Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

The cacophony of enraged voices ratcheted up another notch. Nearly deafening cries reverberated across the air. Hate and anger emanated from the crowd in nearly palpable waves. Their rabid screams were punctuated by raised fists and hands ready to fight. They would have their way and theirs alone. Try as he might, the chaos was growing further and further out of control. No matter what he found, what he knew to be true, or what compromise he offered, the unreasonable demands of the people remained the same. Urgently echoing from the teeming courtyard came the enraged cry, “Crucify Him!” So he did. 

It was not Pilate’s proudest moment, this moment where he’d waffled and wavered between his love for approval and his responsibility to the truth. His final capitulation to the pull of popularity forced history to write him as he truly was. A coward. His every action boldly underscored this abject truth. The refusal to take responsibility for his own courtroom. His pointless hand washing as if water could redeem his erroneous choice. The spineless acquiescence to the demands of the crowd, unable and unwilling to stand up for what he knew to be true when everyone else was falling for lies. His final handing over of an innocent man to brutalization and death at the hands of people he knew were so deeply entrenched in their sin that the very idea of change caused something ugly and violent to rise within them. Pilate has no one to blame but himself that his historical presence is shrouded in the murky bog of cowardice. (Matthew 27:11-26; Mark 15:1-15; Luke 23:1-25; John 18:28-19:16)

Unfortunately, he’s not alone there. Pilate shares that status with a multitude of nameless, faceless others. People who knew Jesus was innocent. People who knew He was the Christ. People who had been healed by the sound of His words, the touch of His hand, the brush of His garment. People who had watched Him work, listened to Him speak, found their lives forever changed because they had adhered to His words. People who, just days before, were singing, “Hosanna,” in the streets, paving the ground before Him with their cloaks, and fanning palm branches over Him as He rode into Jerusalem on a colt. Yet no matter what they knew, what they believed, what they could unequivocally prove, they were nowhere to be found among this crowd of raging murderers. No one came forward. No one spoke up. Not a word was uttered. Not a peep. Not a sound. If they were there at all, their cowardice made them silent observers when they should have been the loudest voices in the room. 

Where, exactly, were all those people at this specific moment? Where were they when Pilate decided to take a vote? Where were they while their miracle-working Savior was being scorned and ridiculed, mocked and beaten? Where were they when the miscreant crowd of vigilantes decided to have a field day? Where were they when the Son of God was handed over to be brutally murdered for crimes He hadn’t done? I wish I knew!

I wish I knew where the Christian contingency was while Jesus was enduring the darkest moments of His earthly journey. I wish I knew why no one was there speaking up on His behalf. I wish I knew why people who were unafraid to ask Him for healing and miracles and food were too afraid to stand up for Him no matter the outcome. Those multitudes who greedily ate loaves and fishes could surely have assembled a small crowd to come to His defense. The people who hungrily listened to His words in the temple should certainly have spoken up. His disciples, scattered to the four winds at the first breeze of trouble, have absolutely no excuse for their failure to appear. For surely, I think, if all these voices had collectively spoken up, shouted out, surely then, things would have been different. 

Admittedly, God didn’t plan it that way. Our redemption couldn’t be purchased with some measly sacrifice placatingly offered in an effort to appease the much-deserved anger of Almighty God. Our sins were too great. Our debt too high. Our inability to pay too obvious. Only the highest price, the most perfect sacrifice could ever atone for the monumental mess humanity continually makes of their lives. Our hearts know the scene with PIlate had to play out the way it did. It was part of a grander plan. A plan around which we have so much trouble wrapping our finite minds. An infinite plan, created by an infinite God, to enact infinite redemption for finite humanity. Those who would accept it. Those who wouldn’t. All offered the same opportunity through the same sacrifice. Salvation would be available for all. (Matthew 20:28; II Corinthians 5:21; Isaiah 55:6; Acts 4:12; John 7:37-38) 

As much as I adore the end result–redemption that covers every ugly, irritating, embarrassing, degrading sin we ever commit–I continually find myself coming back to those people who failed to turn up, stand up, speak up on behalf of Jesus Christ. The law of averages says some of them had to have been there. It seems highly unlikely no one who had been touched by Jesus was present at those proceedings. They had to have heard the options. They must surely have seen the direction things were going. Why, then, were they stonily silent? Even if they knew their words would be lost in a sea of discordant caterwauling, why didn’t they say something, say anything, to someone, to anyone? Did they not realize their words could change lives, even if they weren’t the loudest voices in the room? Did they fail to comprehend the effect their words could have on just one person to whom they had the courage to speak? Or was their silence borne of self-preservation, social jockeying, or spineless cowardice?

