Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

It was meant to be an unforgettable birthday party. We had spent weeks planning. Combing the internet for ideas. Selecting activities. Choosing menu options. Narrowing down the guest list. We’d been meticulous. The children would move from painting pumpkins to playing pumpkin bowling and finally taking turns pummeling a pumpkin shaped pinata. There would be cake, candles and singing. And, most enticing of all to a mom trying to keep her house from destruction, it could all be done outdoors! Except it couldn’t.

As I was happily visiting the local farmer’s market, buying dozens of pumpkins in various sizes, baking a cake and enlisting my neighbor’s help in making Pozole, a hurricane was just as busily churning up the coast. It wasn’t a surprise. We knew it was coming. The weather forecasters had been keeping us informed since the storm was first spotted far out in the ocean. We’d been keeping a frustrated eye on the reports, hoping, praying, the bands of rain and gusts of wind that came our way would hold off long enough to keep our party in motion. 

Sadly, the party date dawned sans sunshine. Instead, rain was falling. The wind was picking up. The long-awaited, carefully planned festivities had to be moved indoors. The pinata was hung from the garage ceiling. Pumpkin bowling was set up below it. A table for pumpkin painting and drying was erected beside the dining table. Decorations were hung. The cake was prepared. All was in readiness. 

The guests came. At least some of them. Others canceled as their parents were hesitant to venture out in inclement weather. We partied anyway. Pumpkins were painted and bowled. Cake was eaten. The children had a fabulous time. Even when it began to rain in earnest. Even when the wind became ferocious. Even when the power went out about forty-five minutes before parents were supposed to reclaim their children. As the weather worsened, as trees fell and flooding caused road closures, I anxiously wondered if I’d have to hold an impromptu sleepover for stranded children. I didn’t. Thank God! All the parents made it back. Even the ones whose 30-minute drive home ended up taking two hours. When everyone was gone, the party evidence cleared, the car safely back in the shelter of my garage, we sat in complete safety and read Bible stories by candlelight. As the wind howled and the rain pounded, I found myself incredibly grateful that our house sat on the top of a rise, that the builders had religiously followed every code and requirement, that we didn’t have anything loose lying about the yard or porches to blow over and crash into windows or cars. We were safe because the builders responsibly erected our home on a firm foundation, following every rule and regulation available. 

We spent about 12 hours without power. Others were not so fortunate. Our property suffered little to no damage. Others were far less fortunate. In the following days, as we ventured out to run errands and go to church, we would see that even those outer bands of hurricane force rain and wind could be devastating. Downed trees littered our development. Flooding persisted. Passing a favorite park we frequented, the truth of the power behind the storm was brought sharply into focus. Where just days before a walking path cut through grass and standing trees, huge rocks, limbs and debris now sat. The path was no longer visible. It would be nearly two years before they could rectify the damage and reinstitute the path around the lake. After ten years of living in the south, we’ve weathered many storms with high winds, driving rain, and pounding hail. In every storm, I am eternally grateful that the builder of our home read every rule and regulation and responsibly followed every guideline and code. The ramifications of failure to do so could have been fatal. 

It’s a similar lesson Jesus was trying to teach in His Sermon on the Mount parable regarding houses and storms. In His parable, two men built houses. They were lovely to look at on sunny days when the breeze was light, the sky was clear, and the water remained confined within the banks of the lake. To the untrained eye, they appeared sturdy and safe. The construction seemed similar. Four walls. A few windows. A proper roof. It was what one couldn’t see that made the ultimate difference. 

Although the visible houses looked substantial enough to keep one safe in a storm, things fell apart underneath. Below the surface, where no one could see, the houses had two different foundations. One builder had taken a shortcut. A massive shortcut. He’d skipped the foundation. Entirely. No concrete slab. No framed basement. No fastening to a rock formation. He simply built his house directly on top of the sand. 

There’s no explanation for why one would do this. We can only guess. Perhaps he hadn’t read the carpentry scrolls. Maybe he’d only glanced over the building guidelines. Perhaps he was in a hurry to house his family. Maybe he was just lazy. His logic doesn’t really matter. He made a fatal error. His house wasn’t safe. It had nothing to secure its walls. Nothing to prevent its collapse should a stiff breeze or flash flood come along. Nothing to recommend his building skills. His house had no substance because he’d skipped the instructions. Refused the regulations. Opted out of the safety code requirements. When the storm arose and his house collapsed around him, he had no one to blame but himself. Why? Because he was responsible for everything he’d read, learned, and been told, but refused to do. He wasn’t ignorant of what needed to be done. He simply chose not to do it. 

