Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

Slouched against the wall, jaw belligerently set, Thomas watched the ruckus with a jaundiced eye. They were all talking. Every. Single. One of them. Had been from the moment they burst through the door. Every mouth moving at top speed. Every voice box tuned to the highest decibel level. He wanted to quiet them, sort out their stories. Would have done just that, in fact, if he believed there was any truth in them. 

He didn’t. Believe, that is. Thomas didn’t believe their tale was true. He’d been there. He’d seen it. He’d watched through a blur of tears as Jesus was crucified. The scene was so demented and depraved he wanted to close his eyes, to turn away, but he couldn’t. Couldn’t tear his eyes away from the horrifying scene. He’d witnessed every moment. Torture. Crucifixion. Taunting. Death. Chest tight with emotion and pain, he’d watched them haul away the lifeless body of his Lord. He’d seen it all with his own eyes. He knew it was true. But these newly reported events he hadn’t seen. He hadn’t gone to the tomb to pay his respects. And Jesus hadn’t appeared to Thomas. So how, exactly, was he supposed to believe something he hadn’t seen?

Alone when the rest of the disciples arrived, Thomas was immediately overwhelmed by the chatter and retelling of earlier events. According to the men he’d spent the last three years of his life with, Jesus had risen from the dead and visited them. Not just them, either. He’d spoken with Mary when she went to the tomb. As unbelievable as it sounded, there was no reason to believe they lied. There was no indication they were mistaken. The accounts did actually sound like something Jesus would do. But his heart. His heart couldn’t take another beating. It couldn’t stand another disappointment. It couldn’t handle the dashing of denied hope. Thomas simply couldn’t allow himself to believe in something he couldn’t see. 

So, as the clamor around him continued at riot pitch, as one by one his spiritual brothers gave their accounts of Jesus’ visit, Thomas held himself aloof, apart. Although their stories rang true and their conviction was strong, he hadn’t seen it himself. Wouldn’t believe it until he did. He said just that, “I will not believe unless I see His nail-scarred hands and spear-riven side, unless I touch those wounds with my own hands.” (John 20:25)

If Thomas was expecting the door to fly open and Jesus to stride through at his declaration, he was mightily disappointed. The sky didn’t split open revealing the Savior enthroned in splendor. Lightning didn’t flash across the sky, delivering a risen Christ to Thomas’ side. No whirlwind swept through, blowing off the thatched roof of their hiding place and dropping a previously crucified, now-risen Jesus into their midst. In fact, it would be eight days of unbelief before Thomas would find how treacherously low his faith was. (John 20:26)

Eight days of listening to the other disciples retell their tale. Eight days of wishing he hadn’t missed it. Eight days of wondering why Jesus hadn’t come to him too. Eight days of the evil one hammering at his soul, chipping away at his confidence in God, throwing cold water on the last vestiges of his depleted faith. Eight days of harping questions, destructive insinuations, and nagging doubts echoing straight from the pit of hell. One hundred ninety-two hours of relentless fighting against the ruler of the darkness of this world. (Ephesians 6:12) 

The badgering would have been hellacious. Didn’t Jesus love him? Is that why he had been excluded from that visit? Had he done something, committed some unknown sin, been shut out because he wasn’t good enough, brave enough, faithful enough? Had he not done enough to merit a visit? He’d been so confused by Jesus’ declaration that He was going away, so worried at the concept of life without Jesus physically beside him, so desperately in need of the assurance Jesus gave him, “I am the way.” Perhaps he’d been too needy. Perhaps he’d been deemed a liability. Perhaps he was determined to be less important. Maybe he was no longer useful or necessary to the mission of the Kingdom. Perhaps his run, wonderful as it had been, was over. Surely one of these was the reason Jesus had failed to visit Thomas, too. (John 14:1-6)

Inflamed by the tricks of the evil one, Thomas’ human insecurities warred with this faith and all he knew to be true about Jesus and God. At the end of his rope, spiritually and mentally exhausted, Thomas regretted the conversation his wavering heart realized must soon be coming. A conversation about how their roads were splitting. Their numbers weren’t even anymore. They only needed ten to go out in groups of two. He was superfluous to requirement. His inability to accept their account of Jesus’ resurrection would surely sign his discipleship pink slip. 

Solemnly gathered together for what might be the last time, the disciples sat shuttered away from the certain coming persecution. They had decisions to make. Futures to decide. Ministries to plan. As they spoke quietly among themselves, attempting to make sense of their next steps, Jesus appeared. Silently. No doors creaked open. No window shutters slid. No voice from Heaven announced His presence. He simply appeared. And, although His greeting of peace was meant for all of them, His mission was for only one. Thomas. 

