Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

A heavy sigh escaped his lips. Dark grief gathered around the edges of his deep concern. His heart was heavy. He was losing him. He knew it. Everyone did. Daily they watched as the worsening illness wracked his servant’s body. No one could have predicted this. Not the length of his illness. Not the severity. When he’d taken to his bed, they’d all been surprised. When he hadn’t risen again, they’d all been sobered. When he fell into a silent, still, shallowly breathing shadow of his former self, they all sorrowed. Their hearts were broken. Especially the centurion. 

Faithfully, he had used all his authority to urgently call in doctors and specialists. He’d found the best medical care money could buy. They had all done their best. It wasn’t enough. The proof was in front of him. This servant, a man he highly valued, lay dying before him. It broke his heart. It made him angry. This wasn’t just any servant. This was a man he relied on. One who knew him nearly as well as he knew himself. Someone who could anticipate his needs without the inconvenience of words. Replacing him would be impossible. Reviving him appeared impossible. Releasing him to death seemed imminently unstoppable. Until they heard the news. 

Racing in from the edge of town, a breathless boy came heralding the news that Jesus was headed their way. Coming to Capernaum. If He continued on His current path, He’d walk right through town. People were getting excited. Starting to line the streets. His miraculous power had gained notoriety. News of healed sick and living dead preceded Him. Everyone wanted something. Needed something. No one more so than the centurion. At least it felt that way. Having exhausted every other option in an effort to save his servant’s life, the desperate centurion would grasp any possibility with even the remotest chance of granting his urgent desire. And no one was in a better position to get what he wanted. 

By his own admission and what history tells us about Roman centurions, this was a man comfortable with making things happen. He gave orders. Commands. No one questioned him. When he spoke, people moved. His authority was never in question. He knew it wouldn’t be now. He also believed a group of Roman soldiers wouldn’t be as compelling to the Jewish Healer as a group of His own people. A bunch of spears probably wouldn’t be conducive to eliciting a miracle. It made sense. Leaving the soldiers to carry on with their assigned duties, the centurion called a handful of Jewish elders together and ordered them to go get Jesus. Immediately. Bring Him here. At all cost. Wheedle. Cajole. Beg. Plead. Spare no expense. Ask Him to come and save the life of this most valued servant. Don’t take no for an answer. 

Rushing without running, the men met Jesus as His feet were barely stepping onto Capernaum sand. They understood the urgency of their mission. Their words tripped over one another as they begged Him to come and help, come heal. They offered a litany of reasons. Come because this man in a position of authority has asked you to come. Come because the one asking is a good person. Come because he has treated us with respect and done nice things for us. Come because he loves our nation. Come because he built us a synagogue. Come because he has earned our respect. We can vouch for his goodness. He is worthy of Your time and attention. He is worthy of having his request granted. With all the good he’s done for us, he’s surely earned a favor. 

Even as the words were rushing over their lips to Jesus’ ear, the centurion sat in his home second-guessing what he’d done. What had he been thinking? Had he even been thinking? What about him would make the Jewish Healer want to come do him a favor? He represented everything Jesus should hate. Romans. Gentiles. Sinners. People with evil buried deep in their hearts. He knew himself. He was all those things. Some by birth. Most by choice. His actions, good as they appeared on the outside, didn’t necessarily depict what was in his heart. He’d buried things there. Ugly things. Dirty things. Things that made him completely unworthy of a visit from Jesus, not to mention a miracle. Nothing he’d done made him a candidate for the miraculous. He shouldn’t have sent for Him. Shouldn’t have asked Him to come. Shouldn’t have bothered Jesus with his own problems. Shouldn’t have waylaid Him on His journey to people who surely were more deserving than he. It would be no surprise if Jesus opted out. Declined the invitation. He wouldn’t blame Him. He wouldn’t be surprised if his unworthiness caused Jesus to say, “No.” (Luke 7:1-7)

 As excited as I am to get to the next part, the miracle part, there is something about this account that stops me right here. Right in this moment of brutally honest self-examination. Right in this uber-familiar space of knowing oneself, seeing oneself under the microscope of truth, admitting to oneself, if to no one else, our own unworthiness. The place in which we admit the truth of who we are and who God is. His cleanness. Our filthiness. His greatness. Our smallness. His omnipotence. Our impotence. The place where we realize we deserve nothing, yet Jesus comes to us as if we deserve everything. That is grace. Gorgeous grace. God’s grace. Grace that covers, mitigates, overlooks, eradicates the enormous heap of sins hiding in our hearts, suffocating our souls. Grace that miraculously raises us up, lifting us from the brink of spiritual death to the vitality of life in Christ. We don’t deserve it. We could never earn it. No amount of earthly power or authority can bestow it upon us. Yet, in faith, we can receive it. Worthy or not. When we humbly ask Jesus to save our lives. (Romans 7:24-25; Isaiah 6:5-6; II Corinthians 13:5; Titus 2:11; Romans 11:6; James 4:6; Ephesians 2:8)  

