such a thing? It had the potential to end badly. He knew it. In his spirit, he knew things could go enormously wrong. And they did. 

Nearing his home, Jephthah watched in disbelief as the door flew open and his daughter rushed out. His only child. His cherished girl. Beautiful. Vibrant. Full of life and joy. Her tambourine was in her hand. Her feet were dancing. Her face was brimming with celebratory joy and pride in her father. And Jephthah’s heart shattered. The blood drained from his face. He fought to keep himself upright. When he made the vow, he was only thinking of wheedling and cajoling God into giving them victory so he could be the ruler over the people who wronged him. He hadn’t considered the consequences. Until now. Until he stood facing the daughter he loved more than his own life and realized he had promised God he would offer her as a sacrifice to Him. Jephthah didn’t consider the ramifications of his vow until it came time to perform it. Now he was hesitant to do so. (Judges 11:1-35)

One wonders if Jephthah’s hesitancy would have been the same had something or someone else exited his home. If an animal had come out the door and down the path, would he have fulfilled his vow on the spot with no remorse? If someone of whom he was not fond exited as he approached, would he have found his promise as difficult to keep? Probably not. It doesn’t work that way for us, either. When the promises we make to God are easy and palatable to keep, we have no problem fulfilling them. When they cost us little or nothing, we fulfill our vows and move on. But what about the ones that cost us? The ones we make in the dark of night when our prayers are urgent, our situation dire, our needs and wants so pressing we will do anything to bribe God into doing what we want done. What about those promises? Will you really give extra money to missions if God rescues you from joblessness with a six-figure income? Will you dedicate your free time to charity work if He heals your crippling illness? Will you devote your entire life to spreading the gospel all over the world if God grants you whatever wish you have at this moment? Do you really believe the God who made everything and needs nothing is selling His blessings for the paltry sum of your good intentions? When it is all said and done, when God has given you what your heart desires, when your promise is lying next to your trouble in the rearview mirror, do you truly intend to keep the vow you made, or is your heart already searching for a way to renege? 

It seems Jephthah’s heart was looking for a way around his vow. A loophole. A caveat. An opportunity for alteration. At least his daughter thought so. And she wasn’t having it. Although the brunt of the vow fell on her, she bravely took it up. Looked her waffling father straight in the eyes and told him to keep the vow. He had to. He promised. And he did. After two months of roaming the hills, mourning the fact she would never marry and have children, devastated though they were, Jephthah’s daughter came back, and he kept the vow he made to God. Not because it was easy. Not because he wanted to. Not only because he couldn’t find a way around it. Jephthah kept his promise to God because God had done what he asked when he promised. (Judges 11:36-39)

Admittedly, there is no limit of argument among scholars over the vow of Jephthah. Why he made it. Whether or not he was obligated to keep it. How he fulfilled it. The posture of his heart when he did. I’m not really interested in the argument. What interests me, what feels very real for us today, is the pointed way this account depicts for us the truth of Proverbs 20:25, “Don’t make promises to God rashly. Consider the cost first.” I find we are no better at following this advice than Jephthah. (Proverbs 20:25)

Caught in the tension of our own desires and the possibility that God’s plans do not match our own, we often find ourselves bargaining with God. We wrestle. We beg. We plead. We attempt to manipulate. If He will give us the money, the miracle, the motivation, we will give Him something, anything in return. Sitting in that space where our fear outweighs our faith, those promises get out of control. When the clouds finally part and our minds are clear, we look back on them with regret. We search for loopholes, for caveats, for opportunities to alter the wording. Unfortunately, the truth of Deuteronomy 23:21 still holds. God doesn’t take your promises to Him lightly. He doesn’t look at them as possibilities. He expects you to keep them. All of them. (Numbers 30:2; Ecclesiastes 5:4-5; Psalm 76:11; Deuteronomy 23:21) 

So are you? Are you living the life you promised HIm you would when you first came to Him in repentance? Are you following the career path you promised to follow when you heard His call? Have you made the changes you vowed to make when He lovingly highlighted the error of your ways? When conviction settles in your heart, are you obediently keeping the promises you made to salve your conscience and restore your peace? When your desperation to manipulate the outcome of your situation had you throwing yourself on your knees and making promises to God, are you keeping those promises? Are you keeping the promises you made to God in the middle of your storm, your sadness, your suffering? In the face of God’s unfailing love that will not force you to do something against your will, is your word still your bond? Does your integrity show? Are you keeping your promises to God? All of them? Even the ones made in secret and known only to Him? (I John 2:5; Proverbs 11:3, 20:27; Psalm 66:13-14; Malachi 1:14; I Kings 8:39)

Nervously twisting her fingers together, she loitered outside the house. No one was supposed to know He was here. No one was encouraged to approach. No one was intended to come looking for a miracle. Yet here she was. Half hidden behind a shrub near the corner of his residence. Furtively glancing around. Watching. Waiting. Hoping to catch Jesus before others realized He was there. Hoping to present her case. Hoping He would listen. Because Jesus really was her only hope. Her last resort. The only possible resolution to their problem. Her daughter needed a miracle. Right then. That very day. 

