Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

Nervously twisting her fingers together, she loitered outside the house. No one was supposed to know He was here. No one was encouraged to approach. No one was intended to come looking for a miracle. Yet here she was. Half hidden behind a shrub near the corner of his residence. Furtively glancing around. Watching. Waiting. Hoping to catch Jesus before others realized He was there. Hoping to present her case. Hoping He would listen. Because Jesus really was her only hope. Her last resort. The only possible resolution to their problem. Her daughter needed a miracle. Right then. That very day. 

Every day the woman felt another piece of her heart shatter as she watched her daughter endure the brutal torment possession by an evil spirit caused. Fear for her child’s safety haunted her. Tears were her constant companion. Sad helplessness enveloped her life. Relentlessly, she searched for answers, a reprieve, a hope to pierce their current darkness. Her daughter was wasting away. The light in her eyes had dimmed. The desire to live was gone. She was a shadow of her former self. Every day that passed was just another hopeless period in the bleak existence stretching out before them. Without a miracle, without hope, her daughter would surely die. 

Desperation had brought her to this place. Hiding around corners. Looking over her shoulder. Rehearsing her words for when Jesus appeared. She shouldn’t even be here. She knew that. She shouldn’t be lying in wait to ambush Him when He clearly wanted privacy. She shouldn’t be lurking outside a man’s dwelling. It wasn’t appropriate. She knew that. She also knew there was no alternative. Jesus was her only hope. Being Gentile hadn’t stopped her from hearing things about Him. He healed the sick. Restored sight to the blind. Cast out demons. That report immediately caught her attention. It was exactly what she needed. Search as she had, no one had ever been able to disentangle her daughter from the evil spirit. No prophet. No priest. No religious teacher. Jesus was her only option. Her final hope. It was still a long shot.  

Quietly exiting His temporary abode, Jesus was immediately met by the lurking Gentile woman. He was not surprised. He knew she was there. He knew why. He still didn’t even look her way. Not when she ran up to Him sobbing, begging, pleading. Not when she threw herself at His feet and poured out her heart. Not as her words toppled over one another, describing her daughter’s tragic situation, her own pain at being impotent to help, and her desperate hope that Jesus would do something, anything, to end their suffering. He didn’t say anything. Not one word. 

The woman probably should have been put off. Embarrassed. Ashamed of her outburst. Humiliated by the lack of response. But she wasn’t. She refused to be. There was nothing else. Nowhere else to go. No one else to consult. She had exhausted every other possibility. All her hope was in Jesus. Every ounce of it. She chose to place it there. And leave it there. Even when He didn’t seem to notice. Even when He didn’t bother to answer. Even when He gave no indication He had even heard. She didn’t move from that place. She didn’t stop asking. Didn’t stop seeking. Whether or not Jesus appeared to be listening, whether or not He chose to immediately act. She was going nowhere. Hope in His storied mercy and compassion had her rooted to that spot, crying out to Jesus for help. 

If Jesus could ignore the ruckus, the disciples absolutely could not. They were crazy annoyed. That woman needed to go. Now. She was obnoxious. Her caterwauling was interrupting their comfortable relaxation and pleasant conversation. While they weren’t about to lift a finger to help dispatch her, they definitely believed Jesus should. He needed to either fix her daughter or simply tell her to leave. They didn’t really care which one He chose. Either was fine with them. So long as the woman left. She was bugging them. Disturbing their peace. Interrupting their quiet. Driving them to distraction. The disciples said as much to Jesus, “Tell her to get out of here. Her constant whining is getting on our nerves.” (Matthew 15:23)

Responding to the disciples’ irritated urging, Jesus finally addressed the distraught woman. It wasn’t going to happen. As dire as her need was, as much sorrow as He felt for her plight, as much as His heart of compassion was moved for all people in desperate circumstances, He couldn’t help her. He wasn’t here for that. He wasn’t here to be everyone’s beck-and-call boy. He was sent to help God’s people. Jewish people. The house of Israel. He wasn’t sent to help the Gentiles. Although the words appear to be said gently, the slamming door of a “no” answer echoes from His lips in an air of sad finality. It looks like it is over. Finished. Ended. But only for a moment. The tenacious woman isn’t done. 

Hearing His initial answer, the woman remains undeterred. In fact, she pleads more intentionally. She pours more pain and grief into her request. She allows the sorrow of her soul to erupt from the depths of her being. Watching the last viable option for help slipping from her grasp, she vulnerably places her now fragile hope before Jesus and asks Him to do what she knows He can do. Deliver her daughter from evil. Please. Lord, help us. Heal my daughter if you will, but if you won’t, help me to carry on under the enormous burden of this situation. Give me wisdom and strength and courage to do the best I can by the child I have. 

