Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

From where they were standing, this whole situation could have been avoided. Every single minute of it. From the first signs of malaise to the final doctor visit, not one moment of suffering was necessary. The scenario didn’t need to end in death. There should be no reason for them to be here, weeping out their grief and wondering about their future. They had prayed. They had believed. They had kept the faith. They thought Jesus would come as soon as He received their message. Except He hadn’t. Hadn’t shown up. Hadn’t sent a handful of disciples. Hadn’t spoken words of healing from a distance. Jesus hadn’t done anything. And now they were here. Gathered with local friends to mourn the loss of Lazarus.  

Devastated, Mary and Martha went through the motions of laying their beloved brother to rest. Prepared the herbs. Wrapped the body. Went through the motions of a funeral. Watched as their brother was carried out of sight and laid in the dark interior of a cold tomb. Their tattered faith hovered at that entrance, barely restrained, deeply tempted to join the list of losses and be buried with Lazarus. Twin sighs escaped their lips between the quiet sobs. Matching thoughts filled their minds. If Jesus had only been there. If He had come when they sent the message. If He would have rushed, maybe He would have made it in time. Maybe none of this would have happened. Maybe their brother would still be alive. Maybe their faith would be too. 

Battered faith was all they had left now. Jesus’ absence had left them reeling. The fact He hadn’t shown up–at all–left them with more questions than answers. What did it mean that He hadn’t come, hadn’t even acted? What did it mean that He hadn’t even sent a messenger back? Had He abandoned them? Did He not care? Was their relationship one-sided? Was their faith misplaced? When things got tough and ugly and terrifying, would Jesus just go silent? Did He even know Lazarus was dead? If He did, why didn’t He come back to comfort them in their sorrow? Was He unconcerned with the depths of their pain? Or was there somewhere more exciting, someone more important, something more pressing than to be in the presence of grief and sadness? Was His lack of presence, His obvious withholding of power, an indicator that all the love and care He’d promoted and promised was just a figment of their imaginations? Was His absence proof they should never have believed in the first place? 

The very thought was inconceivable. Mary and Martha had long been avid followers of Jesus. He had visited their home. Martha had fed Him. Mary had learned at His feet. He was loved and welcome in their home. They believed he loved them back. All three of them. Mary. Martha. Lazarus. They believed the things He taught. They believed he knew the number of hairs on each of their heads. They believed He kept a tally of the stars in the sky and had somehow come up with a name for each one. They believed He knew every time a little bird, worthless to humanity, flew into a rockface, fed a predator, or failed to survive the elements. They believed Jesus knew and cared about all these things. And, when He said they were worth more to Him than the billions of tiny birds, they hadn’t questioned it. They simpy believed. Yet now, surrounded by their shattering sorrow and the grieving voices of their friends, the girls hearts quietly questioned if it was really true. Did Jesus really care about them as much as He claimed, and if so, why hadn’t He shown up when they needed Him most? (Psalm 147:4; Matthew 10:29-31; Luke 10:38-42)

Days after they sent the message alerting Jesus that Lazarus was ill, He strolled into town. Four days late and a miracle short. Lazarus had died. He was buried. Four days ago. By now his body was starting to decompose. It wouldn’t be pretty. Not to see or to smell. The stone over the entrance would be only a reducing barrier. The spices they had buried with him would not be pungent enough to cover the smell of rotting flesh and seeping body fluids. The girls weren’t even there. They were quietly settled at home, sighing, sobbing, sorting through memories, shaping a future without their beloved brother. Faithful friends had gathered to keep watch over them, lend a hand, offer support. One of them must have been a lookout. Before Jesus got to the house, someone told them He was coming. And Martha went to meet Him. 

There was confrontation in her step as Martha marched out to meet Jesus. Her eyes were dry. Her shoulders were straight. Her jaw was set. The speech she had so carefully planned would finally be delivered. Martha had things to say. Real things. Important things. Things that demanded answers. She wouldn’t be asking questions. She would simply be stating the obvious. Jesus was late. Too late. If He had been here earlier, if He hadn’t dilly-dallied, her brother Lazarus would still be alive. (John 11:1-21)

Mary followed up Martha’s thoughts ones of her own, spoken in the exact same verbiage. If Jesus had been there then, Lazarus would be there now. They knew it. They believed it. Completely. They had seen too many miracles to believe otherwise. They simply couldn’t understand why, after choosing to place their faith in the God who promised to care more deeply for them than for the countless sparrows, He had chosen not to answer their prayers, to come when they called, or to rescue them from the grief and pain currently saturating their hearts. (John 11:32)

It wasn’t because they hadn’t asked. They had. As soon as Lazarus took to his bed with whatever illness gripped him, they had dispatched a messenger to Jesus. It wasn’t because they didn’t believe. They did. They believed every word that came from Jesus’ lips. They knew He was the Messiah. They believed He was the Son of God. They believed He was the resurrection and the life. They knew He could do anything. If He chose. They had seen His work and heard the accounts over and over again. What they didn’t understand, what they couldn’t comprehend, what their aching hearts were unable to fathom was why He chose not to do it for them. (John 11:22-27)

We have all stood in that same space, wondering why the miracles and blessings are raining down on others, but skipping us entirely. Maybe you are there right now. Desperately needing a miracle. Fiercely holding your faith that God will perform one. Begging Him with every breath to act. Yet watching day after day pass with no answer to your prayers. Others are getting answers. Even people who don’t believe in Jesus are sailing through life with no turbulence. Those who are willing to lie and cheat and play politics are climbing the ladder of success. But you are stuck on the bottom rung, living by faith, doing the right thing, praying until there are no words left in your soul and no tears left in your body. But nothing is happening. The miracles seem to have dried up. God is silent. The only voice you hear is the ugly one in your head saying to go ahead and pull the hairs from your scalp in frustration, God’s stopped recording the number anyway. He doesn’t care about you. He’s let you down. Decided you aren’t worth His time. God is over your relationship. 