Perhaps they were uninformed about the power of words. Maybe they didn’t realize the power to hurt and heal lies therein. Perhaps they didn’t know they could share the light of Christ through a well-placed word, a timely conversation. Maybe they hadn’t heard about the Samaritan woman Jesus spoke with at the well. His conversation with her changed her life. And many other lives. Why? Because she wasn’t afraid to stand up and speak up for what she knew to be true. (Proverbs 18:21)

We wouldn’t blame her had she been hesitant. She wasn’t an upstanding paragon of virtue. No one assumed she would reach sainthood. In fact, it is likely entire social groups would have studiously avoided contact with her. Yet she went back home and started talking. To anyone. To everyone. There is nothing to indicate she was discriminatory with whom she shared her message. And people believed. Something real emanated from the words of her testimony, compelling them to believe and making them hungry to have it for themselves. So they came to Jesus. Listened to Him teach. Soaked up every ounce of His wisdom and presence. And the seed of belief planted by a morally questionable woman was proven true. Their faith was not misplaced. Jesus was the Christ. The Savior. They had met Him. Their hearts resonated with the truth only intimate acquaintances can know. Jesus, the Savior of the world, had come. (John 4:39-42)

It might never have happened if she’d never spoken up. If she’d clutched the message to herself and never shared the news, how many people would have missed hearing the words of life? If she’d let the evil one convince her no one would listen to a woman with her reputation, how many people would have missed the opportunity of salvation? If for one second she’d believed it a farce, that the Savior of the world would never speak to her, then her own miserable existence would never have been redeemed nor would that of those who heard her words. What would have happened to the “many” who heard her words and came to Jesus? What if she’d been too shy, too scared, too scarred by previous social encounters to share her truth?  How many people would have been eternally lost if she hadn’t courageously been the loudest voice in the room? How many people will be negatively, eternally affected if you aren’t? 

You see, friends, there’s a whole society outside the doors of our homes and churches spewing ugly words of hate and dismissal toward Jesus Christ, His sacrifice for sin, His teachings, His commands. There’s a crushing social pressure attempting to force us to believe things contrary to His Word. As we see more and more capitulation to these beliefs, the snide voice of the evil one whispers in our ear that the current social climate makes it impossible to turn the tide and preserve the Biblical truths of life-changing salvation and  Heaven-attaining holiness. He says there is nothing we can do. We’ll be tempted to believe him. (Colossians 2:8; I Peter 5:8)

In our world, where the loudest voices seem to always get their way, it seems so unlikely our quieter voices will be heard. It feels like no one will listen. No one will hear. Nothing can change. The evil one wants us to think that. Why? Because, standing as we are in the tension between shrinking good and thriving evil, we are poised on the cusp of a magnificent opportunity. The opportunity to do what the people outside Pilate’s hall failed to do, yet the Samaritan woman did with her whole being. Speak truth. Unerringly. Spread the good news of Jesus Christ. Lavishly. Support true Biblical teachings. Staunchly. Boldly. Verbally. Regardless who or where you are. Step up. Stand up. Speak up. Even if you aren’t the loudest voice in the room, speak words of life, words of truth, words of Jesus! (Acts 1:8; Mark 16:15-16; Matthew 10:33; I Corinthians 15:58)

Heaving a sigh, he hauled himself to his feet. He was getting too old for this. Too old for the constant plotting and planning. Too old for strategizing. Too old to continue pulling along a group of adults who seemed to lack urgency, gumption, and faith. He was ready to retire, to rest. Ready to settle in and enjoy his old age. Ready to sit in front of his tent and look around at all the proof that God really does keep every single word of His promises. To that end, he picked up his walking stick and headed out. It was time for a one-sided conversation.

As Joshua walked, his mind wondered. What was really keeping those seven tribes from taking full possession of all God had promised them? Were they simply too lazy? Were they too comfortable where they were? Were they tired of war and uninterested in pushing out the current inhabitants of their promised land? Or was their faith simply not invested in the effort? 

The thought had his steps faltering, the hand gripping his walking staff tightening. Did the people still fully believe that what God had promised He would also perform? Had they forgotten the Jordan crossing? Jericho? The sun standing still? Had they misinterpreted the words, “Pursue your enemies, chase them down…for the Lord your God has given them over to you?” With words like that from which to draw strength, why were they so hesitant to step out, strike out, and claim all God had for them? What, exactly, were they waiting for? (Joshua 3,6,10:12-19)

It was the first question to cross Joshua’s lips as he confronted the people of Israel. So desperately did he need to know that it erupted, filterless, before any greeting. An accusation in the form of a question. “What are you waiting for? How long are you going to sit around, goofing off, failing to go in and take possession of the land God promised you? What is standing in your way? Are you too lazy? Scared? Uncertain? Or is your faith in God’s promise simply not what it needs to be for you to courageously enter in and conquer the land? Why, exactly, are you still hanging about in someone else’s promised land instead of claiming your own?” (Joshua 18:3)

They were legitimate questions. Especially from a man like Joshua. Hanging back when they could have been experiencing God’s best would have been unfathomable to him. He’d always been the one forging ahead. Pushing onward with bottomless faith when other men had long since exhausted their meager supply. If the people had simply followed Joshua and Caleb’s faithful leadership, they would have inhabited their promised land years ago. Joshua’s messaging hadn’t changed. Banish fear. Trust God. Emerge victorious. (Numbers 13-14) 

