Once Upon a Juniper Tree
Atualizado: há 23 horas
James, a leader of the church in Jerusalem during its earliest years, wrote to brothers and sisters who were suffering because of their faith in Christ. He emphasized the importance of interceding for one another (James 5:13–15) and pointed to the example of the prophet Elijah, whose life of prayer was extraordinarily effective even though he was a human being just like us (5:17).
For some people, that statement is difficult to understand or accept.
I understand why.
How are we supposed to identify with a prophet who confronted a king, raised a young man from the dead, prayed that it would not rain and it did not rain, prayed for rain and it rained, prayed for fire to fall from heaven and fire came down...
and who, on top of everything else, did not experience death but was taken up to God in a chariot of fire?
You can read Elijah’s story in 1 Kings 17–21 and 2 Kings 1–2.
But there is another side to Elijah.
There is the Elijah who feels alone.
The Elijah who runs into the wilderness, sits beneath a native tree called a juniper, and asks to be “promoted.”
By which I mean: he asks to die.
Yes.
I can identify with Elijah.
Those who have difficulty understanding what James was saying may be failing to hold these two sides of the prophet together.
Perhaps, even more deeply, we find it difficult to accept that God uses cracked vessels—truly broken ones, sometimes even leaking—to reveal his glory and power.
But that is precisely how God works.
The fact that Elijah was used in such extraordinary ways, or that he later collapsed under the weight of his anguish, does not make him more or less spiritual.
It makes him more human.
That is what James wants us to understand:
God uses ordinary people who dare to trust him. Through them, he does extraordinary things.
Following James’s lead, as I reflected on Elijah’s life I found some valuable lessons for our life of intercession.
They apply to you and me, but I believe they are especially helpful as we pray for those around us who are suffering.
God’s “prophets” who may, at this very moment, be sitting beneath a juniper tree somewhere in our city.
Perhaps right beside us.
Follow my reasoning.
Elijah had been faithful to the responsibility entrusted to him by God.
He lived his mission intensely.
There had been years of loneliness, of being sustained “by faith”—through ravens and a poor foreign widow—of confronting kings and false prophets.
Yes, many of us can identify with the Elijah who gives one hundred percent to his mission, even when it places him against the current of his generation, his friends, his colleagues, and even his own family.
But sometimes even Elijah’s one hundred percent—and ours—is not enough to secure the victories we long for.
God may have other plans.
Despite all our efforts, victories, and the miracles of God in our lives, there may still be some “Jezebel” left for us to face: an obstinate and cruel queen who refuses to disappear from the story.
I identify with Elijah.
He expected total victory.
And then, at the very height of his vocation, he cracked.
He broke.
He could go no further.
He went into the wilderness not simply because he was afraid of the evil queen, but because he wanted to throw in the towel—to leave the arena of mission, to give up on everything.
Perhaps, like us when we encounter our own “Jezebels,” Elijah asked:
What did I do wrong?
Why won’t God give me the victory?
I understand Elijah.
I can imagine him sitting beneath that juniper tree with the bitter taste of failure in his mouth, a tightness in his chest, discouraged after pouring all his strength into a mission that, despite the extraordinary victory on Mount Carmel, had not been enough to convince Jezebel.
And then, to make matters worse, she cursed him and sent a messenger promising revenge and death.
It is this messenger of Jezebel—the enemy of our lives—who reveals to Elijah, and to us, the weakness and fragility of even our best efforts, dreams, and plans.
He exposes our humanity.
The clay from which we are made.
He accuses us, humiliates us, mocks us, forcing us to look at the cracks in the vessel.
Messengers like this remind us of the obvious, relentless, cruel, and unavoidable spiritual conflict in which we live.
Life is not fair.
And it certainly is not always beautiful.
But above all, Jezebel’s messenger reveals that God’s plans are different from ours.
God acts in his own way, freely, according to a logic that often confuses us.
God is far more interested in making us dependent saints than successful, self-sufficient people.
That is a difficult lesson to learn—whether for this José here, or even for a prophet like Elijah.
But if Jezebel has her messenger, God has his messengers too.
Hallelujah!
It is God’s messenger—the angel—who finds the prophet in the middle of all his pain and failure, right there beneath the juniper tree in the wilderness, and brings him food, comfort, and direction.
Yes, you may be sitting beneath a juniper tree right here in João Pessoa, but you can be certain that the Lord hears your prayer and will send his messenger as well.
Wait.
And be ready to hear his voice.
And you are not alone beneath that juniper tree.
There are brothers and sisters there with you. Friends. People you know, and others whose pain you cannot even imagine.
Some are silent.
Some are weak.
Some have lost too much hope even to move.
They need to be remembered in intercession.
Visited.
Touched.
Embraced.
Cared for by you, just as Elijah was cared for by the angel of God.
The birth of our Lord Jesus was marked by the visit of an angel who brought hope to a people living in the deep darkness of suffering.
Today, around you—here in João Pessoa, in your apartment building, in your college classroom—there are thousands of people waiting to hear a word of hope:
“Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy...” (Luke 2:10)
Place your life in God’s hands.
Put your knees at the service of the Kingdom of God and of building a community of love and solidarity here at IBT.
Intercede for someone who is suffering beside you.
Do not remain silent.
Do not hide inside your own pain.
Come out from beneath your juniper tree and become light for someone who is living in darkness.
I believe in this project of God called the church, and particularly in IBT.
I know that God will act.
More than that, I know how he will act.
On the basis of his Word, I can tell you that he has chosen to act in response to the cry of his people.
And I like to imagine that Elijah was not nearly as alone as he believed himself to be.
There were a hundred prophets whom Obadiah had hidden and preserved.
There were seven thousand who had not bowed their knees to Baal.
Elijah could not see them from beneath his juniper tree.
But they were there.
Perhaps this, too, is part of what it means to belong to a community of faith: we do not always know who is standing with us, who is remembering us, or whose prayers are helping to carry us when we no longer have the strength to carry ourselves.
That is why I am writing to you and encouraging you to pray for someone—even while you are still beneath your own juniper tree.
You do not need to have everything resolved before you can intercede for someone else.
And perhaps, even as you pray for another, someone is praying for you.
I believe God acts in response to the prayers of his people.
James would agree.
He wrote:
“The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective.” (James 5:16)
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