Mark 2:27-28 “The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath. So the Son of Man is Lord even of the Sabbath.”

You have been working 16 hour days, 7 days a week, for several months. You finally collapse in sickness and exhaustion. You go to the doctor. He takes one look at you and says, “My friend, what you need is some rest! Just look at you. And if you are going to sleep properly, you need to get some more exercise. It’s no wonder you haven’t been sleeping. Your body is all out of shape. You need to eat more carefully, too. No more Doritos and Coke for lunch, or pizzas delivered to the office while you are working. While you are at it, take more time to be with your family. A hobby might not hurt, either. It helps reduce your stress. Then you can get some sleep.”

The doctor’s observations may all be good advice. But how much help will they be if the 16-hour work days continue? The doctor has added hours of work to an already overburdened schedule. The result will be less rest, not more.

Even in the perfection of Eden, our Lord never designed us to work without end. We need rest. So he prescribed the Sabbath Day, a day to put work aside, a day for God himself to serve our souls with grace and love.

The Pharisees of Jesus’ day tinkered with God’s prescription in ways similar to the doctor’s well-meaning advice. They added long lists of Sabbath rules to make sure people “rested.” But the more people focused on rules, the less rest they got. Even worse, the less they were able to see the Savior to whom the Sabbath points.

God did not create the Sabbath so that we had a rule to keep. He gave this law so that it might keep us. On the Sabbath he led people to hear him speaking in his word. They responded with their prayers and praise. He gave their burdened souls rest from guilt and sin. They found God’s Sabbath Rest not by what they did to keep it, but by what the Lord himself did for them. They stopped all their doing, and all their busyness, and he himself had the opportunity to serve them.

Today we find our Sabbath in the person of Jesus. He supplies us with rest from our sins and rest for our souls. The Sabbath was the long shadow of Jesus cast across centuries of promises (Colossians 2:16-17). It directed God’s people to the full and final rest his life and death would provide. We no longer have to set aside all work on Saturday or consider it our holy day. The Apostle Paul tells us not to let anyone judge you in regard to keeping the Sabbath.

But we still hear echoes of God’s will for us in that law. When we set aside our work to hear about his love, he still keeps us today. He still wants us to gather with other believers, and do so often. We don’t do it to save ourselves by keeping a rule. We encourage and edify each other with the word. The Lord speaks to us and saves us through that word. “Let us not give up meeting together (Greek, literally “going to synagogue”), as some are in the habit of doing, but let us encourage one another,” Hebrews 10 urges. Let us find our Sabbath rest gathered with others for worship. There we still find Jesus, and rest for our souls.

Numbers 19:2-6, 9 “Tell the Israelites to bring you a red heifer without defect or blemish and that has never been under a yoke. Give it to Eleazar the priest; it is to be taken outside the camp and slaughtered in his presence. Then Eleazar the priest is to take some of its blood on his finger and sprinkle it seven times toward the front of the Tent of Meeting. While he watches, the heifer is to be burned– its hide, flesh, blood, and offal. The priest is to take some cedar wood, hyssop and scarlet thread and throw them onto the burning heifer….A man who is clean shall gather up the ashes of the heifer and put them in a ceremonially clean place outside the camp. They shall be kept by the Israelite community for use in the water of cleansing; it is for purification from sin.”

According to a Jewish legend, King Solomon was able to explain the reason behind all the laws of Moses, but this one had him stumped. Whether or not that is true, the key to understanding this sacrifice and the water it produced is to realize that it is a picture, a prophecy, of the work our Savior has done for us.

First, there was the sacrifice. A completely red heifer, a young cow that has never given birth, without any spots or any blemishes, is an extremely rare and special animal. Only seven to nine of these animals have been identified and sacrificed since the time of Moses. They brought a high price from the temple treasury when one was found. The last one was over 2000 years ago. Today’s Jews are eagerly seeking an animal like this because these purification ceremonies are necessary before they begin building a new temple. Decades of searching have not turned up a suitable candidate yet.

I don’t have time or space to go into all the details of the sacrifice and what they mean. But there are obvious allusions to Jesus’ person and work that are easy to see, aren’t there? Jesus was a unique and rare person not only in his time, but in every age. As the Son of God and only perfect human he was a person of infinite value. His moral record had no spot or blemish on it. Spiritually he was perfect in every way. That perfection, that value, makes him qualified to stand before God as our substitute, not just until our next sin, not just until the next person dies, but forever and for all. Like the red heifer, he did not die because of anything that he had done. He had to give his life because of the sin, the impurity, and the death of others. This is God’s everlasting source of purification for us. Jesus’ death is the solution for our sin and death.

