Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

My heart sank as the page turned, revealing I’d reached the end of the book. I hate that. Reading a favorite tome only to reach the end before I am prepared to finish is decidedly unpleasant. I would love to read more. Have more. More inspirations. More insights. More promises. More prayers. Several more chapters could have been added before my insatiable desire for his words was quenched. But it is finished. The final chapter of Isaiah is now behind me. Not for the first time. I’ve read it more often than I can remember. I will read it again. Although I find it impossible to choose a favorite book of the Bible, the 66 chapters of Isaiah easily make the shortlist. Every chapter. Every year. 

That’s how frequently I read the book in its entirety. Yearly. Between readings, I often turn back to those pages and peruse my notes, seek specific passages, find comfort, courage, guidance, hope. I’ve found all those things there. Tucked between destructive pronouncements and prophesied judgments on those who choose not to follow Him, are the words of God to the people of God. Words that tell us who He is, express His character, and reveal His heart. Indicative words of who His people are, how they should live, and the reward for following His ways. Words that call us to turn back from the world, from ourselves, from wickedness, and come back to the God who is full of grace and mercy and forgiveness. No matter who we are, where we have been, or what we have done. Words that call us to service in a world that is rapidly slipping away. Words like those of Isaiah 6. (Isaiah 2:5; 5:16; 12:1-6; 14:27; 30:15; 33:22; 40:10-31; 49:23; 56:1-2; 58:1-2, 13-14; 66:1-2)

High on my list of chapters to read over and over again is Isaiah 6. Somehow, I identify with that chapter. Amazed and awed to be standing in the presence of Almighty God, my heart resounds in echoes of agreement with the prophet’s words. Overwhelmed by the awesomeness of God’s holiness, I, too, am acutely aware of my uncleanness and unworthiness to stand in His presence. As Isaiah humbly and honestly admits who he is, what he is, and where he is from, as he offers himself as a living sacrifice to the service of God, my head nods in agreement. My voice echoes his words. I am right there with him. Completely overwhelmed by the holiness of God, desperately aware of my inadequacies and insufficiencies, I find myself bowed beside Isaiah, crying out words that echo his. Unclean. Unworthy. Unacceptable.   

Standing in the nearly tangible presence of the perfect, holy God, I admit who I am, what I am. Because I know. Better than anyone, I know myself. And I know, just as Isaiah knew, that I am ineligible to stand there. I am not righteous. I have done nothing reputable. I do not come with glittering recommendations. All I have are filthy rags. The accolades, awards, and accomplishments of earth mean nothing when viewed under the light of God’s impeccable holiness. Yet, into that moment of absolute transparency, when it is glaringly apparent that I deserve nothing, God gives me everything. Just as He did Isaiah. Into my uncleanness, God brings cleansing, purging atonement. And He doesn’t stop there. God is still speaking. He has a mission. One that hasn’t changed since the call of Isaiah. It’s not different than the call of Jeremiah. It’s identical to the call of the New Testament twelve. It is the call of God to all people who truly know Him. “Who is going to do My work, speak My words when they are unpopular, undesirable, unwelcome? Who on earth will direct My people back to heaven?” (Isaiah 6; Jeremiah 1:1-10, 17-19; Matthew 4:19; 9:37; 28:19-20; Acts 1:8)

 In the Biblical account, there is no space recorded between God’s question and Isaiah’s answer. No matter the heaviness that came with the request, he immediately accepted the challenge. One wonders if, as God laid out His plan for Isaiah, the niggling voice in the back of his head went into full gear, setting loose a volley of questions about what he’d just signed up to do. I wonder if he thought of reneging. Just for a moment. Maybe when he asked, “How long am I doing this, Lord?” How long was he going to keep talking to people who wouldn’t listen? How long was he going to extend himself, make unpleasant prophecies and undesirable pronouncements? How long would he be an enemy to the people around him? How long would the people hear his words yet ignore their truth? How long did he have to make a difference before God’s punishment fell like rain? 

As it turns out, Isaiah had a long time to speak God’s words to God’s people. Carefully woven between prophesies of destruction, are words calling people to repentance. Isaiah was all about it. Bringing people back to God was his main priority. It was his purpose. He wasn’t just there to pronounce judgment on Assyria and punishment on Babylon. He wasn’t there only to speak out against Philistia and Moab. No. Isaiah’s mission was much more important. He was there to speak words of rebuke and calls for repentance to the rebellious, recalcitrant people God loved. He was sent to offer restoration, demonstrate renewal, and start a revival among the people of God. Unfortunately, his words fell on purposely obtuse ears. (Isaiah 5:8-30; 10:12-19; 14:3-15:9; 40; 43:1-25; 55:1-7)