Locking loving eyes directly onto Thomas’ surprised ones, Jesus held out his hand, inviting Thomas not just to look, but to touch. Wounds. Ridges of puckered, healed flesh. Unmistakable nail scars. The sight of His marred hands was likely enough, but Jesus wasn’t done. Turning to the side, He offered more evidence. Another wound. A bigger scar. The mark where a spear had sliced through skin and flesh and muscle. Undeniable proof. The account Thomas heard was correct. Jesus had died. He knew it. Had seen it. But He hadn’t stayed dead. The proof stood not just in an empty tomb or secondhand accounts. It was right in front of him. Jesus had risen. Just as He said. (John 20:19-27; Matthew 28:6)

Sin was defeated. Eternal death was no longer the only option. Heaven had triumphed over all the forces of Hell. Victory over the nagging, haranguing, browbeating voice of the enemy was possible, because Jesus’ resurrection means the evil one has forever been defeated! For Thomas then. For you and me now. His ugly, demeaning words are meaningless. His harping accusations are empty. His carefully aimed arrows of doubt and unbelief, questions and insinuations, guilt and fear have been rendered eternally pointless. Jesus’ resurrection means that we are covered by the prayers of our Advocate, continually interceding on our behalf. It means everything Jesus did in person is available to us through the Holy Spirit. It means our faith-meager, wilted, defective though it may be-is not misplaced. Jesus rose to give us life. Eternal life in the end, yes, but also abundant spiritual life in the interim. Just like He said. (John 10:10; I John 2:1; Romans 8:34; Hebrews 7:25) 

In a world where seeing is believing, Christ calls us to believe in what we cannot, have not seen. Like the people in Chronicles, God calls us to stand still, leave our battles to Him, and believe He will fight for us. Like the widow who, leaving her doubts behind, gave the last of her wheat and oil in a loaf to Elijah, God calls us to give Him all we have so He can give us abundantly above what we could ever ask, think, or dream. Like the man by the pool of Bethesda, ill for 38 years, hoping, wishing, dreaming of getting well, God calls us to faithful obedience even if it seems like a long shot. Like the royal official who came to Jesus begging Him to travel to another city and heal his boy, Jesus asks us to place our faith in His promises and believe whether our eyes see the outcome or not. Whether it happens now, eight days from now, or even eight years from now. Jesus is searching for those who believe, even if they haven’t seen. Those who wholeheartedly believe what He promised He will also perform. Just as He said. (Numbers 23:19; Romans 4:21; II Chronicles 20; I Kings 17:10-16; Ephesians 3:20; John 5:1-9; John 4:46-54)

Sometimes I wonder why Thomas didn’t readily believe. He’d read about, heard, and seen Jesus keep His word so many times. He’d experienced it firsthand. Yet still his traitorous heart held him back. I like to think I would have done so much better had I been there. I want to believe being present by Jesus’ side would have annihilated any doubts and given me limitless faith. I so want to say that my trust in the character of Jesus, in what I knew of Him, in what I had seen Him do would give me the courage to believe He would do what He said! Of course I would! 

Except I don’t. You probably don’t either. So often we find ourselves strung in the tension between hope and faith, unable (or unwilling) to let go and free-fall into trust in God. In spite of all the answers to prayer we’ve read, heard, and seen, our traitorous hearts still hold us back. Waiting. Waiting for a sign. Waiting for proof. Waiting for something tangible, something visible in which to lodge our meager faith. And in the waiting, the wondering, the evil one strikes. He comes against our minds and souls in a vicious attempt to deter our faith, derail our trust, and deride God’s character. He’ll win if we aren’t careful. 

So be careful. Remind yourself of what you know. Remember that the resurrection means sure and certain death to the evil one. He absolutely cannot win. His death warrant was signed at Calvary. It is over for him. Remember that the God who raised Jesus from the dead, who visited the disciples in general, but Thomas, entrenched in doubt and fear and worry, specifically, is hearing and working and moving. So. Even when you don’t see anything happening, when you can’t feel anything softening or moving, when the prayers are many but the answers are few, do not stop praying. Do not stop believing. God is faithful. He has promised. He will answer. Just as He said He would. (Jeremiah 29:12; Luke 11:9; Psalm 38:15; Jeremiah 33:3)

Glorious music exploded from the orchestra pit exactly on the conductor’s mark. Bows drew melodiously over strings. Trumpets blasted triumphantly. Flutes and piccolos trilled their joy. Bassoons and double basses leaving mellow tones behind to join the celebration. Above the orchestra, nearly vibrating with carefully leashed excitement, the angelic choir, radiant of face and impeccably clothed in unblemished garments, burst into the most beautiful refrain, “Holy! Holy! Holy! The whole earth is filled with His glory!” As their ebullient music lifted to surround the Father’s throne, their hearts swelled with the truth of their words. He had done it. The Creator’s masterpiece was complete. It was finished. 

Seven-time frames past, there had been an enormous, dark void. Nothing lived there. Nothing existed. Then He filled it with His glory. Every blade of grass, rock formation, stately tree, rainbowed fish, and patterned hide spoke of the power and majesty of their Creator. Over seven days, as they watched God the Father carefully think and plan, speak and create, form and place, the angelic host impatiently waited for the words they knew were coming, “It is good!” And each time they heard the words, their cheers resounded throughout the heavens. It was indeed good. All of it. More than good. It was glorious!  

