Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

His wife was missing. Given her personal history, it shouldn’t have been such a shock. It was. He hadn’t seen it coming, hadn’t even suspected anything. A handful of years and three children later, Hosea assumed his wife of ill repute had left her previous lifestyle completely behind. Settled in. Felt content. He was wrong. The woman God had told him to pursue and marry had run off to pursue her own desires. The mother of the children God had meticulously planned and named had abandoned her young to seek her own excitement. The person to whom Hosea had vowed lifelong faithfulness had chosen to be unfaithful herself. She’d run away. More accurately, she’d been lured away. By other men. By grander offerings. By the lusts of her own heart. The reason didn’t matter. Facts were facts. And the fact was, Gomer was gone. 

Everyone would say he should have expected as much. It wasn’t as if their’s had been some star-crossed lovers’ match. Marrying her hadn’t even been his idea. It would never have occurred to him to walk down an alley, pick up a prostitute, and rush her to an all-night wedding chapel. So surprised was he when the command came, his poor brain surely had to engage in quite a few mental calisthenics before he could even force his feet to the door. In a move that cemented the quality of Hosea’s relationship with God, he went out and did exactly as he was told. Hosea married a prostitute. (Hosea 1)

His obedience was not without risk. The possibility that one man, a simple prophet, could hold the attention of a woman accustomed to the attentions of many men was nearly laughable. Yet it seemed to work. At least for a time. But Gomer still carried fond memories of her past in the recesses of her heart. She still longed for the freedom of her former lifestyle. She still relished the gifts of many suitors. She had never truly committed her heart to this relationship. And the thrill of the chase, the glitter of gifts, and the lust of her heart were singing a siren song she found impossible to ignore. Abandoning the stability and relationship Hosea offered, Gomer vanished to chase down the loves of her past. 

Hosea surely felt the blow of her rejection to the depths of his soul. How could he not? His act of abject obedience, his gallant rescue all thrown back in his face as though it was worthless. Although by now he thoroughly understood the correlation between his marital relationship and God’s relationship with His people, Hosea must certainly have found little comfort in God’s commiseration. The comparison of his dismally failed marriage to the abysmal deterioration of Israel’s godly devotion brought no healing to his scarred heart and wounded ego. Unlike the loving, forgiving God of Israel, Hosea wasn’t immediately inclined to find a way to woo Gomer back. He wasn’t even certain he wanted her back! Who would? She’d proven her taste lay outside the confines of their marriage. She’d publicly humiliated him by slinking back to her previous proclivities. Her actions highlighted her incredible dearth of desirable traits. What individual in full possession of their mental faculties, possessing even a modicum of self-respect, would purposely go and seek the one who had so violently betrayed their trust?! No one. No one would do that. No one but God. (Romans 5:8; I John 4:19; John 3:17-21; Luke 19:10)

God would do that. Only God in steadfast love and mercy would chase down those who rejected Him and offer them healing and hope and Heaven. It had been the reel historically playing over and over again before their eyes. While Israel chased after the lyrical flutes and lovely promises of false gods, the true God was still busy planning their reunion with Him. He didn’t leave them to their own devices. He didn’t write them off. He didn’t annihilate them all and raise up new, more devoted people for Himself. No. He. Chased. Them. Down. Lured them back with words of love. Spoke words of tenderness and kindness to their sullied souls. Betrothed them to Himself forever in righteousness, faithfulness, justice, and love. And He wanted Hosea to do the same. (Hosea 2:14-20)

Humanly inclined to do so or not, Hosea was divinely instructed to reclaim his wife. Literally. Go buy her back. However she looked. Wherever she’d been. Whatever the price. As his feet trudged the path of obedience, the constantly commenting voice in his head proclaimed the idiocy of his actions. She wasn’t worth it. Not his time. Not his money. Not his pride. Her betrayal cut deep, scarred badly, severing every thread of trust that bound their relationship. No matter how small the closing bid, it would still be more than he should pay to bring back a wayward wife with the capacity to stray again. She wasn’t worth the fifteen shekels of silver or the multiple bushels of barley. Yet still Hosea bid. Knowing all he did about Gomer, realizing her propensity for flight, wearing the still healing wounds of her previous defection, Hosea buys. Gomer. Back. Not to be kept under lock and key so as not to embarrass him further. Not as a nanny to her own children. Not as a household servant. No. Hosea reinstates her to the elevated position of his wife, but this time he sets parameters.