Acknowledging his unworthiness, the centurion experienced a change of mind. Jesus didn’t need to come to his house. He could just speak the words. There really wasn’t a lot of difference between them. He spoke. People acted. Jesus spoke. Things happened. Jesus didn’t need to come see the mess of his life, He just needed to speak the words. Command the servant to get well. Rebuke the illness. Raise him up to new life. That would be fine, too. So he released a second attache to apprehend Jesus. Tell Him not come. He didn’t need to. The centurion believed Jesus’ power was great enough to act even from a great distance away. And it was. But Jesus wasn’t a great distance away. 

Jesus was practically on his doorstep. He was right there where the centurion lived. He could take in the house and property. He could hear the words spoken to the servants. He could gaze into the heart and soul of this desperate man and know the condition of his heart. Gauge his worthiness. It was a terrifying truth. If Jesus saw half of what the centurion knew about himself, He’d surely turn and walk away. The truth was inescapable. He wasn’t worthy to have Jesus come to His house. Not worthy of His presence. Not worthy of a miracle. As far removed from Judaism as he was, the centurion still knew the jist of what Jesus was teaching. He also knew his heart and life didn’t conform to those ways. The contents of his heart was rarely something to be proud of. He hadn’t worked hard to keep the commandments. Hadn’t kept his heart and life from evil. Hadn’t loved God with his whole heart. Hadn’t always loved his neighbor. Didn’t feel a lot of grace toward his enemies. He wasn’t worthy of this visit. Didn’t deserve it. He knew it. So he was altering his request. Don’t come. At all. You don’t need to. Simply speak the words. It will be enough. And it was. (Luke 7:1-10; Matthew 8:5-13)

Honoring the great faith of the centurion, Jesus fulfilled his request. By the time the emmissaries re-entered the house, the sick guy was well. His health was restored. Completely. There was no delay. No recuperation time. No days of eating broth and growing stronger required. The centurion’s faith had rescued his servant. It should sound familiar. Not physically. I can’t promise you that every physical thing you ask of God will be performed. I’m not here to dictate His actions or explain His choices. As a dear friend is wont to say, “God will do what God will do.” But. I can promise you this. When you go to God in faith, asking Him to breath life into your sin-sick soul, He will do it. Immediately. Your spiritual health and well-being is always at the top of His priority list. No matter your alleged level of worthiness. Regardless the mess in your soul. No matter the darkness of your heart. When you call to Him in faith, though spiritually dead in trespasses and sins, He will bring you back to life. Spiritual life in Christ Jesus. The only life worth living. It’s absolutely worth asking. (Romans 10:9; Acts 16:31; I John 1:9; Ephesians 2:8-9; Colossians 2:13; Matthew 7;7-8)

A nearly audible sigh rippled through the gathered crowd. The sermon was drawing to a close. Finally. It hadn’t been exactly what they were expecting. In enormous numbers they had flocked to fill every available space on the hillside. With standing room only, they craned their necks hoping to witness the miracles they’d heard so much about. With attentive ears and silent lips, they tuned their hearts to be touched by His tender words of love, mercy, grace and forgiveness. Every person there needed something. A miracle. A healing. Physically. Spiritually. Emotionally. They pressed in around Him. Constantly scooching closer. Pushing into one another. Jostling each other in their urgency to touch Him and be healed. Many had done just that. Touched Him. Without invitation, they’d come close enough to graze their hand against His garment. Healing had been instantaneous. Power flowed from Him. Power to heal. Power to help. Power to save lives, eternally, if they would listen and obey His words. (Luke 6:17-19)

Settling in, Jesus faced the crowd and began to preach. The first words out of His mouth were exactly what they hoped they would be. Blessings. Coming hope and help for the poor, the hungry, the mourning, the hated. Beautiful words rolled like soothing ointment over their beleaguered souls. They could relate with these issues. Many of them had suffered or were suffering from physical poverty and hunger. No one in that congregation had never been touched by sadness, suffering or mourning. Few wanted to admit how well they knew what it was to be a social pariah. Hated. Rejected. Insulted. To hear Jesus say it wouldn’t always be that way brought them hope. Lifted their heads. Gave them a feeling of triumph. Except He kept talking. (Luke 6:17-23)