Not so the other man. He wasn’t interested in a pretty, yet precarious, facade. He didn’t want a building that would fall at the first sign of inclement weather. He wasn’t interested in seeing his efforts collapse with the first puff of wind. He had no intention of watching his walls float away with the spring rains. He was absolutely going to follow every rule, regulation and guideline because he wanted the finished product to stand regardless of how strong the winds, how hard the rain, how fast the floods. He wanted to know his house was safe. 

Working fastidiously, he willingly undertook the backbreaking work of digging down through sand and clay until he reached solid rock. Using that rock as a foundation, he painstakingly affixed his walls to its immovable bulk. As the house took shape, walls went up, windows were placed, doors were cut, he referred back to the building guidelines frequently. He had to if he wanted his house to stand. He had to explicitly follow the regulations and guidelines if he wanted his house to last longer than the next storm. It would be ridiculous not to follow them. They were right in front of him. Easily accessed. Helpfully clear. Obviously important. A guidebook for which there was no substitute. (Matthew 7:24-27; Luke 6:47-49)

Isn’t it interesting how Jesus speaks to people right where they are in words they have no problem understanding? Isn’t it amazing that his parables and lessons are timeless? They are just as applicable in the 21st century as they were in the 1st century. God did not hand down some obscure dispensation understandable only by learned theologians, preachers, priests and Bible teachers. He didn’t give us a list of guidelines that would make us scratch our heads and wonder what He was talking about. No. God gave us a clear Book of regulations and rules that would be discernible to every person who took the time to read them. God gave us the Bible, the guidebook for earthly living and eternal joy. There is no substitute. (Psalm 119:130)

It often seems we have forgotten that fact, so read it again. There is no substitute for personal Bible reading and communion with God. You need to read His words. You need to apply them to your own life. You need to quiet your soul and allow Him to speak to you through the same words He spoke to people centuries ago. His message hasn’t changed. His lessons haven’t deviated. His guidelines haven’t wavered. His parameters haven’t moved. You need to read them. You need to follow them. The strength of your soul depends on them, and you are responsible for every one. (Isaiah 40:8; Numbers 23:19; Psalm 119:89; Romans 2:13)

Sitting in a church I recently visited, the pastor spoke of the “intentionally ignorant”. The people in the Bible who were present when Jesus walked the earth. Those who could clearly see He was more than just a prophet. Those who watched His miracles, listened to His teachings, yet still chose not to follow. Maybe they had excuses. Maybe they feigned confusion. Certainly they chose ignorance. But they were still responsible. For every word they heard, every miracle they witnessed, every sign they saw proving He was Christ. And they were responsible for what they did, or didn’t do, with that information. (John 5:39-40)

So are you. You are responsible for every command, regulation and guideline in that dust-coated Bible on your shelf. You have God’s word. You have His teachings. You can know His requirements. Simply by reading that Book. Your choice not to do so is no excuse. God wants to talk to you. Personally. He wants to give direction and guidance perfectly crafted to your specific needs. He wants to make your heart a spiritual fortress. He wants your life to be firmly, immovably rooted and grounded in Him. He wants you to read the guidebook. More importantly, He wants you to live by it. (Matthew 7:24; Luke 11:28; John 13:17; I Corinthians 3:10-11)

In a world overwhelmed by overbusy schedules and constant multitasking, God wants you to sit down and read His Word. Carefully. Thoughtfully. Prayerfully. He’s asking you to do more than quickly read a Bible story or scan a Psalm so you can tick the box of daily devotions. He’s calling you to lean in. To Him. To His Word. To His ways. He is urging you to read responsibly, because you are accountable for every word in that Book. Not just the pretty parts. Not just the comfortable parts. Not just the easy parts. You are responsible for every God-breathed lesson between its covers. So read the Book. Read. Your. Bible. Don’t substitute personal reading for professional podcasts, radio programming, or television preachers, no matter how good they may be. Read the Book. Yourself. Take time to listen to the words of God as He speaks to you personally through His recorded Word. Because the strength of your soul in the storms of life depends on it, read the Book. Responsibly. (Hebrews 2:1; Proverbs 12:7; Joshua 1:8; Romans 15:4; James 1:22; Acts 17:11; Colossians 3:16; Psalm 119:11)

