Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

It wasn’t their first day. They’d been here before. Often. Every time the doors were open. Everyone knew them. Recognized them. Had at least heard rumors of the message they preached. Resurrection. Repentance. Forgiveness of sins. Baptism. The blessing of the Holy Spirit. For adults. For children. Those at home. Those far away. Anyone. Everyone. All could come. All could be saved. It was a straightforward message. (Acts 2)

They’d never made promises of cheap grace. Never resorted to manipulation. Never lured people in with wild schemes and twisted verbiage. There had been no offers of a painless existence filled with carefree luxury, popularity, or financial stability. Not one moment of their time had been wasted creating a pretty packet presenting the carefully camouflaged idea that there would be no opposition, no adversity, no misfortune. They couldn’t. They knew better. Trials, trouble and tribulation would hound them incessantly. Time and again they would come against harsh resistance. They would face criticism, heckling, arrest, abuse. At no time would following Jesus be considered easy, comfortable, or lucrative. Their sandals would wear out. Their garments would fray. Like everyone else, they would have daily needs. Sometimes they wouldn’t have the means to meet them. Following Jesus was still worth it. They knew it. They believed it. They preached it. So often they thought everyone knew where they stood. Most people probably did. Except the lame man. The guy who hung out by the temple gate day after day had somehow missed the memo. Peter and John didn’t have any money. All they had was Jesus. 

It wasn’t his first day, either. Not to be lame. Not to be begging. Not to be at his post outside the Beautiful Gate at the temple. Certainly not the first time he’d seen Peter and John there. He made it his business to know everything about everyone, and he’d made certain to know about these guys. He wasn’t sure how he felt about them, though. His cynical eye swept over them every time they passed through the gate on their way into the temple. He couldn’t get a good read on them. The gossip grapevine was his sole source of information. They were preachers. Evangelists. Sellers of a nearly unbelievable gospel. Their follower base was growing. Wildly. He wasn’t sure why. They sure didn’t look like much. 

Decently clean and mostly well-groomed, their clothes were dusty and clearly well-worn. The hems and cuffs were fraying. Spots were threadbare. A few awkwardly applied patches could be seen in spite of the valiant attempt to make them blend. Their sandals weren’t new, either. They walked carefully, as if the bottoms were more holes than soles. Yet, in spite of their apparent lack of earthly prosperity, Peter and John exuded a joy and confidence that implied true happiness. Contentment. Peace. All the things he wanted, they had. If only he could figure out how to get them.

Shaking his head and calling himself daft for even dreaming of uncovering their secret, the lame man chose instead to settle for a monetary donation tinkling into his nearly empty cup. What else could he do? His legs, ankles and feet lay useless and twisted beside him, pushed out of the way by his handlers so as not to be a tripping hazard to those passing by. And most of them did. Pass by, that is. He wasn’t living the high life on the plenteous donations of the wealthy. He was barely scraping by on the tiny donations of the sympathetic. A penny here. A crust of bread there. His clothes were in worse shape than the evangelists. He looked pathetic. People thought he was. It was all so humiliating. Shaking his cup with a bare minimum of enthusiasm, the man cast his eyes downward and forced himself to speak up, asking the approaching preachers for a donation to alleviate his plight. He was absolutely not expecting what they gave. 

Stopped in their tracks by the lame man’s request, Peter and John stared at one another. Had he looked at them? Had he noticed their threadbare apparel and worn sandals? They had nothing of this world to give him. No food. No money. But the one thing they had in abundance, they were happy to share. Faith in Jesus Christ. It would be more than enough. More than just enough coins to buy bread for one day. More than the crusts someone thoughtlessly donated. Infinitely more than the piteous looks and sympathetic glances he regularly received. Through the power of Jesus Christ, the lame man would rise to his feet. He would stand unaided. He would jump up and down. And he would walk. Right into the temple to praise God. 

People stopped in shocked amazement. Whispers ran through the gathered crowd. They knew that guy! Some of them had ignored him on the regular as they walked into the temple. Some had purposely entered through a different gate to avoid the awkwardness. Some had religiously donated to his cause, hoping it would somehow enhance their heavenly standing. Not one of them could believe their eyes as the lame man from the gate spryly strolled into the temple, full of rejoicing in the miraculous power of God. Gathering around, each inquisitive soul listened to the man tell the story over and over again. They couldn’t grasp it.  Couldn’t understand how it happened. They needed an explanation. Peter had one. 