It was a shame. They’d have happily gathered their lawn chairs and picnic blankets and headed for home on the glorious note of a reward in Heaven. It was a fabulous stopping place as far as they could see. But Jesus’ sermon didn’t end there. He didn’t close with the lovely promise of a great reward in Heaven for the abused, the marginalized, the disenfranchised. No. He kept going. He had more things to say. Hard things. Hard to say. Harder to hear. Needful things. Necessary for their lives on earth. Necessary for their eternity in heaven. Things that shocked their ears. Pricked their consciences. Convicted their hearts. Weighed heavily on their minds. Predicated on His entire sermon was the question at its end, “Why are you running about calling me “Lord,” claiming to know me, to be my disciple, but not obeying the things I’ve commanded you to do?” Why are your words and your ways at war with one another? (Luke 6:46) 

Out of nowhere, the sermon had taken a turn. It became much less pleasant and much more uncomfortable. Jesus launched into those things that were hard to preach but necessary to hear. Love your enemies. What?! Do good to the people who despise you. Why?! Bless and pray for those who treat you with disgust, who ostracize you, who make you feel like a lower life form. What for?! Give freely. Treat others the way you wish everyone treated you. Give respect. Give love. Give goodness. Not so you can receive something in return. No. Give without expectations. Give with no strings attached. Give with open hands. Give freely. And be merciful. When they don’t deserve it. When they didn’t earn it. When no one offers it in return. Do it anyway. Why? Because when you do, you tell the world who you really are. Silently. Without words. Through actions alone, you tell everyone that you are a child of the Most High God. (Luke 6:27-36)

Before those words could fully be digested by the hearers, Jesus continued. Don’t judge. Anyone. Don’t condemn others. Don’t don your self-righteous robes and clamber up onto your high horse of judgment. You don’t belong there. That’s not your place. You are just like everyone else. A sinner. It’s where you started, too. Regardless who found grace first, you are in no position to judge. Ever. But you are in a position to forgive. Always. Over and over and over again. Forgive every wrong, real or imagined, committed against you. Without an apology. Without their groveling. Without getting your ego stroked. Just forgive. Hugely. Without restraint. Why? So you can be forgiven. Hugely. Without restraint. As you forgive others, the forgiveness of God will pour into your soul with good measure. Enormous measure. Pressed down. Packed in. Shaken together. Enough to overflow. Forgiveness and grace greater than your sins and the grace to forgive others their sins. Immediately. Generously. Continuously. 

 Live like Jesus. Always. Every day. From a changed heart, live out actions and reactions, thoughts and words that emulate Christ. Act like you know Jesus. Act like He is Lord of your life. Be known by your actions. Your love and kindness, forgiveness and grace. Build a reputation for yourself based on your treatment of those who do good to you, and more importantly, how you treat those who do you wrong. Guard your heart. Keep it right. What you harbor there determines your actions. It determines the fruit of your hands. It tells people who you know and whose you are. If you don’t control what takes up space in your heart, you won’t be able to control what comes out of your mouth. Ugly demands an exit. It will come out. You won’t be able to keep it in. What is in your heart will bubble up your throat and flow from your mouth. It will be exhibited in your actions. There will be no hiding. You will be exposed for who and what you truly are. Your words and ways will tell the truth about your relationship with Jesus. Whether it’s real. Whether it’s not. What you say, what you claim, what you call Jesus won’t matter if your ways fail to corroborate your words. (Luke 6:37-46; 11:28)

You see, the kingdom of God set up in each of our hearts is not proven by the perfectly edited words we recite in public. It’s existence is not based on our steadfast verbal claims. The presence of the kingdom of God, living and active in us, is exhibited by the power at work in our lives to act in accordance with the teachings and commandments of Christ. No matter our circumstances. Regardless the things going on around us. No matter the taunts and teasing and terrors of the world. Proof that we know Jesus and that He lives in us is in our actions. Our love. Our goodness. Our forgiveness. You can say whatever you want. You can claim any relationship with Jesus you desire. But. If your words and ways war against one another, it all means nothing. If you really know Him, if you truly love Him, you will keep His commandments. Always. End of story. There will be no war. Your words will be unnecessary; your ways will speak on your behalf. Everyone will know. He will be your Lord and you will be His child. When the war ends and your words correspond with your ways. (I Corinthians 4:20; John 14:15; I John 5:3; Matthew 7:16-23; James 2:17) 

This was unbelievable! Unacceptable. Was this woman not from around here? Did she not know who he was? Had she not noticed he was there first? He’d made it a point to be. Arriving early, he’d attempted to squash the defeat already taking up residence in the line of his shoulders. Carefully inching his way along, mingling and chatting, Jairus positioned himself at the front of the constantly growing crowd. Impatiently he’d waited, wondering what schedule Jesus was keeping, hoping his urgent request would keep, silently praying his efforts wouldn’t be in vain. He had no plan for when Jesus arrived. Had no idea what he’d do. How he’d convince Him to leave behind the needy crowd and follow him home. He wasn’t selfish enough to believe he was the only one there with an urgent need. He knew better. But right there, in that moment, Jairus wanted nothing more than to have his request answered immediately.