His wife was missing. Given her personal history, it shouldn’t have been such a shock. It was. He hadn’t seen it coming, hadn’t even suspected anything. A handful of years and three children later, Hosea assumed his wife of ill repute had left her previous lifestyle completely behind. Settled in. Felt content. He was wrong. The woman God had told him to pursue and marry had run off to pursue her own desires. The mother of the children God had meticulously planned and named had abandoned her young to seek her own excitement. The person to whom Hosea had vowed lifelong faithfulness had chosen to be unfaithful herself. She’d run away. More accurately, she’d been lured away. By other men. By grander offerings. By the lusts of her own heart. The reason didn’t matter. Facts were facts. And the fact was, Gomer was gone. 

Everyone would say he should have expected as much. It wasn’t as if their’s had been some star-crossed lovers’ match. Marrying her hadn’t even been his idea. It would never have occurred to him to walk down an alley, pick up a prostitute, and rush her to an all-night wedding chapel. So surprised was he when the command came, his poor brain surely had to engage in quite a few mental calisthenics before he could even force his feet to the door. In a move that cemented the quality of Hosea’s relationship with God, he went out and did exactly as he was told. Hosea married a prostitute. (Hosea 1)

His obedience was not without risk. The possibility that one man, a simple prophet, could hold the attention of a woman accustomed to the attentions of many men was nearly laughable. Yet it seemed to work. At least for a time. But Gomer still carried fond memories of her past in the recesses of her heart. She still longed for the freedom of her former lifestyle. She still relished the gifts of many suitors. She had never truly committed her heart to this relationship. And the thrill of the chase, the glitter of gifts, and the lust of her heart were singing a siren song she found impossible to ignore. Abandoning the stability and relationship Hosea offered, Gomer vanished to chase down the loves of her past. 

Hosea surely felt the blow of her rejection to the depths of his soul. How could he not? His act of abject obedience, his gallant rescue all thrown back in his face as though it was worthless. Although by now he thoroughly understood the correlation between his marital relationship and God’s relationship with His people, Hosea must certainly have found little comfort in God’s commiseration. The comparison of his dismally failed marriage to the abysmal deterioration of Israel’s godly devotion brought no healing to his scarred heart and wounded ego. Unlike the loving, forgiving God of Israel, Hosea wasn’t immediately inclined to find a way to woo Gomer back. He wasn’t even certain he wanted her back! Who would? She’d proven her taste lay outside the confines of their marriage. She’d publicly humiliated him by slinking back to her previous proclivities. Her actions highlighted her incredible dearth of desirable traits. What individual in full possession of their mental faculties, possessing even a modicum of self-respect, would purposely go and seek the one who had so violently betrayed their trust?! No one. No one would do that. No one but God. (Romans 5:8; I John 4:19; John 3:17-21; Luke 19:10)

God would do that. Only God in steadfast love and mercy would chase down those who rejected Him and offer them healing and hope and Heaven. It had been the reel historically playing over and over again before their eyes. While Israel chased after the lyrical flutes and lovely promises of false gods, the true God was still busy planning their reunion with Him. He didn’t leave them to their own devices. He didn’t write them off. He didn’t annihilate them all and raise up new, more devoted people for Himself. No. He. Chased. Them. Down. Lured them back with words of love. Spoke words of tenderness and kindness to their sullied souls. Betrothed them to Himself forever in righteousness, faithfulness, justice, and love. And He wanted Hosea to do the same. (Hosea 2:14-20)

Humanly inclined to do so or not, Hosea was divinely instructed to reclaim his wife. Literally. Go buy her back. However she looked. Wherever she’d been. Whatever the price. As his feet trudged the path of obedience, the constantly commenting voice in his head proclaimed the idiocy of his actions. She wasn’t worth it. Not his time. Not his money. Not his pride. Her betrayal cut deep, scarred badly, severing every thread of trust that bound their relationship. No matter how small the closing bid, it would still be more than he should pay to bring back a wayward wife with the capacity to stray again. She wasn’t worth the fifteen shekels of silver or the multiple bushels of barley. Yet still Hosea bid. Knowing all he did about Gomer, realizing her propensity for flight, wearing the still healing wounds of her previous defection, Hosea buys. Gomer. Back. Not to be kept under lock and key so as not to embarrass him further. Not as a nanny to her own children. Not as a household servant. No. Hosea reinstates her to the elevated position of his wife, but this time he sets parameters.

