Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

Heavy silence blanketed the congregation as edicts flowed from the lips of their leader. Statutes. Rules. Commands. Answers for any questions. Guidance for every situation. Punishment for ne’er-do-wells, scoundrels, and the blatantly defiant. The list was comprehensive. Overwhelming. Intimidating. It would take days, maybe months, to memorize the list of laws and punishments. It was imperative they do so. Boldly underscored by every spoken word was the irrevocable truth. The individual brazenly choosing to sin would die. 

The list of rules was logical, even if the litany was tedious. Nothing surprising had been listed as taboo. It made sense to cleanse the evil from among them. Every community, every civilization, every group of people needed laws and rules to govern behavior and establish societal norms. It seemed realistic to quickly punish sin, make an unforgettable example of those who chose to step outside the lines of the law. Yet while their heads were still nodding in affirmation of Moses’ most recent words, a more challenging order reached their ears. Total eradication of their enemies. Annihilation. Complete destruction of those currently inhabiting their God-promised lands. Men. Women. Children. Animals. Every single breathing life. 

As the words of war wafted over the congregation, men’s faces surely paled. Women, running herd on restless children at the outskirts of the crowd, clutched their nursing infants more closely to their chests. They were moved by the words. Their hearts shook. Their stomachs clenched. Feelings of sympathetic horror brought bile to burn the backs of their throats. It took little effort to imagine what those unsuspecting women would feel as swords sliced through their children only to cut them down in the midst of their mourning. Horrified by the thought, tears coursed down their faces to drip from their chins. More than one Israelite woman must surely have wondered why they had to kill them all. Why the women and children? What had they done wrong? Couldn’t they be saved? Couldn’t they assimilate into the Israelite culture? Did all of them really have to die? (Deuteronomy 20:16-17)

The short answer was, “Yes.” No one could be left behind. Not because there was no hope of assimilation, but because assimilation had the potential to swing God’s people over into the abominable practice of idol worship. They couldn’t risk it. Couldn’t set such a trap for themselves. Their entire existence, from current prosperity to future security, rested on their ability to remain faithful to God. Their God. The God who had claimed them as His own possession. The God whose people they had vowed to be. The jealous God who would abide no idols, no distractions, no substitutes. The God who had promised to fight for them, stand with them, deliver them victorious in every battle… if they remained faithful. The God whose requirements could easily be summed up in three short sentences. Fear God. Follow God. Obey God. That’s all He asked. (Deuteronomy 4:1-9, 5:6-8, 7:6-10, 14:1, 15:4-5, 18:9-14, 20:18)

It was essential for their survival that they keep their encampment free from sin. The enemies against whom they would fight were large and established. Men of war. Women of cunning. The Israelites’ ability to confidently fight against them rested in the power of God alone. If even one grain of resentment, rebellion, or earthly attraction took root among them, it could grow and spread, causing God’s presence to withdraw and their fighting skills to be called into question. The danger of allowing sin to thrive among them was too high. The implicative price was far more than they were willing to pay. (Deuteronomy 10:12-21, 11:8,16, 19:9, 20:1-4) 

And it wasn’t the first time they had been told to eradicate sin from among them. Earlier in the same delivery Moses had issued a similar directive concerning evil stemming from within their ranks. Warning against false prophets who would arise and encourage the people to chase after other gods, Moses directed that the one who attempted such a thing must be put to death. No matter who it was. Parent, sibling, friend, neighbor. Do not listen to them. Do not be drawn aside. Do not allow yourself to be tempted. This is not the time for making allowances. Eliminate them. They aren’t your friends. They aren’t looking out for your best interests. Whoever seeks to draw you aside from following God, whoever makes allowances for sin, whoever encourages you to chase after anything but God, is an enemy of your soul. And you have just one set of rules to follow. Fear God. Follow God. Obey God. That’s it. (Ezekiel 18:20; Deuteronomy 13:1-11; Colossians 2:4; Proverbs 1:10)

Centuries later King Saul found this to be unequivocally true. Sent by God to utterly destroy the Amalekites, he and his men became distracted by the earthly attractions they found there. Gorgeous sheep. Strong oxen. Fattened calves. King Agag. Drawn aside by the greedy desires of their own hearts, they failed to follow orders. Instead of arriving home physically empty and spiritually full, they toted wagons of ewes and lambs, led herds of cattle marked for destruction, and towed a king they should have buried. 