I think that is what she was really saying when she fell on her knees and said, “Lord, help me.” She was acknowledging that Jesus might choose not to fulfill her request. But she wasn’t afraid to make a second request. Not specifically for healing, but for help. She knew her own strength was gone. She didn’t have the energy for this situation. If Jesus wasn’t going to change it, she hoped He would grant her the ability to continue under circumstances that were decidedly negative. And Jesus reiterated His “no.”

In verbiage everyone would consider insulting, Jesus informed the discouraged and disappointed woman that the bread He had to share was for the family table, not for the dogs at their feet. For the Jews, not the Gentiles. Not for her. She wasn’t worthy. But she already knew that. She knew this would be a long shot from the moment the idea entered her brain. And she wasn’t prepared to give up without a fight. 

When most of us would have tucked tail and run, given up entirely, gone home to mourn our losses and lick our wounds, this woman straightened her spine, dried her tears, and looked Jesus right in the eye. She had something to say. A comeback. A final salvo to fire before she accepted defeat. Jesus was right. The food on the table was for the family members. The dogs shouldn’t be allowed to rob the family of their daily bread. But. No family eats everything. Invariably, someone drops something on the ground. Crumbs. Crusts. Cruciferous vegetables. And the dogs can have all of that they want. That’s what she wanted. That’s what she was asking for. She wasn’t asking for the full meal. She was asking for the crumbs. She was asking just for what they needed to survive. She was asking that her hope be fulfilled, her faith be made sight. She was asking Jesus to miraculously prove that choosing to place her hope in Him hadn’t been a mistake. 

Something in her comeback flipped the script. You can almost see the laugh lines crinkle at the sides of Jesus’ eyes. He smiles. He capitulates. He gives her the miracle. Not because her argument is strong. Because her faith is. In the face of daunting obstacles, the Gentile mother staunchly chooses to place her hope in the power of God and her faith in His heart of compassion and refuses to budge. She doesn’t falter. She doesn’t bend. She doesn’t get discouraged and walk away. No. She stays there. Begging. Pleading. Arguing. Hoping. Praying for help in one form or another. Healing if Jesus chooses. Strength if He doesn’t. And she is rewarded with the proof of what the Apostle Paul writes to the Romans so many years later. Hope in God doesn’t disappoint. Even when it doesn’t give you exactly what you want. Even if the answer is “no.” (Matthew 15:21-28; Mark 7:24-30; Romans 5:5)

Admittedly, hope in God doesn’t always turn out exactly the way we imagine. When things go sideways, when life hands us situations we don’t know how to handle, when we straight up need a miracle, we come to God with options. We tell Him what He needs to do, when He needs to do it, and how it should be done. Instead of bringing our situations to Him and putting our hope in His infinite wisdom, unending goodness, and unfailing compassion, we bring our situations and a list of tightly micromanaged options for Him to choose from. We ask for exactly what we want, what seems best from our limited future view, and believe He hasn’t answered if we don’t get what we want. A “no” is not an answer for us. We refuse to hear anything but a “yes.” It is often to our detriment. (Isaiah 55:8-9; Ecclesiastes 11:5; Proverbs 16:9; Jeremiah 10:23; Philippians 2:13)

Before you were born, God knew you. He formed you. Body. Mind. Soul. He planned your life. Every breath of it. He knows your future. Every second of it. He comprehends exactly how what happens in your today will shape your tomorrows. And He is working out a plan. His plan. For you. Sometimes you will ask God for something, and He will say “no.” Not that person. Not that school. Not that house. Not that job. Sometimes the “no” will be about something else. Something bigger. Something harder. Something more painful. It will be the most difficult thing you ever hear from God. Crushed and broken, angry and unable to see a remote possibility for future happiness, you will be tempted to place your hope in someone or something else. Work. Money. Doctors. Success. You will be tempted to reject God and go it alone. Please don’t do it. Instead, with the distraught Gentile woman, resolve to place your hope in God’s heart of infinite wisdom and ultimate love. Stay at His feet, begging, seeking, asking for His help. Whatever that looks like for your situation. Don’t leave that place. Stay there and keep entreating. Keep asking for His help, His wisdom, His strength. When you think He isn’t listening, when you believe He isn’t hearing, when it feels like He isn’t working. Trust His heart. Even when God says “no”. (Psalm 18:30, 19:7, 139; Matthew 7:7-8; James 1:5; Luke 18:1-8; Romans 8:28)

Satisfied smiles wreathed every face as they stood back to admire their work. Houses lined the street. Their houses. On their street. In their city. Finally. It had been a long time coming. Sometimes they thought it never would. Often, it seemed they were destined to live the rest of their lives in exile. They were grateful it hadn’t been that way. Grateful for a new regime allowing them to return home and rebuild their lives. It had been a journey, but they had done it. Through blood, sweat, and tears, they erected the best houses they had ever inhabited. The dwellings of their dreams. Beautiful homes with every convenience imaginable. And they were still building. Houses for themselves, their sons, their daughters. They weren’t sure they would ever stop. Yet even as they hauled logs and sawed boards, they couldn’t avoid the niggling truth. Not all of their efforts had been successful.