In typical evangelist style, Peter saw the opportunity to preach and grabbed it with both hands. Addressing the people, he spoke truth. God’s truth.  Absolute truth about resurrection power. Facts about eternal life. Honest words of mercy and grace, redemption and pardon for people who had ridiculed, rejected, denied, and murdered the Son of God who came to save them from their sins. He preached a message so passionate, so full of the Holy Spirit that the people reveled in his words. Believed them. Repented. Chose Jesus. For life. (Acts 3)

Except the Sadducees. And the priests. And the captain of the temple guard. They hated it. The speech. The speaker. All of it. They wanted nothing to do with the resurrection of Jesus Christ. They didn’t want their parishioners to hear it or believe it, either. Those men had to go. Now. To prison. To another country. To death. They really didn’t care. They just didn’t want them there, polluting their carefully taught way of life and religion. So they fixed it. Snatched up Peter and John and unceremoniously escorted them to jail. (Acts 4:1-4)

Frankly, it didn’t change the outcome. The account literally reads that “many” who heard believed. The outcome wouldn’t change in the morning, either. Nor would the message. Dragged before elders, rulers, teachers of law, the high priest and members of his family, Peter and John were asked who they served and from where such great power had come. Peter had a Holy Spirit-given answer for that, too. Jesus Christ of Nazareth. Did they remember Him? The Guy they had dissed and dismissed? The One they had casually crucified? The only One to ever resurrect from the dead after three days? Did they remember Him? Did they know, were they aware, that the way to salvation and eternal life could be found only through the powerful name of the resurrected Jesus Christ? Did they know it? Did they care about it? Were they interested in hearing the message?

Not really. No. They weren’t interested in hearing what Peter and John were saying. They didn’t want them preaching their gospel around town. Yet, no matter how much they wanted to quell the message of Jesus’ resurrection power, this group of learned and powerful men were forced to grudgingly admit one thing. These men had truly been with Jesus. It was obvious. Not because their words flowed in a perfectly spoken, excellently formatted, epically persuasive speech. No. There was still a bit of the fisherman twang floating about in their accents. Their words weren’t polished like those of educated men. Their clothing and bearing indicated they were nothing more than mere ordinary citizens. It was their courage that gave them away. In the face of possible dismissal, discouragement, even death, these men unapologetically preached Jesus Christ. Crucified. Buried. Resurrected. Son of God. Savior of man. The truth was impossible to overlook. These men had been with Jesus! (Acts 4:5-22)

Of all the compliments I’ve ever heard bestowed on those around me, of all the compliments I’ve personally received, none has ever been so grand, so breathtaking, so humbling as this one given in such an offhand manner so many centuries ago. It was obvious these men had been with Jesus. Ordinary, common men. Uneducated. Simple. Socially unacceptable. Financially unstable. Lacking a five-year plan or retirement portfolio. Yet none of that mattered. Their hearts and lives were so surrendered, so dedicated, not to a doctrine or religious theory, but to Jesus Christ Himself, that it was obvious they had spent significant time in His presence. Could the same be said of you?

In a world where there is such great importance placed in the letters after your name, your rank, your social status, your financial portfolio, I feel compelled to ask, is it obvious to the watching world that you have spent time in the presence of Jesus? Do you confidently, courageously stand by the principles and commands of His Word in the face of opposition? Are you unwilling to compromise your God-given convictions and standards regardless who chooses to unfriend you, unfollow you, undermine you? Do you spend enough time in His presence that anyone can tell, everyone can see, you have been with Jesus? Without the flowery words and condescending religious phraseology, would anyone realize you have been with Jesus? Is it obvious you have been in His presence? When things go wrong, your efforts fail, the unpleasantly unexpected happens, does your response indicate with Whom you’ve been spending your time?  In public. At home. Does He show? Is the face of Jesus reflected in your words and actions? Can they see Him? Have you spent enough time in His presence that, in the worst of times, in the best of times, at every time, those looking on can recognize that you have been with Jesus? (Matthew 5:16; I Corinthians 15:58, 16:13; Romans 12:2; I Timothy 6:12)