 When the final element, man, lie unmoving in the dust from which he was meticulously formed, the angels held their breath. Creeping to lean over the edge of the clouds, they watched in fascination as the Father leaned down right into the face of His creation, and gently breathed life into his nostrils. Palpable excitement raced through the heavenly host as man sucked in his first breath. Then another. And another. Unrivaled adoration flowed from their lips, quieted only by the anticipation of His words. Looking down on light and darkness, land and sea, plants, animals, and humanity, God’s declaration rang out one final time. “It is very good!” Unable to harness their exaltation, the heavens reverberated with the resounding notes of the heavenly host raising their voices in praise to the Almighty Father whose glorious creation continually shouts out the message–He does everything well. (Genesis 1; Job 38:4,7; Colossians 1:16; Exodus 20:11; Isaiah 6:3)

In the time that followed–years, centuries, millennia–the angels would watch in confusion, frustration, consternation as the people God so lovingly and painstakingly created would reject Him for their own desires. Trade His glory for something far inferior. Idols of wood and stone were erected. Strange practices adopted. Unauthorized sacrifices offered. It would never turn out well. Their new gods would hold them in bondage, keeping them enslaved with no obvious way to freedom. No way but through God. Hopeless and helpless, the people would turn back to Him and cry out for rescue, ransom, removal from their current untenable situation. And because He so deeply loved the ones He had so fastidiously created, God would answer. Every time. 

Finally, in a grand gesture of love and grace, the Master Planner enacted His greatest rescue ever. He sent His only Son, Jesus, to earth as a ransom for everyone who sinned, everyone who strayed, everyone who chose a god before God. As the heavenly Babe was placed in a feeding trough, the heavenly host again burst into song over a field full of dozing sheep and sleepy shepherds. Their voices lit up the night sky with a song full of words they’d been singing since the dawn of Creation, “Glory to God in the highest!” God’s glory had truly come to dwell among men. Surely this would bring all men to Him! (Luke 2:1-19; John 1:14)

Unfortunately, it didn’t. The people He had so carefully created had made an idol of the law. They were convinced they could earn their way to eternal life. They were busy checking and correcting themselves and everyone else. They were no longer enamored with the glory of creation. They were no longer gobsmacked at His outrageous acts of deliverance. So bound were they by observing their religious edicts, they didn’t recognize God’s Son when He came. They didn’t like His teachings. They weren’t persuaded by His miracles. They staunchly refused His proffered peace. Instead, they chose to persecute Him, tried to entrap Him, plotted to kill Him. Eventually, their plot came to fruition. 

On that day, the inky darkness of the sky made the view of earth nearly impossible. Angels crowded the edge of the clouds, watching as the Ransom from Heaven was paid. Deafening silence blanketed the air. Songs of praise were silent. The joy of Heaven hung on a cross, beaten beyond recognition, shredded flesh hanging from His back, blood trickling down His brow, dripping from nail-pierced hands and feet. Yet these atrocities were not the worst part of the scene. Although humanity couldn’t see it, didn’t realize it, wouldn’t understand it, mounds of sin in every variation were piled around the foot of His cross. Heavy bags of hate and anger hung from His outstretched arms. Jealousy, idolatry, adultery sat atop His shoulders. They were not His own. No. The sin of all humanity–past, present, and future–were laid against Him. The scene was nothing short of horrific.

Tears dripping from chins, lips compressed to hold back sobs, the angels once again waited for Someone to speak. Silence emanated from the throne room. The Father, anguished and heartbroken, eyes squeezed shut, had literally turned His face from the scene on earth. If they were waiting on words from God sending them into action, the wait was in vain. He wasn’t going to stop the exchange. His Son for a world of sinners. It was the only way. Heaven would exchange their joy for mourning so humanity could exchange their mourning for joy. 

As the cry, “It is finished!” split the air, the angels silently crept away from Heaven’s border. The worst was over. The ransom was paid. The Son was coming home. Dreadfully lost, sinful, hypocritical, self-righteous humanity could now choose eternal life. There were only a handful of prerequisites. Salvation. Sacrifice. Surrender. (Matthew 27:27-44; Mark 15:16-41; Isaiah 53:8; John 16:7)

The call to salvation is easily accepted. The call to sacrifice and surrender was not. It stops us short. Holds us in limbo. We are hesitant to capitulate. Resistant. Resentful. Why? Because we are no different than the people of the Old Testament. Our idols have simply taken on a different form. Instead of actual carvings of wood and stone set in temples and shrines, our idols are cars and boats and houses and shoes. They are money and titles. Prestige and power. Fame and followers. Summed up, our idol is self. Attention. Adoration. Accolades. Accomplishments. We are loath to let them go…even in exchange for our souls. 