Don’t you buy that! Not one of those things is true. God is still adjusting your hair tally every time your scalp determines one strand has outlived its usefulness. Why? Because He loves you. He cares about you. Every part of you. And nothing can separate you from Him. No one can take you out of a relationship with Jesus Christ. No one can pluck you out of His hand. No one can remove you from the meticulous care of God the Father. It isn’t possible. It’s just that His care often looks different than we imagine it should. Just like Mary and Martha. 

You see, Mary and Martha believed God’s loving care and constant faithfulness looked like privately saving Lazarus from death and them from grief. It didn’t. It looked like publicly restoring the one they lost. It looked like healing through complete revitalization–body and soul. It looked like Jesus making Himself known to the world then and every generation to come as a wonder-working God by calling dead Lazarus to walk alive from that tomb. When their situation looked the darkest, when their faith felt the weakest, when the temptation to question the truth of Jesus’ words was the greatest, Jesus Himself stepped in and did the miraculous. Why? Because whether they felt it or not, God was still counting every little hair on their heads. Even the ones on Lazarus. (John 11:38-44)

The same is true for you. In spite of your seemingly insurmountable circumstances, God is still doing what He has always done. Looking out for you. He is still keeping His promises. He is still working on your behalf. He is still on your side. He is still counting the hairs on your head. Fewer. Greater. It doesn’t matter. He knows each one. Counts them. Keeps track. Just like He does of the sparrows. Not one of them crashes into a window, becomes a cat’s dinner, or suffers from avian influenza without His knowledge. How much more does He keep track of you? Your worries. Your cares. Your needs. You are far more important to Him. Your life. Your future. Your hope. So don’t let anxiety and uncertainty overcome you. Don’t let the evil one make you doubt your place in God’s heart. He hasn’t forgotten you. He knows exactly what your life requires and is working out a plan to bring it to pass. He delights in every part of your existence. Right down to counting every little hair on your head. (Matthew 6:25-34; 10:29-31; Zephaniah 3:17; Psalm 18:19; Isaiah 49:14-16; Jeremiah 29:11) 

Whoever coined the phrase, “on the horns of a dilemma,” was clearly thinking of him when they said it. He embodied those words. Right now. Staring blindly out the window at the retreating back of the now leaving messenger, he struggled to digest their words. Tried to make his heart feel something. Sadness. Grief. Anger. Rage. Numbness blanketed his heart, stole his voice, silenced his words. Disbelief warred with the absolute certainty of the delivered words. The heaviness of betrayal settled around him like a thick fog. Mary was pregnant, and Joseph had nothing to do with it. 

The one who bore the message stated Mary had been visited by an angel who informed her that she would become pregnant by the Holy Spirit. It wasn’t a task she had asked to undertake. She hadn’t applied. Hadn’t attended auditions. Hadn’t daily bombarded God’s throne in prayer that she would be the virgin spoken about by the long ago prophet Isaiah who would carry and birth the Messiah. No. She never dreamed of such a thing. Had never wanted it. Hadn’t hoped for it. Never once raised the idea, even in jest, while chatting with her friends by the well. She also hadn’t said no. When the angel told her of God’s plan for her life, Mary quickly acquiesed, apparently giving no thought to how it would affect the rest of her life. 

As the ice around his heart started to thaw, Joseph began to contemplate the entirety of the situation. Mary was pregnant. To whom made no difference. He had some decisions to make. Difficult ones. Painful ones. Life-altering ones. Should he marry her? Should he not? Would she be faithful? Would she not? Was the baby really the Son of God? Was it not? How could he know? How could he choose? How could he forgive the indiscretion if the woman he married was eventually revealed to be both a liar and a cheat? Fighting the urge to immediately terminate their betrothal, Joseph sat in his feelings, his questions, his fears and carefully considered the options. 

Yes. You read that correctly. When everyone else would have released their seething rage on the girl and her family regardless of the public humiliation or social implications, Joseph stilled his soul and carefully considered the issues and options before him. Before he fell asleep. Before the angel visited. Before the words of God drifted into his unconsciousness, convincing him to do the “right thing”, Joseph was already doing the right thing. He was being quiet. Being slow to speak. Slow to give in to his righteous anger. He was thinking. Not just of himself and his own vindication. He was thinking of Mary. Her reputation. Her future. Her family. He didn’t want to do anything that would ruin her life or make her a pariah. Even though Joseph couldn’t come up with a scenario in which it seemed wise to continue their arrangement, he wouldn’t do anything public. It would have to be done secretly. It would have to be kept quiet. Joseph would have it no other way. As hurt as he was that Mary was pregnant to another man before their marriage, Joseph’s righteousness wouldn’t allow him to embarrass or mistreat her. Not because it hadn’t crossed his mind. It probably had. He was human. He was tempted. He held all the cards. But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. The righteous integrity with which he lived his life would not allow it.  

We often miss that part of Joseph’s account. Somehow he has been relegated to a bit player, a rarely spoken about man mentioned only in passing as we read the Christmas story. He’s just a carpenter. Just Jesus’ stepdad. Just the guy who kept Mary’s reputation in tact. Except he wasn’t. There was more to Joseph than that. So much more. Joseph was righteous. He was upright. He lived with integrity. Before the angel ever illuminated Joseph’s dreams to point out the proper path, his life and actions reverberated with the truth. Joseph was a righteous man. 