No longer will Hosea abide Gomer’s straying. She has to come home. Completely. Body and soul. She has to be his and his alone. No chasing other men. No welcoming outside advances. No haring off, pretending to belong to someone else. She must remain faithful to her husband alone. She must commit to building a stronger relationship. She must lean into emotional intimacy with him. She must press in to know Hosea and allow herself to be known by him. Hosea promises to do the same. (Hosea 3)

It seems like such a risky choice for him. Only for him. Gomer knows Hosea will be faithful. He always has been. It wasn’t Hosea who went off chasing other skirts down main streets and alleyways. He didn’t reject his wife or abandon his children. He was still the same stable, upright man who came seeking to rescue her from harlotry in the first place. He was still offering the same things he offered then. Home. Family. Stability. Relationship. Nothing changed in what Hosea offered Gomer. And nothing changes in what God offers us. No matter how far you’ve strayed, how lost you are, how irreversible the effects of your poor choices seem to be, God is still offering you what Hosea offered his runaway bride. Relationship. Because we are all Gomer. (Hosea 3)

Maybe you can’t readily see it. Perhaps you have difficulty placing yourself in Gomer’s sandals. Maybe you simply cannot believe you could possibly be as purposely obtuse, as openly deviant as the people of Israel depicted here. Perhaps you look at your life and see a litany of good things prominently displayed while the less-than-desirable traits that turn you back and draw you aside lay hidden in the dark recesses of your closeted heart. None of this changes the facts. You are Gomer, too. You have selfishly chosen your own way, your own desires, your own will over God’s. You have run from His voice, His chastening, His call. You have followed the alluring things of the world to the detriment of your soul. You have settled for a fleeting fancy over an eternal relationship. Just like the Israelites. Just like Gomer.

Years and babies, a faithful husband and a safe home weren’t enough to keep Gomer from racing back to her old life. Why? Because her heart wasn’t fully committed to Hosea. Lifetimes of watching God work on their behalf, of hearing His commands and seeing His blessings result were not enough to keep the Israelites from turning aside to other gods. Why? Because their hearts weren’t fully committed to God. Years of rigorously adhering to rules and commands and edicts won’t be enough to keep you faithful, either. Why? Because following a litany of rules and regulations does not create a committed, intimate relationship with God alone. Without that relationship, you’ll find yourself right back where you started. Or worse. You might find your soul on the auction block. 

We’ve all been there. Like the straying children of Israel depicted throughout the Old Testament, and exhibited in the account of Gomer, many of us have been rescued from the dregs of our own sin only to leave the safety of our relationship with God and run back into the same degradation. Eventually we find ourselves, bedraggled by the consequences of our own sinful choices, once again stepping up to the auction block. Painfully aware of our declining worth, we refuse to make eye contact with the bidders. Behind our back, our hands are clenched in white-knuckled anxiety that someone, anyone will want us, love us, find a place for us in their lives. Just as we begin to believe the only bidder is the evil one offering a pittance for our immortal soul, a voice resounds from the back of the room. Echoing through the rafters, it names an exorbitant price. A price to be paid in blood. 

