Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

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)

The comfortable dinner proceeding screeched to an abrupt halt at the startling announcement. Heads previously bent over the table snapped to attention. Astonished eyes clashed across the table. Concern echoed deep in every heart. Fear saturated their souls. Panic clawed at their throats and anxiety settled like a weight in their stomachs. The words were too ugly to be untrue. There was a traitor among them. 

As the first blush of stupefaction began to fade, questions arose. Who could it be?  Who among them would engage in such a nefarious act? Perhaps the men they once had been would be tempted to this extent, but they weren’t those men anymore. They had each come so far since Jesus unceremoniously called them to leave everything and follow Him. Having eagerly done so, they had never regretted the choice. Not because it had been easy to leave their lives behind. Not because following Jesus was comfortable. There was no social prestige or physical prosperity involved in the following. Yet still they followed. By choice. Their hearts wanted nothing less than to spend each day in the absolute presence of Christ. 

Or so they thought. Apparently, one of them had no such desire. Someone with whom they had spent day and night, someone they trusted, someone who had access to the information of their inner circle was not a friend, but a foe. One of them wasn’t relishing the time they spent with Jesus, they were carefully calculating their steps, biding their time, waiting for the perfect moment to betray Him. But who would do that? Who wasn’t all in? Who had watched the miracles, listened to the preaching, heard the teaching, and still wasn’t committed to Jesus? Who was the poser in their company? Who was the snake in their garden? (John 13:21-22)

As Jesus’ statement fell into the room, plunging it into momentary silence, each man seated there must surely have had a thousand questions. Narrowed gazes searched the faces opposite them, seeking to determine the defector’s identity. Was it Peter? He was always impetuous and impulsive. An ill-advised decision from him would come as no surprise. Maybe it was John. He’d managed to get quite close with Jesus. Even now he was close enough to lean back and speak in Jesus’ ear. Of course, it could be any of the rest of them, too. Andrew. James. Philip. Me. It could also be me. What if I’m the one?  (Matthew 14:24-30; Mark 9:2-6; Matthew 26:31-35; John 13:23)

The jarring realization must surely have caused each man to immediately embark on a personal inventory check. A quick, yet thorough soul search. A test of their absolute commitment to Jesus. A measure of their devotion. An evaluation of their internal fortitude should the pressure to betray Him become too much. Even as they peeled back the layers to peer in scrutiny at their own souls, their voices echoed around the table in frenzied asking, “Is it I? Am I the one whose heart is divided? Am I the one who isn’t all in? Am I the one who is weak and unstable? Am I the one whose attachment to popularity, power, prosperity, or prestige is greater than my love for Jesus? Someone is going to betray our Lord. Jesus, is it me?!” (Matthew 26:20-22; Mark 14:19-20, John 13:22-25)

Even after being assured Judas was the one whose hand itched to hold the coins of betrayal, it seems their self-examination would continue. There was little difference between them and Judas. He had been one of them. Handpicked by Jesus. Designated purse holder. Trusted friend. Now obvious backstabber. He’d duped them. His duplicity was shattering. As they watched, Judas, in utter abandonment of the people who had been his friends and colleagues, popped the proffered piece of bread in his mouth and walked away. No rebuttal. No explanation. No apology. Judas blatantly, publicly, chose friendship with the world and enmity with God. Shaking their heads in amazement at his treachery, the remaining eleven would be left to ponder their own hearts, weigh their own souls, examine themselves to see if anything resided within that would cause them to do the same. It is imperative we do likewise. (John 13:26-27)

In a moment of absolute transparency illuminated by the light of eternity, we, too, must examine ourselves. Old believers. New believers. Every believer. We must regularly examine ourselves. Check the corners of our souls. Search out every speck of anger or bitterness. Clean out every mite of selfishness or arrogance. Eradicate every particle of self-righteous judgment against our neighbor. We need to clean house. Regularly. Because just one minute spot of sin can fester and grow, causing us trouble. Causing us to hold back when we should be all in. Causing us to leave when we should stay. Causing us to betray our Lord because our hearts are divided. (II Corinthians 13:5)

Judas had the same problem. A divided heart. There’s really nothing to indicate he hated Jesus. Nothing tells us he spent his years following Jesus laying the groundwork for his scheme. But it does tell us that Judas’ loved money. He had a little side gig of helping himself to the group coffers. It was clearly working for him. No one ever seems to question it. No one calls him out. No one asks for an audit or suggests a new bank manager. By all appearances, he could have spent several years skimming the accounts and suffered no consequences. Yet Judas’ love of money was the weakness the evil one needed to draw him away. It was the hook he needed to coerce Judas into risking anything and losing everything. There was no one to blame but himself as his love for something other than God caused him to take the final, detrimental step, annihilating his opportunity for a glorious eternity. (John 12:3-6)

We shake our heads in wonder at it. Roll our eyes in disgust at his defection. Gather our self-righteous robes around us in a non-verbal declaration that we would never stoop to such lows. Until we do. Until we opt for silence when we should speak up. Until we choose to hide when we should step out. Until we determine that earthly approval is worth more than the approval of Heaven. Until we find there is something we desire more than we desire God. 

