Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

It felt like the throwing down of a gauntlet. A challenge. Maybe an insult. The minute Jesus pronounced the words, the disciples’ backs went up. “Tonight you are all going to desert me.” It was an arrow to their very souls. They were offended, hurt. How could He say this about them? Hadn’t they left everything and followed Him? Hadn’t they persevered through a thousand things already? No one had thrown up their hands or thrown in the towel. They were all still there, still faithfully following Jesus. No one was planning to separate, walk away, or go into hiding. 

No one except Judas. Judas had his own secret plans unfolding. His divided heart had been swayed by sin and Satan. Greed had become his master. His dirty plans would culminate a few short hours later. Proof that one cannot serve two masters. But that’s a story for another day. (Matthew 6:24)

With that one exception, not one of the disciples had given any thought to deserting Jesus. Ever. Caught up in the awe-inspiring, soul-stirring ministry of Jesus, they didn’t want to be anywhere else. They couldn’t imagine leaving. Where would they go? What would be as exciting as following Jesus? Nowhere on earth could compare to living in His presence. Their staunch discipleship made this statement of desertion especially surprising. The very thought was appalling. They boldly declared it would never happen. They would never deny knowing Him. They vowed to be there to the end. They meant it with all their hearts. Nothing would keep them from walking with Jesus.  

They ran away. Every single one of them. Deserters. Defectors. Driven by abject fear.  The fear that triggers your fight-or-flight response. Staggering terror that tightens your chest and clogs your throat. A deluge of panic that forces you to run and hide for your life. Living wholly in the moment, not realizing how quickly circumstances change, they had sworn to remain faithful even to death. They meant that promise with their entire hearts. That was a few hours ago. 

Things were normal then. Jesus and the disciples were gathered together celebrating Passover. Jesus was reclined at the table. They were talking and eating the meal. There was a strange discourse about betraying Jesus. Disconcerted, they all ask for assurance that it wasn’t them who would do such a dastardly deed. “Is it me? Is it me, Jesus? Surely not me?” They couldn’t fathom ever leaving Him, betraying Him, or denying Him. Surely not them. Never. 

Oddly, there seems to be no reaction when Judas is pegged as the offender. No one tried to show him the error of his ways. No one tried to persuade him differently. No one called in a favor. Perhaps they didn’t think it was going to happen any time soon. Perhaps they thought it was a prophecy for years down the road. Perhaps they thought they had plenty of time to get Judas back on track. They didn’t. As soon as Judas took the bread from Jesus, he went out to commit the betrayal of a lifetime. (Matthew 26:17-30; John 13:30)

The meal ended. They sang hymns together and went out to walk in the Mount of Olives. They don’t seem to miss Judas, or question why he is gone. They don’t wonder why Jesus waited until he was gone to make His declaration of their defection. They are too busy disputing it. They don’t even notice their world is beginning to unravel. 

At the edge of Gethsemane, Jesus leaves eight of them to wait while He goes to pray. Those left outside Gethsemane don’t appear to question why Jesus didn’t take them too. I wonder how they passed the time. Did they discuss the inequality of not being taken along? Did they even notice it? Did they pray? Sit quietly in solitary contemplation? Count the stars? Or fall asleep like their counterparts inside Gethsemane?  

That is what Peter, James, and John were doing. Sleeping. That faithfulness they swore they would always have was slipping. Jesus asked them to stay awake and pray. Pray for themselves. Pray for strength. Pray for faithfulness. Faithfulness to withstand the coming onslaught of temptation. Temptation to sin. Temptation to slip. Temptation to separate. They failed. Twice. They couldn’t stay awake. So complacent were they in their belief that the events of which Jesus had been speaking were far in the future, they didn’t apply themselves to do whatever it took to stay awake and pray. The shallow depth of their faithfulness was showing, but they were too drowsy to notice.  