Every day the woman felt another piece of her heart shatter as she watched her daughter endure the brutal torment possession by an evil spirit caused. Fear for her child’s safety haunted her. Tears were her constant companion. Sad helplessness enveloped her life. Relentlessly, she searched for answers, a reprieve, a hope to pierce their current darkness. Her daughter was wasting away. The light in her eyes had dimmed. The desire to live was gone. She was a shadow of her former self. Every day that passed was just another hopeless period in the bleak existence stretching out before them. Without a miracle, without hope, her daughter would surely die. 

Desperation had brought her to this place. Hiding around corners. Looking over her shoulder. Rehearsing her words for when Jesus appeared. She shouldn’t even be here. She knew that. She shouldn’t be lying in wait to ambush Him when He clearly wanted privacy. She shouldn’t be lurking outside a man’s dwelling. It wasn’t appropriate. She knew that. She also knew there was no alternative. Jesus was her only hope. Being Gentile hadn’t stopped her from hearing things about Him. He healed the sick. Restored sight to the blind. Cast out demons. That report immediately caught her attention. It was exactly what she needed. Search as she had, no one had ever been able to disentangle her daughter from the evil spirit. No prophet. No priest. No religious teacher. Jesus was her only option. Her final hope. It was still a long shot.  

Quietly exiting His temporary abode, Jesus was immediately met by the lurking Gentile woman. He was not surprised. He knew she was there. He knew why. He still didn’t even look her way. Not when she ran up to Him sobbing, begging, pleading. Not when she threw herself at His feet and poured out her heart. Not as her words toppled over one another, describing her daughter’s tragic situation, her own pain at being impotent to help, and her desperate hope that Jesus would do something, anything, to end their suffering. He didn’t say anything. Not one word. 

The woman probably should have been put off. Embarrassed. Ashamed of her outburst. Humiliated by the lack of response. But she wasn’t. She refused to be. There was nothing else. Nowhere else to go. No one else to consult. She had exhausted every other possibility. All her hope was in Jesus. Every ounce of it. She chose to place it there. And leave it there. Even when He didn’t seem to notice. Even when He didn’t bother to answer. Even when He gave no indication He had even heard. She didn’t move from that place. She didn’t stop asking. Didn’t stop seeking. Whether or not Jesus appeared to be listening, whether or not He chose to immediately act. She was going nowhere. Hope in His storied mercy and compassion had her rooted to that spot, crying out to Jesus for help. 

If Jesus could ignore the ruckus, the disciples absolutely could not. They were crazy annoyed. That woman needed to go. Now. She was obnoxious. Her caterwauling was interrupting their comfortable relaxation and pleasant conversation. While they weren’t about to lift a finger to help dispatch her, they definitely believed Jesus should. He needed to either fix her daughter or simply tell her to leave. They didn’t really care which one He chose. Either was fine with them. So long as the woman left. She was bugging them. Disturbing their peace. Interrupting their quiet. Driving them to distraction. The disciples said as much to Jesus, “Tell her to get out of here. Her constant whining is getting on our nerves.” (Matthew 15:23)

Responding to the disciples’ irritated urging, Jesus finally addressed the distraught woman. It wasn’t going to happen. As dire as her need was, as much sorrow as He felt for her plight, as much as His heart of compassion was moved for all people in desperate circumstances, He couldn’t help her. He wasn’t here for that. He wasn’t here to be everyone’s beck-and-call boy. He was sent to help God’s people. Jewish people. The house of Israel. He wasn’t sent to help the Gentiles. Although the words appear to be said gently, the slamming door of a “no” answer echoes from His lips in an air of sad finality. It looks like it is over. Finished. Ended. But only for a moment. The tenacious woman isn’t done. 

Hearing His initial answer, the woman remains undeterred. In fact, she pleads more intentionally. She pours more pain and grief into her request. She allows the sorrow of her soul to erupt from the depths of her being. Watching the last viable option for help slipping from her grasp, she vulnerably places her now fragile hope before Jesus and asks Him to do what she knows He can do. Deliver her daughter from evil. Please. Lord, help us. Heal my daughter if you will, but if you won’t, help me to carry on under the enormous burden of this situation. Give me wisdom and strength and courage to do the best I can by the child I have. 