Did you notice that? According to Matthew, upon hearing the unsettling news of Mary’s pregnancy, Joseph, being righteous, checked his emotions, throttled his ego, reserved his opinions, and held his decisions until he was in the proper headspace to consider the situation through the lens of righteousness. He waited until he could breathe again, until his mind could clearly weigh the consequences of his decisions. Consequences for everyone. Him. Her. Them. No matter how hurt and offended and humiliated he deserved to be, Joseph’s spiritual integrity refused to allow him to treat another person disrespectfully. Male or female. Right or wrong. It wouldn’t happen. He wouldn’t say disparaging things. He wouldn’t ruin her chances. He wouldn’t publicly disgrace her by spouting his frustration to every listening ear. Just as his righteousness would not allow him to make a snap decision based on his own feelings, that same uprightness wouldn’t let him tear Mary down or tarnish her reputation. That’s how righteousness should look. (Matthew 1:18-20) 

Righteousness should look like decisions made after careful, prayerful consideration. Righteousness should look like exquisite care for others. It is never selfish. It never seeks to bring attention and sympathy to itself. It doesn’t spread rumors or gossip or slander. It isn’t talking about something rather than praying about it. It isn’t enlisting a group of sympathizers to help you make a decision. It doesn’t seek to harm. It doesn’t try to teach lessons by causing pain. It doesn’t speak out of turn or prematurely. True righteousness comes from a heart cleansed by God, ruled by God, that waits on God before it acts or speaks. It is not a pious face covering a petty heart. True righteousness that comes from God must be more than an outward appearance legalistically following a list of rules and regulations. It must be more than rote words and phrases meant to show others your Christianity. True righteousness must flow naturally from the heart in springs of love and mercy and grace. (Isaiah 32:17; James 3:18)

Jesus said as much to the disciples. In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus said if their righteousness was simply that of the scribes and Pharisees, outward acts with no inward grace, they would never see the kingdom of heaven. It was a stern warning. The scribes and Pharisees weren’t known for being authentically righteous.They were known for being legalistic rule followers, attempting to earn their way into heaven one religious adherence at a time. This careful obedience had cultivated a sense of self-righteous hypocrisy and superiority in which they felt it appropriate to judge others by the measuring stick they deemed appropriate. There was no love or mercy or grace in their righteousness. It was all man-made. It was all works based. There was no wonder, no power, no Jesus in it. And it would never get them to heaven. Jesus said so. (Matthew 5:29)

We really aren’t a lot different. We, too, get righteousness confused with self-reliance and superiority. We think because we repented as a child, attend church, and reluctantly live by the rules, we deserve to be treated with awe and reverence. We believe it is our job to judge others, often attempting to determine their level of spirituality by their outward appearance. It isn’t. Jesus said not to judge others. At all. He said that if your righteousness is simply that of going to church, speaking Christianese, and living by a little black book of manmade rules, then you are no better than the scribes and Pharisees. They weren’t getting into heaven on that and neither will you. Those aren’t my words, they are His. And they are confronting. Because we tend to think our righteousness is our own doing, when in reality, all our personal attempts at righteousness are simply filthy rags. (Matthew 7:1-2: Isaiah 64:6)

You see, friend, true righteousness cannot be faked. Even if you manage to fool some people part of the time, you won’t fool God any of the time. He sees your heart. He knows the motivation behind your words and actions. He knows when true righteousness would hold its tongue, but you let yours wag. He sees when true righteousness would prayerfully wait, but you choose to rashly act. God knows what true righteousness looks like. And so does everyone else. It looks like treating others with the same grace and mercy God has given you. It looks like undeserved forgiveness. It looks like respectful boundaries. It looks like taming your tongue, holding your opinions, and pursuing peace with your neighbor. It looks like the love of God spread so thickly in and over and through your life that everyone who comes in contact with you knows you are righteous. It looks like being recorded as righteous in the Lamb’s Book of Life. And it can only be accomplished by the daily, active work of God in your heart and life. Just like Joseph. (Revelation 21:27; Isaiah 33:15-17; Psalm 139:1-2; Colossians 3:13; Matthew 7:12; Proverbs 4:23; James 3:1-12; Hebrews 12:14; John 13:34: Galatians 5:22-23)

Not one line of the Bible is devoted to delineating Joseph’s admirable works as a man of God. There is no history behind his name. We know very little about him. His part of Jesus’ story is lived in the shadow of Mary. As far as humanity goes, Joseph is forgettable. But not to God. God knew his heart. God knew his works. God knew how he handled himself in rough situations. And God was clearly impressed. He thought so much of Joseph that He had him recorded as righteous for every generation to read. It was the adjective by which God knew him. Righteous. Upright. Trustworthy.

