Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

The strong warning quickly snapped their straying attention into focus. It was not what they expected to hear. Dropped in the middle of the soothing words offering rewards to those who were humble, repentant, and merciful, the change in tone had them scrambling to sit up straight, pay attention, and mark Jesus’ words. “Don’t be confused about why I came.” Do not be misguided. Do not misunderstand. Don’t allow outside opinions to color the truth. Don’t believe everything you hear from pompous leaders and self-important historical interpreters. Don’t fall for the idea that the coming Messiah will bring social turbulence, war, and religious change. Don’t think for a second that Jesus came to rewrite the laws of God. He didn’t.  He came to uphold them. All of them. Every single one. (Matthew 5:1-20)

God hadn’t changed in the centuries since He carved commandments into tablets of stone for Moses to take to the people. Neither had His rules and regulations. When He commanded His people to love God first, their neighbors second, He wasn’t offering an editable manuscript. When God, through prophets and psalmists and kings, told His people to live humbly, act justly, and react with mercy, He didn’t include an expiration date. No. The blueprint for godly living handed down from Heaven was indelibly etched for every generation of humanity. No one has the power to override them. No one can alter them. No earthly authority can render them void. And no one is required to inhabit a space where adherence to God’s laws is a burden. It doesn’t have to be. That’s the reason Jesus came. (Exodus 20; Mark 12:30-31; Matthew 28:18; Micah 6:8)

It wasn’t currently like that. The laws were their taskmaster. Heavy. Harsh. Binding. Interpreted by religious scholars, the people were forced to obey their ideals. They didn’t know any better. Didn’t have the education to study it themselves. Weren’t aware there could be another way. Religious authorities dangled the carrot of eternal life in front of them, offering it only to those who radically adhered to their interpretation of the law. There was no room for deviance. There was no mercy, no grace, no justice. Paralyzed by ignorance and fear, yet desperate to inherit eternal life, the people bowed under the burden. Until Jesus came. 

Stepping into that world where eternal life was earned, not bestowed, Jesus came. He came to show them a better way. A way of joyful obedience that came from a heart right with God rather than the burdensome drudgery they were currently enduring. Jesus came to save them from their sin. All of it. Graciously. Mercifully. He came to fill their hearts with His peace, joy, and love. He came to give them eternal life. They didn’t deserve it. They couldn’t earn it. No matter how intricate their maze of rules and regulations, nor how meticulously they adhered, the only way to find it was to repent and accept the life-changing forgiveness offered through the sacrifice of Jesus on the cross. That was the reason He came. (Matthew 1:21, 11:28-30)

No one realized it at the time. As Jesus walked among them, teaching, preaching, healing, and loving, no one thought for a moment one of the reasons He came was to die a horrific death on a rough-hewn cross. No one believed He was going to be betrayed and suffer and die so eternal life could be free. Even His disciples were confused about it. Couldn’t understand it. Refused to believe it. Peter went so far as to reprimand Jesus for saying these things. Poor choice. Jesus wasn’t having it. In strong words of rebuke, he pointed out the error of Peter’s ways. He was thinking like a human. Limited. Fallible. Selfish. Jesus didn’t come for that. He didn’t come to earth to show off his miraculous healing abilities. He wasn’t trying to build His own fame or share His own name. This wasn’t the moment to bring His final kingdom to earth. That wasn’t why He came. Not this time. Jesus came at that time, in that century, to those people, in fulfillment of the prophecies they had heard about for so long. But He didn’t come as a triumphant warrior separating the wheat and the tares. No. He came as the suffering servant depicted in Isaiah. He came to be the sacrificial lamb. For their sins, then. For our sins now. Jesus came to pay the ultimate price so humanity could live. Truly live. Be at peace with God. Be in love with God. Build a relationship with the Father that was so deep their obedience to His commands would come easily. Naturally. They would seek to do His will. First. Long for it. Completely. Jesus came to live a life that would demonstrate how to continue living after He died. (Matthew 16:21-23; Isaiah 53; Psalm 40:8; James 4:8)

This is what the Sermon on the Mount was really all about. Sometimes it reads a little like a secondary list of do’s and don’ts, a more detailed reiteration of the Ten Commandments. It isn’t. Rather, it is a guidebook. A literary pathway for humanity to successfully live in obedience to God without all the legalistic claptrap. It wasn’t about counting steps and carrying cloaks. It had nothing to do with being able to publicly prove you were a rule follower. It wasn’t about doing enough good things to buy your way into Heaven. The Sermon on the Mount was about what is in your heart. Because everything you do comes from there. Obedience. Disobedience. Love. Hate. Whatever is in your heart comes out in your actions. God knew this. So He sent Jesus, the propitiation for your sins, to be mocked and beaten, suffer and die on the cross, so your heart could become His home. You could be cleansed inside and out. You could be filled with the Spirit of God. Your life could exhibit His attributes. His love. His joy. His peace. His mercy. This is the reason Jesus came. (Matthew 5-7; I John 2:2; Matthew 23:26; Ephesians 5:18)