His tactics hadn’t changed, either. Gathering the mantle of his faith on their behalf, Joshua took charge, laying before them a plan of action meant to expedite their entry and establishment in the lands they had been promised. Men were sent out to investigate the land, record a description of all they saw. People. Towns. Plants. Land. They literally wrote it down. What they saw. Who they saw. Where they saw it. And Joshua, investigative notes in hand, came before the Lord and divided the land among the remaining seven tribes of Israel. In their lack of faith, Joshua stepped in, and, with faith great enough for the whole congregation, stood in the gap and made up the hedge for a generation who was too content with simply surviving instead of striving to obtain all God wanted to give them. (Joshua 18:4-10)  

Admittedly, as I read this account, I shake my head and wonder what made the people hold back. Seriously. It’s an honest question. Like Joshua, I literally want to look at them and ask what the hold-up is! See, I’d like to believe that if God promised me a gorgeous, mortgage free plot of land blooming with luscious vegetation and flowing with streams of glistening water, I’d surely take him up on it. Immediately. I find it absolutely appalling that these people didn’t jump at the chance to get busy living in their promised land! Yet, as the swirl of dust from my overactive righteous indignation settles, I find myself grudgingly admitting I might have done the same thing. Not because I didn’t want the completion of the promise. Not because I didn’t think God would hold up His end. Not even because I wasn’t willing to do the work for the promise to be fulfilled. No. I would hold off, hold up, hold back because I’m comfortable where I am and stepping out in faith means leaving comfortable behind.

Faith is rarely comfortable. Ask Peter. Seeing Jesus walking across the water toward them, he calls out, “If that’s really you, Jesus, command me to come to you, walking on the water as you are.” He couldn’t have been surprised at Jesus’ answer. Of course He’d bid Peter to come. Why wouldn’t he? In obedience, Peter faithfully stepped his sandaled feet from the sturdiness of the deck to the shifting waves of the sea. Outside his comfort zone. Outside his abilities. Outside his realm of anticipation. Carefully putting one foot in front of the other he stepped across the surface of the sea, his faith holding him in place. Until it faltered. Until the wind blew an extra gust. Until the sea rolled a bit harder. Until he looked down and realized that when Jesus called, he’d left comfort so far behind. 

There was only one thing for Peter to do. Only one thing Jesus called him to do. Follow his faith. The same faith that had him stepping off the boat onto the waves in the first place. Daring faith. Courageous faith. Unshakeable faith. Faith that fell so far outside his comfort zone he wasn’t sure it was worth it. Except it was. As amazing as walking on water was, surely the more amazing part of the day was the rescue. As Peter realized what he’d done, how far he’d come from the comfort of the boat, his faith faltered a bit. His moment of weakness nearly cost his life. But as the current tried to haul him under, Peter remembered the faith that had him leaving the boat in the first place and cried out to the One who had called him to come. And Jesus rescued Peter. Not by miraculously calming the waves. Not by tossing him back in the boat. No. Jesus drew him up to once again stand on the water. It was the new space, the new faith, Jesus had called him to inhabit. (Matthew 14:22-31)

Today, Jesus calls us all to that same place. A place where remaining in the comfortable space we currently inhabit is so much less appealing than stepping out on faith into the vast promises of God. A place from which we will never want to turn back. A place where the uncomfortable takes on ultimate comfort. A place we can only reach if we step out in faith and walk into the promised land of God. 

So many things hold us back. Physical comforts. Financial comforts. Spiritual comforts. We are reluctant to stretch ourselves. We are hesitant to spend our time in less comfortable places to spread comfort to those so much less comfortable than ourselves. We are reluctant to part with our resources, choosing instead to hoard them like they count in eternity. Sinking into our padded pews on Sunday morning, we sing the songs, pray the prayers, listen to the messages, content to go through the motions of spirituality. We live upstanding lives. We do good things. We tithe. We believe we make the cut for Heaven. But we never step out in faith and spend ourselves for God. 

I wonder what it would look like if we did. How would it impact our society, our nation, our world? How would it change our lives? How would it feel if, when Jesus calls us to come, go or do, we did just that? Immediately. Trusting that the One who calls us is faithful. Always. And He’s calling. Constantly. Calling us from our comfortable complacency into adventurous following. Uncomfortable faith. Faith that makes you squirm. Faith that makes you stretch. Faith that makes you grow. I don’t know what Jesus is calling you to do, but I hope you do it. I hope you step out on faith and follow the admonition of Mary to the servants at the wedding in Cana. “Whatever He says to you, you do it!” (John 2:5; Hebrews 11:1; I Corinthians 2:5; James 2:14-16; Proverbs 28:20; Deuteronomy 28:1; John 15:16)

His head bent lower over yet another page of parchment. The line of drying papers beside him was quickly growing. He’d been writing for a while, pausing only to reach for a fresh page or dip his pen in the ever-present inkpot before returning to pick up the thought he’d left dangling. His very heart was poured into the letter. The scrawling, spidery lines of handwriting spilling out the words he was too far away to speak. His heart burgeoned equally with elation and concern. Those to whom he wrote were so new in the faith, so young in Christ, so hungry for guidance. Their fervor and desire was exciting, invigorating. Their faith was growing. They were so diligently striving to do the things they knew to do. Paul was so proud of them, yet so concerned for them. 