In Matthew 13, Jesus speaks a short parable of a man who knew the worth of sacrifice. A pearl merchant, he searches the world over for pearls worthy of his money and attention. It is his life’s mission. The desire of his heart. His sole obsession. Surely he had acquired an enormous collection of valuable pearls, their worth as much in the owning and showing as the monetary value. While out on yet another pearl hunt, the merchant comes across the most beautiful, perfect, valuable pearl he has ever seen. It is outside his price range. He could never afford it on his salary. Unless he sells the rest of his collection. And so he does. Racing home, he gathers the precious collection it has taken a lifetime to accrue, travels to the nearest jeweler, and sells them all. Every. Single. One. The pain of losing them is nearly physical. Quickly completing the sale, he hurries back to the place he found that valuable pearl, sighing with relief when he sees it still in the case. Walking up to the counter, he hands over every cent of his former collection’s earnings to buy that one pearl. It took everything he had, but it was worth it. (Matthew 13:45-46)  

So what is your soul worth? What is Heaven worth to you? Is it worth more than that thing you are holding onto? Is it worth more than that possession, dream, idea that has your heart enamored, your sight enraptured, your soul enslaved. Is it worth more than your dearest earthly treasure? Is everything you have, everything you are, everything you hope to be worth more than your soul? Or would you give it all up to follow Jesus? Could you? Is Jesus worth it? The God who created everything from nothing sent His only Son so you who had nothing could have something too. Something real. Something lasting. Something eternal. Something that allows you to exchange the mourning of your sin-laden soul for the glorious joy of salvation. Heaven gave Jesus in exchange for your eternity. What will you give in exchange for your soul? (Mark 8:37; Isaiah 61:3; Proverbs 16:4; Colossians 1:16)

Uncomfortable silence fell as the unexpected statement hung in the air. He wasn’t wrong. Originally they had fallen over one another in a mad rush to follow Jesus because they had seen so many sick being healed. It was fantastic! Their wildest imaginations couldn’t have conjured up such a person. Everything about Him healed! Hands.Thoughts. Words. Simple verbiage they used every day, when uttered from His mouth, was enough to have the nobleman’s nearly dead son up playing ball, the lame man skipping down the road with his pallet under his arm, and the guests in Cana drinking wedding wine instead of water. Of course they followed Him to see more. Who wouldn’t?! 

In fact, so distracted were they by the miraculous, they forgot the simplistic. In their rush to stay right on Jesus’ hemline, they forgot to eat lunch. Winding through the booths of food in the middle of town hadn’t reminded them. The sights and smells hadn’t invaded their single-minded focus. The heat of the sun high in the sky hadn’t set off their internal food alarm. So intent were they on witnessing more miracles, they forgot to grab a sandwich, a salad. Not even a croissant. Instead, they ended up ravenously hungry covering the hillside like a community of preschoolers waiting for their portion of the miracle menu to be handed out. Bread and fish for everyone. Seconds. Thirds. Leftovers. Lots of leftovers.  

The moment probably should have been humiliating, would have been just so, if they hadn’t been so amazed. They hadn’t seen this kind of miracle before. Some kid pulled a couple of fish and a handful of rolls out of his pocket and handed them to Jesus. He’d taken the meager offering, blessed it like He was about to partake of Michelin star cuisine, and told His disciples to pass it out. Looking as skeptical as the guys seated in the back of the felt, they complied.

Walking among the rows of seated men, their hands never emptied. There was always more bread. The fish never ran out. No one was left hungry. And the leftovers? A lot. Twelve full baskets. Enough to feed another large crowd, the homeless, the marginalized, the destitute. Enough to flip the switch on an ingenious idea. If this man could miraculously feed the country, heal the sick, cast out demons, and make water taste like wine, they shouldn’t let Him out of their sight. He was the perfect candidate to be king. 

It would be the greatest kingdom the world had ever known! Hunger would be eradicated. Illness would be eliminated. The effects of evil spirits would be annihilated. And maybe, just maybe, He’d come to all the weddings and serve the finest wine and most delicate hors d’oeuvres imaginable! There was so much He could do for them, so many ways He could improve their lives. Without a doubt, they had to keep Him there! 

Except He was already gone. Hastily arranging search parties, they went out to bring Him back. One group went to the seashore. Another trekked back to the afternoon’s picnic area. Still others knocked on every door in town. It was all to no avail. He wasn’t on the mountain where a few people still milled about just waking from their after-dinner naps. He wasn’t in town passing out leftovers at the homeless camp. He wasn’t at the docks waiting to board a boat. He didn’t seem to be…anywhere. At least not anywhere they thought to look. 

Desperately brainstorming among themselves, they realized the disciples who traveled with Him weren’t there either. Racing to the beach, they searched for the boat on which Jesus had arrived. It wasn’t there. He was already gone! Somehow He’d given them the slip and was likely headed to Capernaum. They had to follow. Had to stop Him from working miracles in another place. Had to keep His talents secret until they had secured His allegiance to them alone. 

