Fearful and Troubled

Israel’s fear

Joshua 8:1: “Then the Lord said to Joshua, ‘Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.’”

Of course Joshua and his fellow Israelites are afraid! Of course they’re discouraged! Look what just happened to them.

In chapter 6, they were cruising along, miraculously crossing the Jordan River on dry ground and destroying the walls of Jericho simply by marching around the city, blowing trumpets, and shouting. God was with them. They could see His hand at work. After forty years of wandering in the wilderness, He was beginning to fulfill His promise to give them a land of their own. What could be more exciting?

Following the easy victory at Jericho, they headed out for the second battle in this new territory, fighting the city of Ai. They were so passionate. So confident of God’s presence and their own strength that they limited the number of warriors they sent into the battle.

“But they were routed by the men of Ai.”

They never had a chance.

“At this the hearts of the people melted and became like water.”

Even Joshua was shaken. He questioned whether they should have crossed the Jordan. He feared that the Canaanites would hear about it and “wipe out our name from the earth.” They were understandably afraid of their enemies.

The Lord revealed to them that the cause of their disaster was sin. One single man out of the entire population had defied God’s direct order. Because of one man’s disobedience, approximately thirty-six men were killed in the battle with Ai, all of the Israelites were put to shame, and the man and his children were executed.

Who wouldn’t be afraid of God after witnessing His judgment? Who wouldn’t be discouraged as they looked at their own sinful hearts and realized that they could be next?

And yet He comes to Joshua and clearly says, “Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.” Under these circumstances, I have to think that this isn’t a command (in the sense of demanding instant repentance and obedience) so much as a word of encouragement.

Could anyone honestly command someone not to be afraid after he’s just faced terrifying actions from both men and God? Could anyone expect that person to respond to that command by straightening his spine and banishing all his fears without another drop of anxiety seeping in? Surely God knows us better than that.

The disciples’ troubled hearts

It reminds me of Jesus saying to His disciples in John 14:1, “Do not let your hearts be troubled.” What had happened in the days and hours before He spoke these words?

Jesus had predicted His death by crucifixion and told them about the frightening time of judgment to come (Matthew 24, 26:1-2). Impending danger from both man and God.

In John 13, He prophesied that He’d be betrayed by one of them. That He’d be going away and they wouldn’t be able to go with Him. That Peter would disown Him three times before the rooster crowed in the morning.

Who wouldn’t be troubled? Yes, He’d also provided some comforting words and actions (like washing their feet to express the depth of His love for them), but if the disciples were like me, the scary stuff would make a deeper impression than the comforting stuff.

And yet He says, “Do not let your hearts be troubled.”As if they could really do that. As in Joshua, I can’t see this as a command. It sounds more like an attempt to strengthen His friends in preparation for the most difficult challenge of their lives. To turn their focus from their fears to His promises and His character so that they would, in time, be able to overcome their troubled hearts.

God knows

When God tells me not to be afraid, I often feel like my fear is fully justified. Terrible, frightening things are happening. Doesn’t He understand that? How can He expect me to just let go of my fears and move ahead as if nothing was wrong?

But, as with the Israelites in Joshua’s day and the disciples shortly before Jesus’ arrest and crucifixion, the Lord often comes to me (through His Word, through worshipping at church, through other people, through His Holy Spirit) not to sternly rebuke me for my fears, but to strengthen me by comforting and encouraging me.

What does He base this on? Surely He can’t expect me to just pretend all’s right with the world and the threats don’t really exist.

In both the Old and New Testament passages, God based it on the fact that He knew what was coming. His hearers didn’t. Neither do I.

He knew that the Israelites would defeat their enemy the next time around. He knew that Jesus would be resurrected from the dead on the third day.

After the Lord encourages Joshua not to be afraid or discouraged, He says that He’s given Ai into their hands. Past tense. He provides them with the strategy for doing it (using the whole army, not just a few thousand, and setting an ambush). Israel experiences a decisive victory.