A short time ago, his 12-year-old daughter had fallen ill. He’d carried her to bed, confident she’d be up running around again in the next day or two. She hadn’t been. She’d never gotten up again. Days had passed. Her eyes rarely opened. Her skin burned with fever. Her breathing became labored. They’d tried everything. Every doctor. Every tincture. Every old wives’ tale. It had all been useless. There were no signs of improvement. She was still in bed. Gravely ill. Growing worse. Clearly dying.

Jairus’ heart was broken. It seemed so unfair, so unreasonable, so unstoppable. A child, his child, her life cut short at the beginning. A light extinguished before ever reaching the pinnacle of brightness. His heart could barely take the pain. But he’d heard the stories whispered around the synagogue. Stories about Jesus casting out demons, cleansing lepers, raising the dead, and healing the sick. And even if he wasn’t certain he believed everything Jesus taught, he’d do anything to heal his little girl. That’s why he was here. Jesus was his final hope. (Luke 4:31-41; 5:12-14; 6:17-19; 7:11-15) 

Anxiously awaiting Jesus’ arrival, Jairus’ tortured mind raced with possibilities. What if it didn’t work? What if Jesus didn’t do it? What if He wouldn’t come? What if He was fresh out of miracles? What if his daughter was the one case, the one time Jesus said, “No”? Jairus wouldn’t have it. He wouldn’t stand for it. He needed that miracle. Today. Now. This moment. So, when Jesus finally arrived, Jairus did the only thing his breaking heart could think to do. He threw himself at Jesus’ feet. Disregarding the indignity, he sobbed there. Tears of anguish rolled unheeded down his face as he begged, pleaded, hoped for a miracle. Not for himself. Not directly. For his daughter. His only daughter. The twelve-year-old light of his world. 

Jesus hadn’t hesitated. Immediately they turned toward Jairus’ house. But only a few steps along, Jesus stopped. Completely. Just stood there. Looking around. Having a conversation with his disciples. Asking questions about who touched whom? What a ridiculous question! Given the press of the crowd, any number of people had bumped into one another, jostling one or the other into someone else. Few, if any, in the crowd hadn’t been accidentally touched. Brushed against. Nudged. It wasn’t a reason to stop their current mission and launch a full-scale investigation! Seriously! This could not be happening! Not now. Not today. Not to him. 

Frustration warred with anger, finally settling in the lines of incredulity and outrage creasing Jairus’ face. What was up with this woman?! She was standing there perfectly whole and well. She had no obvious pressing need. She wasn’t pleading with Jesus to go a different direction. Indeed, she admitted she had already gotten her miracle. Stolen it, really. She’d snuck up behind Jesus and just taken what she wanted. And, instead of reprimanding her and hurrying on His way, Jesus was having a full-blown conversation with her! While his daughter lay dying, Jesus busied Himself with blessing a miracle thief! 

It was not to be borne! But just as Jairus was about to speak up, urging Jesus to get back on task, one of his servants pushed through the crowd. Stopping before him, the man quietly spoke words that sucked every drop of oxygen from Jairus’ lungs. It was too late. Jesus hadn’t gotten there in time. His baby girl had lost her fight. She was dead. There was no need to bother Jesus anymore. No need to talk to Him. No need to take Him home. No reason to separate Him from others who had waited so long to see Him. Jairus had his answer. 

Bowing his head, he attempted to gather appropriate words for the moment. If Jesus had simply come, and kept coming, when he’d first gotten there. If the crowd hadn’t pressed in so tightly, making passage impossible. If that woman who had already lived the majority of her allotted years, hadn’t stolen a miracle, refused to come forward, and held them all up so long. Then, maybe then, Jesus would have gotten to his girl in time. She wouldn’t be dead. His heart wouldn’t be shattered. His life wouldn’t look like a gaping, empty hole.

Words may have escaped Jairus, but not Jesus. Into that moment of devastating pain, when help hadn’t arrived and hope was gone, Jesus told Jairus not to be afraid. Don’t let your fear quench your faith. Keep believing. There’s still a miracle here for you. Something for you to believe in, hope for. It might not look the way you thought it would. It may not happen the way you believe it should. It might not have come when you hoped it would. But there is still going to be a miracle. And there was. 

