Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

The summons was unwelcome, but not unexpected. His father was frail and elderly, frequently bedridden. The messenger said he’d taken a turn for the worse. His passing was more likely than his recovery. In honest verbiage, his father was dying. Soon. Sooner than Joseph hoped. He wanted more time to make up for what he’d lost. More time to absorb Jacob’s wisdom. More time to hear his heart, draw from his strength. Clearly, it was not to be. 

Plucked from his father’s care as a teenager by brothers teeming with jealousy over the preferential treatment he received, he’d been sold into slavery and carried into Egypt, forced to forfeit the presence and wisdom and care of his one remaining parent. As the caravan of Midianite traders jostled down the road with their newly purchased commodity, the claws of fear clutched at Joseph’s heart. His stomach twisted. Questions bombarded his tired brain. He had no answers to still his anxious mind. He had no idea what lay ahead, where he would end up, what work he would do, or if he’d ever see his father again. 

Regrets threatened to pile up at his door. He shouldn’t have shared the dreams. At least not in the way he did. His not-quite-adult self had been a bit arrogant and a lot cocky as he approached the others in the field to share his intriguing dreams. In true teenage boy fashion, he couldn’t wait to tell his bossy, older brothers how he’d dreamed of their bowing at his feet. Hindsight had him admitting he probably hadn’t used the better part of discretion in the telling. His hearty chortle and obvious glee hadn’t endeared him to them. Antagonizing a horde of older stronger men had been a poor choice. He knew that now. Now that it was too late. 

Intending to ensure they were never forced to bow to the little scamp, his brothers captured him and threw him in a pit. Looking at the steep sides of his enclosure, Joseph thought for certain his life was over. Starvation, exposure to the elements, or a scavenging animal would claim him before those hardened hearts thawed. His dubious salvation came in the form of the Midianite traders to whom he now belonged. In a swift and sure transaction, his brothers sold him off as so much chattel. No last archery challenge with Benjamin. No clinging farewell with his father. Joseph was loaded up and driven off into the desert.

The Midianites didn’t purchase things they intended to keep. It was all for sale. Pots. Pans. People. So when they pulled into Egypt and Potiphar offered to purchase Joseph, they were all too happy to accept. Gazing wide-eyed at his new surroundings, Joseph must have wondered how a Jewish boy would survive in a place like this. A foreign country full of foreign gods. A land completely dissimilar to the area from which he came. The learning curve was incredibly steep. New customs. New language. New hierarchy. He’d never been a servant before. Yet, even as the fear again tried to grip him, Joseph remembered the things he’d been taught at Jacob’s knee and was enveloped in the peaceful knowledge that for him, one constant remained. Captive or free, young or old, yesterday, today, or tomorrow, the omnipresent God of his ancestors was with him in the land of his captivity. (Genesis 37:1-36, 41:52)

The accounts had been passed down from generation to generation. Accounts that proved God is not limited to time or space. Stories of God’s presence bringing victory, blessing, and protection. Stories of the obedience that caused God to act on their behalf. Joseph had heard them so many times, told with so much conviction, that he believed them. He knew they were true. And he believed God was there in Egypt too. So Joseph put his back into the work before him. He gave himself fully to the assigned tasks, working to please God, not some ruler or captain or earthly master. And God blessed him. (Colossians 3:23-24)

Amazed at Joseph’s great success, Potiphar set him over his entire household. He didn’t have to check-in. He didn’t need to ask permission. He was the boss. He had full run of the place. Control of everyone and everything in it. Except Potiphar’s wife. Apparently, she couldn’t be controlled. Not by decorum’s standards. Not by her husband. Certainly not by a Hebrew servant. Surely even the looser standards would consider her a bit of a trollop. In spite of, or possibly because of, their disparate positions, she zeroed in on the handsome servant and set about to ensnare him. No matter how well her charms had worked on previous targets, they failed miserably with Joseph. 

Day after day he refused her. It was downright embarrassing. Demeaning. Frustrating. The constant refusals enraged her. In revenge, she set him up, grabbed the side of his jacket as he made his escape. He did exactly what she knew he would. Slipped out of the coat and left. But she had her evidence and made good with it. Made Joseph appear untrustworthy. Made it seem he’d done something unseemly. And Potiphar, outraged and offended, believed her tale of woe and threw Joseph in prison. 

It could have been worse. He could have had Joseph executed. His anger had certainly been hot enough. Instead, Joseph found himself confined with other prisoners who had managed to offend the powers in charge. Some were guilty. All claimed innocence. It was impossible to know the truth. The circumstances were less than ideal. They had the ability to distress and depress Joseph. He wouldn’t let them. Again, Joseph set his mind on the God he knew had never let His people down. In the dark, dankness of that prison chamber, God surrounded Joseph with His presence and constant love. And Joseph again stiffened his spine and set himself to do his tasks for God, not man. (Genesis 39:1-21)

The warden noticed. It was hard not to. In a space full of disgruntled men all spouting their innocence this one man remained silent, bending his back to whatever task was at hand. A perfect picture of impenetrable peace and calm confidence. He clearly had something the others did not. Little by little, finding him trustworthy, the warden put Joseph in charge, paying no attention to the things under Joseph’s authority. He didn’t need to. Joseph took care of them. (Genesis 39:22-23)

It would be years before Joseph was freed. Years when it seemed improbable, even impossible. Years when surely his faith was tested, his hope wavered, his strength flagged. Years that proved again and again that his tested faith was placed in the only true surety–God alone. No matter what went on around Joseph, no matter what happened to him, no matter his position or circumstances, God had never left him. He had traveled the treacherous journey of servanthood and imprisonment right beside Joseph. As he’d risen in authority and power, God was there. When he’d fallen to insignificance and disdain, God was there. There was no place, no time God was ever missing. There was no place he could end up that God wouldn’t be. God is eternal. He has always been. He will always be. And He will never desert His people.  