The events that occur after Jesus’ conversation with His disciples are even more spectacular than the victory over Ai. He’s betrayed by Judas (one of the chosen twelve) and arrested in front of an angry mob. His disciples scatter in fear.

He faces multiple trials, beating, mocking, a crown of thorns, and the death penalty. Isaiah says His appearance was “disfigured beyond that of any man and his form marred beyond human likeness” (Isaiah 52:14).

He’s taken to Golgotha, where He’s brutally crucified along with two criminals. He cries out to His God, who’s forsaken Him. He dies. His body is laid in a tomb. How much worse could it get? How could any of His followers not be shocked and terrified?

But then, just as God knew would happen, just as Jesus had told them would happen, the whole reason the Son could say to them, “Do not let your hearts be troubled,” the most unexpected and amazing thing happens. Jesus rises from the dead.

It was too unbelievable for the disciples to understand Him when Jesus predicted it beforehand (e.g. Matthew 16:21-23). It was too unbelievable for even His closest followers to accept someone else’s word for it (Mark 16:9-12, Luke 24:9-27, John 20:24-25). It’s the greatest, most spectacular, most unbelievable event in the history of the world.

And God knew it was coming. That’s why Jesus could reassure His disciples that they didn’t need to be troubled. Nearly every time He told them about His coming death, He also promised them that He would rise from the dead.

My hope

When I’m fearful and troubled, when life hurts, when scary things are happening, I have the same reassurance that Israel and the disciples had. God knows my future.

It might involve additional suffering. The scary circumstances won’t necessarily just miraculously go away (although they sometimes do). Jesus’ followers went through an intensely painful time before experiencing the unexpected, overflowing joy of the resurrection.

As the years passed, many of them were imprisoned and tortured and killed because of their faith in Him. He doesn’t promise me a life of ease.

But God knows my future. He knows that my future, in this life, includes intimate fellowship with Him and with other believers, joy and wonder at the works of His hands, and the fruit of the Spirit growing inside me.

He knows that my future, in the next life, includes the overwhelming, unimaginable joy and love and peace and glory of being with Him. It includes being completely separated from sin and all its painful consequences. Forever and ever.

Jesus has defeated death. I think He can probably see me through even the most frightening and troubling days ahead.

I don’t always find it easy to trust Him to do that. But I can look at the many examples in His Word and imagine His voice saying, “Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged,” and, “Do not let your heart be troubled.” I can know that He knows my future, just as surely as He knew Israel’s and the disciples’ futures. I can learn to trust Him a little bit more.

 

 

 

Slow Learners

Jacob’s fear

I’m a slow learner. How many times have I read about Jacob/Israel in the book of Genesis? How many times have I listened to biblical teaching about him? And yet it’s taken me all these years to really see the enormous change in his life that takes place in Genesis 28-33.

Jacob is a slow learner, too. God Himself appears to him in a dream as he’s fleeing from his older brother Esau. The Lord declares that He’s going to give Jacob great blessings and bless the whole world through him. This is the covenant He made with Abraham two generations earlier.

God is telling Jacob that he’s been chosen to be the recipient of all those covenant promises. In addition, He says He’ll be with Jacob and watch over him and bring him back safely to the land he’s leaving.

Could God’s grace get any bigger? Jacob just deceived their father, Issac, into granting him the blessing that should have gone to Esau. Now the Lord is freely bestowing on this liar and cheater and manipulator totally undeserved blessings that far surpass anything Isaac could possibly give him.

Seems like such a vision and such a promise and such grace would instantly erase all of Jacob’s fears. But for twenty years, he still lives in anxiety. Even when God speaks to him (again) and personally tells him to go back to the land he came from, reassuring him (again) that He’ll be with him, Jacob is terrified. Terrified of both Esau and his father-in-law, Laban.