Arriving at Jairus’ house to the sound of mourning, Jesus immediately took charge. He told them to calm down, quiet down, give it a rest. That’s what the girl was doing. Sleeping. Peacefully. She was fine. No one believed it. In hesitant but hopeful faith, Jairus and his wife led Jesus to their daughter’s sickbed. Standing back, they waited. Watched to see if He’d step away, the situation beyond His power. He didn’t. Jesus stepped forward, clasped the child’s small hand in His larger one and told her to get up. And she did. She didn’t just wake up, she sat up. Stood up. Her fever was gone. Her color was normal. Her appetite was back. It was a miracle. Their miracle. Not the one they originally requested. Not the one they thought was best. Not the one that suited their timeframe. It was the miracle God chose for them, done on His schedule and in His way. (Luke 8:40-56)

Most of us have spent time in that pre-miracle space with Jairus. We’ve sat in our worry and fear, begging, pleading, hoping, praying for a miracle. We’ve waited for days, weeks, months, years, but nothing happens. For us. Others get their miracles. People who haven’t prayed as long, needed as desperately, or struggled as hard. It seems so unfair. It’s almost difficult to watch. Try as we might, laughing with those who laugh becomes increasingly difficult. Our faith falters. Our hope fades. Our finite minds that can see only today and our own human plans for the future conjure ways to fix the problem. We imagine sweeping miracles. A giant windfall to fix our financial shortfall. A negative scan to replace the positive one. The sudden change of an enemy’s heart. We know God can do all of these things. We believe He has the power. What we falter over, what trips us up the most, is wondering if He will. (Romans 12:15)

Sitting in that space where the worst had already happened, it is interesting that Jesus tells Jairus to keep believing. Apparently Jairus had already abandoned the modicum of faith that brought him to Jesus in the first place. It’s unsurprising. For Jairus,  the situation was unsalvageable. His daughter was dead. His faith died with her. Yet Jesus tells him, “Don’t let your fear keep you from believing.” In Jesus. In God. In the sovereignty of heaven over the futility of earth. Don’t let your fear that God won’t or can’t do what you ask keep you from asking anyway. In faith. Trusting in the wisdom and power of God. 

You see, Jesus wasn’t telling Jairus to believe he would get the outcome he wanted. Nor was He accusing Jairus of faith too weak to bring about the desired answer. He was encouraging Jairus to believe in Him–His power, His wisdom, His heart–even when it looked like things weren’t going to go his way. This was Jesus telling Jairus to believe in the goodness of God. To have faith in the power of God. To trust the heart and wisdom of God. Always. In every situation. No matter the outcome. Never give up. Never stop. Always keep believing. 

The simplest words to say are often the most difficult to enact. So frequently do we say those words that they almost seem trite. Keep the faith. Keep believing. Trust God. Yet when Jesus says them they ring with new meaning. Intentionality. Purpose. Action. Choose to believe. In Him. Believe in His heart of love for you in the good times and the bad. Believe that He is for you even when it feels like He is against you. Believe that He hears the cries of your broken, tired, terrified heart, and know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that He cares more about your needs and knows your desires better than you do. Have faith that, no matter what happens, God is busy working out your future for His glory and your good. Even when you don’t see it. Even when you don’t feel it. Even when what happens feels like the death of your faith. Don’t let it be. Pick it up. Dust it off. Refuse to let your fear trump your faith. And don’t ever stop believing in the power and promises of God. (Hebrews 10:23; Matthew 17:20; Proverbs 3:5-6; Psalm 23:4; 27:13; 50:15; Isaiah 58:9)

Frustration flashed across the face of the man before Him. It was a reasonable emotion. Deep lines of exhaustion were already etched around his eyes. Discouragement clouded his countenance. It had been a long night. Jesus knew it had. The fishermen had spent hours putting down their heavy nets, only to pull them up empty. Hour after hour. Place after place. It felt like they had dropped their nets in every possible area of the lake. Nothing. Not even a minnow. Their nets were empty. And empty nets were useless. They didn’t make a living. They didn’t put food on the table, a roof over their heads, and clothes on their backs. Worse, there was no way to know how long they would remain empty, how many nights they would launch their boat into the lake, put down their nets, and pull them up without a catch. In the light of day, weighed down by the urgency of their situation, they simply wanted to clean their gear and head to their beds. Tonight would be another long night. 

Unfortunately, sleep would have to wait. Stifling a sigh, Simon agreed when the Teacher boarded his boat and asked him to push out a bit from the shore. It was a reasonable request. The gathered crowd was growing, both in size and agitation. Everyone thought they deserved to be in the front row. Some shoving had broken out. A few elbows had been thrown. It wasn’t a safe space for a lone man. Simon could see that Jesus needed a rescue. Unable to resist helping a fellow man in distress, Simon lifted the anchor and had his crew gently float the boat out to a safe distance from the pressing crowd. They wouldn’t be there long. Once the people realized Jesus wasn’t going to get tangled up in their affairs, they would dissipate. Go back to their homes and jobs and responsibilities. It shouldn’t take more than an hour. People were like that. Quick to follow. Quicker to leave when they didn’t get what they wanted. Simon didn’t figure they were going to get what they wanted this time.  