I think that is what she was really saying when she fell on her knees and said, “Lord, help me.” She was acknowledging that Jesus might choose not to fulfill her request. But she wasn’t afraid to make a second request. Not specifically for healing, but for help. She knew her own strength was gone. She didn’t have the energy for this situation. If Jesus wasn’t going to change it, she hoped He would grant her the ability to continue under circumstances that were decidedly negative. And Jesus reiterated His “no.”

In verbiage everyone would consider insulting, Jesus informed the discouraged and disappointed woman that the bread He had to share was for the family table, not for the dogs at their feet. For the Jews, not the Gentiles. Not for her. She wasn’t worthy. But she already knew that. She knew this would be a long shot from the moment the idea entered her brain. And she wasn’t prepared to give up without a fight. 

When most of us would have tucked tail and run, given up entirely, gone home to mourn our losses and lick our wounds, this woman straightened her spine, dried her tears, and looked Jesus right in the eye. She had something to say. A comeback. A final salvo to fire before she accepted defeat. Jesus was right. The food on the table was for the family members. The dogs shouldn’t be allowed to rob the family of their daily bread. But. No family eats everything. Invariably, someone drops something on the ground. Crumbs. Crusts. Cruciferous vegetables. And the dogs can have all of that they want. That’s what she wanted. That’s what she was asking for. She wasn’t asking for the full meal. She was asking for the crumbs. She was asking just for what they needed to survive. She was asking that her hope be fulfilled, her faith be made sight. She was asking Jesus to miraculously prove that choosing to place her hope in Him hadn’t been a mistake. 

Something in her comeback flipped the script. You can almost see the laugh lines crinkle at the sides of Jesus’ eyes. He smiles. He capitulates. He gives her the miracle. Not because her argument is strong. Because her faith is. In the face of daunting obstacles, the Gentile mother staunchly chooses to place her hope in the power of God and her faith in His heart of compassion and refuses to budge. She doesn’t falter. She doesn’t bend. She doesn’t get discouraged and walk away. No. She stays there. Begging. Pleading. Arguing. Hoping. Praying for help in one form or another. Healing if Jesus chooses. Strength if He doesn’t. And she is rewarded with the proof of what the Apostle Paul writes to the Romans so many years later. Hope in God doesn’t disappoint. Even when it doesn’t give you exactly what you want. Even if the answer is “no.” (Matthew 15:21-28; Mark 7:24-30; Romans 5:5)

Admittedly, hope in God doesn’t always turn out exactly the way we imagine. When things go sideways, when life hands us situations we don’t know how to handle, when we straight up need a miracle, we come to God with options. We tell Him what He needs to do, when He needs to do it, and how it should be done. Instead of bringing our situations to Him and putting our hope in His infinite wisdom, unending goodness, and unfailing compassion, we bring our situations and a list of tightly micromanaged options for Him to choose from. We ask for exactly what we want, what seems best from our limited future view, and believe He hasn’t answered if we don’t get what we want. A “no” is not an answer for us. We refuse to hear anything but a “yes.” It is often to our detriment. (Isaiah 55:8-9; Ecclesiastes 11:5; Proverbs 16:9; Jeremiah 10:23; Philippians 2:13)

Before you were born, God knew you. He formed you. Body. Mind. Soul. He planned your life. Every breath of it. He knows your future. Every second of it. He comprehends exactly how what happens in your today will shape your tomorrows. And He is working out a plan. His plan. For you. Sometimes you will ask God for something, and He will say “no.” Not that person. Not that school. Not that house. Not that job. Sometimes the “no” will be about something else. Something bigger. Something harder. Something more painful. It will be the most difficult thing you ever hear from God. Crushed and broken, angry and unable to see a remote possibility for future happiness, you will be tempted to place your hope in someone or something else. Work. Money. Doctors. Success. You will be tempted to reject God and go it alone. Please don’t do it. Instead, with the distraught Gentile woman, resolve to place your hope in God’s heart of infinite wisdom and ultimate love. Stay at His feet, begging, seeking, asking for His help. Whatever that looks like for your situation. Don’t leave that place. Stay there and keep entreating. Keep asking for His help, His wisdom, His strength. When you think He isn’t listening, when you believe He isn’t hearing, when it feels like He isn’t working. Trust His heart. Even when God says “no”. (Psalm 18:30, 19:7, 139; Matthew 7:7-8; James 1:5; Luke 18:1-8; Romans 8:28)

Satisfied smiles wreathed every face as they stood back to admire their work. Houses lined the street. Their houses. On their street. In their city. Finally. It had been a long time coming. Sometimes they thought it never would. Often, it seemed they were destined to live the rest of their lives in exile. They were grateful it hadn’t been that way. Grateful for a new regime allowing them to return home and rebuild their lives. It had been a journey, but they had done it. Through blood, sweat, and tears, they erected the best houses they had ever inhabited. The dwellings of their dreams. Beautiful homes with every convenience imaginable. And they were still building. Houses for themselves, their sons, their daughters. They weren’t sure they would ever stop. Yet even as they hauled logs and sawed boards, they couldn’t avoid the niggling truth. Not all of their efforts had been successful.