Instead of being honest with Laban and witnessing to him about how God’s spoken to him, Jacob deceives his father-in-law and sneaks away from him, taking his family and possessions with him. Laban pursues him, and they end up making a covenant of peace.

The next challenge to face is Esau. When Jacob finds out that his brother is on his way to meet them with four hundred men to back him up, he carefully places his herds and wives and children and servants ahead of him, so they’ll run into Esau first. Partly to try to soften his brother’s heart. Partly to let the leaders of the group sound the alarm so the rest, including Jacob, can turn and run if Esau is still angry.

Jacob has seen God in visions. He’s been chosen to receive the Abrahamic covenant. He’s been promised repeatedly that God will take care of him. He’s experienced God’s provision ever since arriving at Laban’s home in Haran. But he’s a slow learner. He’s still afraid.

Jacob's faith

And then everything changes.

After sending his family and possessions across a stream (the Jabbok), Jacob is alone. A man appears and wrestles with him all night. Jacob is winning. But he won’t let the man go until the man blesses him.

The man wrenches Jacob’s hip, then changes his name to Israel, meaning wrestles or struggles with God. Jacob realizes that this isn’t just an ordinary human being, saying later that he “saw God face to face.”

He and his family continue on their way. Jacob is now limping. He must be exhausted from spending the entire night wrestling. He’s more vulnerable than ever. And yet, when he once again organizes the crowd, this time “he himself went on ahead.” He’s no longer afraid. He’s finally trusting God.

All those years of hearing His voice, listening to His promises, and seeing those promises fulfilled in many blessings, didn’t change him. He was still Jacob, meaning deceiver. It wasn’t until he wrestled with God that he believed Him.

Slow-learning disciples

In Matthew 14 and 15, Jesus feeds five thousand men (plus women and children) with a few loaves and fishes. He sends the disciples ahead while He dismisses the crowd, then walks on water to join them as they sail across a stormy lake. After getting into the boat, He calms the wind. His followers respond by saying, “Truly you are the Son of God.” When they arrive on land, He amazes everyone by healing “the lame, the blind, the crippled, the mute and many others.” Miracle follows miracle in a short period of time.

Then the people run out of food (again). Jesus tells the disciples He wants to provide for all four thousand of them. These twelve confused and faithless men reply, “Where could we get enough bread in this remote place to feed such a crowd?” As if they’ve learned nothing from His recent actions.

I’ve heard some speculation that there was really only one supernatural feeding. The details are slightly different, but that happens in eyewitness accounts. The speculators question why the disciples would respond the way they did when Jesus offers to repeat the same miracle. Surely they’d get the message the first time. Surely they wouldn’t experience any doubts in the same situation just a few days later.

But Jesus Himself says in Matthew 16:9-10, “Don’t you remember the five loaves for the five thousand, and how many basketfuls you gathered? Or the seven loaves for the four thousand, and how many basketfuls you gathered?” Two different feedings. Two different stories. He knows that slow learners need repeated lessons. He graciously provides for them spiritually and psychologically, as well as physically.

I’ve also heard that the Sermon on the Mount, starting in Matthew chapter 5, is the same event as that recorded in Luke chapter 6. Again, the details are slightly different, but why would Jesus bother presenting the same information twice? Wouldn’t once be enough?

Then a pastor suggested that they’re actually two different situations. One on a mountain (“he went up on a mountainside”). One on a plain (“He went down with them and stood on a level place”).

Why bother repeating His teaching? Because Jesus knows that the disciples are slow learners. They need to hear it again. They also need the reassurance that God understands slow learners.

Other slow learners

Look how long the Lord put up with the Israelites in the desert on the way to the Promised Land. He performed great miracles before freeing them from bondage in Egypt. He supernaturally produced manna for them for forty years. How could anyone question His love and grace when it was so obvious?

