Under the Juniper

I want us to take a look at the Prophet Elijah this evening, friends. Not the Elijah who stood like a lion atop Mount Carmel as he faced several hundred false prophets of Baal and hewed them down with a double-edged sword, but I want us to take a look at the downcast Elijah when he sat beneath the juniper tree in fear for his life and was all plum tuckered out. Turn in your Bibles, friends, to 2 Kings in chapter 19.

We will be in verses 1 through 4. Listen closely to this passage in the life of God's prophet Elijah because I feel this passage is going to speak to someone tonight. And Ahab told Jezebel all that Elijah had done, and withal how he had slain all the prophets with the sword. Then Jezebel sent a messenger unto Elijah, saying, So let the gods do to me, and more also, if I make not thy life as the life of one of them by tomorrow about this time.

And when he saw that, he arose, and went for his life, and came to Beersheba, which belongeth to Judah, and left his servants there. But he himself went a day's journey into the wilderness, and came and sat down under a juniper tree. And he requested for himself that he might die, and said, It is enough now, O Lord, take away my life, for I am no better than my fathers.

I will stop there. I believe there are pastors right now, right this very moment, who are under a juniper tree. You are all worn out.

You are discouraged. You have been betrayed. You feel like no matter what good you try to do at your church, it's like wrestling alligators.

You are plumb-tuckered out, and you don't want to fight any more. And you're even thinking about throwing in the towel. No one appreciates you.

Few understand you. You've been backstabbed so many times you make Julius Caesar look like he doesn't have a knife mark in him. That juniper tree you sit beneath at least gives you some shade of comfort as you sit and soak in your misery and disappointment.

Let me tell you something, brother pastor. I have been in your shoes a time or two. I know what it's like to burn yourself out in a church, even see God move in the lives of some individuals, only to have them turn their backs on you, or even turn on you.

You were in good company. Jonathan Edwards, after seeing glorious seasons of revival at his Northampton church, was thrown out on his ear. His congregation that so loved him suddenly despised him.

They didn't want to have to sit through another sermon of his, so he was fired. Edwards had a large family to support, and he wasn't good with his hands, so he couldn't chop wood for a living, and he only had one talent at the desk of a scholar. He went from being the pastor of the biggest church in town on that hill to being cast into the wilderness of Stockbridge, Massachusetts.

I've been to that church on the hill, that lot that stands there now, and I've been to Stockbridge, Massachusetts, where Edwards labored, where his congregation consisted of a handful of Indians, and the contrast, friends, was really frightening to leave the comforts of a large church to go into the unknown, to work with some savages, and to labor for their souls. But Edwards did not stay under the juniper tree. He threw himself into his labors, and he preached to those Indians with the same passion of Christ for lost souls as he had to his larger former congregation.

It was also during this wilderness experience of Edwards that he penned some of his most prolific writings. Listen to me, brother pastor. I'm going to share with you what Rolf Barnard related about the time he was ordained.

Here are his words. I shall never forget when I was ordained. I remember my dear friend who has been in glory now many years, preached the ordination sermon.

I was just a young fella, and of course knew everything, therefore knew nothing much. I was full of vim, vigor, and vitality, and I thought if they would just turn me loose on this old world about a year, I would have the whole outfit converted. And there I was.

I remember that preacher standing up there, and among the things he said in his ordination sermon, he said, Son, you don't know what you're getting into. You are yet able to believe. But there will be nights when you will walk the floor.

Your wife can't comfort you. Your loved ones can't comfort you. The heavens will be dark, and you will want to die.

You will never know what heartaches you were letting yourself in for. You don't realize the opposition of Satan, or the absolute depravity of men, even good men. I just want to remind you one thing, Rolf.

Always be as narrow as the Bible. Don't be any broader than the Bible, and preach the word. I like what that man said to Rolf Barter, because it's true.

Being a preacher is the hardest work in the world, the most thankless work in the world. Not every pastor out there has a nice six-figure income, and a sweet congregation, and a country club membership. Some do.

More power to them. But most others hardly get by. Most pastors are bivocational, just to be able to pay the bills.

It's hard work preaching the truth. I want you to know, brother pastor, that God has his eye on you, and your ministry. He doesn't want you to stay under the juniper any longer, but to come out and stand up and preach the word, wherever he calls you to preach it.

He knows your opposition, because he faced far more worse when he was here on earth as a preacher. His ministry got him nailed to a cross. John the Baptist preaching cost him his head.

Stephen was stoned to death for his sermon, and the apostle Paul's ministry didn't end with accolades and applause, but with a fallen axe. Don't throw in that towel, brother pastor. Dig in your heels.

Get more calluses on your knees in prayer, and don't take your eyes off of Christ for one skinny minute, and don't let the devil alone. But remember, the juniper is no place for God's preacher. Let us pray.