Although the building efforts had gone spectacularly, the same could not be said for their farming endeavors. The fields they had carefully plowed and planted weren’t producing with any great abundance. Rain wasn’t falling. At least not as much as they needed. Morning dew had become non-existent. The crops were struggling at best, often failing. Feeding their families was a struggle. Their homes were beautiful, but their pantries were empty. And they didn’t know why. They couldn’t figure it out. Why had God allowed them to finally return to Jerusalem, to build fabulous homes, only to strike them with famine and drought? It seemed the greatest conundrum of their day. Until Haggai came along. 

Haggai knew exactly what was happening. And why. He had the inside line. God had spoken to him. Given him words for the people who were successfully building but failing at farming. It wasn’t a happenstance. It was a wake-up call. The people had gotten distracted. They had been so busy rebuilding their lives and building their homes that they had set aside the one thing that should have been more important than anything. They had forgotten their God. 

Maybe not entirely. It seems unlikely they had quit worshipping completely. They hadn’t purposely abandoned God and chosen a different deity to worship. They had not quit God. They had simply relegated Him to a place of lesser importance. Probably not intentionally. At least not at first. At first, they legitimately believed they were doing the right thing in building homes for themselves and planting crops to feed their families. Those things were urgent. They were good and right and necessary. But now they were done. The houses were built. The crops were planted. But the people were still busy making excuses for not beginning the work of rebuilding the temple of the Lord. 

Their houses needed winterized. Their crops, such as they were, needed harvested. The fields needed plowed in preparation for the next planting. There were animals to tend and children to raise. Water to be hauled from the local well. Their lives were busy. They had things to do. Good things. Real things. Necessary things. By the time they finished doing all their own things, there wasn’t time to think about or work on the things of God. Things like rebuilding the temple. With every excuse they made to procrastinate, the urgency they felt for the project became less. Finally, they were so busy keeping up with their newly developed lifestyle that they didn’t even notice the temple ruins. Didn’t mourn the loss. Didn’t miss attendance. Didn’t realize the disrespect they were giving to their God. 

It was time to set the record straight. God wasn’t having this. He wasn’t interested in fancy houses and flourishing fields where His name was never mentioned and His house remained destroyed. They were reaping the results of His dissatisfaction. Their harvests were poor. The rain didn’t come. The grain and grapes, and olives weren’t getting the nutrients they needed to flourish. Starvation seemed possible, even probable. Yet none of the people seemed to see the correlation. Their current choices determined their future prosperity. And they had chosen to create the illusion of material wealth while neglecting spiritual fortune. 

In a straightforward lecture through the prophet, Haggai, God told the people off. He was done with this. Why were they so invested in making their own homes fantastic, but wouldn’t lift a finger to repair His house? Not even a little bit. Did they not realize that in neglecting His house, they were neglecting Him? Had it never occurred to them that if they built His house and gave Him proper space in their hearts and lives, He would provide the rain and dew, increase the harvests, nourish the grapes and olives? Did they not yet understand that if they would devote themselves to God, He would be with them and bless them and care for them all the days of their lives? If they would build God’s house first, everything else would fall into place. The Lord of Heaven’s Armies had promised. (Haggai 1:1-11; I Samuel 2:30)

Suddenly, it all made sense. The drought. The famine. The struggle. It was their own fault. Their priorities were misaligned. Fear that their families would be left homeless and starving had forced them straight into taking care of themselves and putting off caring for God’s temple. They had let things slip. They had put their faith in their own abilities, trusted the work of their own hands more than the power of God’s promise. But not anymore. They were done with that. From this moment on they were throwing themselves fully under the protection of the promise that God was with them. Rebuilding the temple would take priority. Right now. Today.  This very moment they would gather their tools and make the trek into the forest to harvest logs and begin resurrecting the temple of God to its rightful glory. (Haggai 1:12-15)

For nearly a month they worked. Felling trees. Hauling logs. Sawing boards. Building the walls and restoring the structure. Yet even as the work progressed, discouragement descended. In spite of all they were doing, the temple didn’t look anything like it had. Their rough-hewn boards, erected by untrained hands, didn’t lend the breathtaking quality the skilled laborers had been able to give. It broke their hearts. Nearly broke their spirits. It felt as if they were failing, as if their work wasn’t enough. And they were tired. Physically worn. Mentally exhausted. Haunted by the growing list of the things they needed to do for their own survival. Some started spending a little more time at home. The work began to flag. Until God spoke again. 