But unlike the red heifer, Jesus’ death was not merely ceremonial, symbolic, or prophetic. It really and permanently removes our sin in God’s site. Our death has really lost the ability to separate us from God any longer. In fact, now it actually brings us closer to him. Here we see Jesus making us clean from the stench of death by applying his death to us.

Does the contrast between our condition and the great value God has placed on us strike you at all? We live in a world that less and less wants to invest its medical or financial resources in dying people. Just kill them, euthanize them, and be done with them already. We live in a throwaway society that doesn’t fix things. It just disposes of them when they break. I once threw away a 2-year-old television, not because it was beyond repair, but because the cost of repair rivaled the cost of a new one.

How worthy of repair could we have appeared to God, slowly decaying with death, thoroughly corrupted by sin? Maybe it seemed worth risking a few expensive cows, but the red heifers didn’t actually change anything. Sin and death remained. That God would sacrifice the priceless gift of his Son to reclaim people who had become spiritual road kill speaks of love beyond our comprehension.

Mark 14:37-38 “Then he returned to his disciples and found them sleeping. ‘Simon,’ he said to Peter, ‘are you sleeping? Could you not keep watch for one hour? Watch and pray so that you will not fall into temptation.’”

Is temptation your friend or your enemy? You know what the right answer is. But is that how it feels? Over thirty years ago a professor presented this scenario to my class: You are visiting the doctor. You are sitting in his waiting room. You know it’s going to be awhile. There are magazines on the table. It happens that the doctor subscribes to Sports Illustrated. On the table is the annual Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition. If you are a male, what do you do? Convince yourself that you need to get up-to-date on the latest fashion? Maybe you pick it up and sneak a peak. Maybe you resist. But are you necessarily sad for the opportunity? Does this feel like a hostile attack on your soul, or more like an old friend reminding you, “I’m still here if you need me”?

Let’s say you are at the doctor because he wants to discuss the results of your latest blood test. It turns out you are pre-diabetic. If you are going to avoid taking medications, maybe eventually going on insulin, you need to cut back on the sweets and the carbs. You go back to the office after the visit. Next to the place where you work is a donut shop. Wafting through the air is that sweet smell of donuts in the fryer. Everyday it confronts you when you arrive, and many days it has pulled you all the way in. It will still be calling to you each morning when you get out of your car. Is that disappointing? Or does it feel almost comforting?

At work the first person you run into is “The Jerk.” The two of you have both been working at this company for over five years. Almost every time he opens his mouth you want to punch him. So far you have managed to limit your response to a few sarcastic comments muttered under your breath. But in your mind you play images of giving this guy the tongue-lashing of his life, and occasionally daydream about removing a few of his teeth with your knuckles. Does this make you feel guilty, or strangely satisfied?

Is temptation your friend or your enemy? You know the right answer. But that doesn’t make it easy to resist. In the Garden of Gethsemane Jesus warned his disciples about its lure and pull.

These three men are caught in an internal tug of war. Which is stronger: love for Jesus or desire for personal comfort? They can see that Jesus is in obvious distress. When ever have they seen him ask for help like this? He sent them on errands and gave them tasks to do. But the man who had healed so many and kept his cool through so many threats and dangers had never hinted he might need assistance himself. No doubt these three were eager to do their part.

But their stomachs were full from the Passover Feast. Jesus’ words at the dinner had been emotionally draining. It was late. It is a chilly night, and they are sitting there while a few yards away Jesus pleads and sobs. Their eyes are heavy. You know that feeling when you are driving late, late at night, and your head bobs, and you drive for stretches when perhaps you didn’t actually sleep, but you have no memory of the last mile you have traveled? “The spirit is willing but the flesh, the body, is weak.”

One of our favorite Lenten hymns begins with Jesus’ story in Gethsemane. “Go to dark Gethsemane, ye that feel the tempter’s pow’r.” It urges us to follow Jesus’ example in the garden. “Turn not from his griefs away; Learn of Jesus Christ to pray.” Jesus pleaded for his Father’s deliverance. Then he submitted to his Father’s will. The disciples caved. Jesus prevailed. Be like Jesus.

There is something better here. Jesus’ own battle in Gethsemane is not just our example. It’s our victory. Our battle with temptation does not begin where Jesus’ battle ends. Ours ends in the garden, too, when your great saving Substitute overcomes. Yes, I know we still wrestle to resist the magnetic pull of one temptation after another. The force feels irresistible. You fall, often. So do I.