Approached by Samuel and asked for an explanation, Saul handily blamed the people under him, readily offering excuses on their behalf. He tried to dress it up, make it look innocent, even holy. “The people brought the best sheep and oxen from the Amalekites, intending to sacrifice them to the Lord,” he whined. But it wasn’t Samuel’s first day. He’d already had a conversation with God. He wasn’t buying what Saul was selling. In words of strong rebuke, Samuel annihilated Saul with simple sentences impossible to misunderstand. God is interested in obedience more than anything. Rebellion and presumption are sins equal to divination and idolatry and God finds them violently repugnant. He rejects both the actions and those who engage in them from His presence. Because God cannot, does not, will not, dwell where sin is welcomed. Choosing not to obey the simple set of rules handed down from God generations before, Saul paid the ultimate price. He forfeited the presence of Almighty God. (I Samuel 15)

From our regal position as Head of Hindsight, we read Saul’s story and shake our heads. We wonder why he didn’t just obey God. It seems so simple, so easy. It was such a small ask. Go in. Destroy the Amalekites. Come home. Samuel didn’t stutter when he gave the directive. There was nothing in his verbiage to confuse or mislead. Clearly Saul and the people went off track of their own volition. Why? Why did they do that? Knowing God’s laws, having firsthand experience with His power, why didn’t Saul hold everyone’s feet to the fire and follow the simple instructions before him?  

Probably for the same reason you don’t. Saul got distracted. Distracted by the sight of healthy, beautiful, fattened animals. Drawn aside by the ability to trek a defeated king through town and celebrate his victory. Diverted by the pull of earthly things, the desire to please the people, the invalid assumption that God would overlook his disobedience so long as they sacrificed the best animals at Gilgal. Saul couldn’t have been more wrong. Neither can we. 

Too often we find ourselves in a similar position. Our world is full of distractions. Things pulling us in one direction or another. Issues demanding we staunchly choose a side. People pressuring and pressing us to loosen up, lighten up, liven up. In the midst of the cacophony of earthly things vying for our attention so they can pull us off track, we find ourselves sorely tempted to adjust our spiritual landscape to include things God has destined for destruction. It is a slippery slope from which we must keep clear. God doesn’t ask us to quit something or someone just because He suddenly had a crazy notion to mix things up a little. No. Everything God does has a purpose. Tearing out the sins and temptations, severing ties to poor influences and pressures, clearing out the things that obscure your full view of Jesus Christ all serve to preserve your soul. If God asks you to make a sacrifice, rest assured, He asks with your eternal safety in mind. 

In the final lines of Ecclesiastes, the Preacher, a man who has searched the world over for wisdom and meaning, finds the most important words to speak are reiterations of the ones God gave Moses so many years before. “Fear God. Keep His commandments. That’s it. That’s all.” The preacher wasn’t wrong. The same message can be found throughout the entire Bible. Its unchangeable truth echoes through time to ring in our ears, “Fear God. Follow God. Obey God.” Nothing has changed since those first edicts so long ago. God required obedience then, He requires nothing less now. Regardless of the changing social climate. No matter the political pressures. The opinions of friends and family notwithstanding. May we dedicate ourselves to the only things that truly matter–perfect obedience and adherence to God’s laws. May it be our vision. May it be all we seek. Fear God, follow God, obey God. That’s it. That’s all. (Ecclesiastes 12:13; Revelation 14:12; Romans 6:16; Luke 11:28; Joshua 1:8; Exodus 19:5; Acts 5:29; I John 5:3; Romans 12:2; Deuteronomy 11:26-28)

Taking tiny sideways steps, one arm stretched out before them to ward off advancing fans, the disciples attempted to usher Jesus through the sea of people surrounding them. It was a monumental task. One step forward, two steps back. Or to the side. Or a dead standstill. They were getting nowhere, regardless how necessary it was for them to get somewhere. They truly needed to leave. Jesus had places to be. He had been politely summoned to an important place by an influential man with an imperative request. More urgent than all other requests. His daughter was dying. 