Experience told him it was only a matter of time before the battle started. The evil one might have left them alone for this brief interlude, but it wouldn’t last. He wasn’t asleep or vacationing. He hadn’t decided to leave this little group of believers alone. No. He was busy plotting his attack. The exact moment when he would scuttle about planting seeds of doubt, stirring up frustrations, dangling tantalizing temptations before their eyes. The evil one would look for ways to wreak havoc, erode relationships, and undermine their unity, knowing that if he could weaken just one link, he’d have them. His goal would be achieved. Dissent and division would reign in that infant church. 

Regardless of the distance separating them, Paul saw it coming. He saw the hand of the evil one twitching as it itched to get started sewing evil. Paul wasn’t having it! The scratching sound of his pen flying over parchment could be heard from several paces away. They had to shut the gates. Bar the door. Seal the shutters. They needed to brace themselves, the evil one was gunning for them. There was only one way to stop the madness. They needed to stick together. Keep their focus. Keep doing what they already knew to do. Love God. Love one another. Live like it.  

Scattered throughout the copious pages of Paul’s letter were several vital reminders of who they were in Christ. Loved, chosen, called by God. Children of light. Sober. Steadfast. Secure. Armed for spiritual warfare. They were not entering this warzone empty-handed. They had armored themselves with the breastplate of faith and love, the helmet of the hope of salvation. They were ready. The darkness couldn’t touch them so long as they stayed alert, remained sober, kept on guard. (I Thessalonians 1:4, 2:12, 5:5-8)

Even as Paul penned the words he hoped they already knew, his heart surely reminded him how easy it was to forget and how hard the evil one would work to distract, delude, destroy them. Like the fiercest storm beating on their fledgling faith, the evil one and all his minions would fight to the death. Like a whirlwind, he would fly in among them and seek to disrupt their peace, destroy their love, decimate their patience for one another. Angst would overflow and he would urge one to repay another with evil. Encourage discord. Press even the most stalwart believer to err from a life that exhibited God’s grace. If given his way, there would be no unity among believers, no strength in their gathering, no power in their midst, no weight to their testimony. Each would seek their own way. The discord would be seen by those in the surrounding community, and their witness would be nullified because their works didn’t match their words.  

It would be impossible to place a value on the importance of that very thing. Their very lives were under the scrutiny of those who had the opportunity to believe, yet had chosen to decline. It was imperative that this church carefully emulate Christ in every aspect of their lives. At home when their neighbors were watching. At the market when acquaintances were watching. At church when everyone was watching. They needed to vociferously preach Jesus with their lives because so many weren’t willing to hear their words. (I Thessalonians 4:12)

To this end, Paul penned the list. His readers likely found it extensive. It was far from exhaustive. It was simply a start. In it, he admonished them to encourage and build one another up. Do whatever it took to maintain peace among themselves. Refuse to harbor laziness or coddle sin. Lift the fainthearted, strengthen the weak, show patience with one another. Not only on days when tolerance is high. Choose to be patient every day. Actively seek good for one another. In the midst of frustrations, irritations, disagreements, treat others better than you have been treated. Remember all the things for which you can rejoice and do it. Always. Let your little church constantly ring with the unified sound of believers rejoicing in the truth that Christ is risen, salvation is yours, and Heaven awaits. Because verbally preaching on street corners and witnessing to neighbors was soundly rebuffed, following this list was how they would follow Jesus’ final command to be witnesses for Him. They would preach the gospel by emulating Christ in front of people who would hear it no other way. (I Thessalonians 5:11, 13-16)

Following the list would require more strength than sat in their reserves. The spirit is often more willing than the flesh. Knowing they would grow weary in doing well, Paul listed this encouragement next. “Pray. Constantly. Don’t stop. Ever.” Prayer was the only thing that would see them through the times when impatience reared its ugly head. Prayer was the only option when their offended humanity nearly allowed their moral compass to drift from due north. Prayer, constant communication with their Heavenly Father, was the one thing that could put joy and rejoicing in hearts that were burdened with fear or anger, revenge, and irritation. Prayer was the absolute only way they could ever preach the gospel without words. Prayer was also the only way they could uphold the final items on Paul’s list. (I Thessalonians 5:17)

He wanted them to praise again. They thought they’d already covered that. Rejoicing seemed a lot like praising. But Paul had added that pesky phrase, “in all circumstances.” It would be a difficult task. Did he know what he was asking? Did he understand their circumstances? Did he know things weren’t always easy and simple and good? Was he aware they faced scrutiny and persecution and hate? Did Paul, from his distant place of ministry in another town, truly comprehend all they were up against as they faced the daily struggle to follow God and live His words out loud? 