In anticipation, our breath painfully caught in our chest, we wait to see if anyone cares to raise the bid. Silence reigns. Finally, the auctioneer raps his gavel and proclaims, “Sold.” Through the silent room, footsteps echo. And under our still downturned face a hand appears, palm upward. A ragged scar mars the center. The spot where blood flowed out and ran in rivulets down His wrists to drip from His elbows in atonement for our sins and indiscretions.  Blood for us. Blood to pay our ransom. Blood that rescued us from the awful merry-go-round of sin and shame. Blood that paid the ultimate price so we could live in personal, intimate relationship with Him. It’s not the only thing we notice there. Above the scar we see the proof. Immutable evidence that it was all for us. Confirmation that we belong to Him. Verification of our standing. For right above the scar, tattooed on His hand, we see our name. Your name. My name. The name of whosoever comes to Jesus Christ in faith, choosing eternal relationship with Him over trivial relations with the world. (John 20:24-29; Isaiah 49:16; John 14:6; John 6:37, 40) 

The Biblical account of Hosea and Gomer ends without telling us exactly what happened. My heart desperately hopes Gomer opted to grasp that second chance with both hands. I hope she buried her past and left it there. I hope their relationship grew and flourished to the point no one even remembered who she’d been or from what she’d come. Why? Because that’s the type of relationship God offers you. No matter where you’ve been, what you’ve done, how far you’ve gone astray, the nail-scarred hand of Jesus is offering you a fresh opportunity to have a personal, intimate, committed relationship with Him. I hope you take it. I hope you cherish it. And when doubts and fears and temptations threaten your soul, I hope you clasp His hand in yours, turn it upward and read your name. Indelibly etched on His palm. Just above the nail scar. (I Kings 8:61; II Timothy 1:12; Song of Solomon 2:10; Zephaniah 3:17)

Taking a page from Peter’s script, I’ve chosen this week to go fishing. I encourage you to do the same. Find time to spend in solitude with Christ alone. There is no better week to do so. As we remember and observe the events of Holy Week, may our hearts again be shattered by the love and grace that pours continually from Heaven to earth, rescuing us from the chains of sin and death. May we rest in the continual presence of our ever-living Savior. May we follow ever closer in His steps. May our redeemed hearts forever resound with the irrefutable truth, “Christ is risen, indeed!”

Uncertainty was making him antsy. Anxious. Agitated. He had stood up and sat down. Wandered to the window to peer between the latched shutters. Gotten a drink of water. Offered the guys with him a drink as well. He couldn’t seem to sit still. Recent events had clarified so many things, yet shrouded others in great mystery. Like the future. What did their future look like now? What were they supposed to do with themselves? Where should they go? Would it ever be safe to walk the streets again? They had been Jesus’ disciples. What were they now since He’d returned to Heaven? Who were they? Has-beens? Wanna-be’s? What were they supposed to do with the rest of their lives on earth? Embark on new careers? Return to old? And where, exactly, had Jesus been sending them when He first visited after His resurrection? Jerusalem? Judea? Samaria? (John 20:19-21)

Sighing heavily and shaking his head at the jumble of thoughts racing in circles around his brain, Peter made a decision. He wasn’t going to sit there cluelessly ruminating. He was going fishing. He’d been doing it as long as he could remember. Taught as a boy to cast his line and quietly, patiently wait for the tug of a fish, Peter had learned early on that there was peace and calm in those moments. Silence that allowed the contemplative sorting of substantive thoughts from chaffy mental ramblings. He desperately needed such time. Time to row his boat, drop his net, and peacefully, quietly listen. Time to allow the calming sound of lapping waves to silence the insanely swirling questions and help him listen for divine direction.

It comes as no surprise that Peter would choose the water as a place to be alone with God. He was accustomed to finding Him there. Peter had been in his boat when Jesus initially called him to leave everything and follow Him. It had been his very boat on the lake of Gennesaret into which Jesus had climbed and instructed them to go out from land and put down the net for a catch. Discouraged by a profitless night, Peter hadn’t believed Him. The fish weren’t moving. He already knew that. But it wasn’t worth the argument.  In spite of the disbelief pulsing through his veins, Peter and his men rowed the boat out into the lake and lowered their nets. Surreptitiously glancing at one another, they silently wondered how long the net would hang empty before Jesus allowed them to admit defeat and head back to shore. They would never find out. The net was already moving with snared fish. A flame of hope ignited in their exhausted hearts. The net tightened and multitudes of fish could be seen in the water around them. By the time it was over, the size of the catch threatened to sink their boat, forcing them to hail another for assistance. And Peter learned his first lesson about Jesus and fishing. When we are desperate, discouraged, disheartened, or distressed, Jesus comes to us, right where we are, steps into our boat and offers us the miracle of hope. (Luke 5:1-11)