Finally, Jesus comes and wakes them. It’s time. He speaks urgently, but in their sleepy state, they miss the exigency. As they are stretching and yawning and rubbing the sleep from their eyes, Judas and his horde swarm the Garden. A mob armed with swords and clubs surround the betrayer of the Son of God. Those three disciples weren’t prepared for the events that followed. The kiss. The betrayal. The arrest. The dark cloak of choking terror that fell over them as they did the very thing they swore they would never do. They ran away. (Matthew 26:17-56; John 22:39-46) 

I wonder how the account would differ if the disciples had stayed awake and interceded for themselves as Jesus instructed them to do. Would they have still run away? I wonder if Judas’ life story would be different had the other disciples seen the error of his ways and interceded for him. Would he have still hung himself? I wonder if, when fear overtook them, the answer to their prayers would have been a boldness they had never before experienced. I wonder what would have happened if they had faithfully stayed awake to pray. 

Up to that point, their lives as disciples of Jesus had been marked by faithfulness. Faithful following. Faithful obedience. Faith in God. Their own words indicate they believe themselves to be above betrayal. Above desertion. Above unfaithfulness. “We’ll follow you to death!” they exclaimed. Their actions indicated the opposite. They didn’t stay awake. They didn’t watch. They didn’t pray. They did nothing faithful disciples would do in that moment. They slept. Then they ran away.

It cuts very close to home, this lack of faithfulness. We, too, busily proclaim our unwavering faithfulness to Jesus. Like Ruth clinging to Naomi, we vow never to leave Him, to follow Him anywhere, even to death. (Ruth 1:16-17) We are well intentioned. We truly believe we won’t betray Him. Ever. We are His for better or worse. We’ve never had to test the theory. No angry mob has stormed our home as we prayed beside our window. Unlike Paul, our friends haven’t lowered us over a wall to escape those trying to kill us for our beliefs. (Acts 9:25) Would we remain faithful then? 

We are woefully ill-prepared for those circumstances. God isn’t. As we face the current onslaught beating on us to lower our standards, stop taking the Bible seriously, call evil good and good evil, Jesus says the same thing to us as He said to the disciples so many years ago. “Stay awake. Be alert. Pray. Temptation is lurking and, although your hearts don’t want to be derailed, your physical selves have less compunction.” Be vigilant. Pray for soul protection. Focus so intently on God that you aren’t deceived by the news, the subtle advertisements, the opinion articles. Pray that you aren’t lulled into complacency. Beg the Father to keep you faithful in a world rife with unfaithfulness. (Isaiah 50:7; Matthew 6:13; I Peter 5:8; James 4:7)

Prayer is our only hope. Jesus tried to tell the disciples this. He tried to equip them for the frightful hours and days ahead by telling them to stop resting on their spiritual laurels and get on their knees. They didn’t hear Him. As our world turns sideways and things go awry, Jesus is saying the same thing to us. Quit your lackadaisical spirituality, stop drifting, stop dozing. If you want to see true change in yourself, your community, your church, your world, wake up and pray! (Hebrews 4:16; Psalm 18:6; James 5:16; Matthew 26:41)

So often we call ourselves faithful because we attend church every Sunday, quote Scripture, practice integrity, fidelity, and charity. Those are all commendable things, but the disciples had much to recommend them too. They had Jesus physically with them. They had witnessed His miracles, been part of them. They knew His teachings, His ways, His desires. Even with all those things to back them up, when it came down to the wire, they still fell prey to temptation and went to sleep when He needed them to be awake and interceding. Jesus is asking you to stay awake and pray, too. Fight off the temptation to be lulled to sleep by spiritual apathy. When you feel hopeless, helpless, frightened, and terrorized, pray. Intercede. Ask. Seek. Knock. He will hear. He will answer. But you’ll have to choose to stay awake. Will you join the disciples in slumber or unite with the faithful in prayer? (Colossians 4:2; Romans 12:12; I Peter 4:7; Psalm 5:3; I Thessalonians 5:16-18; Matthew 7:7-8; Psalm 50:15)

They were doing it wrong. The people God had chosen for Himself, to be His own special treasure, were fasting incorrectly. Maybe it looked right to the casual observer, this traditional fasting and purported mourning. Maybe they hoodwinked the neighbors by wearing itchy, uncomfortable sackcloth. Perhaps they bamboozled themselves with the heaping of ashes and lack of food. They still weren’t doing it right. And they didn’t stand a chance of fooling the only One that needed to believe their farce. 

