Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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)