Although the building efforts had gone spectacularly, the same could not be said for their farming endeavors. The fields they had carefully plowed and planted weren’t producing with any great abundance. Rain wasn’t falling. At least not as much as they needed. Morning dew had become non-existent. The crops were struggling at best, often failing. Feeding their families was a struggle. Their homes were beautiful, but their pantries were empty. And they didn’t know why. They couldn’t figure it out. Why had God allowed them to finally return to Jerusalem, to build fabulous homes, only to strike them with famine and drought? It seemed the greatest conundrum of their day. Until Haggai came along. 

Haggai knew exactly what was happening. And why. He had the inside line. God had spoken to him. Given him words for the people who were successfully building but failing at farming. It wasn’t a happenstance. It was a wake-up call. The people had gotten distracted. They had been so busy rebuilding their lives and building their homes that they had set aside the one thing that should have been more important than anything. They had forgotten their God. 

Maybe not entirely. It seems unlikely they had quit worshipping completely. They hadn’t purposely abandoned God and chosen a different deity to worship. They had not quit God. They had simply relegated Him to a place of lesser importance. Probably not intentionally. At least not at first. At first, they legitimately believed they were doing the right thing in building homes for themselves and planting crops to feed their families. Those things were urgent. They were good and right and necessary. But now they were done. The houses were built. The crops were planted. But the people were still busy making excuses for not beginning the work of rebuilding the temple of the Lord. 

Their houses needed winterized. Their crops, such as they were, needed harvested. The fields needed plowed in preparation for the next planting. There were animals to tend and children to raise. Water to be hauled from the local well. Their lives were busy. They had things to do. Good things. Real things. Necessary things. By the time they finished doing all their own things, there wasn’t time to think about or work on the things of God. Things like rebuilding the temple. With every excuse they made to procrastinate, the urgency they felt for the project became less. Finally, they were so busy keeping up with their newly developed lifestyle that they didn’t even notice the temple ruins. Didn’t mourn the loss. Didn’t miss attendance. Didn’t realize the disrespect they were giving to their God. 

It was time to set the record straight. God wasn’t having this. He wasn’t interested in fancy houses and flourishing fields where His name was never mentioned and His house remained destroyed. They were reaping the results of His dissatisfaction. Their harvests were poor. The rain didn’t come. The grain and grapes, and olives weren’t getting the nutrients they needed to flourish. Starvation seemed possible, even probable. Yet none of the people seemed to see the correlation. Their current choices determined their future prosperity. And they had chosen to create the illusion of material wealth while neglecting spiritual fortune. 

In a straightforward lecture through the prophet, Haggai, God told the people off. He was done with this. Why were they so invested in making their own homes fantastic, but wouldn’t lift a finger to repair His house? Not even a little bit. Did they not realize that in neglecting His house, they were neglecting Him? Had it never occurred to them that if they built His house and gave Him proper space in their hearts and lives, He would provide the rain and dew, increase the harvests, nourish the grapes and olives? Did they not yet understand that if they would devote themselves to God, He would be with them and bless them and care for them all the days of their lives? If they would build God’s house first, everything else would fall into place. The Lord of Heaven’s Armies had promised. (Haggai 1:1-11; I Samuel 2:30)

Suddenly, it all made sense. The drought. The famine. The struggle. It was their own fault. Their priorities were misaligned. Fear that their families would be left homeless and starving had forced them straight into taking care of themselves and putting off caring for God’s temple. They had let things slip. They had put their faith in their own abilities, trusted the work of their own hands more than the power of God’s promise. But not anymore. They were done with that. From this moment on they were throwing themselves fully under the protection of the promise that God was with them. Rebuilding the temple would take priority. Right now. Today.  This very moment they would gather their tools and make the trek into the forest to harvest logs and begin resurrecting the temple of God to its rightful glory. (Haggai 1:12-15)

For nearly a month they worked. Felling trees. Hauling logs. Sawing boards. Building the walls and restoring the structure. Yet even as the work progressed, discouragement descended. In spite of all they were doing, the temple didn’t look anything like it had. Their rough-hewn boards, erected by untrained hands, didn’t lend the breathtaking quality the skilled laborers had been able to give. It broke their hearts. Nearly broke their spirits. It felt as if they were failing, as if their work wasn’t enough. And they were tired. Physically worn. Mentally exhausted. Haunted by the growing list of the things they needed to do for their own survival. Some started spending a little more time at home. The work began to flag. Until God spoke again. 