I know. I have said that same phrase more than once. I did that on purpose. Jesus didn’t have just one earthly mission. Not so far as I can see. Although the culmination of His time on earth was death on the cross for the salvation of humanity, Jesus came to do other things too. He came to show us the way to God. Not just through repentance and salvation. Through change. Change in our hearts that leads to a change in our actions. Change that leads to obedience. In the best of times. In the worst of times. All the time. Just like Jesus. 

The Apostle Paul would eventually pen the statement that Jesus obediently gave Himself over to death for our sins, so we could live in harmony and obedience and oneness with the Father. It’s true. He did. But it was so much more. At the beginning of this Christmas season, I was just ending my annual reading of the Gospel of Matthew. The arrest, retention, and crucifixion of Jesus. As I write this, I am more acutely aware of that specific reason Jesus came. Normally, we save that thought for Easter. We need to think on it now. The mocking and spitting. The punching and slapping. The beating and bleeding. The crown of long, sharp thorns brutally stabbed into His brow. The excruciating pain of spikes hammered into His hands, breaking the skin, tearing the flesh. Blood running down in every possible direction. We need to close our eyes, picture that scene, hear the people still throwing insults at Him. We need to hear His cry to God, not for Himself, but for His enemies. We need to feel that final breath leave His lungs. And somewhere, deep in our souls, we need to realize, to understand, all the reasons He came. (Romans 4:25; Philippians 2:8; Matthew 27; John 14:15)

Jesus didn’t come just to die, although that would have been enough. He came to live. In your heart. In your life. He came to call you to repentance. He came to dwell in you, to make you His home, to change you from the inside out. Jesus came to give you the extraordinary opportunity to live every day in close, personal relationship with God the Father. He came to demonstrate true love and mercy, and grace. For you. For everyone. Jesus came to bring you life. Spiritual life. Abundantly. On earth. In Heaven. He came to set you free. From yourself. From your sin. He came to give you the greatest gift of all–Himself. His presence, His peace, His protection. You don’t deserve it. You couldn’t earn it. You could never afford to purchase it. He offers it freely. To change your life. That’s the reason He came. (Luke 5:32; Ezekiel 35:26; Jeremiah 31:33; Hebrews 8:10; John 8:36, 10:10; I Peter 1:18; Revelation 3;20)

This was not their home. Not anymore. It never really had been. No matter how many generations came and went in that place, how nice it was, or how much they flourished. It was not the promised land. It was not the place God vowed to give Abraham’s descendants. It was not the area God confirmed to Isaac and later to Jacob as the place His people would inhabit. They might have settled for it, might have been happy to stay there forever, but this was not the place. Even if it felt like it. 

Egypt did feel like it. As the generations passed, it began to feel like home. Familiar. Abundant. Safe. Tucked away on the good land given to their ancestors when Joseph was favored by Pharaoh, they flourished. Crops thrived. Flocks and herds multiplied. Families increased. The Israelite population in Egypt grew to impressive numbers. They were strong from working the land. Given a little military power and structure and the opportunity to join forces with the enemy, they could have posed a threat to Egypt. They didn’t. It never crossed their minds. They were content to continue living in the land, eating good food, enjoying the peace and protection Egypt offered. It felt like they thought home should feel. But it wasn’t home.  

By the time the fourth Israelite generation came along, a Pharaoh came to power who didn’t know their backstory. At all. Apparently, he had never read the historical scrolls. He knew nothing about a multiple-year famine. He had no clue who Joseph was. He didn’t know the Egyptians owed their very existence to the God-inspired engineering of a purchased Israelite slave. What he did know was their numbers were large and growing. He knew they were powerful in their own right. He knew if he and his people didn’t get control over the Israelites, they would have to keep them happy lest they become disgruntled and side with the enemies of Egypt against them. He knew that would spell disaster. For his people. For his country. For his reign. (Exodus 1:6-10)

Gathering his leaders together, they devised a plan they believed would protect their land from the alleged power of the Israelites. Pharaoh clearly knew nothing of the people he was attempting to oppress. He knew nothing about the Israelite’s God. He failed to understand and acknowledge the power that was on their side. In what he believed was a stroke of genius, Pharaoh forced the Israelites into submission by making them slaves. Not household servants. Not cooks, housekeepers, and stable boys. Slaves. People assigned back-breaking labor overseen by brutal taskmasters. People were so oppressed and overworked that they had time for nothing else. No planning meetings with the enemy. No forming uprisings. No plotting against a paranoid Pharaoh. Nothing but work, eat, and sleep. Surely this would stop their growth, tame their numbers, break their spirits. The Israelites would be securely under their thumb, completely reliant on Egypt for every need. Right where Pharaoh wanted them. (Exodus 1:11-14)