Eventually, Joseph would be called out of prison to interpret Pharaoh’s disturbing dream. God would speak words of protection and deliverance and survival through Joseph. Pharaoh, in gratitude, set Joseph in a place of honor and distinction. Returned his authority and power. Blessed him with a wife and sons. And, when Joseph surely thought things were as good as they would ever be this side of Heaven, God brought his miscreant brothers to his doorstep, allowing for reconciliation among siblings and a grand reunion for father and son. (Genesis 40-46)

Now, standing beside his dying father’s bed, emotions of every type washing over his heart, Joseph received the words his father spoke to him. Words of faith and hope. Words of peace and courage and strength. Words he knew from experience to be absolutely true. Words he could have predicted would come. “God will be with you.” When everything changes. When hard times come. When everything around you seems uncertain. When you feel confused, conflicted, concerned. The God who was with your grandparents and parents is also with you. Look back and remember. Remember the desperate moments of your life. Remember the exhilarating moments of your life. Remember God’s presence. Remember His peace. Remember His purpose for you is so much greater than you know. Be faithful. God will be with you. He always has been. He has never failed. He never will. You can trust Him. (Genesis 48:21)

As the new year has dawned, dropping its days of unknown events into our lives, we often find ourselves caught up in the fear that seems to permeate our culture. Our minds are bombarded with questions, cares, and concerns for the days that lie ahead. We struggle to control and manipulate the future. We forget that God is already there, has already walked this year. Every month. Every day. Every minute. Nothing that happens will take Him by surprise. He already has a plan for it, a purpose in it. He is not flustered or scared. He is not confused or confined by man’s machinations. He’s still God. The same God who stretched out the heavens with the utterance of His voice. His power is not stunted. His wisdom is not finite. His work is not done. He has a plan for you. So be faithful. (Zechariah 12:1; Isaiah 55:8-9,11; Colossians 1:17; Jeremiah 23:23-24; Psalm 33:11)

No matter what happens, or doesn’t happen, this year. God is calling you to offer yourself as a living sacrifice to Him. If no one is doing it. If everyone is doing it. You need to. God is asking you to step out in complete obedience to Him. He’s asking you to wholeheartedly do His work. Put your back into it. And let His ever-present peace pervade your soul. Let His pervading presence surround you. Let Him lead and guide you through every changing season of this year. Let your actions loudly proclaim where your allegiance lies. Rest your potentially unsettled soul in the peaceful, predictable presence of God alone, knowing this–He will always be there. All of Him. His strength. His power. His grace. Look back. You will see Him. His leading hand. His preceding presence. Remember that He never changes. He is always the same. He will be with you. No matter what. Cast your fears, your cares, your worries on Him and rest your soul in the peaceful predictability of the presence of God. (Habakkuk 3:17-19; Psalm 139:7-12; II Samuel 22; Joshua 1:9; Revelation 1:8; I Peter 5:7; Matthew 28:20)

Relief crowded out the panic and fear that had been her constant companions for the last few terrifying days. They had found Him! Finally! She would have sagged with the abatement of her worries had she not been consumed with righteous indignation. For days they had been searching to no avail. Her overactive imagination reeled with every mishap that could befall a 12-year-old boy alone in the city. They had accosted every person they met with myriad questions, offered a hundred descriptions, yet gained no results. Fellow travelers hadn’t seen Him. Innkeepers couldn’t place Him. Street vendors hadn’t fed Him. Shepherds didn’t recognize Him. Every shake of the head dented her hope. Every “No,” sagged her spirits. Every empty room, silent corner, lonely alley tore at her heart. No one had seen Him. It was almost as if her Son had completely disappeared. 

Sinking down in exhaustion, hopeless and helpless, Mary was ready to give up. Accept the inevitable. She had failed as a mother. Her Son was lost. Gone. Stolen. Sold. Or worse. Her heart wept tears her dry eyes couldn’t. Broken and forlorn, she looked up in surprise as someone approached. Was she the woman searching for a lost child? Had she checked the temple? Reports were circulating that an unfamiliar youth had been seen there speaking with the leaders, asking questions, making observations. Perhaps she should check the temple. 

Hope had her springing to her feet and racing toward the temple with Joseph. They made no effort to maintain their dignity. It was worth sacrificing if they could only find their Son. Bolting through the doors, they stopped short, chests heaving, lungs burning, hearts pounding from more than just the wild dash across town. There He was. Jesus. Their Son. Safe, clean, calm. Deeply engrossed in a discussion of the Scriptures with the teachers in the temple.  