It was a last-ditch effort on Jairus’ part. He didn’t know what else to do. They had exhausted all other avenues. Doctors. Tinctures. Advice from friends. Nothing changed his daughter’s declining health. She was getting worse. Daily. Clearly, her last breath was imminent. In desperation, knowing his contemporaries may well hold him in contempt for his actions, Jairus had publicly come to the only One he believed had even a chance, no matter how remote, of saving her life.  

The decision wasn’t popular. He wasn’t likely to get slaps on the back and a promotion at work. Not everyone who held positions in the synagogue was eager to place their faith and hope in Jesus. Jairus didn’t have a choice. Not if he wanted his daughter to live. But he did have the pedigree. Jew. Synagogue leader. Religiously faithful. Good father. Everyone knew his name. His resume was highlighted in all the right places. The disciples deemed him qualified for a miracle right from the start. In fact, they were willing to part the crowd, and escort Jesus out of there so He could heal this important man’s daughter! Yet just as they began to find some success in the doing, Jesus got sidetracked. Again. 

Abruptly halting their departure, Jesus stopped mid-step. Turning to look around, He asked aloud who had touched Him. The disciples snorted in derision. It was a ridiculous question. With the crowd pressing in against Him, all trying to touch Him, see Him, speak to Him, how could Jesus expect anyone to know who had touched Him? It was probably accidental, anyway, and they needed to be going. Jairus was waiting. His request was important. He was esteemed. The rest of the unwashed miscreants would have to wait. Their resumes didn’t sparkle with glowing recommendations. They needed to go. Right now. 

Jesus wasn’t going anywhere. His question demanded an answer and He would have it. Gazing from one person to the next, Jesus silently waited, giving the miracle stealer time to own their actions. Eventually she did. Slipping around the large man she’d hidden behind, came a slight woman, the marks of her extensive illness still evident on her frame. Fear etched her features. Movements hesitant, eyes wary, speech barely audible, she claimed her actions. She’d been sick for years. More than a decade. Doctors had treated and mistreated, guessed and hoped. Money had run out. She was tired of being sick. She was sick of being tired. Then Jesus came to town and she’d known, with every fiber of her being, He was the answer to her illness. 

She’d done everything to get to him. Crawling past kicking feet and dirty ankles. Stretching, reaching, hoping, praying. The graze of His garment against her fingers as He turned to walk away had been almost accidental. She didn’t think she would touch Him. Yet she had. As she stood there, whole yet still appearing emaciated and tired from her extended physical battle, surely the disciples weighed her against the man they were supposed to be going to see. A nameless woman in a sea of people. Poor. Female. Unemployed. Her reputation built solely on her illness. Her resume less than desirable. In comparison to Jairus, she was sorely underqualified. Yet Jesus saw something in her that was worth saving. He called her “Daughter.” 

Even as Jesus spoke the words, a servant came to tell Him Jairus’ daughter had passed away. He didn’t need to come after all. It was too late. Although we have no record that they voiced them, the disciples must surely have had questions. Their human minds must have whirred with wonderings. What made that old, decrepit woman more important than a dying child? Couldn’t Jesus have gone and saved the girl then come back to the woman? Didn’t Jairus’ list of qualifications push him up the list of people to help? And, even after Jesus spoke breath back into that child’s lifeless body, it is logical to think the disciples wondered how, exactly, Jesus decided who to heal, who to save, who to call, and when? (Luke 8:40-56)

They would often have occasion to wonder these things. Approaching the well to find Him in conversation with the Samaritan woman, they were immediately aghast at the social faux pas. Did Jesus not know what that woman was? Did He not understand the social restrictions forbidding Jews to interact with Samaritans? What could He possibly be thinking? Knowing nothing about her, they judged her. Without knowing she had been married five times and was now living with a man who was not her husband, they determined her worthlessness. Basing their disgust and consternation solely on her gender and lineage, they deemed her categorically unqualified. She was wholly unworthy to receive anything from Jesus. Not grace. Not salvation. Not even a conversation. Jesus didn’t share their opinion. He saw something more. Something worth saving. And He blessed her with water that wasn’t from the well. Living water for eternal life. (John 4:1-29)