Would He say the same about you? If He were looking for people on earth to parent the Christ-child today, would your name make the short list because the power of God at work in your heart has made you live righteously and uprightly in a world that doesn’t? In this present age of purposeful apostasy and appalling complacency, are you someone God can trust to protect and promote the true teachings of His most precious gift to humanity? Are you righteous? Truly righteous? Not by words or works that can be twisted and tweaked. Not by the opinions of friends or family. Not by your own shallow measure, but by God’s deep one? Are you righteous according to Him? Has He recorded your name that way? Does the righteousness of God fill your heart and spill out of your life on earth? Is your name recorded as righteous in Heaven? (Luke 10:20; Revelation 3:5; Ephesians 4:24; Proverbs 12:26; 21:3; Psalm 1:6; 11:7; I John 3:7; Micah 6:8)

Regret coursed through him as he held his unnaturally chilled hands over the warmth of the open fire. His heart was troubled. His soul was anxious. His mind was racing. It had been a long day. Not that it hadn’t started out well. It had. Celebrating Passover with Jesus was always a memorable time. The resting. The eating. The talking. Every year was indelibly etched in Peter’s brain. This year was shaping up to be the most memorable. Not in a good way. Statements had been made. Questions had been asked. Answers had been minimal. A heavy sense of foreboding pervaded the atmosphere. Things were changing. He knew it. Tried to digest it, even as the evening’s events played on repeat in his head. 

Into the quiet air of their friendly dinner, Jesus dropped a bombshell. Hands stopped midway to mouths. Jaws dropped. Sentences broke with unfinished thoughts. Astonished eyes clashed over the table. One of the Twelve was going to betray Him. One of them. Someone at their table. Someone they trusted. Someone they loved. Someone who claimed they loved Jesus. The plan was already set in motion. Things were already underway. Someone there would hand Him over, deliver Him directly into the hands of those who wanted Him dead. Someone among them was a traitor, and everyone wanted to know who. 

Suspiciously glancing around the table, the disciples began to silently question who it could be. Was it Andrew? Thomas? Matthew? Had anyone been acting strangely lately? Spending more time away from the others with no explanation for their whereabouts? Had they seen anyone talking to the Pharisees more? Hanging out with the chief priests? Getting lunch with the elders? When nothing specific came to mind, their scrutiny turned inward. Was it them? Was there something in their own hearts that would turn them away from Jesus? Did they love something else more? Social safety? Personal popularity? Financial prosperity? And how could they know if it was them or someone else? 

Jesus nebulous answer to their question didn’t help solidify the answer. There were twelve of them sitting with Him at the table. They were sharing a meal. Family style. Everyone was dipping out of the same bowls. Many of them had or would dip their hand into the bowl with Jesus. It wasn’t until Judas spoke up to ask if it was him that their attention snagged. Something about the quality of his voice shocked them. It was laced with sarcasm. As if he knew the answer before asking the question. Yet it was Jesus answer that silenced the lot and delivered the shocking blow. “You said it.” The final eleven watched in gobsmacked silence as Judas pushed back his chair with a smirk and made his swaggering exit. (Matthew 26:17-25; Luke 22:21-23; Mark 14:17-20)

Tension covered the room for the rest of the meal. They followed Jesus’ lead, ate what He gave them, drank from the offered cup, but, under the circumstances, they couldn’t really process it. The hymn at the end of dinner was a quiet event. Each man too deeply lost in thought to give himself fully to the experience. Jesus saw their distraction. He knew the disbelief and questions flooding their minds. He knew they were still piecing together what had just occurred. But he had something else to tell them. Something else that would shock them even more deeply. They were all going to leave Him. They would all fall away. Not one would stay to support Him, plead His cause, testify on His behalf. No matter what they believed about their devotion to Him, Jesus knew He would stand alone, suffer alone, die alone. (Matthew 26:26-32; Mark 14:22-26)

Righteous indignation covered their faces at His declaration. They most certainly would not leave Him! Not now. Not ever. Not one of them. The very thought was ridiculous. Highly upsetting. Deeply insulting. For Jesus to put them on the same level as that traitor, Judas, turned their stomachs and put their backs up. All of them. Especially Peter. He was adamant. There would never be a time when He fell away from following Jesus. He’d go with Him anywhere. Even to death. He would never deny His Lord. Never. He was crushed to hear Jesus say it would happen. Refused to believe he would purposely deny His Lord. He knew himself. He would never fall away. He would never leave Jesus. He would never run, hide, or deny. Maybe the others would fall prey to fear and run to hide or be quick to deny, but Peter knew he would never betray his faith in Jesus. 

Walking along beside James and John, Peter followed Jesus deeper into the Garden of Gethsemane. Irritation chaffed Peter’s spirit with every. His mouth was closed, but his mind fumed. He found it difficult to calm down after such a drastic affront. Reaching a quiet, peaceful place, Jesus instructed them to wait for Him there, but not to sleep. They were to stay awake and wait for His return. Peter intended to do so. With the way his mind was reeling over the events of the last several hours and the proclamation of things to come, it was unlikely the havoc in his head would let him rest. Slumping down at the base of a tree to wait, he mentally sifted through all the surprises he’d gotten that day. Little by little, his traitorous body gave in to the physical exhaustion that often accompanies great emotion. He lost the battle he planned to win against sleep. It would have been better if he had stayed awake. (Matthew 26:26-38; Luke 22:31-34; Mark 14:17-31)

If Peter had stayed awake while Jesus went further into the Garden, he might have heard the heart of Jesus being poured out to His Father. He could have heard the cries of grief and distress. He would have felt the agony as Jesus pled with the Father, with whom all things are possible, to change the course of events rapidly speeding His way. He would have heard His quiet pleas to have the coming pain and suffering removed from His path. He would also have heard His quiet surrender, the Son’s acceptance of the Father’s will over His own as He whispered the acquiescing words, “Not what I wish, but what You want.” If Peter had stayed awake, he wouldn’t have been snoring when Jesus came back to check on them. He wouldn’t have had to be wakened with the rhetorical question, “Are you sleeping?” (Matthew 26:39-40; Luke 22:39-46; Mark 14:33-38)