Except the plan didn’t work. In spite of the difficulties, the Israelites kept growing. As their workload increased, so did their numbers. And Pharaoh’s anxiety grew. Exponentially. Desperate to stop the population influx and keep control over the people, he called in the Israelite midwives and ordered them to kill every baby boy the moment it was born. Have no mercy. Spare no child. They may have nodded their heads in consent, but Puah and Shiphrah weren’t having it. The request was beyond the pale. They wouldn’t be cooperating. And they didn’t. Much to Pharaoh’s dismay, every baby born in Israel was allowed to live. Girls and boys alike. 

Pharaoh was enraged. His plan wasn’t working. Something was happening out among the Israelites that he didn’t understand. They were surviving, thriving even. It shouldn’t be this way. Not if his plan was working. But there was no report of perished baby boys. There was no sign of the foreigners’ numbers shrinking. No indication that the work orders, the death threats, the evil measures enacted against them were having the desired effect. So he tried again. Issuing a ferocious order, he demanded all Israelite baby boys be thrown into the Nile River. Sink or swim. Be fish food. He really didn’t care. And he never changed his mind. In spite of the lack of evidence that a grand coup was coming, Pharaoh never lifted the work orders. He never gave them their lives back. Instead, he passed the entire process on to the next Pharaoh, who continued the oppression and bondage. (Exodus 1:15-22, 2:23)

When the new king did nothing to change their circumstances, the people of Israel finally realized Egypt was not their home. It never would be. They were never going to be comfortable here again. Shouldn’t have gotten comfortable in the first place. They had focused on where they were and forgotten where they were going. They had allowed the comforts of enemy territory to become the habits of their lives. Now things had gone sideways, and they were trapped in a land where they didn’t belong under the oppression of people who operated out of fear rather than faith. Distressed, discouraged, desperate, they realized the error of getting too comfortable in the wrong place. Acknowledging their need for divine intervention, all Israel cried out to God for a reprieve, a rescue, a relocation. And God answered. Just not immediately. (Exodus 2:23-25)

Eventually, Moses arrived. He brought Aaron with him. The people thought they would be released. It wasn’t so. Not yet. Pharaoh was stubborn. Hardhearted. Evil. He refused to let them go peacefully. He increased their workloads. Again. It seemed like they would never be free. Maybe Egypt really was their home. Ten plagues later, Pharaoh finally let them go. Pushed them out, really. Not that he left it that way. He didn’t. He chased them down. God had to physically separate the Red Sea and create dry land for them to safely escape his army. They had little food with them. Water was scarce. Quickly, they came to the end of their resources. And arrived at the beginning of their complaints. 

The wilderness wasn’t as good as Egypt. The food wasn’t appetizing. The housing wasn’t comfortable. Freedom didn’t look the way they thought it would. Arriving at the promised land wasn’t happening as fast as they thought it should. In the midst of their discomfort, they fussed and fumed about how much better Egypt was than this. They could still smell the cucumbers, leeks, and melons. Their minds could still picture the bounty. They should have stayed. Should have made it their forever home. Why did God bring them out of Egypt with the promise of a permanent home, only to lead them into the wilderness to die? 

 From the comfort of my home, with food in the cupboards, water flowing from the sink, and temperature controls on the wall, I feel indignant every time I read this account and see the things they didn’t. These people were already home. The pillars of cloud and fire proved it. God was with them. Always. He was their home. He was the place they would find everything they needed. He was their Protector, their Provider, their Sustainer. He claimed them as His people. He promised to be their God. The lack of gourmet food and permanent housing notwithstanding, God was with them, watching over them, feeding them, leading them, protecting them. He was shepherding them every step of the way, carefully bringing them to the promised land. What more could they have possibly needed? (Exodus 4:29-17:13)

What more do you need? In a world that pushes us to believe we need more and more and more, what if you found all you need in Jesus? What if you looked to Him for your strength and encouragement? What if you drew guidance from reading His Word? What if He was your sounding board for every word you speak, every message you write? What if you blindly placed your faith in Him to supply your needs, sustain your soul, survive the struggles of this life? What if you realized Jesus is all you need? What if you made your home in Him and let His home be in your heart?      