But our heavenly Father does not see a beaten sinner pulling himself up from the ground after another loss, ever. He sees a perfect son, a holy daughter, surrounding themselves with the support of Christian friends, praying for his help, and submitting to his will. He sees you in Jesus’ skin embracing the path he wants you to follow.

He sees our many surrenders to sin where Jesus goes next. He seems them painted in deep red, washed in his blood, until he can’t see them anymore. He sees them nailed to Jesus’ cross and buried in his tomb, disposed of forever. And now he doesn’t see them at all, because Jesus embraced his cross, fulfilled his Father’s will, and saved the world.

Jesus has delivered us from temptation even when we fall, and from every other sin as well. Watch and pray, and trust Jesus most of all.

Psalm 23 ¹ The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want. ² He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. ³ He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. ⁴ Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. ⁵ Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. ⁶ Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever.

Martin Luther once commented on the opening verse of Psalm 23, “It seems to reason that on earth there are no poorer, more miserable, and unhappier people than those very Christians. … It appears outwardly that the Christians are scattered sheep, forsaken by God, already handed over to the jaws of the wolves—sheep who lack nothing except everything…”

My autistic son Aaron was diagnosed with stage four lymphoma a little over twenty years ago. The tumor our doctor discovered in his chest was so large it was threatening to cut off his wind. The oncology doctors felt it was urgent to take a bone-marrow sample immediately so that they could identify the cancer and get started with chemotherapy. Unfortunately, Aaron had just eaten lunch. He could not receive anesthesia. The doctors would have to drill into his hip for the sample while we restrained him. As they did so, Aaron, who was about 10 years old, kept crying, “Why are you doing this to me? Why are you torturing me?”

How would you have answered him? The answer was simple, really. “We are doing this to save you.” But how do you explain that to an autistic little boy?

I think there is an answer in there to our own “why” questions, when it seems that the Lord is allowing all kinds of harmful things into our lives. “I am doing this to save you,” he says, “or your loved ones, or other people touched by your life. It’s complicated how this all works together. You probably wouldn’t understand why it has to be this way. But I am asking you to trust me. I am asking you to listen to my promises, and believe that they are true.”

The opening verses of the Twenty-third Psalm are a calming, comforting picture of a Shepherd’s love and care for his sheep. It sounds like a vacation, an escape, some far off future retreat, or even heaven. In the movies when it isn’t all puffy clouds and cherubs, heaven so often looks a little like the picture here: lush green fields laid across rolling hills with a gentle brook winding through.

But these words don’t first begin to describe life when we take our last breath in this world and open our eyes in the next. This is for as long as we know our Savior. “He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.” “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened,” Jesus says, “and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am humble and gentle in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.” The love that unburdens our hearts of our sins and replaces them with God’s peace doesn’t start in the future. For those who believe, it is life every day.

It is that love that allows us to know that we are safe, even in the face of death. “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.” Notice that David does not say in the Psalm, “I will fear no evil for nothing bad will ever happen to me” or “I will not die.” He says, “I will fear no evil: for thou art with me.” We are safe because we face neither life nor death alone. Holding our hand is someone who knows a little something about death himself. Jesus died the death of the whole world when he gave his life on the cross. Jesus knows a little something about death…and life on the other side.

Now he promises, “I am with you.” Sometimes, when death starts to cast its long shadow over us, he takes our hand and says, “Don’t be afraid. I am with you. I am the conqueror of death. I give life and take it away. It is not your time yet. You are safe with me.” Sometimes he takes our hand and says, “Don’t be afraid. I am going to walk you through this door. I have made death the gate to a fantastically new and better life. You are safe with me.”

Life with this Savior is a blessed life. “Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.” Even surrounded by our enemies, our Lord gives us good things. And once our cup of life, which has more than its share of pain and danger, has been cast into the ocean of God’s grace and love, “I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.” We come home. Surely, that is a blessed life.

After raising his questions about the promises of this Psalm, Luther brought his readers around. “Therefore, I say, do not in this matter follow the world and your reason. People… consider the prophet to be a liar when he says, ‘I shall not want,’ because they judge according to outward appearance. But, as we said previously, stick to God’s Word and promise, listen to your shepherd, how and what he speaks to you, and follow his voice, not what your eyes see and your heart feels. In this way you have conquered.”

