Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

Hey! Weren’t those the guys? The ones the high priest and his posse were so enraged at. The ones who, just yesterday, had been marched into jail and locked away for preaching the gospel of Jesus Christ. Of course they were! But how did they get here? In the temple? Preaching? The very next morning? And why were the prison guards and officers in such an uproar to find them? Could it be? Was it possible? Had they escaped?

 It had been an eventful few days for the disciples. Even more eventful than usual. They expected the preaching and teaching, it was their mission. They were not surprised by the ever-increasing number of believers. They were not caught off guard at the amount of sick lining the streets waiting to be touched, prayed over, healed. They were completely unsurprised by the results of their compelling teachings of Jesus Christ, repentance, salvation, change. 

Even the opposition was expected. There was always opposition. They had been threatened, arrested, ordered not to preach Jesus. Nothing changed their determination. Last night they had been arrested and thrown in jail by a very angry, intensely jealous high priest of the Sadducee persuasion. Frustrating. Definitely sigh-worthy. Not surprising. 

The surprise had come in the middle of the night. Oppressive darkness cloaked their prison. Limiting visibility, but heightening other senses. Unpleasant odors of unwashed bodies hung in the air. Stench from improper facilities assailed their nostrils. Their stomachs churned and lurched. Every breath threatened to cause pointless gagging and retching. They had been able to force none of the prison rations down their throats. The conditions were horrific. 

Darkness seemed to magnify every sound. Scurrying mice. Running cockroaches. Rats fighting over a moldy bread crust. The soft snore of someone who had managed to doze off in this petri dish of germs and diseases. The slight clank of an opening lock brought them to full attention. The following swish of a gate swinging free had them instantly on their feet. The words of an angel telling the apostles to get up, get out, get on with their mission put wings on their heels. Exiting as soundlessly as possible, they breathed deeply of the unpolluted night air. The gate swung shut. The lock snicked into place. The guard never moved. The apostles’ mission would continue at daybreak.  

Groaning and burying their faces in silk-covered pillows, the high priest and his associates were not so eager to get to the temple. In retrospect, they probably wished they had been. They should have skipped the wakening gaze out the window, the extra cup of tea, the dawdling conundrum of which garment to wear. So certain were they that their enemies were locked away, they took the scenic route to work. It seems likely they wished they would have put more importance on temple attendance. Wished they had been the first to arrive that day. 

They weren’t. Apparently, they were quite late in their attendance. Skipping morning meeting entirely. They shouldn’t have done that. If they had attended that morning, they would have known what most of the town already knew. The guys they threw in prison last night weren’t there now. They had been sprung. But they hadn’t left town. They were teaching in the temple. Again. And people were listening. If the high priest, the Pharisees, the Sadducees, and any other cohorts of his had actually stopped to attend morning prayers, they would have known. They would have seen it. They likely wished they had. 

Sending for their prisoners, the council settled into trivial conversations as they awaited the fulfillment of their command. Except it didn’t come. Not the way they thought it would. The officers they sent to collect the accused returned. Empty-handed. There was not one apostle with them. Nor did they have any idea where they were. The prison was locked. The guards were in place. Nothing seemed disturbed or broken. No tunnels led from underneath the wall. No ropes went over it. There was no logical explanation, but the men who had been escorted there and locked inside were gone! 

Except they weren’t. At least not completely. They weren’t in the prison, but they hadn’t left town. They were still there. Still teaching. Still preaching. Right there. In the temple. For all and sundry to hear. The high priest and his cohorts were livid. 

Finally, succeeding in getting the apostles before him, the high priest asked, “Did you not hear us order you not to teach these things to our people? How were we unclear? Do you know who you are dealing with?” And the apostles, tongues ready with words from God, replied, “We are more interested in obeying God than people.” No matter what it cost them. No matter who they angered. No matter if they were rebuked, shunned, abused, or banished from polite society. Even if it came with a side of suffering, they had just one desire. Obey God. 