Yes, actually, he did. Paul got it. He knew. He understood. He knew all about the persecution of the church. He’d committed acts against Christians in the past. He wasn’t confused. But he also knew that God would never leave them alone and helpless. In every circumstance, they could lift their voices in gratitude to the God who had never, would never leave His children alone no matter their situation. He had firsthand knowledge of that too. He’d seen it in Stephen’s face as the angry mob hurled stones at his head. He’d found it true as he slipped over the wall of Damascus in a basket, when imprisoned, in stocks, whipped and stoned. Not once had God ever left him alone in one of those circumstances. It would take prayer to get them through, to help them find something to be grateful for, but the attitude of thanksgiving would lift their spirits and encourage their hearts when everything around them seemed bleak and hopeless. (I Thessalonians 5:18; II Corinthians 11:24-33; Acts 14:19-20, 16:16-25; Hebrews 13:5-6; Psalm 94:14) 

Paul would finish out his list with orders for them to carefully, prayerfully submit themselves to the spirit of God and only God. He’d tell them to test the things they heard against what they had been taught and what their hearts knew about Him. He told them to cling to what was good and absolutely abhor evil in all its sneaky forms. And every instruction he gave them circled back to one thing. Preach Jesus. Always. Every day. In every action and attitude. In every prayerful word. In every moment of praise. Whether you feel like it or not. Preach the Word. (II Timothy 4:2; I Thessalonians 5:19-22)

Little has changed since Paul penned his list of instructions to the little church of Thessalonica. A list that began with encouraging one another and ended with careful eschewance of evil. Yet a quick glance around the world today tells us we failed to adhere. There’s so much discord and dissent in our ranks. There’s so much acceptance of sin and evil. There are so few lines between the beliefs of the church and the ideals of the world. Instead of standing firm and preaching the gospel through our actions we have fallen prey to ideas and doctrines that fail to perfectly adhere to God’s Word. So terrified are we of offending someone with God’s truths that we disguise them as “personal opinions” and falsely imply they are not required to enter Heaven. What a dangerous position we have placed ourselves in! What a hazardous risk to our own eternity! What an enormous detriment to our society!

Well, I say no more! Like the list Martin Luther nailed to the church door so many years ago, I present to you the list penned by the Apostle Paul, inspired by God Himself, and preserved not only for the ancient, struggling church of yesteryear, but for the desperately gasping modern church of today. The one with all the bells and whistles, the comfortable seats, the talented worship band, the enormous congregation and the utter lack of the presence of Jesus Christ among them. The ones who have aligned themselves so closely with society’s practices that there is no preaching emanating from their lives, simply selfish ambitions and worldly habits. The ones who’ve let the enemy of their souls get a toehold, then a foothold, and finally, a place at their table. You know who you are. You need to straighten up! Get your hearts right. Get back on track and follow the list. Live lives that loudly preach the true, unchanging Word of Jesus Christ. Pray without ceasing to prevent your heart from erring from the way. And praise God that, in spite of your spiritually reduced circumstances, His grace is greater and stronger and He offers you the opportunity to rededicate your estranged self to Him. 

So come. It’s an open invitation. Come pick up your list and follow Him. (Matthew 10:38; Mark 8:34-35; I John 2:15-17; Romans 12:2; James 4:4; Matthew 6:24; I John 3:17; Numbers 23:19; Psalm 33:11)

It made no sense for them to return to Judea. Not even a little bit. Enough time had not elapsed between today and their last visit. Tempers would not have cooled. Memories would not have faded. Hate would still run strong. The same Jews who had then been breathing out threats and actively searching for reasons to let stones fly from their fingertips toward Jesus would surely have added to their ammunition pile. Going back was risky. Dangerous. Insane by every human measure. Yet still He said, “Let’s go.” It wasn’t so much a question as an invitation. There would be no vote. Majority didn’t rule. Jesus wasn’t asking for permission or input. He was going back to Judea. With or without them. (John 11:7)

Of course, they’d go too. They’d follow Him anywhere. And they got it. They understood Jesus’ desire to return, at least to Bethany. It wasn’t difficult. Word arrived two days ago informing them of Lazarus’ dire physical situation. Things clearly didn’t look good. Mary and Martha would never have sent the message for a cold, the flu, or a passing stomach virus. They understood the importance of Jesus’ ministry. They knew He had to be about His Father’s business. But the girls were worried. Anxious. Scared. Seeing that nothing else was working, they sent for Jesus, fully believing He was Lazarus’ last hope.  

Perhaps He should have left sooner. Maybe they should have walked faster, journeyed longer each day. Perhaps He should have simply spoken words of healing from the town in which He received the message. Maybe then Lazarus would still have been alive upon His arrival. He wasn’t. Instead, Martha approached. Even at a significant distance, it was impossible to miss that she was on a mission. In spite of, or possibly because of, her grief-stricken state, she was obviously a force to be reckoned with. Her tear-stained face was set in determined lines. Her steps were firm. Her back was stiff. She had things to say. She had questions to ask. She needed answers. And she would have them. 