Peter was, indeed, sleeping, embarrassing as it was. Sitting comfortably on the ground, his racing thoughts hadn’t kept him awake as he believed they would. He dozed off. He shouldn’t have. He knew better. Not just because Jesus had told Him to stay awake, either. Peter should have stayed awake because He knew from experience Jesus never said anything that didn’t have meaning. He didn’t waste words. He didn’t play pranks. Everything He said was a lesson, a warning, an instruction. Peter knew that. The command wasn’t selfishly given. Jesus didn’t tell him to stay awake simply to torment him or rob him of rest. No. Jesus told him to stay awake because He knew what was coming. For Himself. For Peter. Jesus knew Peter needed to stay awake and pray because he was on the brink of an enormous temptation. A temptation he would never be able to resist if he wasn’t strengthened by prayer. In a very short time, Peter would face the overwhelming temptation to deny knowing Jesus. Perhaps there was a possibility of resisting. If only he had stayed awake to pray. 

Now, standing in the courtyard outside the place the arresting mob had taken Jesus, attempting to hide in plain sight, Peter recalled the third and final time Jesus woke him from slumber. It had been too late then. The time to spend in solitude and prayer, beseeching God to deliver him from temptation was past. The predicted events were occurring. Wiping sleep from his eyes, he stumbled to his feet only to hear the thud of approaching footsteps. It sounded like an army. Everyone who was anyone was there. Chief priests. Scribes. Elders. Soldiers armed with swords and spears. And Judas, the betrayer, proudly leading the charge. Anger surged through Peter’s veins as Judas stepped forward to exchange words with Jesus and mockingly kiss his cheek. Shock slammed through Peter as he realized everything was happening just as Jesus said it would. Panic rocked him as he realized he was next. In the line of events Jesus said would occur, Peter’s denial was next. Before the rooster announced the dawn, Peter would deny His Lord. Not once. Not twice. Three times. (Matthew 26:44-50; Luke 22:47-53; John 18:1-9; Mark 14:43-49)

One wonders if, in the moments of introspection before the servant girl first recognized him, Peter wished he would have stayed awake in the Garden of Gethsemane. As he stood there wondering what would happen next, did he wish he had taken Jesus’ words to heart and stayed awake to pray? As the battle raged within him whether to admit his identity or cave to his humanity, did Peter finally understand that staying awake to pray would serve him much better than the sleep ever had? As he vigorously denied the accusations over and over again, did Peter finally realize why Jesus hadn’t rested His body to recharge his strength for this ordeal, but rather prayed to recharge His soul? Or did the necessity of staying awake to pray only set in after the rooster crowed and Peter found himself alone, prostrate in penitence and tears? What might be different if Peter had stayed awake to pray? (Matthew 26:69-75; Luke 22:54-62; Mark 14:66-72; John 18:15-18, 25-26)

It seems that is where Peter’s denial began, his inability to stay awake and pray. His lack of interest in arming himself with the spiritual fortitude to withstand temptation. It seems the account would read so much differently had he simply heeded Jesus’ warning and stayed awake to pray. Had he done so, perhaps he’d have answered the servant girl honestly. Had he recharged his soul in prayer instead of his eyes in sleep, maybe he would have had the courage to own the truth when she outed him as Jesus’ follower to a group around him. Had Peter chosen to center his heart and soul in communion with the Father, perhaps he wouldn’t have had to vehemently swear the charge wasn’t true. Maybe, had Peter stayed awake to pray, he would have resisted the temptation to deny Jesus and cheated the rooster of his triumphant crow. 

You see, friends, your betrayals and denials of Jesus never begin in your place of prayer. They can’t. There is no space for them there. When you are on your knees, pacing your floor, driving down the road, communing with God, and recharging your soul, temptation flees. The evil one knows he can’t win in those moments. So he loiters. Patiently. Waiting for the moments of sadness, suffering, and silence. The times when your heart is troubled, your soul is burdened, your mind is a blur of barely processed information. Then he strikes. He whispers things to you that seem completely believable. Fear becomes your reality. Anxiety becomes your daily bread. You will be tempted to go off course, chart your own path, make decisions not sanctioned by God that have no possibility of ending in your good. Without the top cover of a prayed-up soul, the evil one will quickly lead you out on a spiritual ledge and encourage you to jump. If you have allowed your soul to sleep rather than pray, you’ll do whatever he suggests in that moment. Just like Peter. You will rely on your own wits and abilities to rescue you from your troubles rather than being true and trusting God to make your life beautiful in His own way and time. (Ecclesiastes 3:11; I Peter 5:8; Luke 18:1-8; Romans 8:28) 

It doesn’t have to be that way. Not for you and me. We can learn from Peter’s mistakes. We can read the directions of Jesus and arm our souls against temptation. That was the whole point of Him telling them to stay awake and pray. Temptation was coming. He knew it even if they didn’t. And it wasn’t just coming for Peter. Their world would soon be flooded with choices they would be tempted to make poorly. Their desire for self-preservation would come to the fore. Fear would make them run and hide. Anxiety would keep them locked in darkened houses, hoping to somehow survive the surging tide of persecution. That wasn’t what Jesus wanted. He wanted them to be bold and strong. He wanted them to share the gospel. He wanted them to go out and boldly, loudly, without reticence or hesitation tell the world about His life. His death. His resurrection. Their fear would tempt them to stay hidden away. Only through prayer would they find the strength to bravely move forward with the task Jesus charged them to do. The same is true for you. (Matthew 28:19-20)