I hope you do just that. Make your home in Christ. Get to know Him so well you are comfortable in His presence. May it be the only place you long to be. May you come to know Him as your resting place, your hope, your comfort, your peace. Allow Him to make His home in you. Cleanse your heart. Change your mind. Correct your behavior. Allow Christ to set up in you a place that cannot be altered by the shifting moods and opinions of the world because it is firmly settled in the only place that can ever truly be your home. The presence of Christ alone. Today. Tomorrow. Always. This is home. (Psalm 23:1, 27:5, 61:3, 84:2, 90:1; Deuteronomy 33:27; Ephesians 3:17; II Corinthians 6:16; John 14:23)

It would have been so easy to capitulate. The miracle would require little thought. Stones to bread? Easy. Done with a thought, a glance, a word, a wave. For any other human on earth, it would have been an easy decision. Humanity would eclipse divinity. The growling stomach would be louder than the voice of truth. The urge to demand proof rather than exercise obedient faith would eclipse the pinch of conscience. The possibility of gaining earthly power and prestige with the simplest of actions would nearly outweigh the mental warning of imminent danger. Most others would have jumped at the chance for immediate gratification of their most pressing human needs and desires. Not Jesus. 

He’d been in that wilderness a long time. Forty days. Forty nights. More than a month. He’d been fasting. Not one morsel of food had crossed His lips. He was beyond hungry. Painful cramping now accompanied the nearly constant grumbling of His stomach. He was exhausted. Physically. Mentally. The once clear and fervent prayers for the ministry on which He was embarking had drifted into thoughts about the future. Jesus knew what was coming. The part following the three years of ministry. As exciting as the ministry and miracles would be, Jesus knew the culmination of His earthly ministry would be unspeakable. He knew what awaited Him down the line. Persecution. Abuse. Death. Horrible death. Not the kind of passing that happens quietly after a long life and anticipated elderly illness. No. Early age. Violent abuse. Brutal death. It was something He faced with fear and trembling. In the future, He would ask God if there was another way to bring salvation to mankind. Some way. Any way. Anything that would gain the same result without the same suffering. There wouldn’t be. Not now. Not then. Jesus knew that too. The knowledge had the power to make these current wilderness temptations that much more alluring. (Matthew 26:14-16, 36-68, 27:11-52)

In Jesus’ full humanity, the temptations had to seem like a much-desired alternate route to a happy ending. The path ahead was going to be hard. Incredibly hard. People were going to come against Him. Religious leaders would try to trap Him. Someone He called a friend would sell Him off to the highest bidders. He was expecting a bumpy ride. It was already turning out that way. He was starving. Alone. Sitting in the wilderness with no filet of fish in sight, no one with whom to discuss the options, and a loudly growling stomach, it is no surprise that the first temptation was a quick fix for Jesus’ current physical needs. Stones to bread. Speak it. Touch it. Breathe it into being. Listen to the clamoring of His stomach. Ignore the gnawing of His conscience. Brush off the voice warning Him away from temptation. Feed Himself. Physically. It would be so simple to do. But that’s all it would be. Physical food. It wouldn’t strengthen His soul. It wouldn’t enable Him to walk into the world and preach the gospel. His body might be strong, but His soul would be weak. Maybe that was the point. Capitulation to the coming temptation absolutely rested on a weak soul. (Matthew 4:1-4)

 Doubling down on the exhaustion and weakness resulting from lack of sustenance, the evil one tried a different tack. Going to the highest point of the Temple, staring out over Jerusalem, he urged Jesus to nix obedient faith in favor of manipulative proof. Prove He was the Son of God. Right then. Do something dramatic. Get attention. Jump off the Temple pinnacle. God would save Him. Right? Isn’t that what the Bible promised? Right there in the Psalms. Remember the words? So do it. Jump off the temple. Presumptuously shove those words in God’s face and force Him to prove His power. Obligate God to use this moment to announce that Jesus was His Son. In the flesh. No more need for faith. No more reason to cling to the Old Testament prophecies and wonder when they would be fulfilled. No more ruthless trust. Give everyone the immediate gratification of witnessing the proof that Jesus was the promised Son of God. No earthquake, no death, no grief required. It almost sounded right. Quoting the Scripture nearly made it seem legitimate. The temptation to succumb must have been intense. Waiting as Jesus weighed the options, the evil one must surely have felt excitement rise within. His lips twitched with a premature grin. If Jesus would abandon His faith and test God, it wouldn’t be an enormous leap for the final temptation to take effect and win the day. (Psalm 91:11-12; Matthew 4:5-6)

Pulling out all the stops for His final endeavor, the evil one trudged to the top of a very high mountain with Jesus in tow. Turning to look over the world, he gestured broadly and made his most grandiose offer yet. Right now, all those kingdoms worshipped him, but it didn’t have to stay that way. That place of prominence and popularity could belong to Jesus. Not at the end of time when every knee would bow and tongue confess. No. It could be His. Right now. Today. If He just did this one teeny, tiny thing. Bow and worship. A quick tap of knees to dirt would suffice. A head lowered in obeisance. A verbal statement admitting that the evil one is currently in power and running the hearts of mankind. In exchange for His soul, Jesus was offered instantaneous prestige and power in a world He knew was destined to defy Him, deny Him, deride Him. It must have been intensely appealing. (Psalm 91:11-12; Matthew 4:7-9; Philippians 2:10)