Nearly sixty chapters after Isaiah’s encounter with the seraphim and capitulation to the call of God, he pens the words of a desperate prayer. There’s so much sin and straying around him. The people continually waver in their dedication to God. Sometimes they follow. Often they stray. They love idolatry. Love themselves. Love the trinkets of the world. They have made God angry with their bent toward wickedness. Knowing everything they know about God and His mercy, they still stray. As if they have all the time in the world. As if God will simply overlook their evil ways. As if there are no consequences for wickedness. In desperate desire to see God work and move and change the people, the urgent words of a prayer flow from the depths of the prophet’s aching heart to land on the parchment. “God, tear away everything that stands between us and you. Saturate our space with your presence. Fill it with your glory. Do a work so mighty everyone will know Your name. We know we don’t deserve it. We know we could never earn it. We acknowledge that we have sinned and strayed and stubbornly followed our own ways to our own detriment. But. You are our Father. You love us no matter what. Your desire is for us. You long to dwell among us. So tear back the heavens and come do your work on earth. Among us. Restore us. Renew us. Revive us again.” (Isaiah 63:15-19; 64:1-9; 66:18)

Looking at our society, our country, our world, I find myself in the same space as Isaiah. Frustrated with the flourishing spiritual apathy. Concerned over the complacency of the church. Exhausted by the constant battle of good versus evil. I deeply feel the words of his prayer. I know them. I’ve prayed them. Desperate wishes. Urgent longings. Hope consistently triumphing over experience to believe the people so egregiously steeped in resistance and rebellion may still turn back to God. And I find myself, in a tone likely far less acceptable than Isaiah’s, crying his words out to God. “Do something. Now. Make your presence known. Among us. Even if I am the only one asking. Even if no one else is interested. Do it anyway. Rip away the heavens if necessary. Come down here. Tear away the sky and send your spirit among us. Shred the things that stand between us and you. Leave no barriers intact. Wash our hearts. Cleanse our minds. Purge our lips. Do what it takes to fill every inch of our space with your presence. Renew our hearts. Restore our dedication. Revive us again. Start here. In me.” 

It has to start there. In you. In me. Personally. As lawless and sinful as our world is, if we are to pray down revival on our nation, our communities, our churches, we must first pray it down on ourselves. We must stand open before the Lord, allow Him to tear away the dead and dying branches of our lives, let Him edit our thoughts and words and desires, give Him carte blanche to do in us what needs to be done so that we can be filled with His presence. We must let go of our complacency. We must relinquish our selfishness. We must sacrifice our idols and favorite sins on the altar of God. We must submit to His cleansing so we might be renewed, restored, and revived to become the fire of God spreading throughout our world. It is not enough to wish or even pray for revival. If we want to see societal healing, change, and revival, we must first bare our souls to the personal cleansing, purging work of the Holy Spirit. (John 15:1-2; James 4:8; Psalm 80:19; 85:6; II Chronicles 7:14; II Corinthians 7:1)

In a moment of absolute honesty, we would be forced to admit the outlook isn’t great right now. Tragedy surrounds us. Uncertainty pervades the atmosphere. Unease fills us with anxiety and fear. Surprisingly enough, none of these things turns our selfish, arrogant, rebellious society back to God. Mired in our idols and tied to our idolatry, we continue to trudge on, ignorantly believing we can set things right on our own. We can’t. We have an enormous problem. Lots of them. We can’t fix them on our own no matter how hard we try or how great our ideas seem. We are lost on our own. But. We do have an omnipotent Father. He is poised and waiting. His ears are tuned to hear our cries. He is waiting for an invitation. He is hoping to hear our cry, “Lord, tear away the things that stand between us and You. Come. Cleanse our iniquity. Purge our sin. Renew our hearts. Restore our souls. Revive us again.” (Psalm 50:15; Jeremiah 33:3; Isaiah 58:9-11; 59:12-15; Romans 10:13) 

He will. When God’s people fall to their knees and cry out to Him, He will answer. At the very invitation to permeate our hearts with His presence, He will come. As we submit and surrender to His pruning, His nudging, His care, He will restore us to new life. He will revive us again. That’s how revival starts. By God’s people falling to their knees and crying, “Do whatever it takes. Tear away anything that is standing in the way. Fill our lives, our homes, our churches, our communities with your presence. Even if it hurts. Even if it is uncomfortable. Even if we contemplate quitting halfway through the process. Don’t stop. Keep working. Give us your spirit. Purge our dross. Dwell among us. Renew our devotion. Restore our faithfulness. Revive our complacent hearts.” God will respond. If only we cry out to Him. 