Through the chaos and uncertainty of life, God is still calling you to pray. Why? Because temptation is coming. Maybe it is already there, surrounding you, bombarding your soul, taunting your mind, troubling your heart. Maybe fear and anxiety have you in a chokehold. Your faith is flagging. Your hope is sinking. Your trust in the faithfulness and promises of God is all but gone. You are exhausted. Mind. Body. Soul. Every part of you cries out for sleep and its momentary relief from the breath-sucking conflict around you. Into the cacophony of voices offering suggestions and temptations to ease your worries and better your situation, I hope you still your soul enough to hear the words of Jesus echoing from Gethsemane, “Stay awake and pray.” I hope you do it. Before you rest your tired eyes, I hope you bring your weary soul to the throne of grace and pray for rejuvenation. Ask for strength to stand against temptation. Ask for wisdom to navigate your circumstances. Ask for grace to endure difficulties and struggles and hardships with courage. Ask for the peace of God to fill your heart and mind through Christ Jesus. Ask Him to keep His promises. Then fall asleep resting in Him, knowing He will keep His word. Because He will. If you stay awake and pray. (John 14:1; I Corinthians 10:13; James 1:5; II Corinthians 1:20; 12:7-9; II Timothy 2:1; Philippians 4:6-7)

The crowd was rapidly reaching the limits of his control. He didn’t understand it, but he knew it. Hateful words split the air punctuated by the shaking of angry fists. Bloodlust radiated from rebellion-etched faces. At any moment a riot would break out. The people were itching for a fight. Pilate couldn’t figure the source of their rage. The Man before him was clearly innocent. By his laws and theirs. There was nothing to prove otherwise. No laws had been broken. No crimes committed. No offenses worthy of death had been done. Yet the crowd screamed belligerently on. They wanted Him dead. Now. Today. They would do it themselves if Pilate wouldn’t. They would consider no other option. Given the choice of a sinner or a savior, the people’s answer was clear. Sinner. No matter what Pilate said. No matter how he tried to reason with them. No matter that they had no evidence to substantiate their claims. Their soul-deep hate resounded through the air to rest on his ears. “Crucify Jesus!” 

Previous knowledge of the people’s choice did not assuage the stabbing, visceral pain their angry chants caused. Knowing how things were meant to go at this point of His life did not erase the dread of what was coming. Hearing Pilate plead His case before the raging mob was heartwarming, but Jesus knew it would change nothing. Not their minds. Not their cries. Not His destiny. It wasn’t meant to. He’d been born for this. That miracle pregnancy and birth thirty-three years ago had been the beginning of this entire mission. He was born to die. For those who now believed. For those yet to believe. For those who would never believe. For the people right here, right now, chanting and screaming and calling for His demise. The offer would still be the same. Their sins would become His. His life would be sacrificed for theirs. Jesus would die that they might live. Eternally. Whether they accepted it or not, everyone would be given the opportunity to choose. Sin or the Savior. The choice would be theirs. (Matthew 27:15-24; Mark 15:6-15; Luke 1:26-38; 2:1-7; 23:18-23; John 18:38-40; Romans 5:17-21; I Corinthians 15:20-21; Hebrews 9:28)

A few short days ago, any number of people would have been certain this particular scene would play out differently. A crowd had assembled then as well. They weren’t angry. They weren’t raging. They weren’t upset at all. Quite the opposite. They were rejoicing. Singing. Praising. Joyously shouting. Blessed to be in His presence. Excitedly announcing to the world that their Savior, their King had come. The faces then had been wreathed in smiles, luminous with adoration. The hands had been raised in praise, waving palm branches in honor. A few days ago, when Jesus had ridden into Jerusalem on the back of a colt saddled with the cloaks of His disciples, His path had not been rocky or rough, dusty or dirty. No. It was paved with the garments of those who believed. The air split with the sound of singing. Praise surrounded the entire space. Voices lifted in glorious rejoicing because they had made their choice. Savior. For sinners. From sin. He was their God. They were His people. As they watched that particular portion of prophecy unfold on the road before them, they knew with absolute certainty they had made the right choice. On that day they weren’t afraid to own it. Loudly. But that was then. (Matthew 21:8; Mark 11:7-11; Luke 19:36-40; John 12:12-13; Zechariah 9:9)

Apparently the crowds who lined the streets welcoming Jesus’ triumphal entry were swamped with pressing duties today. Maybe they had taken ill. Perhaps they had medical appointments. More likely, they were terrified to come out and stand up against this crowd so precariously perched on the edge of sanity. Whatever the reason for their absence, they appear to have stayed at home. Except for the ones who turned up. Some of them were there. Silent. Still. Looking on at the erupting mayhem from alleged places of security. Some who originally mingled among the crowd in curiosity now drifted to the outskirts seeking safety from the imminent danger. A few peered from behind nearby shrubs, their timid faces periodically peeking out to assess the situation and determine when to entirely retreat. Their brows were furrowed. Their eyes were fearful. Their lips were fused shut. By failing to raise a dissent, they assented. Changed their choice. Self over savior. As the crowd maliciously yelled, “Crucify Him!”, their silence issued their consent. “Crucify Jesus.” 

One wonders what caused them to come to that place. Did fear steal their voices? Shock render them silent? Terror freeze them in their hiding spots? With the looming riot before them, were they simply choosing self-preservation? Were they concerned for their lives and families and livelihoods? Had they been threatened with excommunication by the religious leaders who stirred up the crowd? Was the possibility of ridicule and persecution simply too much to bear? What, exactly, happened to make them switch their choice to earthly safety instead of eternal security? 