Going forward, Peter should have simply expected Jesus to do the miraculous when water and boating and fishing were involved. Time and again Jesus would meet them in watery places meeting their needs and improving their faith. Navigating a ship across the sea with the rest of the disciples when a raging storm arose, Peter and his colleagues wondered how Jesus could sleep when the storm was so fierce it threatened to capsize their ship. As the waves rose higher and their boat rocked harder, panic and fear raced from one end of the ship to the other. The worst possible outcome was expected. Everything would be lost. Nets. Boat. Lives. Unless Jesus did something. And He did. In a glorious demonstration of His grand omnipotence, Jesus rose and rebuked the elements, calming them with His voice alone. Proving that when all human options are exhausted, when the scholars and theologians believe it implausible, when doctors deem it improbable, when the whole world screams it’s impossible, our great God is just fixing to get started.  (Matthew 8:23-27)

Following the death of John the Baptist, Jesus boated out to a desolate place to be alone, but the crowd hunted him down. His compassionate heart-wrenching at the sight of sick needing healed and hearts needing changed, Jesus came to them. He healed and preached until it was evening, but the crowd didn’t dissipate. Knowing there were limited restaurants on the way home, the disciples begged Jesus to send the people away. They weren’t expecting his answer. “You feed them.” Seriously?! With what? Two measly fish and five tiny bread rolls? Was He being facetious? Could He not see the crowd? 

Oh, He saw them, alright. Not only did He see them, He saw their need. And He met it. Right there. Right then. Jesus blessed the tiny snack of fish and bread, then handed it to the disciples and told them to start serving. As food coma settled in, the people lounged around, uninterested in leaving. But the disciples needed a break. Jesus needed a respite. Time to be alone. Time to pray. Time to reconnect with His power source in Heaven. Sending the disciples ahead across the sea, Jesus went into the mountains to pray. (Matthew 14:10-23) 

There is no record of Jesus establishing a rendezvous point for later in the day. They probably didn’t need one. The disciples were not unaccustomed to Jesus heading into the mountains or desert to pray. He always met back up with them. Odd then, isn’t it, that they were so ill-prepared for His arrival. Or maybe they were caught off guard by the method He chose to reach them. One would think they’d have been prepared for anything by this point. They’d seen so much. Things without explanation. Things that could only be described as miraculous. Surely by now they should have been waiting with bated breath to see how He’d arrive. Yet they were terrifically unprepared when Jesus came comfortably walking across the raging water. 

Intently focused on the oars and the increasing, wind-driven waves, the disciples had no time for sightseeing. For what must surely have felt like the millionth time, they were fighting a storm on the sea. The winds were fierce. The rowing was difficult. Progress was slow. They were tired. When the first man saw the ghost walking across the water, he must surely have thought his exhaustion was affecting his sight. Until he blinked and the alleged ghost remained. His cry of alarm alerted the others. Their fear was palpable. As Jesus continued toward the boat, they cried out in fear. Not wanting them to remain in their terrified state for a moment longer than necessary, Jesus called out. They didn’t need to be afraid. Not of the wind beating their sails. Not of the waves rocking their ship. Not of the vision crossing the waters. It was Jesus. He had come to them. Right where they were. And Peter’s impulsiveness dropped into hyper-drive. 

Boldly, in a move many find appalling, Peter asks for proof. “Prove it’s you, Jesus. Tell me to walk on water too.” If Peter thought Jesus would chuckle and tell Him to stay put, he was in for a grand surprise! He called him to come. If nerves hadn’t been quivering in Peter’s stomach before, they surely were now. Yet still he went. Cautiously slipping over the side of the boat, Peter gingerly touched the sole of his foot to the wildly rolling sea. And the shifting liquid beneath his feet stood firm. One step. Two steps. Three steps. It was going beautifully! Until a particularly strong gust of wind ruffled his hair, whipped his cloak and supercharged his fear. Looking down at the unstable water beneath his feet, unable to mentally work out exactly what was happening, doubt and fear clouded Peter’s mind and he began to sink. As the water rose over his ankles and continued up his calves, Peter cried out words similar to the ones the disciples cried the last time they’d been caught in a storm, “Lord, save me.” And He did. Immediately. Because when we are tossed about by storms, either of our own making or simply the inevitable ones life hands us, we can trust Jesus to immediately come to our rescue with hope and help and peace. (Matthew 14:24-32) 