 Commanding the small boats still in the harbor, they crammed tightly aboard and set sail across the sea. The conversation while crossing must have been eloquent. Accusations thrown about as to who allowed their king-elect to escape. Lamenting lost comforts should other people claim Him first. Sky castles of what He would do, give, award, allow the people under His reign. Dreams of a lavish lifestyle, a painless existence, every favor granted. They simply must crown Him their king!

Docking in Capernaum, they set out to find Jesus. It didn’t take long. He wasn’t hiding.  Unsuccessfully attempting to conceal the fact they were chasing Him down, in feigned surprise they asked, “Jesus, when did you get here?”  And Jesus answered. Not with the words they were hoping to hear. Not with an answer that was pleasant and palatable. With an answer that was true whether they liked it or not. “Your souls didn’t send you, your bellies did. You aren’t seeking me to find substance for eternal life, but sustenance for earthly life. Stop it. Stop following Me for what I can do to enhance your earthly existence. Follow me to secure your eternal existence. Seek Me to find eternal life that doesn’t fade, never erodes, and can’t be stolen away.” (John 6; Matthew 6:19-20; I Peter 1:3-4; Luke 12:21) 

The silence was deafening. His obvious rebuke stung. But He wasn’t wrong. They were following Jesus for all the wrong reasons. Personal reasons. Selfish reasons. Reasons for which He’d never have come. He wouldn’t have left Heaven to be a personal physician, gourmet chef, or jack-of-all-trades. His words concerning their motives were true. So eager were they to enhance their earthly existence, they had made no preparation for their eternal existence. They weren’t following Jesus out of grave concern for their life after death options; they were only concerned with the ease of their life before death.  

It is not a new story. Over and over through the centuries between then and now it has played like an old record player with the needle stuck in the same groove. People are still chasing Jesus down so He can do them a favor. Heal an illness. Grant a wish. Land a job. Fatten a bank account. Build a following. They are desperately seeking a genie in a bottle, a beck-and-call boy, a personal physician, a celebrity chef. They want the glamor without the gore. People want to follow Jesus, but only for the fringe benefits. 

And that is where they follow Him, too. On the fringes, the outskirts, the edges. Close enough to hopefully get in on the miracles but far enough away to avoid submission. Surrender isn’t in their vocabulary. They have plans and dreams and goals. They want nothing to do with death to self and life in Christ. It doesn’t fit the brief. They aren’t interested in picking up a cross–daily or otherwise–and following His lead. It’s outside their scope. They want no part of fiery trials, tribulation, temptation, or persecution–even if it does lead to Heaven. None of those are in their life plans. They are simply interested in the list of favors, whims, wants, urges, and desires for which their hearts long, a magical genie not a majestic Savior. (James 4:7-10; Galatians 2:20; Luke 9:23; James 1:2; I Peter 4:12; John 16:33; Matthew 5:11)

Over the past week, I have posed this question to my family, “Why do you follow Jesus?” The answers were varied. I promised not to write them here. But I will tell you mine. After much contemplation, I realized my answer was simple. I believe. I believe that Jesus Christ is the only way to God and Heaven and eternal life. I believe that every account, every promise, every word spoken of and through Him is true. I believe that He is life. Not just eternal life in the future, but abundant life now. Every good and perfect gift comes not from my own goodness, but from Him alone. My life. My breath. My being. Without Him I am nothing. And I believe–yes, I do–that He is a rewarder of those who diligently, relentlessly, unselfishly seek Him. And because I believe, I follow. Not on the fringes. Not on the outskirts. Not on the edges. I follow closely. As close as I can. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. (John 14:6; John 10:10; James 1:17; Acts 17:28; Hebrews 11:6; Philippians 4:13)

So why do you follow Jesus? Do you know? Really know? Is it just the way you were raised, the influence of your social circle, the desire to cast yourself in a brighter light? Or is it something more, something real, something eternal? What are you hoping to gain from following? Something earthly like health, wealth, security, status? Or something eternal…like life? And where are you following? From the edge of the crowd or the fringes of His garment? Are you truly Jesus’ follower or simply hanging about hoping He’ll do you a favor?

Opening tightly squeezed eyelids and vigorously shaking his head, he studied the water sluicing over his hands. Clear, clean water. A sigh escaped his lips. For a moment, his guilt-ridden mind had believed it pink from the blood that surely dripped from his fingers. He shouldn’t be doing this. Shouldn’t be preserving his own peace over the safety of an innocent man. Shouldn’t be turning Him over to certain death at the hands of a crazed, angry mob. He really shouldn’t have been brought this case in the first place. Shouldn’t be ridiculous enough to think he could wash away his own guilt at this Man’s fate.  