For the disciples standing within earshot of the cross, they must surely have been surprised to overhear the conversation between Jesus and the thief hanging next to Him. By his own admission, the thief was unquestionably disqualified for eternal life. He knew the mountain of sin he’d been carrying around with him, the piles of guilt that had built up at his door. He believed the sentence against him was fair. He made no move to persuade anyone of his innocence. He asked for nothing more than a thought, a memory, a mention. He knew he didn’t deserve it. There was no way he could earn it. Even if he had all the money and goods he’d stolen over his lifetime, he knew it would never be enough to purchase his redemption. In bold letters across the evening paper would be the accurate heading, “Death Penalty Not Enough to Pay For Thief’s Offenses.” In monumental pain and anguish, Jesus hoisted Himself up on nail-pierced feet just far enough to get air in His lungs to speak. Enough air to offer the same things He’d offered to every soul that asked. Pardon. Redemption. Eternal life. (Luke 23:39-43)

The listening disciples must have been astounded. They shouldn’t have been. It was the reason He came. They knew it. They had seen it. Apparently they had some trouble comprehending it. Decades later, after his own encounter with the gospel, Paul would put into easily understood words what the disciples had witnessed. In his letter to the Colossians, penned in beautiful, comforting, inspiring verbiage, Paul outlined for us how God the Father, Creator, Sustainer, Beginning and End, sent Jesus, His only Son, to qualify worthless humanity for Heaven. Any of them. All of them. Everyone who would come to Him in repentance and faith. The over-qualified. The under-qualified. The obviously unqualified. The utterly disqualified. Everyone. With absolutely nothing to recommend us, Jesus came, snatched up the list of sins that had us standing in line to receive judgment, and decisively hammered it to His cross. With the echoing blow of “It is finished,” Jesus gave us redemption and freedom from sin, thereby granting us the power to move out of the domain of darkness into the glorious light of the kingdom of Jesus Christ! He set us free from the bondage of sin and death! Hallelujah! Praise the Lamb! That’ll preach! (Colossians 1:12-14, 2:13-14; Romans 8:1-2; )

No matter who you are, where you are, what your resume says or how your rap sheet reads, the gospel truth remains the same. God the Father sent Jesus Christ, His Son, to die on the cross so those who qualified only for hell could qualify for Heaven. You. Me. Your friends. Your neighbors. Law-abiding citizens. Souls on death row. Whosoever will may come. All of us. No one has to permanently dwell in the domain of darkness. No one has to perpetually carry that bulky burden of sin and guilt. No one has to die in their sins. Because of God. God made a way to cancel our sin debt with all its ugly details. He turned over our list of disqualifications to Jesus Christ who nailed it to His cross. It. Is. Gone! Forever. Victory is ours through the shed blood of Christ! We don’t deserve it. Couldn’t earn it. Would never be able to afford the purchase. And we don’t have to. It’s free. Through repentance and faith in Jesus Christ, everyone has the opportunity to be a resident of the kingdom of God and share in the inheritance of Heaven. That, my friends, is the Gospel and it will absolutely preach!  (Revelation 22:17; Romans 10:13; Acts 2:21; John 3:16; John 11:25-26; Ephesians 2:8-9)

Squeezing his eyelids as tightly closed as possible, he waited a few seconds before carefully opening them again. Slow, incremental opening. Slits at first. Half-open. Full sight. It changed nothing about the scene before him. Nothing had. Not the vigorous shaking of his head. Not blinking in rapid succession. Not turning around then quickly turning back. The unfolding scene of heavenly magnificence remained unchanged. Without being told, Isaiah knew he stood in the very presence of Almighty God. 

High above him, enthroned in glory and majesty and power, sat the Lord. The train of his robe entirely filled the temple. He’d never lost a battle. Never scurried away from a skirmish. Never conceded a war. Perfect holiness surrounded Him. Seraphim sang his praises in adoring abandon. “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts; the entire earth is filled with His glory!” As the words left their lips, the building shuddered and shook with the intensity of that glory. Smoke filled the place. And fear filled Isaiah’s heart.  