While Peter and his friends sat fishing on the sea, pondering Jesus’ resurrection and the trajectory of their future, Jesus came. Again. They recognized Him this time. Seems they had learned the lesson. Into the quietness of solitude, when you can hear Him best, Jesus comes. It is then He speaks ministering words to our desperate souls. Words of comfort. Words of hope. Words of healing. Guiding words that abolish the confusion the evil one uses to draw us off course. Strengthening words that give us courage to face the journey ahead. Loving words reminding us that even when we can’t see His hand and don’t understand His plan, we can always trust His heart. Words that tell us He is working whether we understand it or not. Always. In everything. God is working. He has our best interest at heart. And He wants us to find rest in Him. (John 21:3-14; Romans 8:28, 31; Philippians 4:13; Proverbs 3:5-6; I Corinthians 14:33)

When the world gets too noisy, too pushy, too angry, too tempting, take a page out of Peter’s book, and go fishing. Find your place of solitude–your favorite armchair, a walk in the woods, the front porch swing. Or the grassy bank of a stream where your line dangles hopefully in the gurgling water below. Into the silence of your soul, Jesus will speak. He will revive and restore. He will give you rest. Jesus wants to meet with you. Isn’t it time you went fishing? (Matthew 11:28-30; I Peter 5:7; Jeremiah 31:5; Psalm 55:22; Psalm 23)

The ticking of Heaven’s clock had become nearly audible over the last few weeks. Not that the disciples had noticed. Whether purposely obtuse or accidentally imperceptive, not one of the men closest to Jesus realized their physical time together was drawing to a close. No one seemed to understand that the things He’d told them would occur were not some distant dream, but an imminently inevitable reality. It was all Jesus could think about. He was leaving. His men were staying. There was so much more to teach them, so much they needed to fully grasp. Their spiritual strength depended on complete comprehension of the principles He was teaching. Their souls would die without the knowledge. The aftereffects of His death and subsequent physical absence would unleash times on earth that could be titled nothing other than survival of the fittest. Preparation was imperative.

He’d spent every moment of their time together attempting to equip them for His departure. Time and again He’d drawn lessons and parallels from events around them. He’d told parables and preached sermons. He’d gently reprimanded and harshly rebuked. Yet still, their human minds were veiled. Peter still needed an explanation before allowing Jesus to wash his feet. Both Simon Peter and Thomas showed a distinct dearth of comprehension when it came to where Jesus was going, why He was going, or why they couldn’t travel with Him. And Philip was clearly clueless to the unbreakable bond between God the Father and Jesus the Son. Had He been anything like me, Jesus would have thrown His hands up in exasperation and determined the teaching impossible. On behalf of the disciples then and us now, thank goodness Jesus wasn’t patterning His life after me! Instead of throwing up His hands in despair, Jesus took a deep breath and tried a new track. Abide in Me. Rest in My love. (John 13:1–6, 36-38; 14:1-11; 15:4)

In a breathtaking depiction of the eternal love of our Vinedresser, Jesus invites His disciples to dwell in Him. Live there. Spend every day wrapped up in Him. Know Him intimately. Mimic His ways. Always. He offers permanent lodging for their weatherbeaten souls in the comfort of Himself. He knows they’ll die without Him. Literally. Their spiritual lives will droop and shrivel if they attempt to become their own independent branches. They need the pruning and feeding, the nurturing and watering that life in Christ affords. When the removal of dead branches and nutrient-siphoning offshoots became unpleasant or uncomfortable, the disciples needed to remember the Vinedresser’s work was never malicious or self-serving. No. It was done in perfect love. Love they could rest in. Love they could trust. Love that would endure the test of time. Love in which they could confidently abide. Forever. The same love the Father had for His Son. (John 15:1-6)