Not in the same tone as before. Not with reprimand and rebuke. No. In words of love and encouragement to His people, God called them to get to work. Keep working. Don’t stop. Don’t be discouraged. The glory of the previous temple would come. In God’s time. In God’s way. He would do it. That was His job. Not theirs. Their task was to stay focused. Get to work. Keep faith in the promises of God. Don’t be distracted by earthly things. Prioritize the spiritual. Remembering this. You can build a breathtaking temple filled with intricate carvings, shining metals, and glistening gems, but if the spirit of God isn’t there, none of that matters. Honor God. Build His house according to the ability He has given you. Let Him fill it. He will. He is faithful that promised. (Haggai 2)

It would do us well to heed those same words. Not because we need to build a new church building. We don’t. There are plenty. God isn’t asking you to build another building. He is telling you to get to work repairing the one you have. Your personal temple. Your heart. His home. God is calling you to prioritize Him above everything else. All earthly endeavors. All efforts to establish prosperity and prominence. All attempts to stack up earthly goods, material treasures, and social accolades. God is calling you to shore up the edges of your sagging spiritual existence. Get right with Him. Put Him first. Allow Him to work for and in and through you. Just like He promised. Trust Him to take care of you. Be brave and get to work. Because if the necessary repairs to the church universal are going to happen, repairs to the church personal must first occur. (Exodus 20:3; Proverbs 3:6; Acts 3:19-20; Matthew 6:19-21,33)

There is no avoiding that the church of today is not what it was in the Book of Acts. Peter and Paul would have strong words for us. So would Haggai. Words we very much need to hear. We have become complacent. We have allowed our earthly lives to usurp the priority of our spiritual lives. We have lowered our standards, replaced our convictions, altered the ramifications of disobedience. Spiritual drought has set in. Fear of social pushback has silenced our voices. Yet it is into that silence God speaks. Calling us to wake up, step up, and get to work. On ourselves. Our own hearts. Our own sins. Tighten up the spaces in us that have fallen slack. Clean up the areas that have become cluttered with worldly things. Get right with God. Put Him first. Accept His authority over our lives. Then get to work on our churches. Turn the focus back to Him. Prioritize His presence, His power, His preeminence. Make God’s church a place for God’s people to worship God and hear Him speak. Only Him. Don’t let the world clutter the space or muddy His words. Don’t let anyone, preacher or deacon or well-meaning congregant, alter the truth of His Word. Focus on God. Alone. Put Him first. Allow Him to work for and in and through His church, spreading His love and grace throughout the surrounding community. Get to work, do your part, and watch God build a glorious church full of people who prioritize Him. (Matthew 5:19; Isaiah 1:16-17; Deuteronomy 28:1-68; Revelation 2-3; Ephesians 5:27) 

Resting his hands atop the long handle of his garden hoe, he studied the coming entourage through narrowed eyes. It looked important. There was too much pomp and circumstance for the visitor to be a neighboring farmer or passing trader. This looked official. Dignified. Royal. It wouldn’t be the first of its kind. King Abimelech had spoken with him before. Twice. First, when he discovered Rebekah was Isaac’s wife, not his sister. Second, to order him out of his city. Neither had been particularly cordial conversations. The king’s feathers had been ruffled every time. Yet, try as he might, Isaac couldn’t think what he had done to infuriate the man this time. He had taken his wife and possessions and left the area. He was carefully minding his own business. There was no reason for the king to seek him out again. Tamping down the rising concern in his stomach, Isaac braced himself to pack up and move. Again. 

Admittedly, the king had good reason to be annoyed with Isaac for passing Rebekah off as his sister. Seriously. Even a Philistine knew the sin of taking another man’s wife as one’s own. He knew the danger of crossing swords with Isaac’s God. Passed down through time was the story of another man, Abraham, who claimed his wife was his sister, nearly costing the king of that day his life. It had caused quite a stir in the kingdom then. Enough so that the king had hastily shown that man the door. Not so with Isaac. 

Rather than ordering them ushered out of his kingdom by military escort, the king issued a protection order over them. Death awaited the one who touched Isaac and Rebekah. It was handy. Living in a foreign land, knowing you were safe. They settled in. Planted crops. Built herds. The land was fertile. Their farm flourished. God moved. The first harvest was astonishing. Multiple times above and beyond what Isaac expected. His flocks and herds grew. His money multiplied. Isaac found himself quite content to put down roots and stay forever. The original citizens had other ideas. 

Jealous of Isaac’s blessings, the Philistines began harassing him. Making mischief. Hoping Isaac would be miserable enough to leave. They loaded dirt into all his wells. Old wells. Wells that had been there for some time. Wells, his father, Abraham, had dug. Isaac didn’t budge. Eventually, King Abimelech had enough. Either in capitulation to his people or in genuine irritation at Isaac, the king handed him his hat and showed him the door. Quite literally. He asked him to leave. More aptly, he kicked him out of the city. Isaac had grown too much, was too successful, had eclipsed the local status quo, and they wanted him gone. So he packed his bags, his tools, his animals, his family, and moved out to the valley. (Genesis 26:1-18)

It wasn’t far enough. The shepherds from the city still had access to him. They could still monitor his every move. They could cause trouble if they wanted. And they did. Very much. They wanted to cause trouble. They wanted to make Isaac’s life a little more miserable than necessary. They wanted to see if they could interrupt his work, derail his success, encourage him to move again. And again. 