Ignoring the unwelcoming men crowded around her Son, fascinated by His every word, Mary unceremoniously approached to pose some questions of her own. Eyes burning with motherly rebuke liberally laced with love and relief, she fired them off in rapid succession, “What are You doing here? Why didn’t you leave when we left? Do You know how worried we have been? Were you aware that we have spent the last few days searching for you, terrified out of our minds?” 

Silence fell over the group. Even grown men of intellect and authority dared not interrupt the conversation between the clearly distraught, disheveled woman and the pre-teen who was most certainly her child. Recent conversations with Him caused them to correctly assume He wouldn’t need their aid. He didn’t. Meeting her eyes in a straightforward manner far older than His years, her Son, that sweet little baby she’d birthed in a barn and laid in a manger twelve years ago, responded, “Why would you have looked anywhere else for Me? Did it not occur to you that I would be busy doing the work of my Father?” 

Had the words been clipped out in terse syllables, they would surely have come across as an insolent reprimand. Were His tone less than full of gentle respect, the response would have stung. It didn’t. The kind reminder of Who He was and why He was there smacked neither of rebuke or disrespect. It was simply a nudge to remember. Remember Who His Father really is. Remember why He came. Remember He was a Child with a mission, a calling, a job to do. No matter how much He loved and respected His earthly parents, His Heavenly Father’s plan would always come first. (Luke 2:41-51)

Mary must have needed the reminder. Twelve years had passed since His miraculous birth. Twelve normal years. Years of diapers and toilet training, feeding and clothing, tending and caring. As time passed, it had been easy to forget that Joseph wasn’t Jesus’ natural father. The family grew. Her tasks increased. At some point, the divine had gotten absorbed in the mundane. Between the cleaning and the cooking she’d forgotten, if only momentarily, that her Son was also God’s Son. Her hopes and dreams for Him would always be superseded by the Father’s plans. Her desire to keep Him close and safe would have to be sacrificed for the Father’s ultimate will. 

As they traveled home, their accidental runaway in tow, Mary pondered the exchange in the temple. Admittedly, her Son was right. She had forgotten. Maybe because she was busy. Maybe because she chose to. Maybe remembering the reason He came tied her stomach in knots, causing her overactive imagination to run away with her. Or maybe she’d forgotten because she couldn’t see her purpose once the raising of Jesus was ended. Who was she once He’d fulfilled His earthly mission? Who was she now that He seemed so capable of surviving, even thriving, in the world on His own? Had she so quickly been reduced to uselessness? Was God done with her or was there something more for her to do?

It must have been a significant relief for Mary to find her services were still necessary. There were still years of parenting left before Jesus would head out on His earthly ministry. Years of laundry and cleaning and cooking. Years of listening and talking and helping. Years during which Mary would surely realize that she too, was busy doing the business of the Father. The business of raising His Son. Even if the things she was doing were earthly and boring and mundane. Even if laundry and cleaning is monotonous and repetitive. Even when she couldn’t figure out what to cook for dinner or the schedule dictated she throw leftovers on the table. Every time Mary cared for her husband and children, every time she managed the duties that befell her, every time she helped deliver a baby for the neighbor, took soup to the sick, or shut a gate preventing someone’s sheep from escaping, Mary was doing her Father’s business. Because it is all God’s business. 

In Ecclesiastes 9:10, the self-proclaimed Preacher who penned the book, implores his readers to give themselves completely to whatever task is at hand. Small tasks. Large jobs. Unnoticed efforts. Obvious undertakings. Put your back into it. The Apostle Paul would later echo these sentiments in his letter to the Colossians, exhorting them to do everything earnestly, zealously, sincerely. His remarks remain unqualified. There are no parameters. Regardless of the task, who asks you to do it, or whether you will receive proper earthly gratitude for the service, put all your ability into it. You are working for God alone. Because it is all God’s business. (Ecclesiastes 9:10; Colossians 3:23)

Sometimes it is difficult to see God’s work in our labors. We tend not to see Him in the mountain of laundry, the unswept floor, the juice that just got spilled…again. It’s hard to see what He is doing around the pile of paperwork, the multitude of phone calls, the copious meetings that crowd our work schedule. And when the third child in as many days hits the couch with a runny nose and cough, we think God surely must appreciate those people who are unencumbered and able to actually do something for Him. In sadness, we shake our heads and wish it could be us doing what humanity has qualified as “God’s work.” Instead, we grab the mop, a box of tissues, the ringing telephone, and head off to tend our earthly responsibilities. And God, from His throne in the heavens, nods His head and smiles His approval. Because it is all God’s business. 

You see, friend, God’s business isn’t simply for missionaries, preachers, and Sunday class teachers. It is not only exciting and magnificent and public. It rarely entails glitz and glamour or engages the press. For most of us, God’s business is exactly what we are doing in the current season of our lives. The loving care we take of our families. The kindness we show our neighbors. The proper respect we give our intractable boss. The hands we reach out to help the poor, the widows, the orphans. The heart within that seeks to honor God by doing everything for His glory. It is through these mundane actions, the tasks we give barely a thought as we perform them day after day, that God is working. He speaks through your actions and reactions. He changes hearts through your prayers. He reaches people, sealed off from faith for decades, through your openness and kindness. Not because you preached a sermon in the breakroom. Not because you passed out religious booklets. Not because your signature block quotes a Bible verse. God reaches people through you because you remain faithful in the mundane. Your heart clearly knows what your head finds confusing. Great or small. It is all God’s business. 