What had taken Jesus so long to come? Was He too scared of the people who wanted to kill Him? If so, why didn’t He simply speak healing from wherever He had been? Why had He allowed Lazarus to suffer, die, be buried? Did He not care as much about Lazarus and Mary and herself as they thought He did? Was He completely untouched by their pain and grief? Why, exactly, had it taken so many days for Jesus to get here? And did He realize Lazarus had already been buried? In short, did Jesus feel her pain? Did He even care?

Trudging down that path toward Jesus, Martha lined up her questions to shoot off her lips in rapid-fire succession. Her bruised and broken heart had to know, needed to see, desperately had to hear if He really cared for them as much as she thought He did or if it was all an enormous farce, a gigantic fable, an intricate fabrication. From where she was sitting, they’d been played for fools. Stalking straight up to Jesus, Martha laid her charge at His feet. “If You had been here, if You had come when we called, my brother would still be alive!” 

The same words would cross Mary’s lips as her greeting as well. “If You’d been here, if You’d come, if You cared as much as You said, my brother would still be alive!” Essentially, “We wouldn’t be grieving. I wouldn’t cry myself to sleep every night. My yard wouldn’t constantly be filled with people weeping and wailing. The little voice whispering in my ear saying that You don’t care, don’t feel my pain, are completely unconcerned with my anguish wouldn’t be quite so tempting to believe.” If Jesus had come then, they wouldn’t be there now.  Mary and Martha wouldn’t be bereaved. The entourage of mourners wouldn’t be standing at the grave. Lazarus wouldn’t be encased in a cold, dark tomb. Surely things would be so different, if Jesus had only felt their pain and followed their plan! 

How well we know this feeling! How often we’ve cried out the same things! When life takes turns we didn’t ask for, hands us problems we can’t figure out how to solve, puts roadblocks up where we thought it would be smooth sailing, we cry out to God for a rescue. We are even so helpful as to tell Him how to do it. And when He doesn’t come through in the way we expected, hoped, or thought He should, we scream that He doesn’t love us, doesn’t care, has no idea what it’s like to be human, have emotions, feel pain. John 11:35 says differently. 

Facing a troubled Mary, flanked by a determined Martha, followed by disciples who likely had questions of their own, Jesus stood…and He felt. He felt the force of every wracking sob. The bottomless devastation, anguish, emptiness. The intense pain that speared their hearts and stole their breath. He felt their disappointment and wavering faith because it looked like He’d failed them. He felt their immeasurable grief and His heart broke too. For their sadness, their pain, their fear, their tears. Jesus looked on them, those people He loved so profoundly, and, feeling the depths of their despair, His tears flowed too. Even though He knew the outcome of the story. Even though He knew He was right on time. Even though He knew Lazarus wasn’t lying in a cave deteriorating from the inside out. Jesus wept because His heart was full of compassion for their current situation and because He cared.  About Mary and Martha. About the other mourners. About Lazarus who had to endure an illness and death. About the disciples who were likely feeling confused and conflicted. Jesus wept because they wept, they mourned, they hurt. And Jesus cared. (John 11:1-36)

This may well be one of the most difficult truths to grasp. We easily believe in salvation because we can point to Jesus’ death on the cross. We believe in lives changed by His blood because we can look back to who we were, compare it to who we are now and see the difference. We believe that Jesus loves the obviously good, clearly sainted, decades-old Christians because they seem so rooted and peaceful when the storms of life take them by surprise. But when we look at ourselves, clinging to the sides of our leaking dinghy in the middle of raging winds and high seas with no help in sight, we find it impossible to imagine Jesus cares about us. Why? Because He didn’t come flying to our rescue according to our carefully constructed script. And we always have one. Trust me, I know. 

Two weeks ago I had to have a root canal. It wasn’t a surprise. It has needed to be done for quite some time. I knew about it. Put it off. Full disclosure? I kept praying God would miraculously heal it to keep me from having to face what is one of my greatest fears. Dentistry. Seriously, I’d rather give birth on a dirt floor with no medical supplies or personnel present than go to the dentist. Abhor is the strongest word that comes to mind. If you can think of a stronger one, replace it and you’ll finally be in the right ballpark. Clearly, God didn’t follow my script. He was on a mission. A labor of love to show me that just because His script reads differently than mine doesn’t mean He is indifferent to my fears, frustrations, tears, or pain. 

Attempting to find me as much peace and support as he could, my sweet husband texted a faith-full friend asking for prayer on my behalf. The friend replied, “I Peter 5:7.” In the grocery store when my husband read the text, I immediately quoted the words, “Casting all your care on Him because He cares for you.” Overly proud of my quick uptake, my husband responded that I knew the verse by heart. In words he couldn’t know would change my life, that friend replied.

“Yes, she knows the words, but does she really KNOW them? Does she believe them? Does she know that He cares about HER? Her fears. Her cares. Her worries. Her anxieties.  Does she understand that as she feels the fears of your children and seeks to calm them, God feels her fears and seeks to calm them as well? Does Naomi know, really know, truly believe, God cares for her?” 