And yet they grumbled and doubted time after time. God judged them for their lack of faith. But even that judgment was proof of His existence and His righteous character. He punished them, but He continued to forgive these slow learners and He remained with them as He led them into a land flowing with milk and honey.

The author of Hebrews calls his readers “slow to learn” (vs. 5:11). Based on the length of time that they’ve been Christians, they should be able to teach others. Instead, they still need to be taught even the most elementary truths “all over again.” Hebrews was written to meet that need.

In Galatians 3:1, Paul exclaims in exasperation, “You foolish Galatians!” The gospel has been explained to them so clearly and so carefully. They’ve obviously accepted it. They should know it by heart. And yet they still have to be reminded that salvation is by grace, through faith, not by human effort.
 
A wise teacher

The bad news is we are all slow learners. The good news is we are all slow learners. I’m not alone in this struggle. The people in the Bible weren’t any better or worse than I am. And the Lord handled their doubts and fears graciously, presenting the same lessons over and over again. Like Jacob/Israel, some of them finally got it.

God is the same yesterday, today, and forever. He’ll deal with me in the same way as He dealt with all those foolish, slow-learning examples in His Word. Patiently. Compassionately. Maybe with discipline, but always with grace. Like a wise teacher reaching out to the most hopeless cases. And I just might finally get it, too.

 

 

Freedom From Debt

Paying off a heavy debt

I'm visiting one day with a relative named Rose. We’re grieving over a recent death in our extended family, a woman who’d been on hospice for several months. She’d had a good long life. She was ready to go home to be with Jesus. But it’s still sad to lose her.

To my surprise, Rose tells me that I was mentioned in the family member’s will. (Can’t help thinking that this sounds like something out of a cheap novel. But it did actually happen to me. Really.) Rose was closer than me to our lost loved one and was therefore aware of the terms of the will even before her passing.

It’s not a huge inheritance. It won’t change my basic lifestyle. After recovering from the initial shock, I begin mulling over my options, looking at my budget and upcoming expenses. Should I put it in savings for the future or spend it now?

My mind keeps going back to one theme: I don’t like being in debt. (Other than the pretty-much-unavoidable mortgage and often-necessary car loan.) There was a time when I’d write a check for the full amount on my credit card bill each month. There was a time when I was able to pay cash for a new car. (Once.)

All that changed. Unexpected expenses hit. I could no longer work due to a health issue, but I didn’t qualify for disability benefits. I had to start pinching pennies as I dipped into my retirement savings.

I knew my financial situation would turn around at some point, and I had a low-interest credit card, so I started carrying an increasing balance on it. To keep it from growing too quickly, and to reassure myself that it would be paid off one day, I wrote a check for about ten percent of the balance each month. It made sense to postpone some payments until things got better.

But then they got worse. That turn-around kept being delayed. Interest rates went up. My debt grew. For the last year, I’ve only been making the minimum monthly payment. Every time I open the new bill, I feel this dreaded, depressing weight on my shoulders.

So it isn’t hard to decide where to put that little extra income. Once the money is in the bank, I transfer a chunk of it from my checking account to my credit card bill. Paid in full. Instantly.

And I feel so light and happy and relieved and excited! I want to dance around the house, to call all my friends and tell them, to simply sit and exult in my new-found freedom from this debt. I send many, many thank You’s up to God, along with apologies for letting the situation worry me so much instead of trusting Him.

Paying off an even bigger debt

A few weeks later I wonder: Have I ever felt this excited, this thrilled, this happy for my freedom from the burden of my sins? No.

I wasn’t one of those people who was so weighed down by guilt and shame that accepting the gospel brought a tremendous sense of freedom. Just the opposite. It took months for God to convince me that I could never be good enough on my own to deserve to spend eternity in His presence. I became a Christian, not for relief from present suffering under a deep sense of sin, but to avoid future suffering in hell.