They stalked him. Snuck around his new place. Made mischief. When Isaac’s servants dug and discovered a well of fresh water in the valley, the shepherds from the city came and claimed it as their own. The herdsmen argued with them, but Isaac didn’t. He called the well contentious and calmly moved his servants to another spot. Again they dug until finding water. Again, the shepherds from the city disputed ownership of the well. Again, words were exchanged. Fists were clenched. Not Isaac’s. He calmly dubbed the well hostile and moved his servants to another digging place. 

Bending into the back-breaking work again, the servants were surely casting glances over their shoulders and keeping an eye out for the nosy Philistines. They were certainly past the slurs and hostilities thrown at them. They were over the lies and stealing of their hard work. They weren’t going to let it happen again. They needn’t have worried. When they struck water this time, no one came forward to dispute the ownership. No one raced in to call it their own. No one seemed to want this one. And Isaac praised God for the open space He had given them to live and flourish in the land. In all the hardship and suffering, with people coming against them for absolutely no logical reason, God had been with them. God had blessed them. God’s plan had prevailed. (Genesis 26:19-25)

Isaac had always known it would. He was the very living, very obvious proof that God would provide and prevail. The boyhood recollection of lying on an altar, a bound sacrifice to God, his father’s knife raised high above him would never leave his memory. Nor would the angelic voice calling from heaven to stop the proceedings. God had provided a sacrifice. The boy on the altar didn’t need to die. Isaac had lived that. He still trusted that same God. And it showed. In moments where servants and herdsmen would have been happy to resort to fisticuffs, Isaac carefully, yet pointedly, turned them to another space. A space where he trusted God to take care of them. No need to argue. No need to fight. No need to adjudicate the issue. God would handle it. He always did. Isaac knew he could trust Him. (Genesis 22:1-14)

Eventually, God had brought him to this current place. The place he was now standing as he watched the procession get closer. Isaac had been right. It wasn’t a neighbor, a lost soul, or a traveling market. It was Abimelech. Again. Flanked by his adviser and his army commander. They were clearly on a mission. How it involved Isaac, he wasn’t certain. No matter how hard he thought, not one reason came to mind that would necessitate the king and his cronies traveling this distance to visit him. He had done what they had asked. He had left their city. His servants had dug wells and left them to their shepherds. He had moved on more than once without so much as a dirty look. He couldn’t fathom what offense they had come up with this time. He wasn’t even sure what to say when they got there. He wasn’t happy to see them. He wasn’t interested in serving them lunch. One doesn’t invite their enemies for tea and a chat. 

As it turned out, Isaac didn’t need to say much at all. Abimelech had the talking covered. They weren’t looking to cause more trouble. They were looking for peace. With him. Because they had been watching. They had been paying more attention than he realized. They had noticed, plainly seen, that God was with him. It was obvious. Not just because he was prospering so magnificently. No. They noticed God was with him by the way he handled himself in times of frustration and anger. They noticed every time he simply walked away and started again in a new place rather than physically fight or cause an uproar. They noticed that Isaac simply straightened his spine and went about his business. He didn’t run around gossipping about the Philistines, stirring up strife, or attempting to cause divisions among the people. He didn’t seek revenge. He didn’t passive-aggressively set traps to make them look like idiots for all to see. He could have. He didn’t. Isaac simply went about his business, resting in the fact that God would protect, provide, and prosper his life. And God did. (Genesis 26:26-33)

It was 2025 when I read Genesis 26 and realized how admirably Isaac handled himself in less-than-desirable circumstances. Not because I hadn’t read the account before. I had. Year after year, I have read that same passage and wondered why he just walked away without a fight and went off to dig another well. Maybe I have been seeing it through the lens of today’s society. Social media would rip this guy up as a weakling. Keyboard warriors would hammer out diatribes on how he should have stood his ground. In a society that loves a fight, there would be no end of harsh judgment and name-calling. He’d be tagged a coward. Pushover. Spineless. Weak. But not by me. Not today. Not ever again. Because the words of Abimelech snagged my attention with such force I will never again read the account the same way. “It is plain to us that God is with you.” Obvious. Clear. Indisputable. God’s presence in Isaac’s life was so prominent that no one could debate it. Not just by how he prospered, but by how he handled himself when things didn’t go his way. (Genesis 26:28)

Through all the turmoil and trouble, Abimelech had been watching. When they tried to sabotage Isaac, the people had taken notice. When the shepherds had stolen his wells and been braced for a fight, they took note when he didn’t engage. When Isaac had every reason to react in rage, but instead acted with calm respect and quiet dignity, those looking on paid attention. When other men would have reacted with insults and war and shenanigans of their own, Isaac didn’t. He didn’t need to. He knew who his God was. He knew in whose hands his life and times lay. He knew in Whose presence he lived. And so did everyone else. Isaac’s relationship with God plainly showed in the way he lived his life and handled his business, not just when he prospered, but in every word, every action, every moment, every day. 