Yes. I know. This was all in God’s plan. Jesus was born to die for your sin and mine, so we wouldn’t have to. I couldn’t be more grateful. Truly. But that’s the easy answer to our questions. Jesus was supposed to die. It was God’s plan. Nothing could stop it. Nothing would stop it. But. I still want to know why no one came and stood up, spoke up on His behalf. Not one person. Not a disciple. Not a follower. Not someone who had been healed. Not a man who had been fed. Not a woman who had been forgiven her adulterous ways. Not one person had the nerve, the gumption, the grit to step out of their comfort zone and selflessly take a stand for Jesus. Even His own disciples fled. The moment that armed mob hauled Jesus away, they went into hiding. Except Peter. (Matthew 26:56; Isaiah 53:5; I Corinthians 15:3; John 3:16)

Following at a distance so as to remain undetected, Peter made his way to the courtyard of the high priest. He wanted to know the outcome. He wanted to see if Jesus would extricate Himself as He had before. What he didn’t want was to be detected. Peter had no intention of going before the Sanhedrin to testify on Jesus’ behalf. He had no inclination of indicating his association with Jesus. But he didn’t have to say the words. People recognized him. His face. His accent. They said so. He denied it. Vehemently. Not once. Not twice. Three times. Just like Jesus said would happen. When faced with the opportunity to choose between self and the Savior, Peter chose himself. How often do you do the same? (Matthew 26:69-75)  

The last time you were faced with the choice to stand up for Jesus, did you do it? With words? With actions? When it was hard? When no one else agreed with you? When you risked friendships or relationships to do so? Did you choose to stand on the sound teachings of the Book rather than be drawn aside by “empty talk and deception”? Did you choose God’s Word over the opinions and ideas of people? Did you find your soul craved the Savior more than the sin and selfishness of the world? In the heat of the moment, when answers were required, did your soul shake and sway toward the earthly safety of your sinful self or did you stalwartly stand in the eternal security of the Savior? (Titus 1:10-11; 2:1, 7-8, 11-14)

As you contemplate the events leading up to the crucifixion, I hope you spend extra time considering the choices made by the people present in those moments. Those who loved Jesus. Those who didn’t. Those who ran. Those who stayed. Those who spoke. Those who remained silent. I hope you realize you are faced with the same choices today. Will you stand up and identify with Jesus in a world that stands against Him? Will you sacrifice popularity for His presence? Do you believe Him worth risking your reputation and relationships, friendships and future? Are you ready to choose today between the same things the people of Jesus’ day had to choose? Sin and self or the Savior. Admittedly, there are pros and cons to each choice. One will make you popular on earth, the other will make you present in Heaven. So weigh your options. Carefully count the cost. Ask yourself if you are willing to trade earthly pros for eternal cons. Then choose. Now. Today. What will it be? Sin? Self? Or the Savior? (I Corinthians 16:13; Luke 14:25-33; Job 34:4; Joshua 24:15; Mark 10:17-22)

Furtively sneaking up to the side of the house, they cautiously peered through the windows. The sight was disgusting. Abhorrent. Offensive. Apparently, every rascal and ragamuffin in the area had received an invitation to dinner at Matthew’s house. Of course they had all accepted. Being a tax collector and social outcast didn’t preclude the man from having money. Those scruffy dregs of society probably hadn’t eaten like this in ages. The table overflowed. Their plates were heaped high. The conversation was animated. And, seated right in the middle of all the organized chaos, comfortably taking part both in the talking and feasting, sat Jesus. It was an utter disgrace. (John 2:13-15)

Not that they expected anything else. Quite the opposite. This rather proved their opinions of Him true. No matter the number of miracles He performed. Regardless of the excellent truths He taught. In spite of the fact He could quote the law better than they themselves did, the Pharisees were determined to find something by which to discredit Him. The scene inside the tax collector’s house would certainly do the trick. Those people were having the time of their lives. Prostitutes. Tax collectors. Unfaithful men. Dishonest women. Lawbreakers of every kind. Jesus was definitely a magnet for the dregs of humanity, the unclean, the socially unacceptable. People known for their poor choices and illegal acts. People who didn’t keep the letter of the law. People who wouldn’t know the truth if it walked up right beside them. People with whom Jesus should have no affiliation. If He was a real prophet. If He was the Son of God. If He really was their long-awaited Messiah. Of all their measurements that said He wasn’t, this one spoke the loudest. There He sat. Brushing elbows with the unholy. Listening. Smiling. Talking. Teaching. Acting like those people, those sinners, those social rejects, could become part of the kingdom of God.  

The very thought was preposterous! Those obviously lost souls hadn’t spent their entire lives memorizing the law and carefully keeping every word. They didn’t count their steps on the Sabbath. Fast with regularity. Pray publicly. Give noticeably. They hadn’t earned a designated seat in the synagogue by perfect attendance. No. They were unclean. In word. In deed. There were no redeemable qualities in them. Especially those useless scraps of humanity called tax collectors. Everyone hated them. They were wretched. Worthless. Unsalvageable. Cheats lining their pockets with money from inflated taxes. Yet, when Jesus could have surrounded Himself with perfect, upright, righteous men like the Pharisees, He chose instead to sit down to dinner with a bedraggled group of unrighteous ragamuffins. (Matthew 9:9-11; Mark 2:13-16)

