Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

Perhaps your view has been different than mine, but from where I’ve been sitting the last couple of years, the triumphant passageway from earth to Heaven has become a busy thoroughfare. One by one I have watched as earthly saints put on eternal sainthood. With each passing, each memorial, each funeral, my heart sinks a bit lower. The growing ball of uncertainty in the pit of my stomach tightens even more. My mind plays back the reels of questions each homegoing underscores, wailing out each one with bone-deep distress. 

Who is going to pray for us now? Who is going to lead us? Who is going to boldly pick up the banner of holiness? Who is going to encourage us in moments of despair? Who is going to exhibit faith in the face of fear? Whose example are we going to follow since God has called so many of His children home?

A few days ago, after news of yet another homegoing, I sat in this very spot at my desk and read the beginning of Elisha’s story in II Kings 2. It is not full of amazing miracles, phenomenal answers to prayer, or moments of stalwart faith. It’s before all that. Before the widow’s debt was paid with multiplied oil. Before the barren Shunammite woman birthed a son. Before Naaman, covered in leprosy, plunged into the murky Jordan for healing. Before the borrowed axe head floated. It is while Elisha is still just Elijah’s apprentice, a prophet in training. While he is still watching, learning, hoping to someday become the kind of person his fearless leader already is. (II Kings 4-6)

Elijah’s days on earth are growing short. Elisha knows it. Every other prophet seems to know it as well. They feel the need to continually remind him. Everywhere he travels they pop out of doorways and alleys to ask if he’s heard the news. God is going to take his friend, his mentor, his spiritual pillar. He’s aware. He doesn’t need reminders. In spite of their good intentions to prepare him for the inevitable, he wishes they wouldn’t. He doesn’t need the noise. Doesn’t want the distraction. Doesn’t want to miss a moment with his mentor. Has no intention of missing the moment that transition happens. 

He’d already faced opposition in his quest. Opposition from the strangest place. Elijah himself. Three times he implored Elisha to stay behind while he traveled to the next place the Lord sent Him. Bethel. Jericho. The Jordan. Three times Elisha declined. He wasn’t staying anywhere. If Elijah was traveling, so was Elisha. Until the moment God rendered it impossible.

That moment was coming. Quickly. Soon Elisha would be left with impossibly large sandals to fill. Sandals that had boldly stood before King Ahab and declared a drought as punishment for Israel’s sins. Sandals that fled to deserted Cherith and lived by faith in God’s provisions. Sandals that walked into Zarephath and created unending oil and flour for a destitute widow and her son. Sandals that faithfully stood on Mount Carmel amid the frantic fussing of the prophets of Baal, only to calmly build an altar, saturate it with water, and with the verbiage of one carefully worded prayer, called God to light that place on fire. And He did. (I Kings 17-18)

No one could blame Elisha if he felt overwhelmed by the oncoming responsibilities. In the moment Elijah would be taken from earth, he would assume the responsibilities of God’s prophet. Him. Elisha. The guy whose expertise lay in plowing his field, not in praying down fire from Heaven. It would be an enormous task. He’d been riding in Elijah’s sidecar for a while now. He’d seen amazing things happen, but he hadn’t prayed the prayers, struck the waters, or worn the mantle of responsibility. He’d remained an onlooker. Yet now, at any moment, his onlooker status would change and he’d be the headliner. One man…plus God. 

Sometimes we forget that every person in the Bible was human. It is difficult to see Elisha as nervous, scared, worried, or concerned. It is unlikely he wasn’t. How could he be sure he was ready? Was he bold enough? Was his faith stalwart enough? Was he courageous enough? Were his prayers strong enough? What did Elijah have that Elisha needed to do the task he was being left to do? 

Elisha must have been giving it some thought. He must have spent the miles between Bethel and Jericho considering and discarding options. As they walked even more miles to the banks of the Jordan river, he must have been quietly pondering his final questions and requests. Yet, I wonder if he even realized what words would come out of his mouth in that all-important moment when Elijah posed the question, “What do you want me to do for you before I go?”

I wonder if Elisha planned to say the words that flew urgently from his lips. I wonder if it was the culmination of all the possible requests he had pondered and discarded. I wonder at what moment Elisha realized he desperately needed the spirit of Elijah in spades. Not even Elijah’s spirit exactly, but the Spirit of God that rested on, moved in, and worked through Elijah’s life. He needed God’s Spirit. So aware was Elisha of his acute deficit, from the depths of his soul erupted the words, “Please grant me a double portion of the Spirit that rests on you.” (II Kings 2:1-14)

Me too. As I read those words passing over Elisha’s lips, my soul responds in kind. As I stare at the lives of my departed friends and loved ones, my heart cries out to be so faithful, prayerful, loving, kind, forgiving. When I look within, I find a glaring deficit where courage and boldness, confidence and strength should be. The above list of questions again floods my mind bringing with it a sense of desperation. I find myself crying out with Elisha for a double portion of what those friends and mentors and religious giants had. I long for the courage and boldness and faith to stand in the gap left by their passing, to make up the hedge of godliness surrounding our families, to raise the banner and hold the line of holiness in an increasingly darkening world. 

As my pleas reach riot pitch and I’m forced to drag in a breath before continuing, the gentle voice of God speaks to me. Me–helpless, worried, mind reeling with possibilities–yet God speaks to me. His words stop me up short, ringing with truth I’m still unpacking. Not one of those people–Elijah, Elisha, my prayer warrior great aunt, or faithfully encouraging friend–had some great, unattainable spiritual gift bestowed only on them. They were simply full of the Spirit of the same God. 

The same God who rescued Noah from the punishment of his evil generation. The same God who rescued Lot from certain death in a city steeped in debauchery and sin. The exact same God who descended on Mount Carmel among a people who had deserted and disdained Him, to prove His mighty power through the prayers of one man. The same God who over and over and over again throughout the Bible, throughout history, throughout your life has proven His power. The same God who calls you to Himself, not just to salvage your eternity, but fill you with His Spirit, flow through you, flow out of you, and change the world. (Genesis 6-9; Genesis 19; I Kings 18; Jeremiah 32:17) 

See, God isn’t calling us to some multiplied form of sainted humanity. God is calling us to the same thing He called those heroes of faith to do. Be filled with the Spirit. He is calling you to come and drink in Jesus Christ. Feast on Him. Take as much as you want, as much as your soul can hold. Come back as often as possible. Saturate your soul in Him. There is no limit on how much you can have. You can have all of Jesus you want. Get a double portion. Get a triple. Be a glutton. You’ll need it out there in the murky waters of this world. (Ephesians 5:18; John 6:35; John 4:14; Galatians 5:16)

And come back often. Don’t suppose that one meal is enough. It won’t be. Immerse yourself in the Bible. Pray continually. Listen just as much. And act. Do what God tells you to do. Even if it’s standing alone against 450 false prophets. Preach the Word. Be consistent. Be faithful. Be holy. Because the glaringly obvious and terrifyingly unavoidable truth is this, you are now the leaders. You are the preachers and teachers, the prayer warriors, the encouragers, the examples of faith. You are the ones that must stand in the gap. The banner of holiness is now in your hands. What you do with it matters. Do you have enough of God’s Spirit to stand in the gap and make up the hedge for your family, your church, your land? Or do you need to tuck back into the feast? (Matthew 5:6; I Thessalonians 5:17-19; Ezekiel 22:30; I Samuel 15:22)