Can the same be said for you? Do you occupy a spiritual space so close to God that your reactions to negative circumstances and derogatory situations plainly reflect the presence of God in your life? Do you live so close to Him, trust Him so implicitly, that your response to trouble and trials and turmoil reflect His heart? When things go sideways, when enemies attack, when life seems to have it out for you, does your relationship with God shine from your life in a grand exhibition of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control? In the best of times, in the worst of times, at all times, can the people around you plainly see that you dwell in the presence of God? (Galatians 5:22-23; Ephesians 5:8-9; Colossians 3:12-14; II Peter 1:5-8; Matthew 7:16-20; Isaiah 32:17; Luke 3:8)

The lid of another empty picnic basket swished silently closed, as disappointment washed over the owner’s face. There was nothing left. Not even crumbs. The stash of bread and fruit, and fish meant to nourish them for the entire journey was gone, and they still needed to make the journey home. The food had been good while it lasted. It would have been better had it lasted longer. No one told them they would be gone so long. No one suggested packing extra in case the meetings ran long. No one slipped an emergency loaf into their hands as they walked out the door. They hadn’t thought they needed it. Never would they have expected to be gone so long. Their provision packing proved it. They hadn’t meant to spend three days in a remote place, far from home, listening to Jesus teach. Most had figured on an afternoon. Many had planned for a day. Based on reports from other places, some thought it might last a bit longer. Some hoped it would go on indefinitely. Only a handful planned for it. Now here they sat, miles from the nearest market. Stomachs rumbling. Provisions gone. Options limited. (Mark 8:1-8)

It was not a new scenario for the disciples. They had seen it before. Not long ago they stood beside Jesus as He looked out over an even larger crowd in another remote place. They, too, had gathered to hear Him teach. They were engrossed in the message, intent on learning, oblivious to the dipping sun and darkening sky. They also had nothing to eat. Concerned, either for their own grumbling stomachs or the well-being of the gathered people, the disciples suggested Jesus release them. Now. Send them home in time for dinner. Get them to town before the food stalls lowered their blinds for the day. But Jesus had another idea. They could feed them right there. Have an enormous picnic. Put on a spread the gathered people would never forget.  

Commanded to investigate possible food sources, the disciples mingled with the crowd until they found five tiny rolls and two measly fish. It was barely enough for one person. It would never be enough. They hauled it back to Jesus, anyway. Carefully taking the measly haul in His hands, Jesus lifted them up to heaven, blessed them, and handed them back to the disciples. Five loaves divided between twelve men, meant to feed thousands of people. It seemed impossible. It wasn’t. Every time the disciples prepared to hand out the final chunk of bread, more appeared. When they counted heads and knew there was too few fish, it just kept coming as though they had cooked an entire night’s catch. The people ate as much as they wanted. Large first helpings. Generous second helpings. Some had thirds. Others gathered a little for the journey home. Still, when it was all said and done, when the final person had taken all they wanted, when everyone had left for home, when the disciples were done cleaning up all the leftovers, there were twelve baskets of food remaining. No one had to leave hungry. The Bread of Life gave them bread to sustain life. They could have as much as they wanted. (Mark 6:35-44)

You can almost hear the disciples heave a frustrated sigh as they watched this new group of people checking their empty provision bags, searching their pockets for mints, surreptitiously looking around to see if anyone had a slice of bread they would be willing to share. Maybe the disciples silently wondered if the people purposely came ill-prepared. Perhaps they questioned their motives. Were they really here to listen and learn, or were they simply a bunch of Looky-Lou’s out to see what kind of spread Jesus would lay out to silence their stomachs? 

No one would ever know the answer to that question, but everyone should have been able to predict Jesus’ response. He felt sorry for them. Just like last time. He looked at their faces, heard their stomachs rumble, mentally measured the distance to town and home, and took pity on them. They had been a good audience. Their motives were largely pure. So they hadn’t planned properly. It was okay. How were they to know they would be there for three days? They couldn’t have known they needed to ration their food. And, although He needed to move on to the next town, He couldn’t send them into the highways and byways without feeding them. Some of them had run out of provisions a day ago. The lack of sustenance could see them fainting before they ever reached town. No. The people needed to eat. The disciples needed to feed them. Now. With whatever they had on hand. 