Not in the same tone as before. Not with reprimand and rebuke. No. In words of love and encouragement to His people, God called them to get to work. Keep working. Don’t stop. Don’t be discouraged. The glory of the previous temple would come. In God’s time. In God’s way. He would do it. That was His job. Not theirs. Their task was to stay focused. Get to work. Keep faith in the promises of God. Don’t be distracted by earthly things. Prioritize the spiritual. Remembering this. You can build a breathtaking temple filled with intricate carvings, shining metals, and glistening gems, but if the spirit of God isn’t there, none of that matters. Honor God. Build His house according to the ability He has given you. Let Him fill it. He will. He is faithful that promised. (Haggai 2)

It would do us well to heed those same words. Not because we need to build a new church building. We don’t. There are plenty. God isn’t asking you to build another building. He is telling you to get to work repairing the one you have. Your personal temple. Your heart. His home. God is calling you to prioritize Him above everything else. All earthly endeavors. All efforts to establish prosperity and prominence. All attempts to stack up earthly goods, material treasures, and social accolades. God is calling you to shore up the edges of your sagging spiritual existence. Get right with Him. Put Him first. Allow Him to work for and in and through you. Just like He promised. Trust Him to take care of you. Be brave and get to work. Because if the necessary repairs to the church universal are going to happen, repairs to the church personal must first occur. (Exodus 20:3; Proverbs 3:6; Acts 3:19-20; Matthew 6:19-21,33)

There is no avoiding that the church of today is not what it was in the Book of Acts. Peter and Paul would have strong words for us. So would Haggai. Words we very much need to hear. We have become complacent. We have allowed our earthly lives to usurp the priority of our spiritual lives. We have lowered our standards, replaced our convictions, altered the ramifications of disobedience. Spiritual drought has set in. Fear of social pushback has silenced our voices. Yet it is into that silence God speaks. Calling us to wake up, step up, and get to work. On ourselves. Our own hearts. Our own sins. Tighten up the spaces in us that have fallen slack. Clean up the areas that have become cluttered with worldly things. Get right with God. Put Him first. Accept His authority over our lives. Then get to work on our churches. Turn the focus back to Him. Prioritize His presence, His power, His preeminence. Make God’s church a place for God’s people to worship God and hear Him speak. Only Him. Don’t let the world clutter the space or muddy His words. Don’t let anyone, preacher or deacon or well-meaning congregant, alter the truth of His Word. Focus on God. Alone. Put Him first. Allow Him to work for and in and through His church, spreading His love and grace throughout the surrounding community. Get to work, do your part, and watch God build a glorious church full of people who prioritize Him. (Matthew 5:19; Isaiah 1:16-17; Deuteronomy 28:1-68; Revelation 2-3; Ephesians 5:27) 

Resting his hands atop the long handle of his garden hoe, he studied the coming entourage through narrowed eyes. It looked important. There was too much pomp and circumstance for the visitor to be a neighboring farmer or passing trader. This looked official. Dignified. Royal. It wouldn’t be the first of its kind. King Abimelech had spoken with him before. Twice. First, when he discovered Rebekah was Isaac’s wife, not his sister. Second, to order him out of his city. Neither had been particularly cordial conversations. The king’s feathers had been ruffled every time. Yet, try as he might, Isaac couldn’t think what he had done to infuriate the man this time. He had taken his wife and possessions and left the area. He was carefully minding his own business. There was no reason for the king to seek him out again. Tamping down the rising concern in his stomach, Isaac braced himself to pack up and move. Again. 

Admittedly, the king had good reason to be annoyed with Isaac for passing Rebekah off as his sister. Seriously. Even a Philistine knew the sin of taking another man’s wife as one’s own. He knew the danger of crossing swords with Isaac’s God. Passed down through time was the story of another man, Abraham, who claimed his wife was his sister, nearly costing the king of that day his life. It had caused quite a stir in the kingdom then. Enough so that the king had hastily shown that man the door. Not so with Isaac. 

Rather than ordering them ushered out of his kingdom by military escort, the king issued a protection order over them. Death awaited the one who touched Isaac and Rebekah. It was handy. Living in a foreign land, knowing you were safe. They settled in. Planted crops. Built herds. The land was fertile. Their farm flourished. God moved. The first harvest was astonishing. Multiple times above and beyond what Isaac expected. His flocks and herds grew. His money multiplied. Isaac found himself quite content to put down roots and stay forever. The original citizens had other ideas. 