No amount of fasting, wailing, or poor fashion choices could trick the God who knows the hearts, reads the thoughts, and sees the works of every soul on earth. They couldn’t outwit Him. They’d never be able to deceive Him. Thankfully, He would never deceive them, either. He wouldn’t leave them to wander down their misguided path, thinking they could fail to truly repent and change yet still reap the desired results. He loved them too much for that. He wasn’t willing to abandon them in their erroneous ways. So when the people cried out in indignation that they had fasted and denied themselves and God was doing nothing to acknowledge the fact, He sent Isaiah to point them to the path of proper fasting. (Jeremiah 17:10; Psalm 139:1-24)

They weren’t exactly keen on Isaiah’s message. Condemnation of their fasting method was not what they wanted to hear. Isaiah delivered the message anyway. They were fasting wrong. Oh, the outside actions were perfect. The meal skipping. The self-denial. The hideous sackcloth. Piles of ashes. That was all right on target. The problem had nothing to do with the outside, and everything to do with the inside. While they were outwardly fasting, their hearts were still gluttonously feasting on sin. (Isaiah 58)

 Behind the facade of righteous fasting and self-denial, the weight of hidden sin sat like a disagreeable lump. Contentions. Fighting. Malicious gossip. Criticism. Lack of personal responsibility. Oppression. Selfishness. Greed. (Isaiah 58:4-10) Their meal-skipping had no effect on their filthy hearts. They didn’t intend to change. They engaged in the ritual of fasting with one hope only, to gain gifts from God. 

Believing ourselves to be of higher intelligence than these ancient people, we shake our heads in condemnation of their antics. We wonder how they could do something like this. How could they think, even for a moment, they could trick God with half-hearted obedience? What made them think God didn’t know their hearts? Surely they remembered Achan who couldn’t hide his sin from God. (Joshua 7:19-26) Did they think they were better, different, cagier? Do we? 

The arrival of Lent has many of us turning to some sort of fasting as a way to observe the season. Fasting for Lent is not required. It’s a tradition. If done properly, fasting can be extremely beneficial. Unfortunately, so many of us are doing it wrong. We remain under the assumption that fasting alone is enough. It’s not. Fasting won’t fix the needs of your soul, correct the sins of your heart, or change your worldview. Only feasting can do that. Feasting on Jesus while fasting from the flesh.

Feeding people is what God has been doing since the dawn of time. Trees in the Garden of Eden. Water from a rock. Manna in the wilderness. Food from ravens’ mouths. Endless oil and flour. Jesus’ time on earth was spent feeding people too. Wine in Cana. Multiplication of loaves and fishes. Feeding of the 4,000. He could have sent them home to feed themselves. He could have berated them for not being prepared. He didn’t. He fed their bodies and filled their minds and souls with Himself. Even if it took a couple of days to do it. (Genesis 1:28-29; Numbers 20:1-13; Exodus 16:1-36; I Kings 17:1-16; John 2:1-11; John 6:1-13; Matthew 15:29-39)

After the miraculous feeding of the 5,000 with five loaves and two fishes, the crowd, not interested in fasting, traveled to Capernaum looking for Jesus. They needed breakfast. They had gone to great lengths to get it. They were hungry after all that rowing. Upon arrival, they tried to pass it off as simply looking for Jesus, not looking for the leftovers from yesterday’s miracle. He isn’t fooled. Jesus knows they’ve come for more food. So He offers them something better. The bread of life. 

 In answer to the hunger of the souls that chased Him down, Jesus offered relationship with Him. He is the bread of life. He is the answer for longing souls. If they just come to Him, He fills the one who is hungry and quenches the one who is thirsty. The food never runs out. The well never runs dry. And it’s all free of charge. Come, take, feast, without money and without price. You can have all of Jesus you want. Just pull up to the table and feast.  (Isaiah 55:1; John 6:22-59) 

We seem to have forgotten this. We spend our lives limiting our Bible reading by reading other things instead. We absorb ourselves in social media, news, work, sports. We pray only when we need something or don’t have anything else to do. When we do pray, our list of wants and wishes spills out in rapid-fire verbal vomit capped with a hasty “Amen.” We don’t wait before God to hear Him speak. We don’t linger to relish His presence. No. We rush off to the next event, next chore, next show. We are fasting our souls when we should be feasting.