2 Corinthians 8:1-5 “And now, brothers, we want you to know about the grace that God has given the Macedonian churches. Out of the most severe trial, their overflowing joy and their extreme poverty welled up in rich generosity. For I testify that they gave as much as they were able, and even beyond their ability. Entirely on their own, they urgently pleaded with us for the privilege of sharing in this service to the saints. And they did not do as we expected, but they gave themselves first to the Lord, and then to us in keeping with God’s will.”

Did you ever observe some idiosyncrasy in your parents and promise yourself you would never do that yourself? Then one day as an adult you catch yourself doing exactly the same thing. You realize that you have become your father or your mother. Or perhaps you were working on some project with a brother or sister, an aunt or uncle, and they comment that you do something exactly the way one of your parents used to do it. Our habits, behavior, and mannerisms are often more than a reflection of self. They are a window to the generation before us.

The Apostle Paul observed a similar truth at work in our spiritual lives. As he looked at the Christians who lived in Macedonia and in Corinth, he noticed that their giving was more than a revelation of the kind of people they were. It pointed beyond them to the grace of God that made them that way. The same is true of our Christian giving today.

Examples drawn from life are powerful teaching tools. Even though we may not feel so comfortable with using the example of real live people to teach about Christian giving, that is exactly what Paul did for the Corinthians. He wanted them to learn from the example of the Macedonians.

There is much in these Macedonians to admire, and much to prick our consciences. Paul refers to their “severe trial,” and their “extreme poverty.” The opposition to Christianity was strong in Philippi, Berea, and Thessalonica, the cities of Macedonia that had Christian congregations. The book of Acts tells us Paul wasn’t able to stay in any of these cities more than a few weeks before he was chased out of town, leaving the new Christians there to deal with their hostile neighbors. History tells us that years earlier, when the Roman army went marching through, they followed a “scorched earth” policy. Macedonia as a whole was not the richest part of the world, and the Christians who lived there were particularly poor.

Not exactly the recipe for making people generous, is it? You know how the tension that is created when money is in short supply around the house dries up all your patience with the people who call during supper asking for a donation to some cause. It makes us feel sorry for ourselves. It makes us look for someone to blame for our predicament.

But the Macedonians? They were overflowing with joy. Their joy was like a can of Coke dumped over ice, and the bubbles come foaming up and spill over the top of the glass. What came spilling over the top of these Macedonians was a rich generosity that gave more than their poverty would suggest they were capable of giving. They weren’t afraid that Paul was going to ask them if they could contribute something to this special offering for the poor in Jerusalem. They went to him and begged to be a part.

Undoubtedly, what made the Macedonians this way is that they kept their focus straight. They weren’t just giving money. The gift was a whole lot bigger than that. They were giving themselves. The money was just a token, a sign that their lives, their hearts, their souls had been given up.

They weren’t just paying bills or supporting an institution or doing a favor for an old friend. They gave themselves first to the Lord. This was an act of worship, something that is easy for us to lose sight of when we are faced with the urgency of all our bills and obligations.

Paul holds up their example not so much as a pattern for us to trace, or as standard by which we should be measured. Rather, it is an example of the wonderful difference that can be made, the beautiful things that can be produced in the lives of people by the love and forgiveness that God has impressed upon their hearts. The incredible generosity of the Macedonians assures us that God’s grace is real, and that it really makes a difference. Their giving was evidence of God’s grace. That grace can still make us generous givers, too.

Romans 4:4-5 “Now when a man works, his wages are not credited to him as a gift, but as an obligation. However, to the man who does not work but trusts God who justifies the wicked, his faith is credited as righteousness.”

Leave church for a moment. Go to your workplace. See how things work there. Whether you punch a clock and work with your hands, or sit behind a desk and push paper, or travel around trying to push a product, what happens every week or two? You get a paycheck. You expect that paycheck. You demand that paycheck, because you earned it. Your employer isn’t doing you any favor by paying you. He owes you. If he were to put on some big display every time he paid you, as though he was going beyond the call of duty by giving you this money, you would think he was being absurd. He has an obligation to pay you for your work.

If our own good works made us righteous in God’s eyes, if we earned heaven by the way we serve, wouldn’t the same be true? God would owe us. Giving us eternal life would be an obligation. He wouldn’t use words like grace, or gift, or free. He would fork over the goods and be quiet about it.