Society puts such great worth on your status. They glorify those with the most views, the most followers, the biggest influence. In the current social atmosphere, it is so easy to feel superfluous, unnecessary, worthless unless you have your own platform, viewer base, or congregation. You aren’t. Whatever you are doing to raise your family, help others, or further the kingdom of God is important. Even if it is boring, repetitive, or normal. Even if it feels like you aren’t doing anything for Him. Even if nothing in your life qualifies you as being in “Christian service.” Trust me. You are. You are God’s laborer, a worker together with Him. So don’t quit. Keep working. Spread the love and grace and kindness of Jesus to everyone who sees you. May those looking on see your fervor, your tenacity, your sincerity and catch a glimpse of Your Father whose business you are most assuredly about.

Tears filled her eyes and cascaded down her face as she surveyed their accommodations. Things were not at all how she’d planned. Nothing was. Nothing had been for the last several months. Not since the surprise visit from Gabriel. The announcement of her unplanned pregnancy had thrown her perfectly laid plans in disarray. The painstaking wedding planning was suspended, the betrothal cut short.  Parenthood loomed before her far sooner than she hoped. Yet still she had hope.

Her mother’s heart had spent these last months planning and working, crafting tiny clothes and carefully stitched blankets. Her house was immaculate, swept, dusted, arranged and rearranged in an attempt to determine the perfect place to lay her precious Child. The midwife had been made aware of the impending necessity of her services. Every possible provision Mary could think of had been made to ensure a perfect, warm, loving birth of her Child. As long as it happened at home. 

She should have known better. Known not to construct air castles. Not to build a store of dreams. Not to create a list of means and methods. She should have expected something unexpected. Something like the decree forcing them to travel from Galilee to Bethlehem so near her due date. It was an ill-advised journey in the late stages of her pregnancy. A long journey. Ninety miles of tiresome schlepping. Days of wondering, worrying. Every pain making her heart stutter. Every ache causing her mind to wonder. 

Consistent pains had started a few hours ago. She hadn’t told Joseph. What little she’d heard in whispered confidences had her hoping they would stop, hoping it was just a practice session for the real thing. Her situation forced her to assume it wasn’t. Damp eyes glancing around the ugly space that would house them for the night, Mary sighed. The tears flowed again. It wasn’t what she’d planned. It wasn’t the warm, cozy, inviting atmosphere into which a child should be born. Her carefully prepared blankets and Joseph’s beautifully crafted cradle sat useless in their little cottage ninety miles away. There was nothing here but straw. And dirt. And animals. And a rock hard manger. When she planned to give Him everything she could, all she had to offer the Savior of the world was a drafty, dirty, desolate stable. It simply wasn’t enough.  

Mary wasn’t confused about Who nestled beneath her heart. It wasn’t just a baby sleeping there. It was the Baby. The Messiah. God’s Son. Heavenly royalty. Although she hadn’t heard the description of golden streets and gates of pearl, she knew her coming Child deserved more than she could afford. Grandeur. Magnificence. Splendor. Grand hallways that would echo with childish laughter. Marble floors for sock-encased feet to zoom across. Polished banisters surely made for sliding. Loyal subjects who would recognize His face, bow at His feet, and honor His name. Her heart ached that she couldn’t promise Him those things. None of them. Not at home in Galilee. Certainly not here. Right now she couldn’t even promise Him a decent place to lay His little head. And it was quickly becoming clear they would be needing a place for that very purpose.

The pains she’d hoped were trial runs had not dissipated. Indeed, they had continued into the evening hours with increasing strength and frequency. Resting hadn’t helped. Sleep wouldn’t come. Her body was loudly telling her the Child she carried was planning to appear on His own timetable. No matter how far they were from home. Regardless of their current surroundings. Despite the dearth of soft blankets in which to swaddle Him, Jesus was coming. And He did.

 Into the dark stillness of a dank stable, Jesus was born. A tiny, wrinkly, slightly grumpy newborn who’d just battled His way into the world, He was still the most beautiful thing Mary had ever seen. Wrapped in strips of cloth hastily gathered from a caring and benevolent neighbor and carefully tucked into the scratchy straw of the uncomfortable manger, He still seemed to glow with the light of Heaven. Sweetly slumbering in the poorest possible circumstances–a borrowed stable, borrowed hay, borrowed manger–the Savior of the world willingly left the opulence of Heaven, humbly rested in the poverty of earth, to provide mankind the opportunity to personally know the King of Kings. (Luke 2:1-7)

Admittedly, I wonder at the details. The trip notwithstanding, couldn’t there have been at least someone with space to properly house them? Family? Friends? Acquaintances? Just one tiny room in an inn? Why did it have to be a stable? Why was His first earthly resting place a manger? Why were the ones who witnessed His birth mute animals? What was God trying to tell us when He birthed Jesus in such a nondescript place? What, exactly, is the message echoing from the manger? 