Simon was in for a grand surprise. Or two. As the boat settled in its new resting place, Jesus sat down, faced the crowd, and began to speak. Teach, really. It wasn’t like any sermon or lesson Simon had ever heard. It wasn’t full of terrifying doom and gloom. It didn’t instill fear in the heart of every listener. There was nothing manipulative about it. Jesus didn’t threaten them with hell if they accidentally stepped outside the parameters set forth by the law. No. The words of Jesus were firm and sure. He didn’t soft-pedal sin or short-sell grace. He didn’t say following Him would lead to an easy and carefree existence. But. His words exuded grace. They were coated in kindness. Laced with love. His words identified with where they were, like He’d walked in their shoes for a day. Like He knew they’d messed up, but didn’t care. He didn’t verbally eviscerate them. Instead, He offered hope for their souls and forgiveness of their sins. It was a captivating message. 

If Simon intended to mend a torn net or catch a quick nap while he waited, he must have been hugely surprised to find himself hanging on every word of Jesus’ message. His hands unmoving in the net on his lap. His eyes and ears tuned to the message rather than drifting off to sleep. Before Simon was ready to stop listening, the lesson was done. The crowd on land reluctantly began to disperse. Most of them. A few remained, huddled in groups, hoping to get a few minutes of time with Jesus. They looked innocuous. No one was pushing anymore. It was time to lift the anchor and drift back to shore. 

Just as Simon started to speak the words to his men, Jesus interrupted him with a different idea. A wild, crazy, impulsive plan. Something Simon had neither the energy nor inclination to do. Pull up the anchor, but don’t go back to shore. Go out into the sea. Deep into the sea. Maybe the center of the lake. Try fishing again. One more time. Find the deep waters and put out your nets. Give it a few minutes. See if the fish swim in. What could it hurt? Could the situation be worse than it was now? Could they catch less fish? No? So why not do it? Just try it. Give it a shot and see what happens.  

Heaving the exasperated sigh that could no longer be stifled, Simon reasoned it out in his head. Jesus wasn’t wrong. Things couldn’t get worse. The only thing he’d lose would be another hour of sleep. Maybe two. Not that those weren’t precious. They were. But so were fish. They were his livelihood. He had to catch fish to live. They all did. Every man on the boat needed fish to survive. Their families depended on it. There was no harm in trying one more thing. Realistically, it probably wouldn’t work, but if it did…well, that would be amazing! A fish story to end all fish stories. Why not? Why not try it Jesus’ way? So they did. Simon hefted in the anchor and told his men to set out for the deepest part of the lake. And they did. Even with the questions bombarding their minds. Even when they knew they’d already been there. Even when they didn’t expect a different outcome for their labor. Simon and his crew chose to obey Jesus.  

Reaching the designated place, the men gathered their nets and methodically threw them into the water like the professionals they were. Because they were professionals. They knew that lake as well as they knew their own homes. Lived on it. Loved it. They knew where the largest catches of fish could normally be caught. They trolled those places regularly. Unfortunately, this wasn’t one of those places. Yet still they obediently launched the nets. In spite of their doubt. In spite of their exhaustion. In spite of what logic and their clearly unfruitful night indicated. They grabbed those nets, tossed them down into the complete stillness of the deepest part of that fishless lake, and settled in to wait an acceptable amount of time before quietly pulling in their empty nets and silently rowing back to shore.

No one was prepared for what happened next. No one except Jesus. Fish were everywhere. In the water. In the nets. In the boat. It was unbelievable!  And the boat was sinking. At least it felt like it. The men manning the craft were clearly being evicted by their remarkable catch. Fear and exhilaration warred within them. The boat seemed unreliable right now, but the catch was incredible! They had been on that same lake in that same boat all night long and caught nothing. An hour ago they would have sworn the fish had all migrated. Now, here they were, their nets were full and beginning to break. They were wildly signaling the other fishing vessel to come and help. Their catch that day was greater than their normal haul for several months combined. Why? Because Simon had chosen obedience and launched out at Jesus’ command. Even when it seemed ridiculous. Even when he thought he already knew the outcome. Even when he was already exhausted from his fruitless night on the lake. Simon chose blind obedience and God rewarded it. (Luke 5:1-7)