Perhaps you have never been in that situation. Perhaps your heart is true and devoted and perfect. Perhaps you are never hesitant to speak up, speak out. I am. Sometimes I am hesitant to call people to prayer. Sometimes I am concerned about what folks will think when I mention Jesus. Sometimes I spend hours wondering, worrying whether what I said or did that spoke of spiritual things was accepted or rejected. Sometimes I hold back, sit still, stay silent. So I’m examining myself. Examining my soul to see what makes me hesitate. Is it natural to my introverted personality or is it a stunt in my spiritual maturity? Is there something there, something festering, something growing that could cause me to betray my Jesus? 

 Maybe you are down here in the trenches too. Maybe you find hesitancy in your soul that pricks your conscience. Hesitancy to speak up for Jesus. Hesitancy to obey His voice. Hesitancy to lay aside the things of the world and cling solely to Him. It’s time to do some soul-searching. Time to do some honest self-evaluation. Time to scrutinize your heart and see where your true allegiance lies. Are you wholly aligned with Jesus Christ or is there a piece of your heart that rests elsewhere? If Jesus were to make the statement today that He made then, would your heart rest in the knowledge of your abject devotion to Him or is there something that would cause you to ask, “Is it I?” (Lamentations 3:40; Matthew 12:22-28; Matthew 6:24; I Kings 18:21; Galatians 1:10; Acts 4:29)

Adjusting the hood of his garment to shadow more of his face, he furtively peeked down the alleyway. Empty. Good. Quickly slipping around the corner, he pressed his back and palms against the side of the building and sucked in a deep breath. His heart raced at breakneck speed. To his own ears, his breathing was rapid and ragged and raging. Every exhalation seemed to bounce around the lane in a resounding echo alerting passersby to his secret quest. Inhaling yet another gulp of stale air, he gathered his courage, pushed away from the wall and stepped again toward his destination. A man on a mission. A scholar in search of answers. A Pharisee in a predicament. 

It was such a risky adventure. The cost of discovery steep. Everything was on the line. His social standing. His place in the temple. His credibility as a scholar. His colleagues would never understand what he was doing. Or why. He wasn’t entirely certain himself. This behavior was all new to him. He was unaccustomed to sneaking down alleys under cover of darkness, clad in hooded garments, peeking around corners and scurrying across streets to attend clandestine meetings in hopes of finding answers to his myriad burgeoning questions. Full disclosure? This whole mission was uncomfortable, running cross grain with everything he thought he knew about himself, his religion, his eternity. 

Not so long past, he’d have staunchly stated absolute truths concerning each of those things. He knew exactly who he was, what he believed, how he should act, and where he’d spend eternity. Yet today, he’d looked at himself in the mirror, mind swarming with questions, and realized he knew nothing he thought he’d known. The teachings and miracles of Jesus upended everything. Everything he’d been taught. Everything he’d read. Everything he thought he knew. In light of the things he had seen and heard, affluent, intelligent, prominent Nicodemus was suddenly inundated with questions. Urgent questions. Demanding questions. Desperate questions had him swathing himself in disguise and stealing across town in the dark to find answers from the only One who could possibly have them. 

Jesus’ lack of surprise by the late-night caller comes as no shock. Of course he knew Nicodemus was coming! Closing the door soundly behind him, Jesus didn’t miss Nicodemus’  exhale of relief or his quick inhale of courage. It was answer time and Nicodemus was apparently on a schedule. In precise terms, he laid out what he knew. Jesus was a great teacher, clearly sent by God. His miraculous works could be attributed to no other power. Yet, in spite of all he knew, everything he’d deduced, everything he hoped, Nicodemus also knew he was missing something. Something big. Something important. Something more. Something his decades of study, education, and rote recitation of laws and rules, rites, and ceremonies had clearly failed to extract. Something his longing heart desperately needed to know. Something only Jesus could tell him. 