Eloquently spoken by modest actions rather than flowery words, Heavenly royalty became humble humanity in order to offer hopeless mortals the extravagant opportunity to gain Heaven. Jesus’ birth to a dirty stable and cold manger unquestionably signifies there is no limit to the lengths He would go to offer you salvation. Bear the brunt of the elements. Shoulder the disdain of society. Sit in the dirt of humanity. There is no place He wouldn’t go to reach you. There is nowhere too far away. There is nothing too dirty, too evil, too bad. We are the reason He came. The only reason He came. Salvation for everyone, everywhere. No exceptions. His message rings out from the manger where a squalling baby boy wrapped in rags wiggles among a handful of straw. Salvation is for everyone. Those in the humblest of circumstances. Those in the most magnificent. And everyone in between. (II Peter 3:8-10; Acts 10:34; I Timothy 2:4; John 3:16: Romans 10:12-13)

The message is so often lost in the mayhem of commercial Christmas. In the endeavor to gain the best gifts, the biggest tree, the most stunning decorations, we forget that the greatest gift has already been given. A royal baby born in the humblest of circumstances for the most important purpose. Death on a cross. Earthly sacrifice for eternal salvation. Unfathomable love for unworthy humanity. Truly, Christ was born for this. (Romans 6:23)

 Maybe your life choices have put you in a place that seems unredeemable. Maybe your circumstances have you believing you are too far gone. Maybe someone said you weren’t worth saving. Listen closely. The message from the manger says otherwise. The Child there grew up to hang on a cross, atoning for your sins and indiscretions, your bad choices and awful habits. The Babe from the Manger would eventually cry out from the cross, “It is finished,” effectively signifying the end of sins’ reign. You don’t have to live in the place you are. You don’t have to die in your sins. Jesus came to the lowest place on earth. The place animals both eat and defecate. To prove to woefully lost humanity that no one is outside the realm of grace, no one is exempt from the steadfast, unfailing love of God. Not you. Not me. Not one soul. Jesus came for all. (John 19:30; Romans 5:12-21)

We are all sinners in need of a miracle-working Savior. A God that reaches down and rescues us from the dark alleyways of our lives. A loving Father who follows us into the dens of iniquity we can’t seem to avoid on our own. We are all in need of a ransom from sin’s bondage. So Jesus came.  Leaving the golden streets of Heaven, gently closing the gates of pearl behind Him, He willingly stepped into a flawed and failing world of fallen humanity to humbly offer Himself in atonement for the sins of the entire world. All of us. Every. Single. Soul. With His final breath He bestowed on us hope for our dire straits, salvation from our sin, and freedom from guilt’s enslavement. It was the reason He came. (I John 2:2; Romans 5:8)

There are probably a thousand messages we could hear from the manger, but today I hope we hear this one loudest. Jesus came for you. No matter where you are, what you’ve done, or how your rap sheet reads. Jesus came to give you life. Abundant life. Life everlasting. Yes, friend, Christ was born for you. (John 10:10; Matthew 1:21)

It stopped! Finally! It stopped! For the past few weeks a growing cloud of uncertainty hovered over their plodding group. What if the star wasn’t really leading them? What if the alleged movement was simply a desperate ploy by overactive imaginations? What if their fellow scientists, now hundreds of miles behind them, had been right all along? What if it really was just a star? An ordinary star. A star only recently visible due to newly understood planetary movements. A simple star with no great meaning, no significance, not a grand announcement of a miracle Child born to rescue mankind from its certain demise. 

The questions had all been previously posed. They had ignored them. Under the luminous twinkling light of that special star, the wise men gathered camels and supplies, gifts and goods, waved farewell to family and friends, and set out to chase down the one thing they believed would change everything. Jesus. Messiah. Savior of the world. Regardless of how long it took. No matter the expense. In spite of all the naysayers and skeptics. These men devoted the rest of their lives to the journey, should that be the requirement. Not because the star itself was so special, but because the child it signaled was. 

As the star finally glided to a halt above that humble little cottage, their hearts soared in anticipation. It had all been worth it. Every boring mile of dessert. Every monotonous meal of trail fare. Every village and town where their celestial questions were met with ignorance. Every city whose panels of intellect curled their lips in condescension at such an obvious fairytale, such an impossible star, such a magnificently wasted labor. Lesser men would have tucked tail and headed home under such scathing derision. Not these men. So deep was their faith, nothing could turn them around. The people might know nothing. The scholars might claim ignorance. The religious leaders might scorn. But they knew. They always knew. And right then, in that moment, their faith was about to be made sight.  

The house and grounds were of little account. Sawdust littered the front yard. Irregular wood scraps were tossed in a haphazard heap as if a toddler had been attempting his own project. A pile of rough-hewn logs were stacked neatly to the side. There could be no mistake. This was clearly the home of a carpenter, not a king. Yet nothing in their souls doubted the guiding light that had brought them to this place. This was it. They had done it. They had found Him. Emmanuel. God in the flesh, living among His people. God with us. 