His conscience was screaming at him, echoing with his wife’s warning to steer clear of this whole mess. Upon asking the chief priests and scribes to state their accusations against Jesus, Pilate found himself stunned. Misleading the nation? Patently untrue. Pilate would know about it if it were. There was no record, no evidence, just angry allegations. The second count, forbidding people to pay taxes, was also indubitably false. Caesar’s tax trackers would know all about that if it were happening. Jesus would have never made it to Pilate’s courtroom, He’d be in theirs. Not to mention the very public detail of Jesus’ statement, “Give to Caesar what is Caesar’s; and to God what is God’s.” (Luke 23:2; Matthew 22:15-22)

Their final charge was the strangest of all. Jesus says He is Christ, the King of the Jews. He acknowledged its factuality when questioned. But why were they so upset about it? Scores of people had shown up over the years making the same claim, gathering a following, teaching their beliefs. No one had been brought to him in the past. Eventually, their humanity had risen to the top, their deception revealed. Not so with this Man. If all the stories Pilate had heard were true, Jesus was the only claimant who even appeared to qualify. Healer. Savior. Miracle worker. Intellectual teacher. Temple speaker. He ticked all the boxes. The Jewish priests had spent the last several hundred years waiting, hoping, predicting His arrival. Could they not see His excellent candidacy? If He didn’t meet their kingly expectation, who could? What, exactly, were they expecting from their King?

Perhaps their overactive imaginations conjured up images more majestic than a carpenter boy from Nazareth working miracles in the streets. Maybe the passage of years between the prophecy and the actuality had turned some of the teachings into fairy tales. A weatherbeaten knight thundering into town on an enormous white destrier, tossing its head and stomping its hooves in barely restrained anticipation of the next battle. The knight’s scabbed and scarred hand would clutch an intimidating sword, its blade dripping with the blood of those who had defied him along the way. Stopping in front of the palace, he’d leap to the ground, throwing the reins of his fractious horse at a timid and unsuspecting stable hand. The echo of his determined brogans would pound up the wide steps. From far and wide his henchmen would descend on the city, overthrowing the reigning authority and claiming the throne as his own. Authority would again be back in Jewish hands. They would be triumphant. They would be saved. It would be a magnificent display. 

If these were their expectations, their disappointment was acute. Jesus was none of those things. Patiently teaching and preaching. Kindly touching and healing. There really was no fault in the man. Perhaps that was the problem. The individuals making these outrageous accusations weren’t looking for someone to calmly come in and reign, they were looking for someone with other qualities. Qualities more in line with their own. Pompous. Pugnacious. Political. Easily bought. Showing favoritism. Someone through whom they could extend their authority, not bow to his. The emotion motivating them to avidly pursue this Man’s death was not a deep-seated belief He was a heretic. No. It was born of envy. Envy over the attention He got, the crowds He drew, the miracles He worked. Terror that their limited authority would be replaced by His obvious superlative command. 

Pilate didn’t want to capitulate. It wasn’t his practice to get involved in a squabble with the Jews. Jesus had committed no crime against anyone. He was not a rabble-rouser. He was not a heretic. He was not a threat to Rome. He did not deserve death. Pilate was certain of it. But outside, the crowd was growing more raucous by the minute, stirred up by the overzealous, manipulative chief priests and scribes. A decision must be made, but he wasn’t about to take responsibility. The raging crowd would have to do it. It would be their choice. A vote, as it were. Release Him or crucify Him. Jesus or Barabbas. Sovereign Savior or sinister sinner.

The options had barely crossed his lips when the crowd, swayed by the miscreants infiltrating their ranks, made up their minds, shouting, “Crucify Him!” In spite of Pilate’s feeble attempts to dissuade them, his proclamation that he could find no guilt in Jesus, or his staunch refusal to punish Him for crimes he hadn’t done, the ignorant crowd still screamed, “Crucify Him!” Even the offer of a known criminal failed to alter their determined cries, “Crucify Jesus!” It seemed someone had made a choice. Or everyone had. 

Calling for a basin and towel, Pilate shouted his innocence in these shenanigan proceedings over the melee. Dramatically washing his hands in front of the crowd, he turned Jesus over to certain death and walked away. Away from the screaming mob. Away from the insidious allegations. Away from the judgment hall. If Pilate expected peace, he surely was disappointed. Haranguing guilt is not limited to halls of judgment, pricks of conscience are not restricted to moments of questionable choices, and peace returns only at the acceptance of extended grace. (Matthew 27:11-26; Mark 15:1-15; Luke 23:1-7,13-25; John 18:28-40; Isaiah 57:18-19)