Going out to search among the people for any available rations, the disciples came back with seven loaves of bread and a handful of fish. They already knew what Jesus was going to do. He would bless it, break it, and hand it back to them to distribute. The tiny, nearly stale loaves would become large, endless slices of tender bread, the fish would stretch to fill the chinks in every belly. No one would walk away hungry. They could all have as much as they wanted. Physical bread to sustain their lives as they traveled to their earthly home. Spiritual bread to sustain their souls as they traveled to their heavenly home. The Bread of Life for every breath of life. It could all be found in Jesus. And every person could have as much–or as little–as they wanted. The disciples knew it. Now the people would know it too. Not by hearsay. By experience. They could have all of Jesus they wanted. (Mark 8:1-8)

That was exactly how it went. The disciples brought the loaves and fishes to Jesus. He blessed them. Handed them back. The disciples distributed them. The people ate. Large first helpings. Generous second helpings. Some had thirds. Others filled their pockets with rations for the journey home. Everyone got everything they needed. All they wanted. As much as they could handle. There was no limit. On anything. Not on the food. Not on Jesus. Everyone could have as much as they wanted. There was more than enough to go around. No one needed to leave hungry. And they didn’t. They left knowing what others had yet to find out. You can have all of Jesus you want. He is the Bread of Life for every breath of your life. 

Nearly two decades ago, God spoke that very lesson to me in the middle of a grocery store aisle. I was moping. Saddled with a list of physical issues that had me studiously reading every ingredient label on the shelf–and putting most of them back–I was frustrated and irritated and not a little annoyed. Sighing to myself, I nearly gave in to the self-pity when a highly recognizable, still, small voice whispered in my ear, “You can have all of Jesus you want.” Hands curled around the handle of my shopping cart, I stood utterly still and absorbed that truth. There are no allergies to the Bread of life. Jesus will not negatively affect your blood pressure or excessively elevate your heart rate. Time spent with Him will not heighten the effects of your chronic illness. You can have as much of Jesus as you want, as often as you like. There is unlimited supply. Your heart doesn’t need to go hungry. He is the Bread of life for every breath of your life. You can have all of Jesus you want. 

I think that is the part of Jesus’ miraculous multiplication that we often overlook. We get so flabbergasted by the enormous miracle that we miss the intended takeaway. The part about the Miracle Maker Himself. We miss the fact that Jesus is the never-ending Bread of Life to sustain us through every breath of our lives. And He is not in short supply. He never sends anyone away. Not the hungry heart. Not the parched soul. All who come to Him with sincere hearts, longing for His presence, seeking His kingdom, hungering and thirsting for His righteousness will be filled. That is the promise. No one goes away hungry. No one leaves thirsty. Jesus is the Bread and Water of life, for every part of your life. And you can have all of Jesus you want. (John 4:13-14; 6:35; 7:37-38; Isaiah 55:1-2; Matthew 5:6; 11:28-29; I Corinthians 5:8; I Peter 5:7; Psalm 46:1)

Perhaps that’s the rub. How much of Jesus do you want? Are you happy with a sip and a crust, or do you hunger and thirst for more? Constantly. Do you understand your need to have the Bread of life for every breath of your life? Every single inhale and exhale. Do you comprehend the urgency to have the Water of life poured into your parched soul? Do you want Jesus more than you long for the treasures and trinkets of the world? Do you hunger and thirst for Him? Are you willing to clear out your heart to be saturated with His presence, or are you trying to keep Him contained in one tiny space? Honestly. How much of Jesus do you want? Because you can have it. All of it. There’s no limit. You can spend every day drinking in His presence. You can continually feed your soul at the table of grace. You never need to be hungry.  You can have as much of Jesus as you want. (John 15:4; Jeremiah 29:13; James 4:8; Psalm 119:2)

Jubilation surged through their veins at His words. The time had finally come. The event prophesied centuries earlier was about to become reality. Their reality. Right here. Right now. It was going to be glorious. Breathtaking. Awe-inspiring. The warrior of God would ride into the land, toppling thrones, crushing kingdoms, single-handedly defeating entire armies. It would be a bloodbath. Their enemies would be slaughtered or flee. God would reign. Their God. They would finally be out from under Roman rule. The land would become God’s kingdom. They would be His people. Very soon it would happen. Jesus had just said so. Except He hadn’t. (Mark 1:15)

The people had misunderstood, failed to listen to His heart. Still, they waited expectantly. Days. Weeks. They followed Jesus everywhere they could. Watching. Waiting. Desperate to be present at the exact moment He called in the troops. Yet no unexpected warriors arrived. No one stormed the palace. There was no grand coup. Nothing they expected happened. Jesus didn’t even seem interested in assuming the throne. But they were very much interested. They had been waiting for this day all their lives. Waiting for the moment when God would come and set up His earthly kingdom. God would deliver them from the mess around them. God would make everything new. The lamb and lion would lie down together. The people would rest peacefully and know no fear. They were so ready for that kingdom. So intent on finding it, in fact, that they missed the kingdom standing right in front of them. The kingdom of God. On earth. In Jesus.