So pray the words. Not for your pastor, your spouse, your neighbor, your friend. Pray them for yourself. Ask God to change you. Your heart. Your mind. Your outlook. Ask Him to revive the dying parts of your soul. Prune away the unnecessary baggage. Remove the things that sap your spiritual strength and drain your spiritual energy. Beg Him to restore you to Himself. Pray to be renewed in your mind. Pray for holiness to be reinstated in your life. Ask God to tear away the things that have created a space between you and Him and to fill that space with His presence. Allow Him to change you. Saturate every part of your being. Flow into, through, and out of you. Revival is possible. In you. Through you. If only we pray. (Habakkuk 3:2; Acts 3:19-21; Hosea 6:1-6; Psalm 51:10-13;139:23-24; Lamentations 5:21; Isaiah 57:14-19)

Stretching his back the best he could, the faithful servant wished again for a more comfortable way to travel. He’d been on this camel far too long. Weeks too long. It had been a lengthy journey. A quiet ride. The men with him weren’t given to chatter. His thoughts weren’t given to silence. Like shooting stars, they exploded across his mind, voicing concerns, raising doubts, asking questions. He didn’t have answers. Not really. Nothing that would permanently quiet the storm of thoughts in his head. His mission was slightly terrifying. So many things could go wrong. What if he didn’t find a suitable woman? What if she declined? What if her family wouldn’t let her leave? What if he had to return to Abraham empty-handed?

He couldn’t let that happen. Wouldn’t let it happen. He’d interview every eligible female in Abraham’s hometown before he’d concede. Failure was not a viable option. He must secure a wife for Isaac. The promise he’d made to Abraham echoed in his mind, weighed heavily on his heart. The questions he’d posed chased one another through his thoughts. What should he do if the woman was unwilling to make the daunting journey to marry a man she’d never met and live among people she didn’t know? It would be unsurprising to garner negative responses, receive pushback from family. Every father of the bride wants to meet the groom. Preferably before the wedding. But Abraham had been adamant. In full faith, the girl must come to Isaac. Isaac must never go to the girl. Ever. He should never return to the land of their ancestors. He needed to stay put. Right there. In the land God had given them.    

By the time the buildings of Abraham’s hometown began to appear on the horizon, the servant had been in his thoughts for far too long. Every question or problem with any potential to arise had been thoroughly cogitated. He’d finally settled on a game plan. One he’d learned by watching Abraham as they journeyed from place to place following the sometimes nearly indistinguishable hand of God. He would pray. Before doing anything else in the city. Before arranging accommodations. Before commencing a candidate search. Before casting a call for the most beautiful girl, most talented cook, most cordial hostess. Upon arriving in town, he’d park his band of camels and all his goods near the well where all the young women would come to draw water. But before they got there, before one beautiful face had the potential to sway his choice, the servant would pray.

This prayer would be unlike any prayer he’d ever prayed before. Probably distinctly different than any he’d pray in the future. He didn’t have the words all planned out yet. Some of them might not even need spoken to an omniscient God. He’d say them anyway. Tell God where he was and what he was up to. Tell Him on whose behalf he was doing this task. Then he’d utter his request. Ask for his miracle. Because it would be a miracle if this worked. He would ask God to let the one girl who should be Isaac’s wife give him a drink from her water jug and offer to water his camels as well. It would be an enormous undertaking. 

Camels like water. A lot. They literally soak it in. A quick internet search will tell you that camels can drink multiple gallons of water at a time. Double-digit amounts. And there were ten camels. Based on even the most conservative estimates I found, the girl would have to haul somewhere around 200 gallons of water for the camels alone. Any idea how much a gallon of water weighs? I do. Now and then I believe myself amazing enough to haul two-gallon jugs with one hand. I quickly learn I’m crazy. My arm tightens. My shoulder pulls. My hand hates me. Immediately. Maybe I’m just an out-of-shape wimp. Regardless, it stands to reason that hauling 200 gallons of water would be exhausting. And she wouldn’t be done. That sweet girl would still have to draw and carry the water she initially came to retrieve for her household. She was going to be there a while. The servant was going to have plenty of time to observe her mannerisms. How she interacted with the other girls at the well. How she treated his camels. How she handled herself around his traveling companions. It was a test he prayed someone would pass. 

As evening approached, the servant positioned himself and his camels around the well. Dropping to his knees, he prayed. A prayer of faith and hope. A prayer only God could answer for a miracle only God could give. A prayer that was rather quickly interrupted by the approach of a lovely young woman with a jug on her shoulder. Watching as she walked past and filled her jug, the servant waited until she was headed back toward him, then approached and asked for a drink from her water jug. I know. Creepy. Some random guy lurking by the well watching the girls fetch water. In our world it would have smacked of ill-intentioned attention. We’d tell our girls to run the other way. Scream. Use their cell phone to call the police. Apparently, that’s not how they did things back then. At least Rebekah didn’t. Disregarding any concerning vibes exuding from the somewhat sketchy situation, she stopped. Whipping the jug off her shoulder, she offered him a drink. While he was slaking his thirst from her freshly filled pot, she innocently bubbled out an offer to water his camels, too! All ten of them.