No longer will Hosea abide Gomer’s straying. She has to come home. Completely. Body and soul. She has to be his and his alone. No chasing other men. No welcoming outside advances. No haring off, pretending to belong to someone else. She must remain faithful to her husband alone. She must commit to building a stronger relationship. She must lean into emotional intimacy with him. She must press in to know Hosea and allow herself to be known by him. Hosea promises to do the same. (Hosea 3)

It seems like such a risky choice for him. Only for him. Gomer knows Hosea will be faithful. He always has been. It wasn’t Hosea who went off chasing other skirts down main streets and alleyways. He didn’t reject his wife or abandon his children. He was still the same stable, upright man who came seeking to rescue her from harlotry in the first place. He was still offering the same things he offered then. Home. Family. Stability. Relationship. Nothing changed in what Hosea offered Gomer. And nothing changes in what God offers us. No matter how far you’ve strayed, how lost you are, how irreversible the effects of your poor choices seem to be, God is still offering you what Hosea offered his runaway bride. Relationship. Because we are all Gomer. (Hosea 3)

Maybe you can’t readily see it. Perhaps you have difficulty placing yourself in Gomer’s sandals. Maybe you simply cannot believe you could possibly be as purposely obtuse, as openly deviant as the people of Israel depicted here. Perhaps you look at your life and see a litany of good things prominently displayed while the less-than-desirable traits that turn you back and draw you aside lay hidden in the dark recesses of your closeted heart. None of this changes the facts. You are Gomer, too. You have selfishly chosen your own way, your own desires, your own will over God’s. You have run from His voice, His chastening, His call. You have followed the alluring things of the world to the detriment of your soul. You have settled for a fleeting fancy over an eternal relationship. Just like the Israelites. Just like Gomer.

Years and babies, a faithful husband and a safe home weren’t enough to keep Gomer from racing back to her old life. Why? Because her heart wasn’t fully committed to Hosea. Lifetimes of watching God work on their behalf, of hearing His commands and seeing His blessings result were not enough to keep the Israelites from turning aside to other gods. Why? Because their hearts weren’t fully committed to God. Years of rigorously adhering to rules and commands and edicts won’t be enough to keep you faithful, either. Why? Because following a litany of rules and regulations does not create a committed, intimate relationship with God alone. Without that relationship, you’ll find yourself right back where you started. Or worse. You might find your soul on the auction block. 

We’ve all been there. Like the straying children of Israel depicted throughout the Old Testament, and exhibited in the account of Gomer, many of us have been rescued from the dregs of our own sin only to leave the safety of our relationship with God and run back into the same degradation. Eventually we find ourselves, bedraggled by the consequences of our own sinful choices, once again stepping up to the auction block. Painfully aware of our declining worth, we refuse to make eye contact with the bidders. Behind our back, our hands are clenched in white-knuckled anxiety that someone, anyone will want us, love us, find a place for us in their lives. Just as we begin to believe the only bidder is the evil one offering a pittance for our immortal soul, a voice resounds from the back of the room. Echoing through the rafters, it names an exorbitant price. A price to be paid in blood. 

In anticipation, our breath painfully caught in our chest, we wait to see if anyone cares to raise the bid. Silence reigns. Finally, the auctioneer raps his gavel and proclaims, “Sold.” Through the silent room, footsteps echo. And under our still downturned face a hand appears, palm upward. A ragged scar mars the center. The spot where blood flowed out and ran in rivulets down His wrists to drip from His elbows in atonement for our sins and indiscretions.  Blood for us. Blood to pay our ransom. Blood that rescued us from the awful merry-go-round of sin and shame. Blood that paid the ultimate price so we could live in personal, intimate relationship with Him. It’s not the only thing we notice there. Above the scar we see the proof. Immutable evidence that it was all for us. Confirmation that we belong to Him. Verification of our standing. For right above the scar, tattooed on His hand, we see our name. Your name. My name. The name of whosoever comes to Jesus Christ in faith, choosing eternal relationship with Him over trivial relations with the world. (John 20:24-29; Isaiah 49:16; John 14:6; John 6:37, 40) 

The Biblical account of Hosea and Gomer ends without telling us exactly what happened. My heart desperately hopes Gomer opted to grasp that second chance with both hands. I hope she buried her past and left it there. I hope their relationship grew and flourished to the point no one even remembered who she’d been or from what she’d come. Why? Because that’s the type of relationship God offers you. No matter where you’ve been, what you’ve done, how far you’ve gone astray, the nail-scarred hand of Jesus is offering you a fresh opportunity to have a personal, intimate, committed relationship with Him. I hope you take it. I hope you cherish it. And when doubts and fears and temptations threaten your soul, I hope you clasp His hand in yours, turn it upward and read your name. Indelibly etched on His palm. Just above the nail scar. (I Kings 8:61; II Timothy 1:12; Song of Solomon 2:10; Zephaniah 3:17)