Scrambling from the backs of their exhausted camels, the grown men nearly danced with excitement. Their beards split in blinding smiles. A nearly tangible river of relief and joy flowed around them. The star had stopped. This was it! He was here! Even though they hadn’t knocked. Even before Mary hesitantly opened the door. Prior to ever laying eyes on the Christ child Himself, these men burst out in unrestrained rejoicing. Why? Because their faith-full hearts knew, without sight or sound, that they had found Jesus, the King of the Jews. The Hope of the Nations. The Prince of Peace. 

They were not disappointed. Their faith was not misplaced. Entering the house, they found Him. And they believed it was Him. Without fanfare. Without a grand introduction. Without requiring proof. The wise men believed that the Child before them, the Child dwelling under that stubbornly stalled star, was Jesus the Christ, the Son of the living God, the promised Messiah sent to save His people from their sins. The Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father the prophet Isaiah had told them was coming, had indeed come. So full was the measure of their faith that they rejoiced with incredible, overwhelming, exuberant joy. Their blind faith had truly become full sight. (Matthew 2:1-11)

It was this same faith that would become one of the basic tenets of Jesus’ teachings. Faith when you cannot see, cannot prove, cannot know in advance. Faith in the hand of Jesus Christ to heal and save, repair and restore. Faith exhibited time and again by people in desperate circumstances with no reason to hope, no promise of rescue, no earthly basis for believing. Men like the leper who approached Jesus in faith, asking to be made clean. And he was. Because he believed. Men like the blind ones following and crying out to Jesus for mercy, unwilling to miss the chance for their faith to become sight. Hearing their desperate cries, Jesus turned and asked them one question, “Do you believe I can heal you?” Their faith-full response echoed through the surrounding crowd, “We believe!” And He did, not because of their cries or the peer pressure of the crowd. He healed them because of their faith. (Matthew 8:1-4)

Crawling her way through the crowd, dodging sandals and sweeping aside voluminous robes, a suffering woman struggled to reach Him. Her 12-year illness had drained her spirit, body and bank account. The doctors were stymied. Options were gone. Except one. She needed to get to Jesus. He could heal her. She didn’t need to look in His eyes or speak directly to Him. She wasn’t asking for a healing hand on her head. She didn’t even need His attention at all. She had no intention of taking up a moment of His time. She didn’t need to. Her faith-full heart believed if she could just brush the hem of His garment, she would be healed. And she was. Not because she touched His garment, but because she had faith in God when the odds were stacked so strongly against her. (Matthew 9:20-22)

Perhaps one of the most moving examples of recorded faith was that of the Canaanite woman. Deeply distressed over the state of her demon-oppressed daughter, she came and begged Jesus to deliver her child. Unlike the other accounts we read, Jesus didn’t answer her. Didn’t acknowledge her presence. Appeared unmoved by her brokenness and pain. Still she continued to beg. Finally, annoyed at her continued petition, the disciples asked Jesus to send her away. In a shocking rebuff, Jesus responds to her wretched pleading with the statement that He came only for the lost house of Israel. The Jews. Not the Gentiles. Not her. Not her daughter. 

Refusing to be dissuaded, the faith-full woman came and knelt before Him. Tears streaking unchecked down the lines of sadness etched in her face she quietly asked again, “Help me!” Again a negative answer came. He wasn’t here for this. He was here for the lost sheep of Israel. She wouldn’t be dissuaded. Her faith in Jesus wouldn’t allow her to walk away. In abject humility, she likened herself to a dog eating scraps from the rich man’s table. Surely some of His great mercy and grace and healing could fall to the place she and her daughter were being held captive. Surely there was a rescue for them. Surely Jesus could ransom them! Couldn’t He just let a little of the blessing fall on her child? Although her argument may have been sound, it wasn’t cunning or eloquence that won her child’s healing. No. It was faith alone. Desperate faith. Helpless faith. Faith that believes without sight, without promise, without signs and wonders. Immense faith that elicits great rewards. (Matthew 15:21-28)

Unfortunately, so many of us miss it. We look for a sign. We stand in skepticism. We embody the people in Jesus’ hometown, seeing what the wise men saw, hearing what the people in the surrounding villages said, but failing to believe. Their hearts were shadowed with doubt. They thought they knew what to expect from the coming Messiah. Grandeur. Royalty. Strength. Governmental overthrow. This Guy wasn’t Him. He was a carpenter’s son. Child of Mary. They knew His brothers. Some of their sons were betrothed to His sisters. They’d known Him since He was an infant. They were absolutely not buying it! He wasn’t the Messiah. It was all a hoax. A wild attempt to get attention. And because they were busy squeezing God into their box of means and methods, they missed it and it cost them. 

Their lack of faith hindered the work that could have been done among them. Amazing things could have happened in their town, their homes, their lives, but they didn’t have faith. Their miracles hung suspended in time because they refused to believe what they couldn’t see or comprehend. Unbelief ran rampant and choked out the tiny seeds of faith that should have been nurtured and strengthened into great roots of unflappable faith. And it cost them. They gained nothing. Jesus left His hometown doing few, if any, miraculous works there because their unbelief scuttled their faith and cost them their miracles. (Matthew 13:53-58)

What if the wise men hadn’t believed enough to set out on that enormous journey? What if the blind and lame and leperous had hemmed and hawed instead of stalwartly stating their faith? What if the hopelessly ill women gave up at the sight of the crowd pressing around Him and the line waiting for His attention? What if the Canaanite woman had stifled her faith in the God of Israel, buried her hope, and walked away? What would they have missed? What would they have given up? What would they have lost due to insufficient faith?