Perhaps they had missed part of the prophecy. Maybe they had trouble interpreting them, like many of us do. Maybe they had heard one too many tales from parents and grandparents. Well-intentioned tales. Stories about the coming Messiah and Kingdom of God slightly embellished to make them remember the promises and watch for their arrival. Perhaps, over the years, the stories had taken on a fairy tale twist. A triumphant warrior, clothed in glistening white, would charge up to the palace steps on his snorting stallion. They would slide to a halt in a cloud of dust. The warriors face would be set in stone, his muscles would bulge, the spear in his hand would rival that of Goliath’s. His stare would stop his enemies in their tracks. His voice, when he chose to speak, would shake the heavens and rattle the earth. So terrifying would his visage be that his enemies wouldn’t argue when he commanded them to abdicate their thrones. In fear, they would come out, cowering before His fury, gladly exchanging their lives for the reins of the kingdom. The tables would turn. Kings would become peasants. Slaves would become free. And the people long held under Roman rule would become the ruling party. The leader would be their God. They would be His people. God’s kingdom would be there. On earth. Among them. 

Jesus wasn’t there for that. Not yet, anyway. He wasn’t there to overthrow the current regime and establish God’s physical kingdom on earth. He was on a different mission. A mission to build God’s kingdom on earth in the hearts of mankind. He came to bring light and life to those wandering in darkness, just like the prophet Isaiah had said. Jesus was God’s kingdom on earth. His body was the throneroom of God. His life was a place where the Father reigned supreme and God’s will would always be done. He came to model kingdom living for people and to establish it in every willing human heart. Jesus came to invite humanity to be part of God’s kingdom living on earth before God’s final kingdom ever came, reserving their place in God’s eternal kingdom forever. Yes. God’s kingdom had come. It was right in front of them. And they missed it. (Isaiah 9:2)

It’s such a shame, really. The concept wasn’t difficult. There was only one directive. Not even a new one. The same one John the Baptist had preached prior to his imprisonment. Jesus picked up right where he left off. Repent and believe. There was nothing else. Repent of your sins. Clean out your hearts. Surrender completely to God. Believe the words coming from Jesus’ lips. The kingdom of God was near. To them. It was close by. So close. It was Jesus. He was the kingdom of God incarnate. They could be part of that living, earthly kingdom as well. They simply had to repent and believe. (Mark 1:14-15)

There is still nothing else. Although Jesus is not physically walking our world today, the opportunity to be part of God’s living, earthly kingdom is still available. The requirements are still the same as well. Repent of your sin. Leave it behind. Completely. Don’t try to carry any of it along. And believe God. His words. His commands. His promises. Believe that His way is best, His will is flawless. Trust that His plan is bigger and better than yours, even if you can’t see it, don’t understand it, or it isn’t unfolding the way you thought it would. Give yourself over to God. All of yourself. Don’t hold anything back. Allow Him to inhabit you, dwell in you, be King of your life. Fully surrender to God. Because being God’s kingdom on earth requires us to be a person, a place, where God’s will and only God’s will is done. Just as it is in His kingdom in Heaven. (Matthew 6:10; Acts 3:19; Isaiah 55:7; Ezekiel 18:30; Luke 17:21)

Jesus was then, and is now, our example. He was a person, a place where God’s will was done. Jesus was human. He got tired. He felt hunger. He had emotions. Anger surged through His veins just as much as joy and peace flowed from His heart. Bowing in the Garden of Gethsemane, anxiety and trepidation flowed from His lips as He asked God to rethink the coming chain of events. Change this. Save humanity in a different way. Yet, ultimately, with the next breath, He surrendered Himself to the will of God, continuing to be the living, breathing, sacrificial kingdom of God so you and I could someday be the people of God, doing the will of God, being the kingdom of God in a spiritually lost and dying world. Jesus died so you could be part of God’s kingdom on earth. Right now. Today. (I Peter 2:21; John 13:15; Matthew 26:36-56; II Corinthians 5:15)

Now as then, God’s kingdom is near. Not in the physical person of Jesus Christ, but in the spiritual presence of Almighty God. He walks among us, whispers our names, offers us the opportunity to be His kingdom on earth. He wants us to know Him and let the power of His resurrection live in our hearts. He extends the opportunity to live His love and grace and mercy out loud in a world ringing with the cacophony of selfishness, revenge, and hate. He requires one thing. Surrender. Complete surrender. When it is easy. When it is hard. When it seems like there has to be another way. Being God’s kingdom on earth requires you to be completely sold out to God’s will. For you. For your family. For your world. Even when it doesn’t look the way you hoped it would. Even when He doesn’t give you the answers you wish He would. Even when you can think of a million different scenarios you believe would be better and have the same effect. To be part of God’s kingdom on earth, you must repent of your sins and believe in God’s ability to direct your life better than you ever could. You must surrender to His will and His way. Your life must be the place His will is done. Always. Then live like it. Live a life that tells everyone the Kingdom of God is near. Close by. At hand. In you. (Philippians 3:10; Galatians 2:20; Matthew 16:24; Romans 12:1-2)