That’s where the account gets me. Knowing that guilt and a troubled conscience will plague you day and night, I wonder why Pilate didn’t go to the cross. How many times did he wash his hands attempting to eliminate his guilt? Was his sleep restless and plagued with graphic dreams of beatings and death for the already abused, yet innocent, Man who had stood before him that day? Did he overhear stories passing between the servants of Jesus staggering beneath the weight of an undeserved cross, of blood running down his face from thorns thrust in His brow? Did his ears ring with the sound of a hammer striking nails, the sobs of a mother losing her son, the muffled weeping of those who believed, the loud guffaws of those who didn’t?  How did he feel when darkness overtook the bright afternoon sky and the earth shook beneath him? Did rumors of the torn temple veil confirm the affirming words of Jesus definitively stating He was Christ the King? Did Pilate ever realize that in spite of all the choices he made, refused to make, or failed to stop, the redemption provided for mankind at Calvary was for him too? He just needed to go to the cross. (Luke 23:44-45; Mark 15:38; Matthew 27:51) 

It is difficult to imagine. We’ve built up such a store of anger against the individuals in the trial and crucifixion of Jesus. Judas. Chief priests. Scribes. Pilate. The angry horde. We hate what they did. Some go so far as to say they deserve their eternal punishment. Jesus doesn’t. He came to save them. All of them. Although plenty have refused to accept His proffered grace, there is no one Jesus didn’t come to save. (John 12:44-46; Romans 10:13; John 3:17; Acts 10:43)

Spineless, selfish, sinful Pilate. The men who falsely accused Him, the crowd who abused Him, the soldiers who crucified Him, the mockers, the scorners, the unbelievers. Horrific, undeserving sinners of the worst kind. People who couldn’t see love and grace and redemption for the hate and envy and fear clouding their vision. Souls buried so deeply in their trespasses and sins they couldn’t imagine a way out, a path to freedom, a salvaged eternity. People like you. People like me. Jesus came into the world to save us all. We just have to go to the cross. (Hebrews 9:22; John 3:16; I Timothy 1:15; I John 1:9, 2:2; Luke 19:10, Titus 2:11) 

Unfortunately, many of us are still those people. Our alleged enlightenment has not changed our predicament. We are still sinners in need of forgiveness, mercy, and grace. You can dress up your sins and call them all kinds of sophisticated names–indiscretions, lapses, misconducts, mistakes. Suit yourself. It doesn’t change what they are. Eternally damning sins. The only remedy is to bow at the foot of the cross and allow the redemptive blood of Jesus Christ to erase the incriminating stains of our sins. Like Pilate, the chief priests, the crowd, the soldiers we so readily scorn, we don’t deserve it, could never earn it, but God provides it because His gracious loving kindness toward sinful humanity never ends. It has only to be accepted. Saint or sinner. Heaven or hell. It’s up to you. All you have to do is go to the cross. (Psalm 49:7-8; Galatians 3:13; Colossians 2:13-14; Ephesians 2:1-5; Isaiah 55:7)

From the moment he heard the invitation, “Follow Me,” Peter had been all in. Watching him dash out across the water toward Jesus only to realize what he was doing and falter in the middle of the sea, the other disciples would shake their heads and call him unpredictable. Eavesdropping as Peter reprimanded Jesus for attempting to prepare them for His coming death and resurrection, the listening disciples would hear the stinging return rebuke and call him impulsive. Holding his severed ear in the palm of his hand, sputtering in pain and disbelief, Malchus would deem Peter rash. But, no one, not one single person, would say that Peter wasn’t all in when he dropped his nets and raced across the sand to follow Jesus. (Matthew 4:19-20; 14:22-32; 16:21-23)

As quickly as he answered the call, the actual leaving must have taken an enormous amount of courage. It wasn’t difficult to leave the boat and nets for a few minutes and follow Jesus into town. But the call wasn’t about minutes. It was about a lifetime. It meant leaving everything behind. Friends, family, home, responsibilities. Trusting someone else with the family business. Enduring long separations from his wife with no regularly scheduled visits. No promise of tomorrow’s health, luxurious retirement, excessive hedge funds. It made for a hazy outlook over an uncertain future.     

There were a thousand things calling him to stay. The tears pooling in his wife’s eyes even as she nodded her supportive assent. The sad resignation in the eyes of his family as he hung up his fishing net, possibly for the last time. The pull of responsibility. The judgmental side-eye from neighbors. The jarring, grating voices in his own mind chanting that his decision was delusional. The uncomfortable ball in the pit of his stomach caused by the complete inability to know how this endeavor would end, if it would all be for nothing. Yet still, Peter chose to follow. 

It wouldn’t be the last time Peter heard those words or answered the call to follow Jesus. At the very end of John’s account, Jesus once again stood on the shore watching Peter surrounded by a boat and fishing nets. Emotions still in roller-coaster upheaval from recent events. Peter had gone back to his roots, his place of safety, his thinking spot. Peter went fishing. 

 Deeming it a proper place to quietly reflect, several other disciples went along. They all had thinking to do, were all attempting to process the barrage of scenes and emotions parading around their minds. The gut-wrenching scene of Jesus, beaten, bruised, bloody, hanging like a common thief on a cross still plagued them. The amazement of gazing into the empty tomb should have eclipsed it, but they couldn’t forget. And although no words could express their exhilaration at His upper room visit, it hadn’t really given them clarity concerning themselves, their future. Who were they now? Where did they go from there? What was their mission? And who was leading the charge? 