What about you? As the carols of hope and life and rebirth echo around you, does your faith spring eternal or are you hesitant, reticent? Is your faith waiting for a sign, a signal that it is safe to believe? Are you waiting for God to fit nicely into your preset parameters, work in the way you have previously determined, act in a manner you attribute to the Almighty? Is your faith precariously teetering on the edge of unbelief? Are you willing to lose what you could gain because the security of unbelief is more comfortable than the freefall of faith? (Matthew 16:4; Isaiah 55:8-11) 

It is of utmost importance that you recognize the desperate necessity of being faith-full. In a world and time when we are tempted to cast our hope, our allegiance in a thousand earthly, tangible things, it is imperative to place our faith in Jesus Christ. He is our hope, our peace, our help. He is our strength, our hiding place, our strong tower. And He rewards those who diligently seek Him. Wise men. Blind men. Ailing women and suffering children. Saints. Sinners. You. Me. Every soul who grasps the importance of being faith-full will find that great faith elicits great rewards. (Matthew 21:22; Hebrews 11:1, 6; Mark 11; 22-24; II Corinthians 5:7;  Psalm 121:1; Psalm 46:1-3; Psalm 32:7; Psalm 62:5-6)

A pent-up sigh of sweet relief floated from his lips at her acquiescence. Although God had sent him to bear this announcement, he hadn’t been completely certain she’d agree. Not because he doubted God. Not at all. He doubted humans. Often leading with their emotions, they had a tendency to be fickle. He’d seen it a thousand times. Humanity grabbing up the torch of God and bolting headlong into His work only to become disgruntled, displeased, disappointed, discouraged, and toss the same torch to the ground in defiance and disobedience. He hoped it wouldn’t be the case this time. 

Watching the wash of emotions float over her countenance as he spoke was reassuring. It was almost as if he could see her mind processing his words. The startled fear that filled her at his sudden appearance dissipated only to be replaced with confusion as she sorted out his greeting. He hadn’t meant to be enigmatic. The words were supposed to calm and comfort. Who wouldn’t want to be told they were favored by God? 

The girl was right to be wary, though. She clearly suspected there was more to the statement than a simple blessing. She wasn’t wrong. He had so much to tell her. So much she wouldn’t understand. So many things she would find nearly impossible to grasp. Her mind would be flooded with answerless questions. Her faith would be tested to its outermost limits. The completion of this task would require her to fully trust the God she had never seen yet in whom she still chose to believe. 

Humanity was fickle that way, too. Trust came hard. They wanted to see before they believed. But faith doesn’t work that way. Faith is believing that the words God speaks are, through His omnipotence, “yes and amen.” No matter how long it takes for their fruition. Regardless of whether it happens the way you hoped. Whether or not you see it happen. Faith is unwavering confidence that what God has promised He will also perform. It is the unabated knowledge that you can trust His heart. Always. (II Corinthians 1:20; Romans 4:20-21)

Mary would need that faith, that confidence, that trust. Gabriel’s next words would reveal the exact reason for his visit. It was not news to be considered lightly. As the astonishing announcement of her impending miraculous conception and heavenly pregnancy washed over Mary, so did the questions. A thousand of them. How? How was she chosen? How would this happen? How would Joseph know she had not been unfaithful to their commitment? How would she share the news with her family and friends? How could she prove it was God’s child, not an illegitimate son conceived outside the bonds of marriage? More importantly, and most confounding of all, was one overarching question. How, exactly, did one parent the Son of God?

Gabriel had few answers, but the ones he did have were indisputable. God would do what God would do. Improbable things. Impossible things. Important things. Things the truly faithful had been waiting centuries to see happen. This Child would be proof, once again, that when God speaks, you can trust Him. And she did. Casting her faith in the God who had never once let her people down, led them astray, or forsaken them, Mary trustingly answered, “Yes!” (Luke 1:26-38)

It wouldn’t be the last time Mary would stand in the balance, weigh the options and answer, “Yes,” to God’s will, His way, His timing at the risk of her own heartache. It wouldn’t be the last time she would be pressed to trust His heart because His hand was horrifically obscured. As socially awkward as her ill-timed pregnancy may have been, harder times were coming. She must have known that. As the shepherds collected around that manger in the shadowy stable the night of Jesus’ birth, Mary looked on with the peaceful knowledge of Who she had birthed. As those men ran out into the streets telling everyone about the new baby in the stable three lanes over, Mary collected those confirming events in her heart for future moments of struggle and doubt. Times when she would need to remind herself that her Son was actually God’s Son, the Savior of the world. He was born for more than carpentry. He was born to save His people from their sins. (Luke 2:15-19)