We sing songs in church about how we were going through life with a terrible burden until we saw the light and were suddenly freed by God’s incredible grace. I sing along, but I honestly can’t relate to that story. I obviously reached the point where I recognized my inability to save myself. I confessed, repented, and asked Him to forgive me. I was, and am, deeply thankful for His grace and mercy.

But I missed out on an experience that some people have at conversion: An intense awareness of the sudden, life-changing transformation from filthy, worthless sinner to totally forgiven saint. And I’m a little jealous.

I’m grateful that I was never in that dark and lonely pit, wallowing in the mire of self-loathing over a sin-drenched lifestyle. But as the Bible points out in Luke 7:36-50, those who’ve come to Christ out of that lifestyle have a deeper, richer understanding of the enormity of God’s grace.

(Let me be clear here. I know now that my burden of sin prior to salvation was just as heavy, just as bleak, just as putrid as anyone else’s. My emotional relief wasn’t as intense, but that was due to my own blindness at the time. My need for forgiveness was just as great as any other sinner’s.)

The analogy

I’ve heard sermons where we’re asked to imagine being suddenly freed from a large financial debt, and to use that imagery to increase our appreciation for what Jesus did for us on the cross. I could kinda sorta visualize what it might be like to be struck with that type of forgiveness. But it didn’t come anywhere close to actually living it.

I paid off a significant debt that had been weighing me down for years! All at once! With just a few keystrokes on my computer! My slate was wiped completely, beautifully, shiningly clean!

And I can’t even take credit for the pay-off. It wasn’t anything I’d done, anything I’d earned. It was an unexpected, undeserved gift. A generous provision from someone who loved me more than I’d realized up until that moment.

Just like God’s gift of salvation.

I didn’t earn it. I didn’t deserve it. It came through an unexpected channel—grace and faith, not works. It was incredibly generous and given by Someone who loves me more than I can ever comprehend.

So now I’m thanking God, not just for the financial relief, but also for this opportunity to see His grace in a new way. I didn’t feel the lifting of an enormous and dreadful weight at my conversion, although that’s what actually happened. But now, because of this freedom from a worldly debt, I can better understand and appreciate my freedom from an infinitely greater spiritual debt.

 

 

Bringing Joy

John brings joy

I always think of John the Baptist as a harsh, critical, angry kind of guy. Some of his earliest recorded words were, “You brood of vipers!” (Luke 3:7). He scolded the crowds who came to hear him. His language was so sharp, so judgmental that it led to his imprisonment by Herod, followed by his execution. Quite a contrast to the gentle baby Jesus lying in a manger.

And yet the angel of the Lord, when announcing John’s coming birth to his father, Zechariah, says John will bring joy to those around him (Luke 1:14). I can see how he might do that in a very limited way. Of course he’ll bring joy to his parents, who had pretty much given up hope of ever having a child. Zechariah’s friends and relatives will rejoice with him, too, over the miraculous event.

But I just can’t imagine the fiery John the Baptist bringing joy to anyone else. Conviction, yes. Sorrow, yes. Joy, no.

Then I read on in Luke chapter 3, looking for hints of bringing joy. Once again, his comments sound harsh and critical to my ears. He’s demanding self-sacrifice from his hearers. That’s never easy for us naturally self-centered and fearful creatures.

If you have two tunics, give one to the needy. (But what if something happens to the one that I have left?)

Share whatever food you have with those who are hungry. (But what if I don’t have enough for tomorrow? Or next week?)

To the tax collectors: Don’t collect any more money than you’re required to. (I’ve been told that they didn’t have a set income. Their wages consisted of whatever they could gather beyond the amount they sent to Rome.)

To the soldiers: No extortion, no false accusations, be content with your pay. (Sounds like they were poorly paid and desperate for ways to use their positions of power to compensate.)

Life was uncertain back then. John’s listeners were much more at the mercy of the elements than we are today. And at the mercy of their Roman conquerors. Yet John is telling them to give up what little security they have. Who could find joy in that advice?