Jealous of Isaac’s blessings, the Philistines began harassing him. Making mischief. Hoping Isaac would be miserable enough to leave. They loaded dirt into all his wells. Old wells. Wells that had been there for some time. Wells, his father, Abraham, had dug. Isaac didn’t budge. Eventually, King Abimelech had enough. Either in capitulation to his people or in genuine irritation at Isaac, the king handed him his hat and showed him the door. Quite literally. He asked him to leave. More aptly, he kicked him out of the city. Isaac had grown too much, was too successful, had eclipsed the local status quo, and they wanted him gone. So he packed his bags, his tools, his animals, his family, and moved out to the valley. (Genesis 26:1-18)

It wasn’t far enough. The shepherds from the city still had access to him. They could still monitor his every move. They could cause trouble if they wanted. And they did. Very much. They wanted to cause trouble. They wanted to make Isaac’s life a little more miserable than necessary. They wanted to see if they could interrupt his work, derail his success, encourage him to move again. And again. 

They stalked him. Snuck around his new place. Made mischief. When Isaac’s servants dug and discovered a well of fresh water in the valley, the shepherds from the city came and claimed it as their own. The herdsmen argued with them, but Isaac didn’t. He called the well contentious and calmly moved his servants to another spot. Again they dug until finding water. Again, the shepherds from the city disputed ownership of the well. Again, words were exchanged. Fists were clenched. Not Isaac’s. He calmly dubbed the well hostile and moved his servants to another digging place. 

Bending into the back-breaking work again, the servants were surely casting glances over their shoulders and keeping an eye out for the nosy Philistines. They were certainly past the slurs and hostilities thrown at them. They were over the lies and stealing of their hard work. They weren’t going to let it happen again. They needn’t have worried. When they struck water this time, no one came forward to dispute the ownership. No one raced in to call it their own. No one seemed to want this one. And Isaac praised God for the open space He had given them to live and flourish in the land. In all the hardship and suffering, with people coming against them for absolutely no logical reason, God had been with them. God had blessed them. God’s plan had prevailed. (Genesis 26:19-25)

Isaac had always known it would. He was the very living, very obvious proof that God would provide and prevail. The boyhood recollection of lying on an altar, a bound sacrifice to God, his father’s knife raised high above him would never leave his memory. Nor would the angelic voice calling from heaven to stop the proceedings. God had provided a sacrifice. The boy on the altar didn’t need to die. Isaac had lived that. He still trusted that same God. And it showed. In moments where servants and herdsmen would have been happy to resort to fisticuffs, Isaac carefully, yet pointedly, turned them to another space. A space where he trusted God to take care of them. No need to argue. No need to fight. No need to adjudicate the issue. God would handle it. He always did. Isaac knew he could trust Him. (Genesis 22:1-14)

Eventually, God had brought him to this current place. The place he was now standing as he watched the procession get closer. Isaac had been right. It wasn’t a neighbor, a lost soul, or a traveling market. It was Abimelech. Again. Flanked by his adviser and his army commander. They were clearly on a mission. How it involved Isaac, he wasn’t certain. No matter how hard he thought, not one reason came to mind that would necessitate the king and his cronies traveling this distance to visit him. He had done what they had asked. He had left their city. His servants had dug wells and left them to their shepherds. He had moved on more than once without so much as a dirty look. He couldn’t fathom what offense they had come up with this time. He wasn’t even sure what to say when they got there. He wasn’t happy to see them. He wasn’t interested in serving them lunch. One doesn’t invite their enemies for tea and a chat. 

As it turned out, Isaac didn’t need to say much at all. Abimelech had the talking covered. They weren’t looking to cause more trouble. They were looking for peace. With him. Because they had been watching. They had been paying more attention than he realized. They had noticed, plainly seen, that God was with him. It was obvious. Not just because he was prospering so magnificently. No. They noticed God was with him by the way he handled himself in times of frustration and anger. They noticed every time he simply walked away and started again in a new place rather than physically fight or cause an uproar. They noticed that Isaac simply straightened his spine and went about his business. He didn’t run around gossipping about the Philistines, stirring up strife, or attempting to cause divisions among the people. He didn’t seek revenge. He didn’t passive-aggressively set traps to make them look like idiots for all to see. He could have. He didn’t. Isaac simply went about his business, resting in the fact that God would protect, provide, and prosper his life. And God did. (Genesis 26:26-33)