He wasn’t certain how he had gotten here. He certainly wasn’t worthy of this amazing privilege. Perhaps the vision had been intended for someone else. Perhaps he had just been in the wrong place at the right time. Perhaps he’d been in the right place at the wrong time. It didn’t matter. As grand as this was, it couldn’t be for him. He wasn’t worthy. He knew himself. Knew who he was. Knew his past and his present. He was all too aware of the things his mind conjured, the thoughts his heart so often entertained. He knew how dark his heart had the propensity to be. He also knew where his wilful self wanted to take him. None of it was good. None of it was lovely. None of it was something he wanted to bring into the presence of a righteous, holy, powerful God. 

Falling to his knees, Isaiah did his best to explain. Pressing words past nearly numb vocal cords and over frozen lips, he found the wherewithal to cry out his worthlessness. He was lost. He knew it. Spiritually unclean. They all were. His friends. His family. His neighbors. All of them were living unsanitary lives mired in spiritual muck. He didn’t belong in God’s presence.  He wasn’t worthy to encounter God on such a deep, intimate level. Yet the sovereign God of the universe who needs nothing from anyone while giving everything to everyone, came to him. 

Bowing there in humble contrition, awaiting whatever consequences must surely be coming, Isaiah must have been enormously surprised to see one of the seraphim spring into action. Flying over to the altar, the seraphim takes tongs and carefully plucks a white hot coal from the altar. Approaching Isaiah, God’s emissary touches the coal to his mouth and speaks words straight from God’s lips to Isaiah’s heart. “You. Are. Clean. Your sin is purged. Your iniquity is gone. Your soul has been cleansed. In the courts of Heaven, the account of your guilt has been obliterated.” Although it didn’t change what people called him, it changed who Isaiah knew he was. No longer was he filthy, sinful, unworthy. He had new adjectives now. Redeemed. Forgiven. God’s. (Isaiah 6:1-7, 41:8-9, 43:1-4, 49:16)

Centuries later, Simon Peter would find Himself in a similar situation. A real situation. Not a vision. Not a dream. A life experience. Discouraged after a night of pulling up empty nets, Peter stood on the shore with his men cleaning their gear. Lines of frustration etched his face. Concern furrowed his brow. Questions raced through his brain. They needed to catch fish. What were they doing wrong? What could they do differently? Should they try a different part of the lake? Was their current spot simply overfished? Or was the issue bigger? A problem with the ecosystem? Would fishing be better tomorrow? Or was his business in irreparable trouble?

Lost in thought, the jumble of questions riding his tired mind, Simon Peter barely looked up when Jesus boarded his boat and asked him to float a little ways out from land. Mechanically, he did as he was asked. Jesus began speaking to the people, teaching them how to live their lives on earth in preparation for eternal life. Peter tuned it out. He was still worrying, agonizing over his current income debacle. Unless Jesus had fishing tips, Peter wasn’t really interested. Never mentioning his disrespectful preoccupation, Jesus ended His teachings and turned to Peter with a command. “Go out deeper. Toss in your nets. They will come back full.” Apparently, He did have some thoughts on fishing.

Simon Peter almost rolled his eyes. Everybody was a fisherman! Forcing calm respect into his tone, Peter reasonably replied, “We’ve been out all night. No fish entered our nets. Not even a tiny, inedible one. But, for You, we will give it one more shot.” Tired beyond argument and anxious to be done with this experiment so they could go home and rest, Peter and his men rowed out to the center of the lake. One by one, they tossed the nets over the side. And they filled. Overflowed, actually. First, their boat. Then their partner’s boat. Fish were everywhere. Hundreds of fish. So many fish their boats started to sink lower than made anyone comfortable. And Peter, centuries after Isaiah, fell to the ground before Jesus and cried out words of realization that echoed those of the Old Testament prophet, “I am not worthy to be in Your presence. I know who You are. I also know who and what I am. Filthy. Sinful. Unclean. So unworthy am I, it is impossible for me to even stand on my feet in Your presence. You are God alone!” 