The tension is nearly palpable as the evil one awaits Jesus’ final answer. The first two abstentions already forgotten in the haze of hope that he had finally won a round. Would He do it? Would Jesus give in? Would His humanity trump His deity? The exhalation of the evil one’s disappointed sigh punctuates Jesus’ adamant response, “Get away from me, satan.” Get. Out. Of. Here. Take your nasty self and your bag of stupid tricks and get out of my wilderness. Out of my secret place. Out of my prayer room. Leave me alone. I belong to God. Only to God. I worship God. Only God. I serve my Father in Heaven. Only. Always. Forever. End of story. And as the evil one fled down the mountain with his tail tucked firmly between his legs, angels of God came into Jesus’ wilderness and ministered to Him. They fed His soul. They gave Him strength. They empowered Him to walk out of that wilderness and begin feeding people. Physically. Emotionally. Spiritually. (Matthew 4:10-11)  

Standing in that desert wilderness, alone, weakened by hunger from His 40-day fast, exhausted in mind and spirit, Jesus listened to the options and staunchly held His ground. He didn’t sell His soul for some bread like Esau did for lentils. He didn’t become so enamoured with the easy way to power and glory that He chose to sacrifice His integrity or His Deity for earthly celebrity. Tempted and tested when He was weak and tired and alone, Jesus never faltered. Every answer was a firm “no.” A Scriptural rebuttal. Jesus wasn’t so tired that the Spirit of God resting on Him couldn’t clearly point out the error of the evil one’s ideas. He wasn’t so weak He couldn’t tell right from wrong. He wasn’t so hungry that He was ready to sit down at just anyone’s table. Because He had spent His time in the wilderness in prayer, He was prepared for every fiery dart of temptation the evil one threw at Him. (Luke 4:1-13; Ephesians 6:10-18; Genesis 25:34)

You can be too. You should be. Not knowing the day or moment the evil one will strike, you should be in constant conversation with God. Know Him. Know His voice. Know His truth. Know it so well that no matter how tired you are or how good the options sound, you can sift through the chaff and recognize the temptation for what it is. Know God’s Word. Memorize it. The words, not the reference. Know exactly what to say when the evil one attacks you with half-truths and twisted ideas. Then stand on it. Firmly. Knowing every word of God is faithful and true, make God’s Word–His directions, His commandments, His promises–your home. And don’t be afraid to get mad at the devil. Seriously. Be angry at him and his ridiculousness. He’s earned it. He has spent his entire existence plaguing people, drawing them aside into sin and destruction. He will do the same to you if you don’t stand firmly against him. (I Peter 5:8; II Corinthians 11:14; Psalm 119:10-11; James 4:7; Proverbs 30:5)

So follow Jesus’ example. Banish the evil one. Kick him out of your space. Even if it’s a wilderness. Then plant your flag. Announce for all to see and hear that you belong to God. Only. You worship God. Alone. You serve your Father in Heaven. Alone. Only. Always. Stay there. Don’t budge. Victory comes to the one who doesn’t back down, no matter how hungry or tired or weak they become. Your tenacity will be rewarded. Eventually, into that space of temptation and trial, God will send His angels to strengthen and comfort your soul. Why? Because He gets it. Through Jesus’ humanity, God understands the emotional and spiritual toll temptation takes on our souls. He is moved and touched by our struggles and trials. He is excited and exultant in our victories. He is ever-present in the middle of our wilderness. Because Jesus lived through the same temptations we do, His triumph means we can be triumphant, too. Even in the middle of the wilderness. (Psalm 34:7, 46:1, 100:3; Isaiah 43:1; Galatians 2:20; I Corinthains 6:12-20; Hebrews 4:14-16)

He couldn’t believe it! Didn’t dare believe it! This had to be some sort of celestial prank! A baby? Them? Now? He was old. His wife was beyond childbearing age. Was Gabriel sure he was at the right temple? Speaking to the right priest? It seemed enormously unlikely Elizabeth was going to have a child. Not now. Not at this age. Not after all the years they had waited, hoped, dreamed. Not after all the time of unfulfilled longing. Not now that the years of prayers to a silent heaven had culminated in aging barrenness. Zechariah and Elizabeth had quietly abandoned the hope of a child. Until now. 