The elder brother of the prodigal son in Jesus’ parable did the same thing. He’d watched in disdain as his younger brother took his money and went haring off to parts unknown. He’d stayed on the farm, toiling endlessly on crops and cattle. It was thankless work. He did it anyway, without complaint. One day, he came in from the fields filthy, famished, and needing a rest. As he approached the house he heard music and festivities. Wondering what was going on, he stops a servant to get the details. “Your brother is back,” he hears, “Your father is making a feast to welcome him home.” 

Hearing these words, the eldest son’s hunger vanishes, replaced by anger and resentment. No one has ever thrown him a party. His blood, sweat, and tears have made this place what it is, but no one celebrates him. Why should he go in there for this? He doesn’t need food. He can fast. As the burgeoning ugliness of anger, resentment, and bitterness begin to overflow, his father appears. He just wants his son to lay aside his anger, come inside, sit at the table, and feast. (Luke 15:11-32)

I don’t know if the son accepted the father’s invitation. The parable doesn’t say. I do know this. God is extending the same invitation to you. He’s asking you to fast from your anger, jealousy, pride, fear, and hate. Quit your sin. Come. Pull up to His banquet table. Tuck your napkin in your shirt collar. And dig in. Feast on Jesus. Taste His goodness. Indulge in His mercy, love, and grace. Find your gluttonous pleasure in the things of God. The platters will never be empty. Your glass will never be dry. Come. Feast. Be full of living waters. Find everlasting life at the Father’s table. (Song of Solomon 2:4; Psalm 34:8; Revelation 22:17; John 4:13-14; John 6:35)

    Perhaps you have declared a fast. You are dedicated to your vow. Skipping meals. Eschewing a food group. Staying signed out of social media. That’s all well and good, but why are you doing it? Because it’s tradition, because your church expects it? I hope not. I hope you have loftier goals for your fast. I hope your soul isn’t fasting as well. I hope you have accepted the invitation from the Bread of Life, have pulled up to the table, and are feasting like never before. I hope your soul is getting fat during your physical fast. You can fast for any reason, but if your soul is fasting too, you are just engaging in another diet regimen. Don’t starve your soul. The banquet is spread. The invitation has been issued. Come. Feast. And find eternal life. (John 6:35; John 7:37-38)

They hadn’t washed their hands! How disgusting! Those filthy disciples just dug into their bread without observing the proper rituals! Clustered together and casting disapproving glances at the obvious heathens in their midst, the scribes and Pharisees were filled with outraged repulsion. How could these men claim to be so righteous yet not follow all the religious traditions and rituals passed down from their elders? More importantly, why didn’t their Leader, the great Teacher, tell them to mind their manners? The affront was intolerable. Unwilling to leave the issue unaddressed, they approached Jesus demanding to know why His men were eating without proper washing according to their traditions. 

I wonder what response they were expecting. Did they think He was going to run over and slap the bread out of the disciples’ allegedly dirty hands? Did they assume He would call them out publicly for their great offense? Did they mistakenly believe Jesus He would make His disciples engage in the ritualistic handwashing of their tradition? I don’t know. I do know this. Whatever response they expected, they were in for a huge surprise. 

Jesus, looking calmly over the scene, answered like this, “You are hypocrites. Isaiah was right about you. What you say and do doesn’t match the mess in your heart. What you teach reflects the commands of men, not the heart of God. You religiously observe your own traditions passed down from generation to generation, giving them more reverence than the commands of God. You have effectively invalidated God’s precepts, replacing them with your rituals and traditions. You don’t truly love, honor, or worship God and it shows in what spews from the ugliness of your ungodly hearts.” Then, to the entire crowd, Jesus clarified His words, saying, “What you eat or drink doesn’t contaminate you, but what springs up from within can.” (Mark 7:1-16)

The disciples were confused. What was Jesus saying? Eating spoiled food won’t make you ill? Of course it could! And too much wine could have negative effects as well. They all knew these things. So what could Jesus possibly mean when He said, “What you eat doesn’t contaminate you?” They needed an explanation! 