The message rings throughout the Bible. Old Testament. New Testament. It’s threaded throughout history in an unbroken thread. Obedience to God is rewarded. Maybe not the way we hope it will be or the way we think it should be. It will be rewarded in the way God knows is best. Ask Noah. Building an enormous boat to withstand torrential rain and historic flooding had to feel ridiculous. The people around him certainly thought it was. Their jeers and scoffing were relentless. It didn’t stop Noah. Still, he obeyed God. Naaman didn’t like the instructions brought by Elisha’s servant to go wash his leprous self in the filthy Jordan River. He almost didn’t. It took a quiet word from a faithful servant to urge him into the cleansing water, but he went and it did. The ten lepers Jesus sent to show themselves to the priest didn’t wait to leave until their condition improved. No. They went immediately. It was gone by the time they made the trip. In Cana, at a wedding, Mary, the mother of Jesus, found the wine was gone too early. Knowing Jesus could fix the situation, she lined up the servants and issued one command. Obey Him. No matter what He says. No matter if it seems ridiculous. No matter if you agree or not. Do it. And they did. (Genesis 6:9-8:19; II Kings 5:1-14; Luke 17:11-19; John 2:1-10)

Have you ever wondered what would have happened if none of these people had obeyed God? What if they all decided they knew better? What if Simon had chosen to go with his professional opinion rather than obey Jesus? What if Noah had required proof of rain? What if Naaman had opted to go home and dip in an acceptable river? What if the ten lepers had stood around waiting for their miracle before heading to see the priests? What if those servants had scoffed and laughed and refused to refill the water pots because turning water into wine was just too ludicrous to believe? What would have happened if none of them had chosen obedience because it didn’t match what they believed to be true, because the possible outcome was beyond their wildest imagination, or because they needed to see progress before they obeyed? 

What happens when you do the same? Because you do. We all do. We sit and wait for God to act, then choose obedience. We want to know our faith won’t be in vain, our obedience will reap the rewards we desire. We aren’t good at blind obedience. Our faith doesn’t work well without sight. It needs to. The reward is in the obedience. The writer of Hebrews tells us that. Failure to obey is caused by unbelief. We don’t obey God because we don’t believe He really will do what He says. We worry He won’t keep His promises. We fret that His ways and methods and outcomes won’t align with our allegedly superior ones. We believe in the work of our hands more than we believe in the hands whose work we are. (Hebrews 3:12-19; 4:1-6)

It needs to change. Now. Today. Your faith has to trump your fears. You need to launch out. Launch off your sofa and do that thing God has been telling you to do. Launch out of your comfort zone and boldly speak about Jesus. Launch out of your self-centered pity party and lend a hand to those in need. Visit the sick. Feed the hungry. Help the struggling. Obey God without expecting something in return. Even when what He is asking seems impossible. Even when you know it is improbable. Even when the reward is intangible. Get up and obey God. Physically. Spiritually. Verbally. Visibly. Launch out. Into the deep. Into the unknown, the unpleasant, the uncomfortable. Whatever He is asking you to do, do it! He will be with you. Launch out! (Matthew 28:20; Psalm 37:18; Proverbs 28:14; John 14:23; Isaiah 1:19; James 4:7; Exodus 19:5; Acts 5:29)

Sighing deeply, he dipped his quill in the pot of ink and carefully set about writing the words he knew he must send. His heart was heavy. Broken. It had been since he’d heard the news. Things in Galatia weren’t going as well as he’d hoped. Or prayed. Every day since leaving them to continue his travels and teachings, Paul had prayed for their continued faith and following of Jesus Christ. He prayed they would live like they knew Christ. The real Christ. As eager as they had been to accept the gifts of salvation and eternal life available through Jesus’ death on the cross and resurrection from the tomb, the work didn’t stop there. Real knowledge and acceptance of Jesus Christ and the forgiveness of sins must result in real-life changes. Verbal changes. Visible changes. It was one thing to accept the graciously offered gift. It was quite another to live in the awareness of its reality. That’s where the trouble was. 

According to recent reports, things were a bit of a mess in the church of Galatia. A new, cheaper gospel was being preached. Some of them were falling for it. Being tricked into believing they could buy their salvation with strict adherence to the law. Faith wasn’t necessary. They could do it themselves. If they just acted right in the eyes of humanity, they’d be fine. They weren’t living in the freedom of Christ. Even though they were known by God, they didn’t act like they knew Him. They hadn’t stood fast in what they were taught. They had allowed themselves to be confused. Drawn back to the belief they could buy their salvation with special observances, celebrations, and dedications. They couldn’t. (Galatians 1:6-12; 2:11-21; 3:10-17; 4:9; 5:10)

Everything like that had been abolished. By the birth, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ, all the sacrifices and observances had been cleared away. Faith, not works, was the only way to salvation. And it was available to them. Personally. Immediately. Without the special prayers of the priest or the bloody animal sacrifice. The Lamb of God had been gifted to mankind as a final atonement offering. The last and only one humanity would ever need. Through His death, the veil of the Temple had been torn in two giving them the gift of direct access to God the Father through prayer. It was an amazing sacrifice, an enormous gift, but it meant nothing if they didn’t allow it to change their lives. If they were still actively engaging in works of the flesh, yet adhering to the law in an effort to redeem themselves, they’d never inherit the kingdom of God. Following the law, even with the strictest adherence, couldn’t make that happen. Only the blood of Jesus could. (Mark 15:38; Galatians 3:19-26)