Now Zechariah stood listening to the angel’s words, his mouth gaping in disbelief. It couldn’t be true. Gabriel needed to check the address on this delivery. The barrenness was a done deal. Babies weren’t going to happen. Not even one. Over time, they had accepted the fact, allowed the darkness of their childless existence to become their norm. Their prayers had stopped. Their hope had dwindled. They no longer dared to dream. The “no” ringing back from the heavens had been heard loud and clear. There would be no child for Zechariah and Elizabeth. They understood. They accepted. They moved on. Sort of. (Luke 1:8-19)

Elizabeth struggled. Often. She didn’t understand it. She and Zechariah lived righteous lives. They obeyed the commands and rules, and regulations passed down from God through Moses. All of them. They were meticulous. Her husband was a priest. Her life was above reproach. Yet here she sat, unable to conceive, and desperately wondering why. Having children was so important. Not just to Elizabeth as a woman, but to her life in society. Being barren carried such a stigma. An air of sin. The often whispered idea that she had somehow displeased God. But she hadn’t. Ever. She had lived honest and upright her entire life. Even when the heavens were silent. Even when her womb was empty. Even when the sadness enveloped her soul in dark grief. Never once did Elizabeth turn from following God. Never once did she douse the light of His presence in her life. (Luke 1:5-7, 24-25)

Knowing the beauty of her soul, Zechariah should have been excited to get home and share the news of his angelic visit with his wife. Except he wasn’t. Because he couldn’t. Not verbally. In the face of his blatant and adamant disbelief of Gabriel’s prophecy, he was rendered mute. He probably deserved that. Maybe he needed it. Time to be quiet and contemplate everything Gabriel had said. Time to spend in private conversation with God. Time to wrap his head around the fact that his son, the only child he would ever have, wasn’t going to be like other kids. At all. He was going to be different. So different. Nothing like Zechariah had dreamed. He wouldn’t follow in his father’s footsteps. He would forge his own path. The path God had chosen for him centuries ago. The one Isaiah said he would take before anyone ever knew who he was or the miraculous circumstances of his birth. Zechariah’s son would be tasked with preparing the people for the coming Messiah. Because the Messiah was coming. Soon. (Luke 1:20-22; Isaiah 40:3-5)

Zechariah was certain of that. Four hundred years of prophetic silence hadn’t dimmed his faith. Jesus was coming. He knew it. He believed it. He hoped it would be in his lifetime. Generations had come and gone in the ensuing years since the final prophecy had been spoken. The Messiah had yet to appear. No matter how hard they prayed. No matter how much they believed. No matter how they strained their eyes in watching. The Messiah hadn’t materialized. Many had stopped believing. Quit hoping. Not Zechariah. Not Elizabeth. Knowing what they did of silent heavens and fruitless faith, neither ever stopped believing the Messiah would come.   

Perhaps that is why they were chosen. Trapped in the personal wilderness of unanswered prayers, they never stopped following God. Ever. Even when it seemed like a logical choice. Even when they felt angry at His silence. Even when the gossip and rumors damaged their spirits and clouded their souls. Never once did they renounce their obedience. Never did they allow despair to win. In the face of personal defeat and discouragement, they continued to live in the light of eternity. Had anyone dared to look past the preconceived notion of unresolved sin robbing Elizabeth of children, they would have seen it. The quiet light of God emanating from her soul, from Zechariah’s soul. With their personal experience in and understanding of the importance of implicitly trusting God in the dark spaces of life, Elizabeth and Zechariah were the perfect candidates to raise the man charged with preparing the way for Jesus. They would need that absolute faith in God’s sovereignty. 

John the Baptist wasn’t going to be like other people’s sons. He wouldn’t grow up to fill a role in the temple, take up a trade, or farm the land. He wouldn’t even live inside city limits. There would be no nice house, complete with picket fence, a wife, and half a dozen children. No. Zechariah and Elizabeth’s son would make his home in the wilderness. His diet would consist of locusts and honey. Wine would never cross his lips. His hair would not be cut. He would clothe himself in a robe of camel’s hair cinched with a simple leather belt at the waist. Nothing he did would ever be about himself. He had just one goal. Make a space for the Messiah to fill. Not in the town square. Not in the temple courtyard. Not on a street corner where passersby would hear his words as they went about their errands. No. Speaking from a dry and barren wilderness where nothing seemed to grow properly and life didn’t thrive, John the Baptist set up his stage and set about doing what he was meant to do. Prepare a way in the wilderness. (Matthew 3:1-6)