It was 2025 when I read Genesis 26 and realized how admirably Isaac handled himself in less-than-desirable circumstances. Not because I hadn’t read the account before. I had. Year after year, I have read that same passage and wondered why he just walked away without a fight and went off to dig another well. Maybe I have been seeing it through the lens of today’s society. Social media would rip this guy up as a weakling. Keyboard warriors would hammer out diatribes on how he should have stood his ground. In a society that loves a fight, there would be no end of harsh judgment and name-calling. He’d be tagged a coward. Pushover. Spineless. Weak. But not by me. Not today. Not ever again. Because the words of Abimelech snagged my attention with such force I will never again read the account the same way. “It is plain to us that God is with you.” Obvious. Clear. Indisputable. God’s presence in Isaac’s life was so prominent that no one could debate it. Not just by how he prospered, but by how he handled himself when things didn’t go his way. (Genesis 26:28)

Through all the turmoil and trouble, Abimelech had been watching. When they tried to sabotage Isaac, the people had taken notice. When the shepherds had stolen his wells and been braced for a fight, they took note when he didn’t engage. When Isaac had every reason to react in rage, but instead acted with calm respect and quiet dignity, those looking on paid attention. When other men would have reacted with insults and war and shenanigans of their own, Isaac didn’t. He didn’t need to. He knew who his God was. He knew in whose hands his life and times lay. He knew in Whose presence he lived. And so did everyone else. Isaac’s relationship with God plainly showed in the way he lived his life and handled his business, not just when he prospered, but in every word, every action, every moment, every day. 

Can the same be said for you? Do you occupy a spiritual space so close to God that your reactions to negative circumstances and derogatory situations plainly reflect the presence of God in your life? Do you live so close to Him, trust Him so implicitly, that your response to trouble and trials and turmoil reflect His heart? When things go sideways, when enemies attack, when life seems to have it out for you, does your relationship with God shine from your life in a grand exhibition of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control? In the best of times, in the worst of times, at all times, can the people around you plainly see that you dwell in the presence of God? (Galatians 5:22-23; Ephesians 5:8-9; Colossians 3:12-14; II Peter 1:5-8; Matthew 7:16-20; Isaiah 32:17; Luke 3:8)

The lid of another empty picnic basket swished silently closed, as disappointment washed over the owner’s face. There was nothing left. Not even crumbs. The stash of bread and fruit, and fish meant to nourish them for the entire journey was gone, and they still needed to make the journey home. The food had been good while it lasted. It would have been better had it lasted longer. No one told them they would be gone so long. No one suggested packing extra in case the meetings ran long. No one slipped an emergency loaf into their hands as they walked out the door. They hadn’t thought they needed it. Never would they have expected to be gone so long. Their provision packing proved it. They hadn’t meant to spend three days in a remote place, far from home, listening to Jesus teach. Most had figured on an afternoon. Many had planned for a day. Based on reports from other places, some thought it might last a bit longer. Some hoped it would go on indefinitely. Only a handful planned for it. Now here they sat, miles from the nearest market. Stomachs rumbling. Provisions gone. Options limited. (Mark 8:1-8)

It was not a new scenario for the disciples. They had seen it before. Not long ago they stood beside Jesus as He looked out over an even larger crowd in another remote place. They, too, had gathered to hear Him teach. They were engrossed in the message, intent on learning, oblivious to the dipping sun and darkening sky. They also had nothing to eat. Concerned, either for their own grumbling stomachs or the well-being of the gathered people, the disciples suggested Jesus release them. Now. Send them home in time for dinner. Get them to town before the food stalls lowered their blinds for the day. But Jesus had another idea. They could feed them right there. Have an enormous picnic. Put on a spread the gathered people would never forget.  

Commanded to investigate possible food sources, the disciples mingled with the crowd until they found five tiny rolls and two measly fish. It was barely enough for one person. It would never be enough. They hauled it back to Jesus, anyway. Carefully taking the measly haul in His hands, Jesus lifted them up to heaven, blessed them, and handed them back to the disciples. Five loaves divided between twelve men, meant to feed thousands of people. It seemed impossible. It wasn’t. Every time the disciples prepared to hand out the final chunk of bread, more appeared. When they counted heads and knew there was too few fish, it just kept coming as though they had cooked an entire night’s catch. The people ate as much as they wanted. Large first helpings. Generous second helpings. Some had thirds. Others gathered a little for the journey home. Still, when it was all said and done, when the final person had taken all they wanted, when everyone had left for home, when the disciples were done cleaning up all the leftovers, there were twelve baskets of food remaining. No one had to leave hungry. The Bread of Life gave them bread to sustain life. They could have as much as they wanted. (Mark 6:35-44)

You can almost hear the disciples heave a frustrated sigh as they watched this new group of people checking their empty provision bags, searching their pockets for mints, surreptitiously looking around to see if anyone had a slice of bread they would be willing to share. Maybe the disciples silently wondered if the people purposely came ill-prepared. Perhaps they questioned their motives. Were they really here to listen and learn, or were they simply a bunch of Looky-Lou’s out to see what kind of spread Jesus would lay out to silence their stomachs? 