No matter how grateful he was for the fish. No matter how relieved he was to have his business literally stay afloat. No matter whether he ever caught another fish again. Peter knew himself. He knew he wasn’t worthy. He didn’t deserve any of this. Not the boats full of fish.  Not the conversation with Jesus. Not the blessing of His presence. All Peter had were the filthy rags of his own righteousness. But Jesus was fixing to change that. Speaking words of peace and redemption, Jesus said, “Don’t be afraid. I’m going to teach you to fish for souls.” And, without even one question, Simon Peter, James, and John left their monstrous catch, their boats, and their nets behind and followed Jesus. Whoever they had been before they met Jesus was washed away. They were new creatures through the power of Jesus. They had new adjectives now. Saved. Changed. Children of God. Ambassadors for Christ. (Luke 5:1-11)

It is often so difficult for us to see the prophets and disciples of the Bible as people just like us. Plagued by the evil one. Tired. Worried. Scared. Susceptible to bad days. Blindsided by unexpected circumstances. We seem to think they were all pillars of unbending, unfailing virtue and faith. We overlook their temptations and failures. We find it so hard to believe that Isaiah, Peter, James or John could ever have had a moment when the memories of who they were before Christ seemed to block out who they had become in Christ. Peter would absolutely argue with you. 

Bent low with grief, pain, and humiliation over the enormity of the betrayal he swore he would never make, ragged sobs and broken prayers of repentance racked Peter’s body. He buried his face in his hands, mentally thrashing himself with every beat of his broken heart. Why had he done that? Why hadn’t he been stronger? What had happened to his resolve to follow Jesus anywhere…even to death? As the questions beat upon his ravaged soul, the evil one would have followed up with unfiltered accusations intent on negating Peter’s repentance. Points of guilt. Words of discouragement. Jabs and jibes meant to destroy every particle of who Peter knew himself to be. He’d have called him names, questioned his relationship to Jesus. Maybe Peter questioned it too. Maybe he wondered who he was now. Was he the person he was before Jesus stepped onto his boat? Was he the same man he was when Jesus stepped off the boat? There was clearly a choice to be made at that moment. A heavy choice with eternal consequences. And if Peter hadn’t known who he was in Christ, he might have botched it. Thank God he didn’t. (Luke 22:31-34, 54-62)

Sometimes, in the busyness and boisterousness of the world, we feel lost and start to forget who we are. We find ourselves drifting from our moorings and edging closer to the pretty baubles of earth. As our souls brush against the temptations we have tried so hard to resist, the evil one will swoop in, reminding us of who we were before we met Jesus Christ, attempting to trick us into capitulation. He’ll tell you nothing has changed. He’ll say your transformation was just a figment of your overzealous imagination. He’ll say some preacher talked you into it, someone’s well-worded speech emotionally inspired you to agree to it. He’ll call you names. Spiritually worthless. Hopelessly lost. Destined for eternal death. He’ll be dead wrong. (John 8:44; I Peter 5:8)

If you have met Jesus Christ and repented of your sin, you are a new creature in Him. The evil one doesn’t even know you anymore. None of the names his ugly voice speaks apply to you! Not even one. Your name has changed. You have new adjectives now. You are redeemed. Chosen. Changed. Child of God. Sojourner on earth. Resident of Heaven. Know it. Believe it. Own it. When the evil one comes against you with threats and hate, temptation and intimidation, fear and anxiety, throw what you know in his face. He’s got nothing on you. Can never have anything on you. He’ll never be what you are. Beloved of God. Saved by grace. Quickened by the Word. Called to be a saint. That is who you are in Christ! I hope you believe it! I hope you own it! I hope every part of your life resonates with who you became when you met Jesus! And I hope, with every fiber of my being, that you peacefully rest and daily live in the blessed knowledge of who you are in Him! (Song of Solomon 6:3; Romans 1:7; Ephesians 2:1-9; Romans 8:11; I John 3:1; I Corinthians 6:11; Hebrews 11:13, 13:14; I Peter 2:9-11)

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.