From every corner of the region, people came to hear John speak. Jerusalem. Judea. All over the Jordan Valley. Distance didn’t seem to matter. No account tells us why. Maybe they simply wanted a glimpse of the miracle child. Maybe they were looky-lou’s out to get a peek at the priest’s kid, who had clearly not followed the family tradition. Maybe he was a spellbinding speaker, pulling people into his lessons and making them hesitant to leave. Maybe they were truly interested in what he had to say. Maybe the hope of the Messiah’s imminent arrival drew them in. No matter the reason, still they came. They heard. They listened. They repented and were baptized. Although not a wide path through the center of town, a swath of land in the suburbs, or a campus of buildings with a list of programs, a way was being prepared. Places for Jesus to inhabit. Hearts and minds, and lives of people were softened and opened to His teachings. Because John the Baptist did what he was sent to do. In a world of spiritual darkness, discouragement, and despair, he cleared a path. Made a space. Prepared the way. For Jesus to come and do His Father’s business. So must we. (Matthew 11:7-10; Mark 1:1-7) 

It is no secret that our world is in trouble. Darkness envelops us. Society is rife with issues. Spiritual decline. Political problems. Financial decay. Employment interruptions. It would be easy to believe God isn’t even paying attention anymore, that He doesn’t care, that He isn’t concerned with the despondency threatening to overtake our souls. Hope seems useless. Faith seems misplaced. Our urgent, desperate prayers seem to go unanswered. No matter how hard we try, it feels impossible to see the hand of God at work through the flourishing evil around us. Despair weighs us down. Fear haunts us. Worry consumes our thoughts. Truly, we live in a dry, barren wilderness, a space crying out for someone to prepare a way for Jesus to do His Father’s business. (Luke 2:49)

You are that person. You are the “someone” God is calling to prepare the way for Him to work and move. In your corner of the world. In your neighborhood. In your circle of friends. You are called to be that voice, crying out of the dark wilderness of this world, pointing discouraged, disappointed, disenchanted souls to Jesus. He is the only hope. He has the words of life. Only through Him can they find peace in the tumult and pandemonium around them. You know that. So tell them. Tell them Jesus is the way through their wilderness. The road to the truth in a world of lies. The only path to eternal life. Tell them He is the light in their deep darkness. Tell them He is bread, strength, sustenance, for their world-weary souls. Tell them that Jesus has come on a mission to seek out and redeem all who are entrenched in sin and wandering in the wilderness of earth. In all the dark places, where evil seems to triumph, boldly speak life. Speak peace. Speak truth. Clear a path. Prepare the way. Jesus has come. (Acts 1:8; John 6:35,68; 8:12; 14:6, 27; I Peter 1:3; Luke 19:10; Proverbs 18:21)  

Listening in shell-shocked silence, the people glanced at one another in question. The prophet must finally have gone round the bend. His words made no sense. They hadn’t disrespected God. They weren’t dishonoring Him. Not really. They were still doing all the things. Attending church. Bringing sacrifices. Offering food. So maybe it wasn’t always new food. Maybe the bread didn’t have the right oil or flour in it. Maybe the animals were just whichever one they could catch the quickest after oversleeping that morning. But they still came. They still brought stuff. They were still adhering to the basic rules. So what if they had made a few alterations? Did it really matter? Did it give Malachi the right to sit there in his pomposity and accuse them of treating God with contempt? They weren’t, but even if they were, God sort of started it. (Malachi 1)   

For decades, prophets had been telling them God was sending a rescue. For them. Preparing to bring them out of captivity. Planning to send a Messiah. A Redeemer. A King. He would be breathtaking in power and authority. Stepping onto the world scene, He would vanquish their enemies and establish a kingdom that could never be overthrown. His kingdom. Over them. They would be His people. His special people. Treasured. Precious. Beloved. They would live in comfort and ease. Their hands would no longer be calloused and workworn. The labors of life would be done by the neighboring people. People, their Messiah had conquered. People who weren’t them. When their King came, he would reign and they would reign with him. They absolutely could not wait for that glorious day! (Isaiah 9:6; 53; Psalm 2; Zechariah 9:9; II Samuel 7:10-13)

They were still waiting. Had been waiting. Released from captivity in Babylon, they had been home for a while. A long while. Long enough to rebuild the temple. Rebuild their homes. Rebuild their lives. Long enough, they expected the Messiah to have already appeared. He hadn’t. Neither had the comfortable lifestyle they believed He would bring. In the waiting, discouragement had filled the anticipatory spaces of their hearts. Disillusioned by their own expectations and the silent passage of their fabricated timetable, they began to question if it was worth it. Was it worth all the meticulous adherence to the laws of Moses? Did they even still apply in this new era? And how could God, with all the love He claimed He had for them, expect them to give Him their best when He clearly wasn’t giving them the best He could? 