It takes a minute, but then I realize the obvious. John’s teaching would bring joy to many. To the poor. The vulnerable. The abused. The recipients of the extra tunic and food. The taxpayers. The potential victims of extortion and false accusations. The ones who learned to find true contentment in their current circumstances. If it spread, the kinder, gentler attitude of John’s followers would bring greater joy to the entire culture.

Jesus brings joy

At this time of year, we focus on the baby Jesus and the message of joy that He brings. Is there anything more likely to trigger joy than a sweet, harmless, helpless little baby? God created us this way. As moms and dads snuggle their children shortly after birth, the parents’ bodies release hormones that generate good feelings, helping them bond with their new little ones.

And we remember the greetings that the angels brought to the shepherds. Our Christmas carols proclaim peace on earth, good will toward men.

But, like John the Baptist, Jesus could also be harsh. He echoed John’s words in calling the Pharisees a brood of vipers (Matthew 12:34). In Luke 12:51, He declared very bluntly, “Do you think I came to bring peace on earth? No, I tell you, but division.” He said families would be divided by His message. The entire Jewish culture would be split in the debate over whether He was truly the Messiah that they’d been expecting for millennia.

Jesus didn’t bring joy to the religious leaders of His day. He didn’t bring joy to the rich young ruler. He didn’t bring joy to the self-righteous.

Again like John, though, Jesus preached a message of concern for the poor, hope for the vulnerable, and relief for the victims. Yes, He set high standards—making anger comparable to murder, and making lust or remarriage after divorce comparable to adultery. He advised his hearers to tear out the eye or chop off the hand that offends the righteousness of God. But He also proclaimed blessings on the poor in spirit, the meek, the merciful, the pure in heart, the peacemakers, and the persecuted. (All these teachings are found in Matthew chapter 5.)

The Baby brings joy

I know we inherit original sin at conception. Even a newborn isn’t entirely innocent. He’s a bundle of selfishness, demanding that his needs be met without lifting a finger to minister to anyone else. But in his newness and neediness and naivety, that baby is a symbol of the poor in spirit, the meek, and the pure in heart.

Maybe that’s one reason God sent Jesus to us as an infant. In His first appearance, He reminds us of the good, the pure, and the hope that we hold. He touches the hearts of those around Him, softening them by His very presence.

So I’ll take some time this Christmas season to find joy in Jesus the baby. During this period of busyness, I’ll occasionally turn my eyes from the pain and suffering around me without accusing myself of denial or escapism. I’ll receive that joy as a gift from God to be remembered and celebrated at least once a year. Later, I’ll recall the sorrow and the injustice in my world. But right now I’ll rest in the joy and peace and hope that the angels declared to the shepherds and that the Baby stirs in the hearts of all who come near to Him.

 

 

Choose Life!

 The biblical meaning of “life”

“Choose life and not death!” (2 Kings 18:32).

Yes! This is what God calls us to do. It’s the choice that Moses encouraged the Israelites to make as they prepared to enter the Promised Land (Deuteronomy 30:19).

I’ve always been fascinated by the Bible’s concept of life. Man does not live on bread alone (Deuteronomy 8:3). Life is more important than food (Matthew 6:25). But food is necessary for my survival. How can life be more important than that which sustains it?

There’s a hint here of something bigger, something greater than my literal understanding of the word “life.” In each of these brief sentences, God sweeps away my human view that I need to be thinking every moment about the physical aspects of my existence. Focusing, planning, fretting, anticipating good food, good drink, nice clothes, today’s to-do list, tomorrow’s adventures.

Biblically, “life” means even more than all these things put together. Salvation isn’t just about the perfect bliss of heaven. God is also deeply concerned about my quality of life here on earth. What does that look like when I’m working, when I’m cleaning up after my dog, or when I’m hurting from a painful loss? How do I live as if this is true?