All through the night hours Peter and his friends silently let down their nets and waited. Unfocused on their task. Minds reeling. Each lost in his own thoughts, beleaguered by his own questions. It was not a productive night. As the first streaks of dawn began to creep up over the hills, not one fish graced their net. Not one answer illuminated their minds. Discouraged with life in general and their lack of fish in particular, they gloomily rowed toward shore.

Having done the task a hundred times, they didn’t bother to look onshore first. There was no need to line up with a dock. No one cared to quicken their pace. They didn’t even notice the stranger standing on the beach until He called out to them, inquiring if they had caught any fish. At their negative response, the man issued a peculiar command. “Throw the net over the right side of the boat and you will catch fish.” 

The oddness of the request notwithstanding, they saw no reason to deny the stranger attempting to help. Gathering the net up, they moved to the right side of the boat and threw it in the water. Expecting nothing, one can only imagine their surprise when fish filled the net with lightning speed. Hustling to get either the fish in the boat or drag the ridiculously full net to the shore, one enlightened man’s awestruck whisper resounded through their ranks, “It is the Lord.”  

As soon as the words landed on his ears, Peter did what he’d done from the beginning. He followed Jesus. Leaving the nets to his friends, he grabbed up his outer cloak, slung it on, jumped into the water, and headed for shore. It didn’t matter that the boat was going in the same direction. It was of no consequence to him that he was about 100 yards away. None of it mattered. Jesus had called. Peter was answering. Again. (John 21)

He would do it every time. Over and over again Peter would respond to the call to follow with barely a backward glance. He would leave everything, every time, for the privilege of following Jesus. It had nothing to do with a promised earthly reward–there wasn’t one. The only thing promised was their walk on earth would be rife with trials and tribulations. People would come against them, seek their demise. Following Jesus was never presented as a possible cakewalk, a bed of thornless roses, or an ant-less picnic. Yet Peter would never once change his answer when Jesus called. (John 16:33; Acts 14:22; John 15:19-21; Romans 8:36)

In a conversation whose difficulty I find it impossible to imagine, Jesus details to Peter how he will die. Not when. Not where. Just how. It is not pleasant. It is for the glory of God. Nowhere in this somewhat awkward conversation does Jesus promise Peter eternal glory for himself. He doesn’t offer any type of solace. No reparations for Peter’s family. He simply speaks the words and follows them up with the same invitational command He gave when He originally called him. “Follow me!” (John 21)

And Peter does. He follows Jesus. Doggedly. Wholeheartedly. Peter embodies the words of the Psalmist, “My soul follows hard after thee!” Read the book of Acts. In that beautifully inspirational Book, we catch just a glimpse into Peter’s tenacity in following Jesus. Preaching at Pentecost. Healing the lame man. Threats. Arrests. Horrific imprisonment. Miraculous release. The list goes on and on. Yet never once, no matter what atrocity he was facing, did Peter ever stop following Jesus. He had been called to fish for men, he would sacrifice everything to do so. He would deny himself everything, take up his cross daily (no matter what that entailed), and follow Jesus. Even when it meant his life. (Psalm 63:8; Luke 9:23)

At a time when so many of us are negligent followers, it would behoove us to take an act from Peter’s life. He wasn’t perfect. He was flawed. He was faulty and fallible and finite. He was just like you and me. Yet, in spite of all the times he should have held his tongue–or his sword–Peter’s face was set like a flint, his eyes focused on His Lord, his mission to follow Jesus. Completely. Relentlessly. Intentionally. Sacrificing every want, wish, and whim on the altar of self-denial, Peter courageously chose to follow Jesus no matter the cost. Every time. For all time. 

Perhaps Jesus has come to where you are and is calling you to follow Him. Maybe He is calling you to step into repentance and acceptance of the saving grace of Calvary. Maybe He is calling you to go to the boundaries of your social circle and reach out to those relegated to its fringes. Maybe He’s calling you to a career change, a mission field, a different neighborhood. Maybe He’s calling you to leave some things, places, people behind. Maybe He’s calling you from the relative safety of your well-ordered life to the absolute safety of His will. Maybe He’s calling you to get out of the boat and follow Him on the adventure of a lifetime. 

The truth is, I have no idea what Jesus is calling you to do after the fact, but I know with absolute certainty, Jesus is calling you to get out of the boat. He’s calling you to leave it behind and follow Him. Leave everything behind, actually. Once you step out of that boat, He’s got your back. In Him, your victorious Leader who never loses a battle, you will find everything you ever need. Your identity. Your direction. Your mission. Your home. You won’t find it in your creature comforts and cautiously cultivated friend circles. It will be conspicuously missing in your carefully curated houses and lifestyles. You’ll come up empty if you look for it in hobbies, workouts, relaxation techniques, or travel plans. You’ll have to get out of the boat, leave your safety nets behind, and follow Jesus!