If The Lord Wills (James 4:13-17)

Good morning, church. Today, we're diving into a portion of Scripture that rattles our cages, yanks our chains, and straight-up gets in our faces. I'm talking about James 4:13-17, a passage that cuts through the fog of our self-centered ambitions to reveal the blazing sun of God's sovereign will.

You see, we live in a culture addicted to control. We set our GPS, not just for a cross-town drive, but for our entire lives. From five-year plans to retirement packages, from college aspirations for our toddlers to the next promotion on the corporate ladder. We're planning it all, aren't we? But James comes along, crashes our little party of self-sufficiency, and asks us, "Hey, who put you in the driver's seat?"

So, as we journey through this text today, I invite you to let James' divinely inspired words unsettle you. Because sometimes, we need to be unsettled to be reset. With that said, let's pray, and then we're going to dig into this convicting, transformative Word of God.

Come Now

"Come now," James begins. Those two words—just a simple call, yet they carry the weight of divine urgency. This isn't a casual, "Hey, come over here when you get a minute." No, this is a seismic shift in attention James is calling for. A call to step away from the mirage of our own grand plans and confront the dry desert of our souls.

Picture this: You're out hunting, and there's a snare in front of you. You don't see it; it's camouflaged. It's just a tripwire in the thick of the forest. You're so engrossed in what you're doing—maybe you're stalking a deer, maybe you're listening to the birds chirp—that you step right into it. Wham! The snare tightens around your ankle, jerking you off your path. You're trapped.

This, James tells us, is what we've done with our lives. We've walked blindly into the snares of materialism, of ambition, of pride. And all along, Satan is laughing because we've done his job for him. We've ensnared ourselves in the illusion that we're in control. So, James calls out, "Come now," as if to say, "Wake up! Realize you're ensnared. It's time to take stock of your life."

As we go about our days, sipping on our triple-shot lattes, strategizing for the next business quarter, or dreaming about that retirement condo in Florida, let's pause. Let's allow James's "Come now" to arrest us, to make us look down and recognize the snare we're in.

If that snare for you is an obsession with climbing the corporate ladder at the expense of your family, or if it's the relentless pursuit of comfort that's made you indifferent to the needs of those around you, listen to James. Listen to God.

"Come now." It's not a suggestion; it's a divine intervention.

We Will Do This or That

In verses 13 and 14, James paints a picture that might as well be ripped out of our modern-day planners. "Today or tomorrow we will go to such and such a city, spend a year there, carry on business, and make a profit." Notice, he doesn't say these plans are inherently evil. He doesn't condemn business or profit. No, what James indicts here is our audacious belief that we can map out our future without a second thought for God.

This is the anatomy of the foolish heart, outlined right here in God's Word. We have become cartographers of our destiny, drawing intricate maps dotted with milestones we want to hit. 'Here is where I'll get married. This is where I'll have 2.5 kids. Over there is the spot where I'll start my own business. Oh, and right here—this is where I'll finally make enough money to not have to worry about money anymore.'

But friends, don't miss this: while we're playing cosmic cartographer, God is sovereignly orchestrating the universe, holding atoms together, and ensuring that the sun rises and sets each day. And here we are, thinking we're masters of our fate because we've got a sleek, shiny 10-year plan.

Maybe you've outlined your life down to the last detail, assuming each step will naturally lead to the next. You've calculated the odds, examined the trends, and—you've left no room for God. In the margins of your well-crafted plans, there's no space for divine edits. And what's even more deceptive is that we cloak this arrogance in the guise of responsibility, wisdom, or even stewardship.

So, the question we need to grapple with is this: Where in our well-oiled plans have we sidelined God? Where have we silenced the divine word that urges us to pause and consult the Creator before we, the created, carve our own path?

James isn't telling us to abandon planning. He's warning us against planning that leaves God out of the equation—a fool's errand if there ever was one.

"You Do Not Know"

James cuts through our self-deception like a surgeon with a scalpel. He exposes the faulty foundation of our plans with a reality check: "You do not know what will happen tomorrow." Four words that dismantle our facades. You do not know.

Let's pause and let that sink in. That college degree, the diversified stock portfolio, the health regimen you've stuck to religiously—all those safeguards we put in place. What do they really safeguard us against? Because at the end of the day, "You do not know."

It's a tough pill to swallow, isn't it? We don't like being told we're not in control. Our egos rebel against it. Yet, it's a truth we can't escape. Tomorrow could bring a layoff, a diagnosis, or an unexpected tragedy. No spreadsheet or strategic plan can equip us to deal with the sheer unpredictability of life.