It appeals to our pride to try to save ourselves this way. We might even wonder why we shouldn’t go this route. If you go back and read the whole context of the book of Romans up to this point, you will see how impossible Paul makes this to be. In the book of Revelation the Apostle John warns people who are confident about themselves, “You say, ‘I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing.’ But you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked.” We’re not just a little behind on meeting God’s demands. Spiritually, we are flat broke. We are crippled, blind, and even dead.

The attitude that wants to work out our own way to God only drives us farther away. No one ever gets closer to him by trusting more in oneself. No one ever loves God more by believing he has received less from him. The work for your wages method deadens faith.

Then we see the other side of Paul’s illustration. “However, to the man who does not work but trusts God who justifies the wicked, his faith is credited as righteousness.” If we don’t work for our place in God’s heart and home, there is only one other way to get it. It has to come to us as a gift. We simply trust him to give it to us.

The God who became a man and died on a cross even “justifies the wicked.” The gift goes to those who have been working for the competition. The Lord credited righteousness to drunks like Noah, murderers like Moses, adulterers like David, cowards like Peter, skeptics like Thomas, and persecutors like Paul. No matter what our great failings may be, he invites us to trust him and be confident that he will credit us as righteous people, just like them.

We receive God’s grace every day. It’s always given, never earned.

John 18:10-11 “Then Simon Peter, who had a sword, drew it and struck the high priest’s servant, cutting off his right ear. (The servant’s name was Malchus.) Jesus commanded Peter, ‘Put your sword away! Shall I not drink the cup the Father has given me?’”

To understand Peter better, approach this episode a little like a question on Jeopardy. “If the death of God’s Son on the cross is the answer, then what is the question?” Or put it this way: “If Jesus’ death on the cross is the solution, then what is the problem?”

If my salvation required God to leave heaven, become a human being, subject himself to his own rules, keep them all perfectly, then permit himself to be unjustly arrested and condemned, submit to beatings and tortures that would have killed many, be nailed to cross and hung there to die, and be forsaken by God the Father (essentially the experience of hell), then my sins are not a minor, insignificant bending of God’s rules. They must be unspeakably evil, dangerous far beyond my poor ability to measure or understand. My condition must be dead and lost far beyond my powers to help. If Jesus had to do all that, what do I think I am going to add?

It’s a little like chemotherapy. When the solution is to pump a body full of hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of deadly poisons for months or years, the threat isn’t just about feeling a little sick. This problem isn’t going to be solved with just a slight adjustment to diet and exercise. Similarly, my sins put me beyond all normal expectation of help or survival. Only God’s own miraculous intervention can save me.

Jesus cross, and the horror that he suffered there, teaches us this. The solution helps us see the full extent of the problem. But that was just Peter’s problem. He didn’t want to see it. He didn’t want to believe it. He had big plans for that first class cabin on the promenade deck. Jesus’ cross took them all away. The first time Jesus openly mentioned his cross to the disciples, Peter pulled him aside and contradicted him in the strongest terms. You remember: “Never, Lord. This shall never happen to you.” And Jesus replied, “Get behind me Satan. You are a stumbling block to me. You do not have in mind the things of God but the things of men.” Here, when the plan is finally going into effect, Peter has drawn his sword and will fight to prevent it from happening.

Like Peter, we need to stop fighting God’s plan. Like Peter, we need to let Jesus drink the cup the Father has given him (as if we could prevent it, anyway). Like Peter, we need to learn to stop struggling with the cross and let Jesus lead us to accept all that it means for us. The cross may mean that I am sinner who cannot save himself, but it also means forgiveness for every sin and a place as God’s holy child. The cross may mean that all my life and accomplishments in this world are going to come to nothing. But it also offers escape to a new life in a new world infinitely better than the one we are leaving behind.

Sometimes children fight the very things that save them–the shot with the antibiotic their bodies need, the seat belt that makes it possible to survive an accident. Sometimes even God’s children have resisted the very thing that saves them–the cross, and all that means for our sin and for our world. Stop struggling. Let the cross do its work. Life is waiting on the other side.

Revelation 1:16 “In his right hand he held seven stars, and out of his mouth came a sharp double-edged sword. His face was like the sun shining in all its brilliance.”

We are not left to wonder about the identity of these stars in Jesus’ hand. Verse 20 tells us, “The seven stars are the angels of the seven churches.” These aren’t some kind of guardian angels for these churches. The word angel literally means “messenger.” These are the men who deliver Jesus’ message to the churches. We commonly refer to them as pastors.

