Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

As the first rays of dawning sun peeked over the distant hills, the group of roughly dressed, slightly unkempt, mildly odorous men began to edge toward the exit. Progress was slow. With every step they turned back to look once more at the scene they were leaving behind, as if hoping to indelibly etch every minute detail in their minds forever. It was a moment they would never forget. They’d talk about it forever. Tell their children and grandchildren. Tell other people’s children and grandchildren. Tell anyone who would listen. In immense detail, they would recount over and over again the honor of receiving a personal invitation to meet the Messiah and their abject joy at having accepted. 

Last night had started out like every other night. They had a routine. It never changed. The sheep preferred it that way. Find a space. Gather together. Bring in the stragglers, wanderers, and those of a curious or rebellious nature. Settle in. Stand guard. Keep a sharp eye out for predators. Listen for any unusual noises or unexpected movements by the sheep. Rarely would there be any. The nights were often long. A bit boring. But it had to be done, so here they were. Another silent night of stargazing and dozing to the gentle sounds of sheep at rest. Until it wasn’t silent and they weren’t resting.

Bursting across the sky and settling in right above them, a brilliant light illuminated the heavens above them. It was incredible. They’d never seen anything like it before. Probably never would again. The shepherds had no idea what was going on, where the light had come from, or what it could possibly mean. Fear gripped them and they gripped one another. Scared into silence, they watched wide-eyed as an angel appeared in the halo of light. They would have assumed they were dreaming, but he spoke. To them. His words were a little late. “Don’t be afraid,” was superfluous right now. They were very afraid. Terrified, really. Telling them not to be didn’t change the fact. Had their traitorous legs been willing to carry them off, they’d have bolted at the first glimpse of the miraculous light. But their legs wouldn’t move. Their feet were rooted to the spot. Their mouths gaped at the once-in-a-lifetime scene unfolding before them.  

It was a birth announcement. The fanciest one they had ever seen. Possibly the only one. Unquestionably the most important one to which they would ever be privy. A baby had been born. In Bethlehem. Realistically, there was probably more than one baby born in Bethlehem. Even on that particular night. Given the influx of people due to the royally decreed headcount, a baby born in Bethlehem wasn’t nearly as phenomenal news as the sight before them. But the angel wasn’t done. This wasn’t just any baby. It wasn’t just any birth. It had taken place in a stable, not a house. The baby was wrapped in rags, not a soft blanket. The child was laying in a manger of hay, not a carefully crafted cradle. The baby boy was a Savior, not just another son. He was the promised Messiah. Son of God. Lord of all. Their long-awaited King. And the jaw of every shepherd in that field hit the grass. 

A baby? Really? They hadn’t heard it like that! The Messiah wasn’t supposed to come as a baby. Was He? Wasn’t He supposed to show up on some half-wild warhorse and take the kingdom back by force? Wasn’t that what they’d all been waiting centuries to see? How was a baby going to save them from anything? Questions winged through their minds in rapid succession, but they didn’t have time to sort through them all. The celestial show wasn’t over. At the close of the original angel’s astonishing announcement, the sky suddenly filled with more angels than they could count. Singing angels. Beautiful harmony. Music more perfectly majestic than that heard in king’s courts. Glory. Praise. Adoration to God. And the blessing of peace to His people on earth. 

And then they were gone. The angels ascended back into heaven. The star-studded blanket of inky darkness fell back into place. Silence again descended. The sheep settled back down. The shepherds didn’t. They couldn’t. A guy couldn’t be expected to hear this kind of news and not check out its validity. And their feet were finally unstuck, their legs had strengthened, their stomachs were no longer wobbly with fear. In a flurry of robes, they raced down out of the hillside pastures to see it for themselves. Was there a baby in a Bethlehem stable? Was it wrapped in strips of cloth and nestled in the prickly hay of a manger? Was it the Messiah? They didn’t know yet, but they wanted to. 

Breathlessly sliding to a halt outside the stable doors in Bethlehem, the group of shepherds attempted to calm themselves and smooth their disheveled clothing. It didn’t really work. How could one be completely calm when fixing to meet the Messiah? Quietly easing open the door, they peeked around the doorframe to see if this was the right place. It was. One by one, as quietly as possible, they tiptoed into the stable. It was just as they had heard. Seated on a pile of hay was a young woman gazing lovingly down into a rough-hewn manger brimming with the same hay. Behind her stood a man staring on with a dazed look of shock on his face. He clearly hadn’t been expecting to play midwife during the night! As they crept closer to the feeding trough, they could see what had the woman so enraptured. Nestled down deep in the cushion of hay lay a tiny, newborn baby. He was wrapped up in strips of cloth, almost as if His birth in this place had been unplanned. Yet there He was. Just as the angels said. This had to be the place. Had to be the people. This baby had to be the Messiah. They were the most blessed men on earth.