And they would suffer for it. Many on that council wanted to kill the apostles for denying their authority. Hearts cut to the quick with conviction, they wanted to eliminate these men and their teachings. Thankfully, Gamaliel had a different idea. Let God deal with them. If they were preaching heresy, God would certainly overthrow them. If they were preaching the truth, there was nothing anyone could do against it. Not the high priest. Not the council. Not the Sadducees or the Pharisees. Partially deterred, the council chose to flog them, order them not to preach Jesus, and send them on their way. 

They walked away…rejoicing. Rejoicing!? They had just endured arrest, imprisonment, a lopsided trial, and a beating. Their bodies bruised and bleeding. Their souls and lips rejoicing.  Why? Because they were already doing what James and Peter would later admonish their readers to do–count it all joy. Receive it with rejoicing. Count themselves blessed to be offered the honor of suffering for Christ’s sake, remembering that their eternal reward would be so much greater and last exponentially longer than any earthly suffering. (James 1:2-4; I Peter 4:12-14; Acts 5; Romans 8:18-21)

Pardon me while I sit here gobsmacked, trying to absorb this truth. Just last week, from this exact chair, I had a conversation with God about this very thing. Except I didn’t mention any rejoicing. It never crossed my mind. I spoke only of suffering for Jesus Christ. Right here in polite society. Right here in a culture that supposedly makes room for everyone. Right here in the land of the free.

It is easy to imagine the side of suffering served up to those in countries who impose religious constraints. Our minds quickly conjure the horrors of those who choose not to adhere to the spiritual status quo. Images of persecution, torture, and death flood our minds at the thought of those who choose to stand for Jesus in places where His name is forbidden. But we are not there. We are free to choose. We expect no ramifications for doing so. Then they come. 

Silently, they creep up on us. Exclusions from groups of people who choose actions and attitudes we cannot endorse. Rejections from potential employers because following Jesus means faithfulness at His house every Sunday. Friends who stop calling, stop texting, stop visiting when our choice to follow Jesus changes the way we talk, the things we watch, the places we visit. Shunning from fellow church attendees–yes, it will come from there, too–who have only a form of godliness, but lack the true Spirit of Christ. Social slaughtering by those who have chosen a lesser way, a broader path, a destitute eternity. Suffering for Jesus doesn’t always come in the form of a jail cell, a phony trial, or an undeserved beating. Sometimes it comes in a brush-off, an abandonment, a banishment. It is still suffering. It should still elicit the same result. Rejoicing. Because God sees your dedication to Him, the work you do in His name, the stand you take for His Word and He counts you worthy to suffer for His sake. (Matthew 24:9; I Peter 3:13-14; II Timothy 2:12; Romans 8:35-39)

Limping away from the scene of their flogging, bruised, bleeding, aching, possibly in need of medical attention, the apostles rejoiced. Their suffering might have been considered an insult by earthly measures, but it was the highest compliment of Heaven. God had seen them. Their endless work. Their fearless preaching. Their consistent witness. And He had honored them. Counted them worthy to suffer for the sake of Jesus Christ. They weren’t about to stop now. They kept right on preaching, every day, everywhere, to everyone who would listen. That flogging, as unpleasant as it had been, was not about to deter their mission. (Acts 5:41-42)

Would it deter yours? Would suffering in any form derail the mission God has sent you to do? I hope not. I hope you would never trade worldly acceptance for Heavenly exclusion. I hope you won’t trade friendship with the world for being a friend of God. I so deeply hope that in all the bells and whistles, distractions and promises of the world, there is still nothing worth more to you than your soul. And I pray, when you are served your side of suffering, you will find unspeakable joy in the knowledge that God counts you worthy to share with Jesus Christ in suffering for His name’s sake. Rejoice and be enormously, astronomically, historically glad, your dedication has been noted, your suffering has been seen, and your reward in Heaven is greater than you can even imagine! (James 4:4; Mark 8:37-38; Matthew 5:10-12; Matthew 6:4; Philippians 4:4; I Thessalonians 5:16; James 1:12; II Corinthians 4:17)