Jesus holds his pastors in his right hand. That’s a thought that could fill a man with a sense of holy awe and fear. You want to be careful that when you claim you are speaking for him, you are actually speaking for him. One of my best friends in college was the son of the pastor at Redemption Lutheran Church in Milwaukee, WI. One of the things that always struck me about their sanctuary was the cross suspended from the ceiling by a chain. It hung directly over the pulpit. It seemed to me that you would want to be particularly careful about what you said while you were standing in that pulpit. That cross provided the Lord a convenient way to show his displeasure if the preacher dared to preach something false.

We don’t need something hanging over our heads to remind us to be careful with the message. Jesus holds not just pastors, but all of us, in his hand at all times. His hand can close in judgment at any time.

I don’t think that is the main thing he wants us to think about here, however. If Jesus holds those who serve him in his hand, who is going to take them away from him? If Jesus holds you in his hand, who can hurt you in the end? Even if an angry mob with pitchforks and torches should attack and make this your last day on earth, “what can man do to me?” Jesus makes the promise to all of his sheep: “No one can snatch them out of my hands.”

One last thought on Jesus holding us in his hand. I don’t know whether Jesus was right handed or left handed, but the many Bible references to the right hand, like the one here, suggest that Jesus is speaking about the skilled hand as well as his powerful hand. This is the hand with which most people do their most work.

Jesus makes the people he holds in his right hand his chosen instruments. You are his tool to reach out to others and save them. We all understand that only Jesus is the sacrifice for our sins. Only his word, his gospel, is the power of God for the salvation of everyone who believes.

But faith comes from hearing the message, right? Pick up the Sword of the Spirit, and start swinging. Speak the gospel. You yourself are in Jesus’ hand. That’s not just a safe place to be. It is a useful one.

1 Samuel 17:48-50 “As the Philistine moved closer to attack him, David ran quickly toward the battle line to meet him. Reaching into his bag and taking out a stone, he slung it and struck the Philistine on the forehead. The stone sank into his forehead, and he fell facedown on the ground. So David triumphed over the Philistine with a sling and a stone; without a sword in his hand he struck down the Philistine and killed him.”

There is a time for the child of God to retreat when under attack. When the kinds of temptations that appeal to the lusts of our own sinful natures are luring us, especially sexual sins, God’s word to us is “Flee!” Nothing in Scripture suggests that we should engage the temptation to see how long we can hang in there before we finally give in. That would be foolish, not faithful.

But David was facing an entirely different situation here. The Giant Goliath had insulted God. He had called into question God’s power and grace. God’s reputation as the Deliverer of his people was at stake. And when God’s reputation suffers, so does the faith of his people.

The real issue was not the physical battle between an impetuous teenager and a godless Giant. It was the spiritual attack on the hearts of God’s children. There was an entire army standing behind David. But their faith had been compromised by Goliath’s size and threats. That’s why they were behind David, not out there meeting the challenge themselves. That meant that more than lives were at stake this day. Their very souls were in danger.

For that kind of battle, you can’t get started fast enough. David ran to meet the giant. There is an appropriate sense of urgency for us to get going, to engage our spiritual battle with the world for the hearts of neighbors who don’t know Jesus or church members who are losing their grip on him. For this the signal is never “Flee!” but “Charge!” when we are acting on faith, not fear.

Doesn’t David’s story make you want to do something? Doesn’t it make you want to act? Let me share with you a little story told by a pastor at a youth conference: “My kids have “Dave and the Giant Pickle,” (The Veggie Tales version of this story) and after they watched it a few times, I watched it with them and I thought, ‘That’s enough.; And so we read this whole narrative and my little son Johnny, he’s four years old, and he says, ‘Dad, he killed him all the way dead, didn’t he?’ I said, ‘Yeah, he did.’ He says, ‘He chopped his head off with a sword, didn’t he?’ I said, ‘Yes, he did.’”

“I have a sword in my office. It’s an unsharpened sword. We came in the next Sunday morning and I was out making copies—Johnny was in my office—and I could hear—it makes a certain sound—a “shing” when it comes out of the sheath, and he pulled it—and he comes out in the office and he’s almost in tears, and John says…it never dawned on me that he didn’t think Goliaths were still around today.  He says, ‘Dad,’—he’s almost in tears and he’s dead serious and he says, ‘If Goliath comes in this office, I will chop his head off.’” “I’m on your team, that’s where I am.”

That’s the power of God’s word in the heart of a young man, the power and faith that makes him ready to act. The battles God gives us to fight for him today may be spiritual, not physical. We fight with words, not swords. But his word gives us the faith to engage the battle, and trust him for victory in the end.