Not once is it recorded that she breathed a word of His greatness. Not when she brought Him to the temple as an infant. Not when Simeon and Anna rejoiced with recognition. Not when they had to travel three extra days back to Jerusalem only to find Him sitting among the religious leaders listening and asking questions. Not even when His response to their concern for His welfare sounded more like rejection than respect. Even then, Mary simply collected the memories. Cherished the moments. Rested her soul in the treasured proof that her faith, her trust, her confidence had not been misplaced. Never once does she regret her choice. (Luke 2:22-51)

There would be opportunities to do so. Many of them. Surely as she watched the people of Nazareth, their hometown, refuse and reject her Son, she wished to speak up, tell them to wise up. She didn’t. Rejected when she and her sons visited the place He was speaking and asked to see Him, surely her heart was wounded at His response. In pain, she could have whispered frustrated words about His deity conflicting with His humanity. She didn’t. In actions we often find nearly impossible to emulate, Mary calls to mind all the things she knows to be true. She casts her faith and trust in God and, although she probably isn’t always excited about the results, she says, “Yes,” to whatever God the Father is doing through their Son. (Luke 4:16-30)

It’s difficult to imagine. At least for me. My stomach flutters in nervousness right along with hers as I picture Mary frantically searching for her missing 12-year-old in a strange city. My spine stiffens in indignation even as my heart spasms in pain when Jesus speaks those words that seem intent on maternal alienation, “Who is my mother and brothers?” I stand in awe that she could so quietly acquiesce, so calmly take her place, so carefully hold her tongue. I shake my head in amazement that, when every other human mother (myself included) would try to micromanage the situation, Mary, in faith, steps back and says, “Yes, Lord,” staying out of the way and allowing God to be God. Even on the hardest day of her life. (Luke 2:43-51; Matthew 12:46-50)

Hanging by nails painfully plunged through His hands and feet into the rough-hewn wood of the cross, Jesus saw her. The blood dripping from his pierced brow almost obscured her bent head, but His heart would recognize her anywhere. She’d been there through the entire grisly event. Her tear-filled eyes had watched as the soldiers ruthlessly fastened His battered, bruised, broken body to that wood and carelessly jostled it into a standing position. She’d listened to His labored breathing. Watched His pain and agony. Felt it as though it was her own. Although tears flowed in endless torrents down her face, she made not one sound. No cries of anger. No screams of pain. No abusive words to the soldiers. She didn’t fling herself at the foot of the cross to howl out her grief. No. In that dark moment, when her firstborn Son hung dying for no fault of His own so He could offer eternal life to undeserving mankind, Mary’s faithful heart echoed the same word it had repeated over and over again throughout the preceding decades. Mary said, “Yes,” to the will and way of the Father. (John 19:25-27)

My heart breaks at the scene. Not just over the immense injustice and unmitigated brutality. It breaks over the woman at the foot of the cross. The woman who has spent her entire motherhood yielding to a power greater than her own. A mother standing by and saying, “Yes,” when her mind was most assuredly screaming, “No!” I have no idea how she did that. My heart is filled with immeasurable respect for the woman we so often brush off as simply “Jesus’ mother”. We pay her no mind, give her no credit. Yet she could teach us so much. Her unending hope and faith and trust in the great plan of God vastly trumps our own. 

So often we stand on the sidelines of our lives attempting to yell instructions at God, inaccurately assuming our nearsighted vision is better than His farsighted plan. How frequently we approach His will with carefully planned arguments and attempted bartering tools. How infrequently we come before Him in absolute faith, trusting that He is for us, working on our behalf. So certain are we of our own superiority in planning and doing that we fail to take advantage of the opportunity to simply rest in the knowledge that God is with us, working for us in the midst of the things we don’t understand, the ones that aren’t going according to plan, the things that seem out of control. How rarely are we courageous enough to sit down, shut up, and let God be God. How unusual it is for our hearts to whisper, “Yes, Lord,” even when our heads are screaming something else entirely.

Perhaps it’s just me, though, who finds myself in this situation. Maybe you have no idea what I’m talking about. Maybe you have been peacefully whispering, “Yes, Lord,” your entire life with no intention of changing. From the bottom of my heart, I applaud you. Stay the course!  Lead the way! But, if you are down here with me, your feet still made of clay, your heart often barely whimpering out an, “Okay,” because the, “No,” in you is so strong, take heart. We can do this! We, too, can be like Mary. Not on our own, but with the help of Almighty God. 

How do I know? Can I prove it? You bet I can! The Word of God says so. It says the One who is in us is greater than the one who inhabits the world. The God who says we can do anything through Him is greater than the one who is against us. The Father who said His strength is sufficient for every problem, every trial, every ounce of suffering has promised and nothing can stop Him from fulfilling His word! So take heart! Anchor your hope and faith securely in the God who never abandons His people. Trust Him. Trust Him to know what you don’t know. Trust Him to do what you can’t do. Rest your soul in His promises, keep your mind stayed on Him, let His peace fill you, and just like Mary, may you confidently whisper, “Yes, Lord!”  (I John 4:4; Romans 8:31; Philippians 4:13; II Corinthians 12:9; Ezekiel 12:28; Deuteronomy 31:8; Isaiah 26:3-4)