But James isn't just dishing out hard truths to discourage us; he's laying the groundwork for a profound spiritual shift. He's preparing us for the liberating realization that our lives are not our own. That our days are numbered and known by a sovereign God who loves us, who wants what's best for us, and who—here's the kicker—knows better than we do.

So the next time you're tempted to pride yourself on your foresight, your planning skills, or your knack for predicting the market, remember: "You do not know." And then take a humble step back and acknowledge that the One who does know is inviting you to trust Him, to lean on His understanding, and to find peace in His sovereignty.

The wisdom here isn't in abandoning plans but in embracing humility, a humility that leans into God's omniscience and submits to His will.

What Is Your Life?

James doesn't let us linger in existential uncertainty. He pushes the envelope further by confronting us with the ultimate question, "What is your life?" He answers it too, describing it as "a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes."

Imagine you wake up early one chilly morning. You step outside and see that beautiful mist covering the landscape. It's there, but within a few hours, the sun comes out and it's gone. Poof! Vanished. Just like that mist, our lives are fleeting, temporal, transient.

This isn't meant to depress us; it's intended to realign our perspective. If our lives are but a mist, how then should we live? If we're not guaranteed tomorrow, how should we spend today? If our plans could dissipate like morning fog, where should our confidence lie?

Your job title, the size of your house, the brand of your car—they're not your identity. They don't define your life. So if you're placing your hopes, your dreams, and your sense of self-worth in these transient things, you're setting yourself up for a harsh reality check.

If your life is but a mist, isn't it prudent to live for what lasts? For eternal things? For the God who set the stars in place yet knows the number of hairs on your head? James urges us to confront our mortality so that we can begin to live in light of eternity. So that we can prioritize God's will over our fleeting ambitions and realize that a life lived for God is never lived in vain.

We don't just exist to consume resources, to accumulate wealth, or to indulge our desires. We exist to know God and to make Him known. That's it. And anything that doesn't serve that purpose is a diversion, a distraction, a deviation from the path God has set before us.

"You Ought to Say"

As we round the corner to the conclusion of James' admonition, he doesn't leave us hanging. He doesn't let us wallow in the awareness of our shortcomings or the fragility of life. Instead, he directs us toward a transformative change in attitude and action. James tells us, "Instead, you ought to say, 'If the Lord wills, we will live and do this or that.'"

"If the Lord wills" — four words that can revolutionize the way we approach life. This isn't about adding a religious tagline to our plans or making a token acknowledgment of God's sovereignty. No, this is about a fundamental shift in how we view our lives.

Imagine for a moment that every decision, from the mundane to the monumental, is sifted through this filter of divine will. Instead of asking, "What do I want?" we start asking, "What does God want?" Instead of navigating by the faulty compass of our desires, we start following the true North of God's will.

Because when "If the Lord wills" becomes the lens through which we see our future, we find something incredibly freeing: the liberty to pursue God-honoring ambitions, the freedom from crippling fear of the unknown, and the peace that comes from aligning our wills with the Creator of the universe.

What if you approached your job with this mindset? Your relationships? Your finances? Your entire life? Think of the pride it eliminates, the humility it fosters, and the divine alignment it invites. James isn't giving us a catchphrase; he's giving us a lifeline, pulling us back from the precipice of pride and into the security of surrendered living.

"Instead, you ought to say, 'If the Lord wills...'" — this is the key to unlocking a life that transcends the limitations of our finite understanding and embraces the infinite possibilities of God's perfect will.

Conclusion

So here we are, standing at the intersection of human ambition and divine purpose, confronted by James with a choice that echoes through the chambers of our souls. Will we continue to walk the path paved with our own intentions, or will we divert our steps toward the road illuminated by the will of God?

It's a choice that drills down to the core of who we are and who we want to be. Making the right choice promises unparalleled freedom, unmatched peace, and a life of purpose that can only be found in the arms of our Creator. The wrong choice puts up the facade and buries your head in the sand.

As we grapple with the words of James, let's not just treat them as ancient wisdom to nod at but as divine guidance to live by. Let's transform "If the Lord wills" from a phrase we occasionally utter into a conviction that shapes our very existence. Let's be men and women who seek God's will above our own, who look beyond the foggy mist of our earthly lives and set our eyes on the eternal horizon.

Why do we so often ignore God's will? Perhaps it's because we're afraid—afraid of what surrendering control might mean, afraid of the sacrifices we might have to make. But let's remember: in God's will, we find our greatest joy, our deepest purpose, and our most profound peace.

So as we step out of this building today, may we carry with us the profound yet simple wisdom of James: that life is but a mist, that we are not our own, and that in every decision, in every aspiration—in every moment—may we utter with sincerity, humility, and complete trust, "If the Lord wills."

And in that, may we find the fullness of life that God so desires for each and every one of us.

Amen.