I’ve been trying to figure that out for decades. Don’t know that I’ll ever get there. But I think of the fruit of the Spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control (Galatians 5:22-23). Rather than finding my greatest pleasure in consuming foods that are soon gone, God wants to produce fruit in me that continues to multiply. Fruit that not only nourishes me, but feeds others as well. That’s life.

I also recall the Bible’s reminders to be content (1 Timothy 6:6, Hebrews 13:5). To my human mind, contentment leans toward grudgingly accepting something that I don’t really like. How often have I thought with a sigh, I guess I’ll just have to be content? As if being content is some kind of burden. True contentment lightens my heart with joy and peace. Even when I’m cleaning up after my dog.

Other views

The world around me shouts the same message as the verse above: Choose life! But the biblical meaning is missing here. In this context, life means everything that Jesus said is less important. Eat the tastiest foods. Drink the most intoxicating beverages. Wear the latest styles. Have sex as often as possible, with as many different people as possible. Get high. Put your own needs and desires ahead of everyone else’s. That’s what life is all about.

Sometimes Christian groups urge me to seek the wrong kind of life, too. In our lists of prayer requests, most of them concern physical healing or material needs. They reflect a genuine compassion for those who are suffering, as Jesus displayed. But that emphasis can imply that the physical and the material are the most important aspects of our lives.

We tend to forget the greater blessing that comes with accepting His will in all circumstances, and the truth that affliction can bring bountiful spiritual riches. Comfort takes priority over spiritual growth. The prosperity gospel, with its emphasis on health and wealth, is the most extreme form of this kind of thinking.

A godly response

That desire for worldly goods and pleasures is actually the side of human nature that the “Choose life!” verse is appealing to. The speaker isn’t urging his listeners to reach for a higher goal. He’s using crafty words and references to the God of Israel in an attempt to persuade King Hezekiah and his people to give themselves up to the invaders from Assyria.

A large army is standing outside the walls of Jerusalem, ready to destroy the city. The field commander is taunting its inhabitants, intentionally speaking in their language, trying to turn them against their king, trying to persuade them to surrender. Otherwise, they’ll die.

A group has gathered on the wall. Their backs are turned to God’s temple as they gaze at the threat in front of them and listen to a voice promising a way to safety. They’re frightened and vulnerable and oh-so-tempted to choose the meager physical life that the Assyrians are willing to provide, rather than seeking the true life that consists of more than bread alone.

Isn’t that where I sometimes find myself? Standing on a wall with my back to God. Seeing only the vast army of the enemy. Hearing words in my own language offering me life, not death.

What do the people of Jerusalem do? They obey their king. They remain silent when the Assyrians demand an answer, because that’s what Hezekiah had told them to do. Their faces may be turned away from the temple, but their hearts remain firmly dedicated to their God.

Their leaders respond by tearing their clothes, a symbol of anger and sorrow (BibleGateway.com). They report to Hezekiah, who also rips his robes. He goes to the temple, while sending others to the prophet Isaiah to ask him to pray. Isaiah’s first words to these messengers are, “Do not be afraid.” He then describes how the Lord will miraculously deliver them.

God doesn’t expect me to stay sheltered in His house, protected from the seductive words of an enemy who urges me to choose life, not death. Words that can sound so reasonable and attractive, so much like God’s own words. He puts me up on that wall with my back to His temple, listening to appeals in my own language.

But if I’ve already chosen the life that He offers, I can depend on that life to nourish and grow me over time. I’ll develop the wisdom and the faith to obey my King even in the face of fierce opposition and tempting invitations. I can rely on that life to provide the resources that allow me to go to the King and His prophets and His temple with its torn curtain. I can trust in that life to relieve my fears as I ask for prayer for His guidance and strength.

The Lord doesn’t promise me a miraculous physical deliverance in every situation, but He gives me the ability to choose life—a life that’s far greater than mere food and drink and clothing and all the other pleasures that this world has to offer.