It was not to be tolerated. And that was fine by them. Assuming one’s character is reflected in the company they keep, the Pharisees couldn’t stop the frisson of triumph that coursed through their souls. They had been right about Jesus all along! He wasn’t so great of a guy. How He managed to heal so many people and do so many miracles, they didn’t really know, but He clearly wasn’t their Messiah. He couldn’t be. Their Messiah wouldn’t spend so much time courting the scumballs and lowlifes of society. He wouldn’t be so busy healing their diseases and forgiving their sins. He wouldn’t be so careless about the rigidity of the law. His disciples would be fasting and praying and not picking grain on the Sabbath. And Jesus would be spending time with them, the righteous Pharisees, not with the miscreants now surrounding Him. (John 2:18,23-24)

It wouldn’t be the last time Jesus sat down to eat with tax collectors and sinners. The occurrence became common enough that the Pharisees and scribes complained about it. Even when it turned out in their favor. Like when Jesus met Zaccheus. Carefully hidden up in a tree, Jesus still saw him. Called to him. Specifically. Told him to come down. And invited Himself over to stay at Zaccheus’ house. There was a lot of complaining that day. By everyone. No one in the crowd following Jesus, hoping to get His attention, touch His garment, feel His hand, appreciated the fact Jesus gave time to Zaccheus. They were all affronted by His decision to go home with him. But they all benefitted. Zaccheus chose repentance and restitution. He did something unheard of. The tax collector gave money back. To the people. Yet it didn’t stop the question frustrating the minds of the Pharisees. Why did Jesus spend so much time eating and hanging out with people the religious leaders deemed unclean, socially unacceptable, worthless, when He could simply hang out with them? (Luke 15:1-10; Luke 19:1-10)

Knowing their thoughts, Jesus answered. More than once. He was busy being about the Father’s business. He was seeking His precious straying sheep. He was searching for His treasured lost coin. He was healing souls sick with sin. He had come to seek and save the lost and to give them abundant, magnificent life in Him. Jesus wasn’t looking just inside the synagogue. His efforts weren’t limited to those who meticulously obeyed the letter of the law. He wasn’t seeking only the properly pedigreed people from the right side of town. No. Jesus came for everyone. Physically sick. Spiritually dying. Those dead in trespasses and sin. The people whose list of sins was so great as to be insurmountable until Jesus came and erased the debt with all its obligations. The already righteous didn’t need a savior. Sinners did. That’s who Jesus came to seek and save. The lost. The sinners. The socially unacceptable. Those surely unsalvageable. People on the margins of society. People like me. People like you. (John 9:4; Mark 2:17; Colossians 2:13-15; Ephesians 2:1; Luke 15:11-24) 

No matter how good you are, how upstanding your character, or whether your house is in a gated community or a ghetto, there is a sinner in all of us. An addict. An adulterer. A liar. A thief. The list of sins standing against us should separate us from God eternally. Except Jesus. Jesus came that we might be saved from our sins and extricated from our mess. He walks right into where we are, the darkest alleys of our lives, and makes a table right there. He welcomes us to pull up a chair and have lunch with Him. Talk to Him. Listen to Him. Learn from Him. He offers us a feast of love and mercy and grace. And He gives us the opportunity to stay in that space. Live there. Continually partake of His offerings. All are welcome. No one is ever turned away. There’s always an open seat at the table of grace. (Romans 1:16; 3:22-24; 4:16; 5:18-19; 8:14; 10:9-13; John 3:16; 6:35; 7:37-38; Revelation 22:17; Isaiah 55:1)

The disciples found this true. Seated with Jesus at the frequently painted, often preached, very well-known meal dubbed, “The Last Supper,” the disciples gathered around Jesus. They were used to being there. Eating with Him. Talking to Him. Learning from Him. Maybe they had even gotten a little complacent about it. Maybe the shine of sitting with Jesus had worn off a little. But this final supper together wasn’t like the others. It was darker, more somber, the mood heavier. The words Jesus spoke held more gravity. Someone was going to betray Him. Someone was going to offer Him up to death and destruction. Someone who sat at His table. Someone who had consistently been offered His grace was going to sell Him out. Someone else was going to verbally, vehemently deny knowing Him. In fact, at some point, all of them were going to abandon Him and run for their lives. The fact changed nothing. Jesus didn’t remove their seats at His table because He knew what was coming. No. The love kept streaming. The mercy kept flowing. The grace kept pouring out. They were all still welcome, no matter what their past, present, or future held. Why? Because all are welcome at God’s table of grace. (Mark 14:-20; 27-31; Matthew 26:31,56) 

You are too. No matter what your past says about you. Where you’ve been. What you’ve done. No matter the ugliness of your present. Where you are. What holds you captive. No matter how bleak your future looks. Where you are headed. How limited your options appear. There is a seat with your name on it at God’s overflowing table of grace. There’s room for you there. When no one else wants anything to do with you, Jesus does. When everyone else thinks you are too far gone, Jesus doesn’t. When few can see your potential through the filth of your failures, Jesus pulls out your chair and welcomes you to His table. The main course is grace. It’s plentiful. Overflowing, in fact. The sides are unending mercy and unfailing love. For you. Regardless of all the reasons you aren’t fit for His kingdom, you are still welcome to come. Always. Take a seat at the table. And let His grace cover your sins. Now. Today. Just as you are. From near. From far away. From a place you think grace doesn’t reach. From a space you believe grace can’t flow. From the prison of sin that tells you grace can’t extricate you. Come anyway. Because it can. It does. It will. The grace of Jesus Christ extends beyond the extraordinarily far-reaching fingers of your sin and degradation. You have only to come to the table. Sit in the seat inscribed with your name. A space saved just for you. Your own personal place at the table of grace. (Ephesians 1:7; 2:4-5, 8, 17; 4:7; Romans 3:20-24; 5:1-2, 8; 9:16; Titus 2:11; 3:4-7; John 1:16-17)