Jesus gave it to them. “Don’t you understand? Following Me has nothing to do with what you eat or how clean your hands are when you eat it. There are no traditions or rituals that can save your soul. Only a clean heart, free from evil thoughts, adultery, greed, deceit, promiscuity, pride, and every other sin, will ever make it to Heaven. The evil of one’s heart contaminates their entire being.” (Mark 7:17-29)

You see, following Jesus has nothing to do with food, traditions, or rituals. You can’t cleanse your heart by washing your hands, following a bunch of guidelines, or putting money in the collection plate. Your soul can only be contaminated by the evil that springs up from within and flows out of your heart. Sins that you pamper and nourish. Anger, bitterness, jealousy, hate. These things contaminate your entire life. Adhering to traditions and rituals can’t decontaminate it, either. Only following Jesus wholeheartedly, living for Him doggedly can cleanse the contamination from your soul. Because Following Jesus has nothing to do with following a bunch of traditions and everything to do with the state of your heart.  (I Corinthians 8:8; Proverbs 23:7; Luke 6:45)

We are people of traditions, completely immersed in their practice. Cultural traditions. Family traditions. Religious traditions. Traditions like Lent, which starts today. Across the globe, people will choose something to forgo and eschew it for the next 40 days. It seems it’s often a food item. Coffee, chocolate, caffeine, carbs. I’ve never been able to understand it. I can’t find a correlation between drinking coffee and following Jesus. According to the above account, Jesus didn’t see one either. So why do we hear so much about quitting a food group in keeping with Lent? When did the Lent tradition turn into a diet plan? Do you spend more time in Bible reading and prayer without your coffee cup or carb-laden breakfast? If not, what possible connection can there be between your diet and your relationship with Jesus Christ? 

There really isn’t one. Unless, of course, your besetting sin is gluttony. You can give up candy, pasta, or pie. It might change your body, but it won’t change your heart. No type of fasting alone will change your heart. You can forego the new shoes and donate the money to the poor, but it won’t make you more devoted to Jesus. You can give up an exciting novel, stop watching your favorite television show, skip social media, decline dinner with friends, but if you don’t fill those voids with Jesus, it means nothing at all. Lent isn’t about exclusion. It’s about inclusion. Lent is about finding or making more room in your life for Jesus Christ. It’s about rearranging your priorities to give Him first place. It’s about laying aside the temporal and reveling in the eternal. 

Your soul can’t live without it, this decadent feasting on the things of God. You won’t survive without intimate knowledge of Jesus in the deepest part of your being. You can never safely navigate the tricks and traps of the world without a profound personal relationship with Jesus Christ. You need it desperately. Your soul longs for it. If you can shush the clamoring noises of the world long enough to listen, you would know it. Mary did. 

Beset on every side with cleaning, cooking, and a nagging Martha, Mary plopped down at Jesus’ feet, focused her gaze on Him, tuned her hearing to His voice alone, and listened. Others were gathered to listen as well, Mary didn’t notice them. Martha came to insist she stop wasting time and help serve, it didn’t break her concentration. Mary wasn’t unaware that there were important things to do. She simply understood what most of us miss, the most important, most needful thing was to feed her soul. The dishes could wait. The meal didn’t need to be elaborate. The laundry would be there tomorrow. The sweeping would only need redone once everyone left. So she laid aside Martha’s absorbing tasks and soaked up Jesus’ presence instead. Mary knew her soul would die without Him. (Luke 10:38-42)

Your soul will too. Your soul cannot exist on a constant diet of news, social media, and television programs. It cannot survive day after day on a calendar Scripture and a quick prayer as you rush out the door. Simply put, your soul will die if you don’t make time for Jesus. You can’t possibly know Him if you don’t spend time with Him. You’ll miss hearing His voice if you don’t shut out the noise of the world and listen. You will never experience spiritual growth when you are actively denying your soul the one nutrient it needs to survive. You must have Jesus. Your soul will die without Him.