Well. She does now. A dentist appointment and a faithful friend nearly 3,000 miles away cleared things right up. Whatever we are going through, facing, hurting over, or scared about, God cares. Every. Single. Thing. Little things like the dentist. Big things like the stack of bills. Terrifying things. Horrifying things. Hurtful things. Jesus cares. And He wants you to bring them to Him. Not so you forget they exist. Not so you dance along happily through life as if nothing negative ever crosses your path. Not even so He can fix them. His fix probably doesn’t look like yours anyway. No. Jesus wants you to cast your cares on Him because He cares about you. (Psalm 55:22; Matthew 6:25-34; Hebrews 4:16; Psalm 27:14)

I don’t know what you are facing today. I have no idea what makes you sigh, brings tears to your eyes, or makes you want to hide. Maybe you feel alone in your place of fear. Perhaps you’re embarrassed by what hems you in. Maybe it seems no one in the world has ever been facing the mountain of things stacked up at your door. You feel deflated, dejected, depressed. As the dark ink of despair attempts to suffocate you, I hope you’ll take a deep breath and remember, Jesus cares. About you. About the things you feel. About the things that make you feel that way. I hope you truly believe it. Read it over and over again until your heart resonates with the absolute truth of the statement. Jesus cares for you! Every part of you. He does not see you as ridiculous, pathetic, or hopeless. He is not listening to you out of duty and responsibility. He is sitting on the edge of His seat, hoping you will bring your battered, weary soul to Him and cast your cares at His feet. He wants you to come! So come. Obey the words. Cast your cares. Anchor your soul in His love. And rest. Knowing this beautiful, unchangeable truth–Jesus cares for you. (Psalm 40:17; Psalm 127:2; Philippians 4:6; John 14:27; Psalm 56:3; Matthew 11:28-30; Jeremiah 33:3; I Peter 3:12; Psalm 18:6)

A short time back, a friend posted a quote to social media noting the decidedly deteriorating state of today’s church with the speculation that were the Apostle Paul alive today, he’d be writing some letters. Having recently read the letters of Paul to the ancient churches, I concur with the above statement. Paul would most certainly be writing letters to today’s church. Lots of letters. Long letters. Detailed epistles full of encouragement, direction, reproof. He’d need multiple reams of paper, several pots of ink, and an entire package of unused quills. He’d surely be afflicted with carpal tunnel syndrome by the end of his writing. I believe he’d risk it. The dire straits of today’s church would compel him to do so. And he wouldn’t be the only one fiercely scribbling down letters. John would be right there with him. 

Although not as copious or detailed as Paul’s epistles, the words John penned to the seven churches in Asia were no less potent. Exiled to Patmos for his unfaltering faith in Jesus Christ, none of us would have blamed him if he sat under a lone, remaining tree and prayed for death. Maybe he did. Maybe that is how he stilled his soul enough to hear the voice of God when He delivered the messages for those churches struggling to survive in a world of persecution, tribulation, and hate. (Revelation 1:9-11)

John was no stranger to those three words. He understood the social hatred of any teachings that promoted full surrender to God and absolute adherence to His laws. He’d walked the waters of tribulation and persecution at the hands of those who thought they could force his conformity to society’s desires for blanket approval of their evil ways. Even now, a citizen of a tiny island reserved for criminals, John understood the opposition and fear gripping the church of Smyrna. He had firsthand knowledge of the white-knuckled tenacity exhibited by the church in Philadelphia as they refused to deny their trembling faith. Indeed, in the face of mounting political and social pressure to renounce their beliefs, abandon their convictions, accept the desired conventions of their day, these two congregations squared their shoulders and refused to err from the laws and regulations of God. 

  And God saw them. He saw their faith, their struggle, their tears. He saw the ravenous fear constantly poised at the door, waiting to overtake them and demolish their faith. He noticed they never let it happen. Through threats and persecution, discrimination and hate, tribulation and poverty, and malicious slander, the people of these churches never once denied their God, rearranged His laws, or adjusted His teachings to their advantage. They were completely sold out to Him, dedicated to His ways, determined to obey His commands. Come hell or high water. Freedom or imprisonment. Life or death. Nothing mattered more than being in the right relationship with their God.

 Their reward would be not of this world. Nothing earthly could possibly be a worthy reward for such absolute surrender. God had a better plan. Heavenly crowns. Eternal life. John was blessed to be able to write such words of encouragement and promise to people he knew to be struggling and fighting for spiritual survival in a world utterly barren of hope for the same. His letters to the five remaining churches would not resound with similar accolades. (Revelation 2:8-11; Revelation 3:7-13)

Hot tears would course down his face to land on the parchment, smearing the ink as he wrote to them. His heart broke at the words he was compelled to write. Although there were indeed things that deserved commendation, the fabric of their faith was fraying, the weave loosening. Things were going sour. Though many were commended for their patient endurance and steadfast faith, there were issues that needed addressed. Words fell from God’s lips to his ears to flow from the end of his quill onto the parchment in front of him. Somber words. Strong rebukes. Stalwart promises both for obedience and disobedience. Words that, in the suffocating darkness of night, surrounded by threatening sounds of island creatures, must surely have washed over John, breaking his heart and causing him to cry out for the safety of his Christian family so far away. Spiritual safety, for their souls were most certainly in peril. 