The very thought must surely have stolen the air from their lungs. So breathtakingly beautiful it is! The infinite, unfailing, unreserved, overflowing love of God for Jesus was now lavishly spread on humanity by Jesus Christ Himself. Love that sees us in our sin and degradation, yet loves us still. Achingly. Longingly. Love so deep, so wide, so grand it transcends our guilt and blame, our unbelief and rebellion. Love that never falters when we fail. Love that loves still, even when we are unlovable, unpresentable, unfathomably mired in doubt, defection,  and disgrace. Love that never fails. Not the disciples then. Not us now. Love so deep it changes our lives forever. Love so grand it turns our hearts to obedience, toward sharing the amazing love of God with the world. Jesus commanded them to live in that love. Daily. (Lamentations 3:21-23; Psalm 136; Psalm 6:4; Jeremiah 9:24; Joel 2:12-13)

In words that wash my soul in peace and calm every time I read them, Jesus leaves behind the instruction, “Abide in my love.” Live there. Rest in it. Don’t just dip your feet. Dive in and stay there. Bathe your soul in the fountain of loving acceptance and compassionate forgiveness. Soak it in. Absorb its truth. Let it take root in your soul. Embrace it. Accept it. Believe it. Jesus loves you. No matter what. When it looks impossible. When it seems improbable. When your stack of ugly adds up to absolute unacceptability, Jesus loves you with the same love His Father had for Him. Peter can vouch for it. When the situation grew tense and the climate hostile, he threw aside his promise to follow Jesus to death, vehemently denying he knew Him. Not once. Not twice. Three times. Yet Jesus loved Him still. Read Thomas’ story. Absent when Jesus originally appeared to His disciples after His resurrection, Thomas stubbornly refused to believe it had occurred. He demanded proof. Physical proof. Absolute proof. Stepping into Thomas’ cloud of stubborn unbelief, Jesus came. Held out His nail-scarred hands for inspection. Bared His spear-pierced side for Thomas’ touch. Why? Because Jesus loves people. And no matter how far you stray down the path of unbelief, no matter how many times you go off course, no matter what mess you find yourself needing rescued from, He will love you still. Know it. Believe it. Abide in it. Even when it doesn’t look the way you think it should. (John 15:9; 20:24-29; Luke 22:54-62; Romans 5:20-21; I John 4:16; Jeremiah 31:3)

Admittedly, we rarely picture love as pruning branches or deadheading plants, yet it is possibly the greatest love we can give. It is the removal of that which would cause destruction and death. True love corrects and chastens, prunes and plows in an effort to enable the loved one to flourish and grow. In the instance of our souls, the eradication of ungodly, unholy attitudes, actions, desires, and demands is the grand exhibition of an even grander love bestowed on us by our loving Heavenly Vinedresser. It is always in our best interest. It is always for our good. Even when we do not readily see it. Even when it is frustrating. Even when it puts our back up and raises our indignation. It is never angry punishment, but loving care. 

You see, my friend, God loves you too much to leave you a mess. He cares too much for you to negligently release your soul to tangled overgrowth with harmful weeds and sinful sprouts. You are far too important to abandon. God’s love for you compels Him to work tirelessly and clean endlessly because He cherishes you eternally. His plan is for you to live every day secure in the knowledge of His steadfast love, even when it demands the unpleasantness of chastening and pruning, and plowing. God wants you to rest in His love, trust His heart, and live like you’re abiding. (Hebrews 12:5-11; Hosea 10:12; Deuteronomy 8:5; Psalm 94:12; Proverbs 3:11-12; Revelation 3:19)

Recently, I listened to a woman explain how God asked her to do something she didn’t want to do. It was unpleasant. The ask seemed unrealistic. She couldn’t fathom what good could come of it. From her resting place in the center of God’s love, knowing He works only for our good, she gathered her courage and obeyed. The result of her continued obedience has had rippling effects. God has worked in and through her to turn a negative situation positive. Perhaps not perfect, but positive. Why? Because she was so busy abiding, trusting, resting in the love God has for her that when He adjusted her lean from far left to due north, she didn’t throw a tantrum, she simply chose to obey His leading. Even if it was unpleasant. Even when she had other ideas. Even when others thought she should choose a different track. Resting in God’s love caused her to react in such a way her life exhibited that she was living like she was abiding.

So how are you living? What do your words and actions say about where you are abiding? Do they reflect an unkempt garden overgrown with thistles and weeds? Do they exhibit an area of dead branches and drooping leaves? Is your soul wilting or flourishing? Does your life reflect the loving care of the heavenly Vinedresser? Are you living like you’re abiding? (Psalm 15)