Unwilling to overstay their welcome or inconvenience the new parents, the shepherds made their way back to the door with the same intentional caution they’d used on arriving. They so wanted to be quiet for the tired family. Invariably, they would take only a step or two before someone in the group paused to look back at the scene in the stable. Memorize another face. Get another glimpse of the Baby’s face. Unfortunately for those walking behind him, the stop would be sudden. They would trip over him. Everyone would grab for the other in an attempt not to end up in a heap on the floor. It would have been comical if they hadn’t been so sincere. Finally they made it. Quietly slipping through the door into the dawning daylight without so much as a word. Until they hit the street. 

All bets were off then. There was so much to tell! Angelic visits, heavenly concerts,  and Messianic messages. Their lips must have been going incessantly. There were so many people to tell! The inn was full of travelers. The streets were teeming with people starting their day. Of course they had to tell their families. It would be unforgivable if they were to hear the story from anyone else’s lips. They might skip the details, skimp on the grandiosity, scrap the absolute honor bestowed on a field of lowly shepherds. No. They needed to tell their own story. And tell it they did. Everywhere. To everyone. Their earthly story entwined with a story from heaven. The story of a miracle. A promise fulfilled. The story of God. Even if no one in Bethlehem heard Jesus arrive, everyone needed to know He was there. And the shepherds set out to make that happen. (Luke 2:8-18)

John the Baptist did the same thing. Heralded the arrival of Jesus. Paved the way for the Messiah to come and minister among humanity. Called people everywhere to repent of their sins and be baptized because Jesus, the very kingdom of heaven on earth, had come near. He was among them. Whether or not they heard Him arrive. Whether they were aware of His presence. No matter if they recognized His face. Jesus was there. John was among them preaching and teaching the gospel of Jesus, encouraging them to act like they knew Jesus. Live in a way that those around them would know they had met Him. Exhibit actions and speak words that correlated with those who had repented and abandoned their sinful ways. Even if no one heard them repent, everyone should know from the change in their lives that they knew Jesus. (Matthew 3:1-8; Luke 3:1-8)

The message would be corroborated by Jesus Himself. In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus exhorted His listeners to understand that every tree is known by its fruit and every person is known by their actions, their words, their attitudes. The way you act matters. Your reactions and responses illuminate the state of your heart. The words you say to people and about people reveal the character of your soul. These things indicate whether or not you have met Jesus. If you know Him, it will show. Whether anyone was there to see you repent and watch you accept Jesus as Lord of your life doesn’t matter, the change in your actions should let everybody know that you have. (Luke 6:43-45)

Continuing through history, the message never changed. In speaking to King Agrippa, the Apostle Paul reiterates this truth. Meeting Jesus in faith and repentance should change our lives. Impact us so deeply it is impossible to hide. Our everyday choices should be made in a way to tell everyone around us that we have met the Messiah. We have chosen Him as our king. Crowned Him Lord of every part of our lives. Even if no one heard us do it. Even if no one witnessed the moment we chose. Everybody ought to be able to look at our lives and know. We are forever changed because we met Jesus. Even if our lips don’t say it, our lives should show it. Everybody ought to know. (Acts 26:17-20)

It’s our job, too. Centuries after the shepherds spilled out of that Bethlehem stable to spread the news of Jesus throughout the town, after John the Baptist heralded His coming, after Paul encouraged others to live like they knew Jesus, we are tasked with the same job. Live in a way that reflects Jesus has come. In you. The Savior born in Bethlehem is alive and working. In you. The King of kings has set up His kingdom on earth. In you. If you have met the Messiah, it needs to show. Not simply in a big social media post. Not in photos of all the good works you do. Not in words alone. In actions. In reactions. Act like you know Jesus. Live like Christ dwells in you. Not everyone will read your social media posts or believe the words coming out of your mouth, but everybody ought to know by your actions that you’ve visited the manger and knelt at the cross. (Galatians 5:22-23; James 1:19-27; 2:14-26; I John 3:7; Colossians 1:10; Romans 6:16-18)