I found a scripture many years ago that gained my attention in the Gospel of John. It simply says, “I give them eternal life, and they will never die, and no one can steal them out of my hand.” (John 10:28)

The Master’s words, found in my favorite Gospel, were assuring to me as someone whose fear of falling literally consumed my thoughts. Have you ever had that kind of fear?

Well, I must confess to you a fall. I’ve kept it secret long enough. I can’t deny the stumble; nor can I dismiss the truth. I fell. There were witnesses to my slip. They could tell you all the details, but graciously, they have told no one. Out of concern for my reputation, they kept the event a secret. But it has been a secret long enough. The time has come for my fall to be shared.

I lost my footing on a mission trip to Jamaica. Rather than drive, my pastor colleagues and I decided to walk up a steep hill. We got out of the jeep we were being driven in and began to climb up this incline that overlooked the ocean. It was beautiful. With about twenty feet to go, I wondered if I would make it. I had serious thoughts of telling the driver to come and pick me up. My feet were sore, my back was aching, and my legs felt like jelly. I gave it all that I had, but all that I had was not enough. My feet slipped and down I went. I fell hard but didn’t fall far. My companions caught me and I resumed the climb.

Guess what I did when I made it to the top? Do you think I boasted? Do you think I bragged about conquering the hill? No way. I looked at the ones who caught me and said thank you for being there in my most embarrassing moment. I didn’t ask what they thought when they saw me tumble feet over my head. I expressed gratitude to my closest friends in ministry who held me in my fall.

If only all my tumbles were so simple, brief, and harmless. They haven’t been. I’ve been known to fall off of much more than a hill in Jamaica. I’ve let go of promises and convictions. There have been times when my feet slipped off the very mountains of truth I treasure. And I can’t tell you how many times I’ve expected to hit the bottom only to find myself suspended in midair, secured by Jesus’ nail-pierced hands.

You and I are on a great climb. The mountain is high, and the stakes are higher. Your climb began the day you confessed Christ as the Son of God. He gave you His help---the Holy Spirit. In your hands, He placed a rope---His Word.

My beloved, with every journey there is weariness and with the height comes fear. You have lost footing. You have lost focus. You have tumbled. Though you can’t see your Help you know Him. God is strong and you know He is able to keep you from falling.

Let’s imagine that you want to learn to dance. Being the rational, cerebral person you are, you go to a bookstore and buy a book on dancing. After all, a book helped you learn to program a computer and a book taught you accounting ---- surely a book can teach you how to shuffle your feet.

You take the book home and get to work. You do everything it says. The book says sway; you sway.  The book says shuffle; you shuffle. The book says spin; you spin. You even cut out paper shoe patterns and place them around the living –room floor so you’ll know where to step. 

Finally, you think you’ve got it, and you invite your wife to come in and watch. You hold the book open and follow the instructions step by step. You even read the words aloud so she’ll know that you’ve done your homework. “Lean with your right shoulder,”and so you lean. “Now step with your right foot,”and so you step. “Turn slowly to the left,”and so you do.

You continue to read, then dance, read, then dance, until the dance is completed. You plop exhausted on the couch, look at your wife, and proclaim,“I executed perfectly.” “You executed it, all right,” she sighs. “You killed it.” “What?” “You forgot the most important part.  Where is the music?”  Music?
Dancing with no music is tough stuff. Jesus knew that. For that reason, on the night before His death He introduced the disciples to the song maker of the Trinity, the Holy Spirit. 

“When I go away I will send the Helper to you.  If I do not go away, the Helper will not come.  When the Helper comes, He will prove the people of the world the truth about sin, about being right with God, and about judgement.”  (John 16:7-9).

The Holy Spirit is not an impersonal force. He is not Popeye’s spinach or the surfer’s wave.  He is God within you to help you. He is God’s music for the dance. In fact John calls Him the Helper.

What does the Spirit do? He comforts the saved. “When I go away, I will send the Helper to you” (John 16:7).  He convicts the lost. “When the Helper comes, He will prove to the people of the world the truth about sin, about being right with God, and about judgment” (John 16:8). He conveys the truth. “I have many more things to say to you, but they are too much for you now. When the Spirit of truth comes, He will lead you into all truth” (John 16:12).  
Is John saying we don’t need the book (Bible) in order to dance?  Of course not; He helped write it.  Emotions without knowledge are as dangerous as knowledge without emotion. God seeks a balance.  “God is spirit, and those who worship Him must worship in spirit and truth” (John 4:24). It’s much easier to raise a sail than to row the boat. And it’s a lot easier getting people to join the dance when God is playing the music. 

“In Him was life; and the life was the light of men. And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not. There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. The same came for a witness, to bear witness of the light that all men through him might believe.” (John 1:4-7)

Long ago, or maybe not so long ago, there was a tribe in a dark, cold cavern. The cave dwellers would huddle together and cry against the chill. Loud and long they wailed. It was all they did. It was all they knew to do. The sounds in the cave were mournful, but the people didn’t know it, for they had never known joy. The spirit in the cave was death, but the people didn’t know it, for they had never known life.

But then, one day, they heard a different voice. “I have heard your cries,” it announced. “I have felt your chill and seen your darkness. I have come to help.” The cave people grew quiet. The had never heard this voice. Hope sounded strange in their ears. “How can we know you have come to help?” “Trust me,” he answered. “I have what you need.” The cave people peered through the darkness at the figure of the stranger. He was stacking something, then stooping and stacking more. “What are you doing?” one cried, nervous. The stranger didn’t answer. “What are you making?” one more shouted even louder.

The visitor stood and spoke in the direction of the voices. “I have what you need.” With that he turned to the pile at his feet and lit it. Wood ignited, flames erupted, and light filled the cavern. The cave people turned away in fear. “Put it out!” they cried. “It hurts to see it.” “Light always hurts before it helps,” he answered.  “Not I,” declared a voice from the cave.  “Only a fool would risk exposing his eyes to such a light.”

The stranger stood near to the fire. “Would you prefer the darkness? Would you prefer the cold? Don’t consult your fears. Take a step of faith.” “He’s right,” one from behind announced. “It’s warmer.” The stranger turned and saw a figure slowly stepping toward the fire. “I can open my eyes now,” she proclaimed. “I can see.” “Come closer,” invited the fire builder. She did. She stepped into the ring of light. “It’s so warm!” She extended her hands and sighed as her chill began to pass. “Come everyone! Feel the warmth,” she invited.

“Silence Woman!” cried one of the cave dwellers. “Dare you lead us into your folly? Leave us and take your light with you.” She turned to the stranger. “Why won’t they come?” “They chose the chill, for though it’s cold, it’s what they know. They’d rather be cold than change.”

The now warm women stood silent, looking first at the dark, then at the man. “Will you leave the fire” he asked. She paused, and then answered, “I cannot. I cannot bear the cold.” Then she spoke again. “But nor can I bear the thought of my people in darkness.”

“You don’t have to,” he responded, reaching into the fire and removing a stick on fire, “Carry this to your people. Tell them the light is here, and the light is warm.” Will you share the light?

The Cave People by Max Lucado