Situated in the heart of wickedness and idolatry, the church at Pergamum had always been a prime target of evil. It surrounded them. Chipping away at their resolve with teachings that sounded good but held elements condoning sin. Sometimes it was difficult to see the difference. But they needed to be smart. Try the spirits. Test the doctrines. Measure them against what they knew to be true and throw out what proved false. So did Thyatira. Their tolerance of evil put them in a terrible position. A place where they could easily fall from grace and find themselves doomed for eternity. They needed to hear from John. They needed his call to repentance. They needed the words of God reminding them that He alone searches and knows the minds and hearts of all people and will give each according to their works, according to what they condone and accept, according to what they call good and what they deem evil. They needed the strident reminder to get back on track. They needed the urgent call to repentance and rededication. They needed to refocus their spiritual lens for the safety of their own souls. (Revelation 2:12-29; Isaiah 5:20)

Lackadaisical love and lukewarm commitment had overtaken the churches of Ephesus and Laodicea. They had lost their fervor. The love and excitement they once felt for following the things of God had lessened considerably. Their admirable work and patience and endurance had become rote. Their service was from loyal duty, not loving devotion. Some had been drawn aside by the bits and bobs of the world. Taking credit for their own success, they found it easy to rely on their own abilities, to pat their own backs in satisfaction, to blossom under the praise of others all the while forgetting that without the prevailing work of God in their hearts they were poor and weak and blind. Without Christ, they were nothing. The evil one saw his chance and monopolized it. He’d drawn them aside. Clouded their vision. Cooled their love. On a collision course with spiritual death, they desperately need this wake-up call. They wouldn’t survive without it. (Revelation 2:1-7; Revelation 3:14-22)

Tears must surely have accompanied the aching pain in his heart as John penned the words spoken by God to the congregation at Sardis. They followed a form of religion. Kept those around them convinced they were a living, thriving spiritual community. They did good works. Gave to the poor. Cared for the orphans. Housed the widows. If eternal life were counted by outward actions, they were shoo-ins for Heaven. But God doesn’t look on the outside. He’s not busy seeing what you do to gain attention and accolades, fame and fortune. He doesn’t care one iota about your building, your video screens, your membership drives or fundraisers. He cares about what’s inside. He cares about your motives. He cares about whether your actions and words match up with your innermost thoughts and feelings. For the church at Sardis, what God saw told a different story than what everyone else saw. They were dying. The little bit of good remaining needed a significant amount of spiritual resuscitation. It couldn’t be done by the handful of faithful alone. They’d never get to Heaven riding someone else’s coattails. They needed revival. They needed to repent. They needed to wake up and straighten up! (Revelation 3:1-6)

As heavy as John’s heart must have been as he meticulously folded the parchment of each letter, I find my heart just as heavy as I read his words to the churches then and see the obvious correlation to the churches now. You saw them too. They are too stark to miss. Love has grown cold. Fervor has waned. The duplicitous arguments of the world for the invasion of idols and false doctrines have caught the wavering church in a moment of weakness and drawn them off course to condone and accept attitudes and actions God despises. Once avid followers of God have now veered off course to chase down wealth and power, fame and fortune, accolades and acceptance. As the death rattle sounds in the constricting lungs of today’s churches, I find myself wondering what God would say to these first-world churches with their elaborate buildings, expensive electronics, intensive membership drives and abandoned morals. Churches who do all the right things but lack the power of God among them. Your church. My church. Most churches. (II Timothy 3:2)

In a moment of heartbreaking revelation, I find myself unable to shake the irrepressible belief that God’s letter to us would reach back to the Old Testament words of Jeremiah and could be summed up in common colloquialism to be verbalized like this, “Speak up, shepherds! Straighten up, saints!” Speak and obey the word of God. Only. Don’t enhance or edit. Don’t simply say what people want to hear. In honesty and truth, keep to the old paths. The paths that lead to eternal life. Don’t waver. Don’t be drawn aside by the fancy speeches and angry diatribes of the world. Keep. The. Faith! Hold fast in the face of persecution and tribulation and hate. Guide one another in the indisputable ways of God. Be leaders in a world that’s only interested in followers. Stand up. Step up. Speak up. (Jeremiah 3, 4:1-4, 14, 22; II Timothy 4:2; Jeremiah 6:16-17; Ephesians 4:15)

Surrounded as we are by a society hell-bent on making evil good and good evil, it has become imperative for us to solemnly take stock of our souls and determine where we stand before God. Our churches. Our small groups. Our Bible studies. Ourselves. We need to ask questions. Hard questions. Questions that make us honestly examine ourselves, our hearts, our motives. Questions asked with eternity in mind. Questions that will change our lives, our churches, our communities. Questions that bring revival, renewal, rededication. Questions whose answers would alter the ending verbiage if God were to speak the words to one of His people,“To the churches of America write…” (James 4:7; II Corinthians 13:5-10; Proverbs 4:23; Psalm 44:21)