Incredulous, Nicodemus sat listening to the words flowing from Jesus’ mouth. He felt bewildered. Confused. He’d never heard things like this before. In all his studies, not one time had he heard anything about rebirth. How was that even possible? And how could a human, already born to earthly parents, be born of the spirit? And what, exactly, did the wind have to do with it? Scrubbing his hands over his face in frustrated despair at his inability to understand the heavenly knowledge being dropped on him, Nicodemus’ nearly defeated soul must surely have battered him with hypotheses. Perhaps this had been a wasted journey. Maybe his questions were destined to go unanswered. Perhaps he’d never comprehend what he was missing. Just as his beleaguered heart was teetering on the edge of calling it a night sans answers, his soul snapped to attention as the illuminating words of Jesus washed over him. Words with no hidden nuances. Words so full of love and compassion and grace they nearly brought him to his knees. Words that would forever be indelibly etched in the minds and hearts of wandering souls through the centuries to follow. Words that simply read like this, “For God so loved the world, He gave His only Son, that whosoever believes in Him will not perish but have eternal life.” (John 3:1-16) 

If comprehension could be heard in an audible click, it would have resounded for miles around. There it was. The missing thing. The piece he needed to fill his soul. The answer for which he had furtively glanced around corners and tiptoed through alleys in the dark of night. The one thing he’d risked his position in the temple, his social standing, his entire life to find. The knowledge that made all other knowledge pale in comparison. The promise of eternal life for eternally dead humanity. All of them. Whoever believes. Pharisees. Sadducees. Jews. Gentiles.  Holy rollers and hellions, alike. Everyone. Everywhere. No exceptions. The grandeur of grace!   

Had Jesus ended His speaking with those words alone, it would have been enough for Nicodemus. It would be enough for us! The case for Christ was already made. The explanation of Who Jesus was and what His mission entailed was already given. Yet Jesus felt it so important to double down and boldly underscore to this fervent law keeping, Sabbath observing, tithe paying Pharisee that eternal life would be available to everyone. Sabbath-breakers. Law benders. Money hoarders. The love of God for lost humanity transcends all those things and reaches down to rescue anyone, everyone. Whosoever believes. Jesus didn’t come to judge your ability to keep the Pharisaical black book of rules and regulations. He didn’t come to point the finger of condemnation at those who failed. He came to offer salvation from condemnation. Because, to those who have placed their faith in Jesus Christ, there is absolutely no condemnation in Heaven’s courts. (John 3:17-18; Romans 8:1)

I wonder how long Nicodemus sat there mute, absorbing everything he’d just heard. John didn’t see the need to record it, so it probably isn’t important. It seems he would have sat for quite some time pondering the truths that had fallen from Jesus’ lips to his ears. I know I would have. I do. It seems so incredible. Nearly too good to be true. It is so much easier to believe Jesus came to condemn and correct, to judge and punish. He’s God, after all! Perfect. Holy. Sinless. Blameless. Maybe you have no trouble measuring up to that, but I do! Knowing all I know about Jesus, having read the entire Bible over and over again, after years of attending church and Bible study, it still takes an enormous amount of faith to look at myself and imagine grace so great it completely obliterates the epic messes I’ve made. The very thought leaves me speechless, my heart staggered, my soul stunned. How grand is His grace! 

You see, no matter what you’ve heard or been taught or thought you knew, Jesus didn’t come to shake a bony, judgmental finger under your nose and glare down in consternation at your unkempt life. He didn’t take a look at the debacle of your past and hold out a conditional offer of salvation good only after you cleaned up your act. No. Jesus came to people entrenched in ugly, disastrous sin, reached down his hand and offered a way out of their obvious, impending eternal demise. He came to offer a way out of destructive lifestyles, detrimental devices, and deteriorating choices. He came to bring light. Light to illuminate our darkness and open our eyes to the grandeur of His grace. Undeserved. Unmerited. Unwarranted. Unlimited. Grace. God’s grace. Grace that covers the mountain of poor choices, indiscretions, and outright deviances you’ve committed. Grace that, even when the whole world knows you deserve Hell, offers you the opportunity of Heaven. That, my friend, is the grandeur of grace. And it is all for you. (Romans 5:20-21; John 12:47; Psalm 103:10; Job 11:6)

You are the reason Jesus came. You are the reason God sent His only Son to be brutally violated and hung on a cross. You. With all your baggage and hangups and devices. You. Steeped in willful sin. You. Filthy, dirty, broken by the evil things that hold you in their grip. Yes, you! God looked down, saw you there, crushed under the weight of burdens far heavier than you could bear, and, forcing back tears of pain and loss, He sent His only Son to earth so you could be offered the opportunity to drop those burdens at the cross and be saved. It’s amazing love. It’s the grandest gesture of grace. And it’s completely free. (Luke 19:10; Titus 2:11; Acts 10:43; Ephesians 2:8)

When your sin demanded punishment, Jesus came. Not to dole out condemnation. Not to stare down His nose at you in disgust. Not to determine if you were worth the effort. No. Jesus didn’t come for condemnation, but for reconciliation. You don’t deserve it. You couldn’t earn it. God doesn’t owe it to you, yet still He sent His Son to make you an offer you should surely think twice about before you refuse. Salvation for people who deserve condemnation. Unmerited favor lavished on unworthy humanity. Redeeming love. Fathomless mercy. Grand grace. And whosoever will may come. (Romans 10:13; Acts 2:21; John 4:14; II Corinthians 5:18; Colossians 1:19-20)