No one would ever know the answer to that question, but everyone should have been able to predict Jesus’ response. He felt sorry for them. Just like last time. He looked at their faces, heard their stomachs rumble, mentally measured the distance to town and home, and took pity on them. They had been a good audience. Their motives were largely pure. So they hadn’t planned properly. It was okay. How were they to know they would be there for three days? They couldn’t have known they needed to ration their food. And, although He needed to move on to the next town, He couldn’t send them into the highways and byways without feeding them. Some of them had run out of provisions a day ago. The lack of sustenance could see them fainting before they ever reached town. No. The people needed to eat. The disciples needed to feed them. Now. With whatever they had on hand. 

Going out to search among the people for any available rations, the disciples came back with seven loaves of bread and a handful of fish. They already knew what Jesus was going to do. He would bless it, break it, and hand it back to them to distribute. The tiny, nearly stale loaves would become large, endless slices of tender bread, the fish would stretch to fill the chinks in every belly. No one would walk away hungry. They could all have as much as they wanted. Physical bread to sustain their lives as they traveled to their earthly home. Spiritual bread to sustain their souls as they traveled to their heavenly home. The Bread of Life for every breath of life. It could all be found in Jesus. And every person could have as much–or as little–as they wanted. The disciples knew it. Now the people would know it too. Not by hearsay. By experience. They could have all of Jesus they wanted. (Mark 8:1-8)

That was exactly how it went. The disciples brought the loaves and fishes to Jesus. He blessed them. Handed them back. The disciples distributed them. The people ate. Large first helpings. Generous second helpings. Some had thirds. Others filled their pockets with rations for the journey home. Everyone got everything they needed. All they wanted. As much as they could handle. There was no limit. On anything. Not on the food. Not on Jesus. Everyone could have as much as they wanted. There was more than enough to go around. No one needed to leave hungry. And they didn’t. They left knowing what others had yet to find out. You can have all of Jesus you want. He is the Bread of Life for every breath of your life. 

Nearly two decades ago, God spoke that very lesson to me in the middle of a grocery store aisle. I was moping. Saddled with a list of physical issues that had me studiously reading every ingredient label on the shelf–and putting most of them back–I was frustrated and irritated and not a little annoyed. Sighing to myself, I nearly gave in to the self-pity when a highly recognizable, still, small voice whispered in my ear, “You can have all of Jesus you want.” Hands curled around the handle of my shopping cart, I stood utterly still and absorbed that truth. There are no allergies to the Bread of life. Jesus will not negatively affect your blood pressure or excessively elevate your heart rate. Time spent with Him will not heighten the effects of your chronic illness. You can have as much of Jesus as you want, as often as you like. There is unlimited supply. Your heart doesn’t need to go hungry. He is the Bread of life for every breath of your life. You can have all of Jesus you want. 

I think that is the part of Jesus’ miraculous multiplication that we often overlook. We get so flabbergasted by the enormous miracle that we miss the intended takeaway. The part about the Miracle Maker Himself. We miss the fact that Jesus is the never-ending Bread of Life to sustain us through every breath of our lives. And He is not in short supply. He never sends anyone away. Not the hungry heart. Not the parched soul. All who come to Him with sincere hearts, longing for His presence, seeking His kingdom, hungering and thirsting for His righteousness will be filled. That is the promise. No one goes away hungry. No one leaves thirsty. Jesus is the Bread and Water of life, for every part of your life. And you can have all of Jesus you want. (John 4:13-14; 6:35; 7:37-38; Isaiah 55:1-2; Matthew 5:6; 11:28-29; I Corinthians 5:8; I Peter 5:7; Psalm 46:1)

Perhaps that’s the rub. How much of Jesus do you want? Are you happy with a sip and a crust, or do you hunger and thirst for more? Constantly. Do you understand your need to have the Bread of life for every breath of your life? Every single inhale and exhale. Do you comprehend the urgency to have the Water of life poured into your parched soul? Do you want Jesus more than you long for the treasures and trinkets of the world? Do you hunger and thirst for Him? Are you willing to clear out your heart to be saturated with His presence, or are you trying to keep Him contained in one tiny space? Honestly. How much of Jesus do you want? Because you can have it. All of it. There’s no limit. You can spend every day drinking in His presence. You can continually feed your soul at the table of grace. You never need to be hungry.  You can have as much of Jesus as you want. (John 15:4; Jeremiah 29:13; James 4:8; Psalm 119:2)