Rubber met road there. In that human, mental space where a God of love should have come through for His people, the way He promised, yet had failed to perform. At least up until now. Maybe things would change in the next weeks or months or years, but it wasn’t looking like it. Their hope that the words of past prophets would be fulfilled had long since dissipated in the years of nothing. Because their expectations hadn’t been met, it was determined God didn’t love them. Their coffers weren’t full. Their barns weren’t bursting. Their tables weren’t overladen with goodness. Life wasn’t easy. If God loved them, He would prosper them. By their measure, He hadn’t. So clearly, He didn’t. They couldn’t see His hand and chose not to trust His heart. 

What they could see, what was so plain before their eyes, was the prosperity of the wicked. Evil seemed to flourish. Everywhere. Wealth fell on those who chose to follow their own desires. Blessings poured out on those who were arrogant against God. Whatever they were doing, it certainly seemed to be working. And, where the Israelites might not have been excited about completely abandoning God and all His ways, they were at least open to altering His commands. That’s how they ended up in this space in the first place. Right here, listening to Malachi not only rebuke their actions, but openly call out the thoughts and intentions of their hearts. 

In frustration and an attempt to force God’s hand, the people had turned from obeying His commands. They hadn’t abandoned the practices, just modified them. Made them more palatable for their lifestyle, more comfortable in society. Yes, they still offered sacrifices, but they weren’t the best of the flock. Now they were mercy killings. Gracious ending of lives for animals living with disease or lameness. Their food offerings were not of the finest flour and oil. It wasn’t always even new bread. But one mustn’t waste, right? So grab the oldest bread, the lamest lamb, and hustle up to the temple. Any sacrifice is better than no sacrifice. And God, being a God of unfailing love, will overlook our disobedience and happily accept whatever we give Him, right? (Malachi 2-3)

No, actually. God is not in such a position as to be forced to accept your sloppy seconds. He is not desperate for any morsel of attention you deign to give Him. God asks for your best. Demands it. Expects it. There can be no substitutions, no half measures, no alterations. To offer God less than your best is to show flagrant disrespect for His sovereignty over the universe and His authority over the world. When we cheapen our sacrifices, we dishonor His name. The name that is above every name. The powerful name that makes demons tremble. The name before which every knee will one day bow. People then. People now. You. Me. We will all bow before Him. And we will give an account. For everything. Every sacrifice. Proper or not. (Romans 14:12; James 2:19; Philippians 2:9-11; Deuteronomy 6:4-5; Colossians 1:18; Psalm 103:19; Matthew 28:18)

Living beyond the day of sacrificial animals and offerings of wheat and oil, it is easy to read the words of Malachi and think they don’t apply to us. Perhaps we should look again. We really aren’t so different. We are guilty of looking around, seeing the prosperity of the wicked, and wondering if all the sacrifices we make to follow God are really worth it. What earthly advancement are we gaining from our honesty and morality that makes it worth holding God’s exacting standard? What are we gaining by pouring ourselves into God’s work when that same time could be spent building our own fame and fortune? What difference does it make if we spend 3 minutes rather than 30 in prayer? What is truly hurt when we alter the commands of God to better suit our schedules, our society, ourselves? Based on the truth that God’s love never ends, we have convinced ourselves that God is desperate enough to take any scraps of ourselves we throw at His feet in passing and be grateful to have them. It simply isn’t true. 

God doesn’t need your praise, your promise, your prosperity. He owns everything. Always has. Everything you have belongs to Him. Life. Breath. Time. Talents. Wealth. It’s all His. Always has been. We treat it like it isn’t. Like it is ours. Like we brought ourselves to where we are, built our own wealth, brought about our own fame. We didn’t. God did. And we owe Him. For every gift God has given us, we should be offering a portion back to Him. Not just monetarily. Although necessary and good, we need to sacrifice more of ourselves than simply writing a check or making an online donation. We need to sacrifice our time. Lay down the tablet, laptop, or cell phone. Turn off the television. Pick up the Bible. Dust it off, if necessary. Spend time reading and studying, and contemplating what God has to say to you. Pray. Really talk to God. Have a conversation. Listen to His voice. In the busyness of your life, make time to take time to spend time in the presence of God. Stay for as long as it takes to draw close to Him. Find yourself in a place to sacrifice your talents to Him. Get that instrument out of the closet, dust it off, and join the praise band. Find your way to the choir loft. Fill a spot in the children’s ministry. Help with the sound team, the tech team, the website. Be a janitor, a landscaper, a snow shoveler. Just don’t be a bystander. Don’t be so busy that church is simply another box to check on your to-do list. Be active for God in every part of your life. Sacrifice yourself. All of yourself. It is the only acceptable sacrifice, the ultimate act of worship. A sweet-smelling aroma to the Lord your God. (Romans 12:1; Hebrews 13:15-16; Colossians 3:17; I Samuel 15:22; Leviticus 1:9; Matthew 6:33; Psalm 46:10, 50:7-14; John 1:3)