The servant must have nearly choked as he tried to swallow his shock and his drink at the same time. It had to be one of the quickest answers to prayer he’d ever seen. Literally. He hadn’t even said, “Amen!” This was the first girl that came along. Yet here he was with the exact miracle for which he’d asked. Staring at the wisp of a girl in front of him, he realized the enormity of the task he’d asked God to make her undertake. But couldn’t refuse. It was exactly what he’d prayed for. It wasn’t a minimal task. The girl would definitely be late getting home with her water jug. But it gave him time to watch, to listen, to wrap his head around the fact that the God of Abraham had brought him success so quickly upon his arrival. Gave him a moment to pause and be grateful that before he did anything else, he prayed. (Genesis 24)

With little effort, most of us could find a dozen things to unpack in this account. Abraham’s faith. The servant’s faith. Rebekah’s faith. But the outcome of the adventure really hinges on this one thing. The servant prayed. First. Before anything else. Before finding a comfortable place to rest. Before announcing his arrival. Before introducing himself to the community. Before heralding his mission. Before searching out Abrahams’ relatives. Before letting everyone know about his situation, his need. Before voicing his concerns to all who would listen. Before conducting his business in any normal human way or using age-old strategies. Before doing anything, he asked God to do everything. The servant prayed. 

Those are life goals right there, friend. Seriously. We aren’t good at that. Praying first. Trusting God to handle things we can’t. We are much better at talking. Railing, really. Going on and on to everyone who will listen about our alleged grievance, issue, insult, or problem. By the time we wind down and remember to pray about it, our minds are buzzing with so much bad advice and so many ill-conceived notions we can’t even hear the voice of God telling us which path to take. We have no idea what to do or how to do it. We are frustrated and confused and a little angry. Maybe a lot angry. And you know what? That’s exactly where the evil one wants you to be. 

He’s counting on you being there. Humans are predictably similar. We all struggle with the same basic things. Talking too much is absolutely one of them. Praying too little is another. The evil one knows that. He also knows that if he can get in on the ground floor when you haven’t yet prayed, your mind is swirling with the problem, your fingers are texting and you’ve called your best friend to vent, he can screw things up royally. And, wow, is he happy! That’s right up his alley. Screwing things up. One well-placed thought followed by a carefully worded question will fly across your mind and you’ll be in your feelings for hours. Days if he can make it happen. But you can cut him off at the pass, stop his fun before it begins, if you simply do what the faithful servant of Abraham did. Pray. (Proverbs 10:19; I Peter 5:8; John 10:10; Ephesians 6:10-18)

Pray first. Every day. In every situation. Talk, or don’t, later. Before you waste a hundred hours hashing it out in your head. Before you ring your best friend. Before you fire off a questionable text. Before you do anything at all. Pray. Pray before the evil one has time to set up camp in your head. Pray before he can plant seeds of anger and bitterness in your heart. Pray before you cast aspersions and blame and spread rumors you have no business spreading about things of which you have no real knowledge or understanding. Pray for the same things in you that the servant had in him. Pray to suppress the need to speak when you should be silent. Pray to guard against the raging, ridiculous thoughts that draw you aside. Pray that your actions exhibit your dedication to God and your willingness to let Him work in the way He wants. Don’t manipulate the situation. Don’t play games with people. Don’t make a scene. Just pray. First. And let God answer. (Proverbs 10:14; 21:23; II Corinthians 10:5; Ephesians 4:29-32; 5:1-2; I John 2:6; Leviticus 25:17)

In a world of impatient waiting and rushed responses where little time is given to thoughtful answers or the wisdom of contemplation, it has never been more important to pray first. Start your day that way. Every day. End your day that way. Fall asleep quietly, calmly bringing your concerns, petitions, problems to God. Before you do anything else with those things. Before you talk to anyone else about those things. Pray. Before you make that decision. Before you say those words. Before you take that action. Pray. First. Not just when things are overwhelming or scary or feel impossible. Pray when things are annoying, irritating, infuriating. Pray when your knee-jerk reaction is to do something else. Pray before your mouth shoots off, your brain misfires, your soul gets led astray. Pray. Always. About everything. Pray to be like Jesus. Pray to be inhabited by Him. Pray that only His thoughts will be in your head. Pray that only His words will be on your lips. Pray that His actions would flow through and out of you. Before you do anything else. Pray. (I Thessalonians 5:17; Colossians 4:2; Matthew 26:41; Ephesians 6:18; Philippians 4:6; Luke 18:1; Psalm 19:14)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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