No matter how strictly the people of Galatia–or anywhere–adhered to the exacting rules outlined in the law, it wouldn’t save them. They’d call themselves Christians because they were part of Paul’s church, or had been, but their lives wouldn’t look like it. They’d still be busy with their affairs. Literally. They’d be entrenched in idolatry, loving things and habits and desires more than they loved God. They’d place their faith in beliefs that had nothing to do with God. Their hearts would be full of hatred and jealousy, anger and selfishness, envy and evil. Their habits would show what they really were. Promiscuous drunkards with darkened hearts falsely claiming to be Christians because they were always in church on Sunday, never missed a Bible study, and followed every law set forth by the religious leaders of the day. (Galatians 4:8-11; 5:4-6, 16-21)

It wasn’t so. Couldn’t be so. No one could be a true Christian and still be so tied up in works as to forget grace. The grace of God that sent His only Son from the golden halls of Heaven to the darkened walls of a stable. A place where no one recognized Him. No one realized who He was. When at last His deity began to be apparent, they rejected Him. Said it couldn’t be. Their lack of faith, purposeful disbelief, made them miss the miracles they could have seen had they simply believed. As He went out into the world, many chose not to believe in Him. The Pharisees didn’t see it. The Sadducees didn’t believe it. The religious leaders, priests, and kings of the day had no time for it. But. The ones who did believe were changed people. They went out to live lives that proved they believed. Everyone who met them knew they’d met Jesus. (Matthew 13:58)

Zacchaeus was a prime example. Nobody liked him. Not really. If anyone chose to walk with him, talk with him, befriend him, it was for one of two reasons. They were in the same profession or they were hoping not to be swindled. As small as he was, no one wanted to mess with him. At all. No one but Jesus. He made it a point to get in touch with Zaccheaus. When He could have walked by, acting like he didn’t see the small man in the tree overhead, He didn’t. Jesus stopped. Looked up. Met Zaccheaus’ eyes with a look of love and tenderness and called him down. Not for a quick conversation. Not for a stern discussion. Not to point out the error of his ways. No. Jesus called him down so He could meet Zacchaeus. And so Zacchaeus could meet Him. 

That meeting changed his life. Everyone saw it. The old, thieving, dishonest Zaccheaus was gone, replaced by something unheard of in the world of tax collectors. Honesty. Kindness. Generosity. He gave money away. Made restitutions. Did right by the people he’d wronged. Abundantly. He didn’t hold back. He didn’t return only the money he’d taken over and above what was owed. He returned so much more. To the people he’d wronged and to himself. He instilled trust in the people around him and restored dignity to himself. His heart, changed by the encounter with Jesus, would never again be the same. Neither would his life. Zacchaeus accepted the gift of salvation from Jesus, and everyone could see it. (Luke 19:1-10) 

It was what Paul wanted for the people of Galatia, for every church he’d helped to build. What he’d prayed and hoped to see.  He wanted them to be so touched and changed by their encounter with Jesus Christ that their lives were grand exhibitions of their faith. Faith in the complete work of Christ on the cross that brings freedom from the bondage of the law and a life lived to show others they belonged to Jesus. He wanted them to accept the gift of the cross, but that wouldn’t be enough. They also needed to live like it. (Galatians 5:22-26; Ephesians 4:17-32; Colossians 3:1-17; I Thessalonians 4:1-6)

So do we. As easy as it is to be Christmas Christians, excitedly celebrating the birth of Jesus and accepting His gift of forgiveness for all, it is much more difficult to be Easter people. People who dwell in the awareness of the resurrected, living, active Christ. People who stay in that space. People who absorb His presence. Rest in it. Revel in it. People who live every day in such a way it is evident to those around them that Jesus is walking beside them, guiding their decisions, editing their words, changing their actions, and governing their reactions. Yet that’s exactly who we should be. Christians who get excited over the birth of our Savior, who celebrate the fact that He came when He didn’t have to. Humans who understand the reason He came to bear the sin and embarrassment and disgrace of every being to ever walk the earth. People who are willing to sit in the horror and grief of His death on our behalf. Easter people. People who live in the light of the truth that Jesus didn’t stay dead. He rose again. He is alive and active. In our lives. In our world. Even when the darkness closes in with suffocating oppression, Jesus is still moving. He’s still working. The darkness of earth has no effect on His power. Ever. It can’t. He is the light of the world. In us. Through us. When Christmas Christians live like Easter people. (John 8:12; 12:46; Matthew 5:16; Psalm 37:7; Romans 10:9; Revelation 1:18; Luke 18:33; Philippians 2:5)