Today is Ash Wednesday. It’s the traditional beginning of Lent. Maybe in the past you have followed the tradition grudgingly as part of your religious affiliation. Perhaps you have half-heartedly participated because a parent or spouse or friend thought you should. Maybe you have observed the tradition in an attempt to assuage the guilt for the things springing out of your ungodly heart. Perhaps the taunting echoes from that same heart are tempting you to forgo Lent this year. I hope you don’t. I hope you participate. Not in some tradition alone that doesn’t change your heart, save your soul, or bring eternal joy, but in the spirit of the traditions. Don’t just give up peanut butter and go on with your life as usual. Keep your peanut butter. Rearrange your life instead. Spend more time with Jesus. Sit at His feet. Listen to His voice. Learn from Him. Let Him change your heart. Not by tradition alone, but by the cleansing and continued presence of His Spirit. (Titus 3:4-7; Mark 8:37)

After a brief moment of hesitation and short inner struggle with the ill-advised plan, I quickly tapped the button posting the advertisement. “Looking For The Last Best Man.” It didn’t take long for responses to ensue. Apparently, males have an undeniable need to protect the reputation of their gender, although many of the responses only more vividly underscored the basis of my statement. If those responses were the measure, there were, indeed, very few decent men left. One responded only in Shakespearean style verbiage. One was obsessed with keeping up appearances. Others were so painfully lacking in manners they were immediately deleted. Others were nice for a conversation or two but ultimately missed the mark. When all the responses were sorted, only one measured up. I married him nearly two decades ago. 

We sent out about 200 wedding invitations. Responses came back. Most invitees planned to attend. Some sent regrets. When the day arrived, the weather was perfect. The wedding, held in a beautiful little chapel with stained glass windows, was a lovely event. Our friends gathered in their wedding attire. Suits and ties. Beautiful dresses. Everyone came dressed respectfully for a wedding. No ripped jeans or faded T-shirts. I wouldn’t have kicked them out if they had been incorrectly attired. But Jesus did. 

In Jesus’ wedding feast parable of Matthew 22, the king of the feast had been rebuffed by the original invitees. They didn’t want to come. He sent his servants to invite them a second time, hoping they would change their minds. They didn’t. Some of them even murdered the servant messengers. Angry at this second spurning of his graciousness, the king sent his troops to destroy the murderers. Then he sent his servants out to the fringes of the city to invite as many people as they could find to come indulge in his feast. 

They brought everyone! Good people. Evil people. Poor people. Rich people. So many people the wedding feast was filled with attendees. The king came in and began to look over the guests his servants had brought in at his command. He was pleased until his eyes lit on one man. A man who hadn’t bothered to put on wedding garments. 

Right now, I’m trying to understand what constituted wedding garments. My 21st-century mind conjures a man with unkempt hair and beard, stained shirt half-tucked into his grease-covered jeans. Filthy work boots with untied laces thudding the floor with every step. Unwashed hands. Dirt caked under his fingernails. His evident lack of a shower preceding him by several feet. But jeans weren’t even a thing then. That can’t be what the king in the parable saw. So what did he see? What was it that made him deem this man unworthy to attend? What made the king banish that particular guest to outer darkness?

Did he skulk in with donkey dirt stuck to his skin? Was there a stain on his robe, a tear in his hem? Did he have crumbs in his beard? Was he still wearing his work sandals? Or was it something less tangible, less obvious? A shifty look in his eyes. A subversive set to his shoulders. A sullen set of defiance in his jaw. Is it possible the king’s issue wasn’t with the guest’s outer garments at all? Could it be that his robe was pristine, his hygiene impeccable, but his actions and intentions deplorable? Was he appropriately attired on the outside, but in woeful disarray on the inside? (Matthew 22:1-14)

Immediately I’m back in the 21st century reading religious t-shirts as I walk through the store, sit in church, watch a little league game. They’ve become the rage in recent years. Seems everyone has one. Some have a Scripture passage across the front. Others have a catchy little “Jesus slogan” down the back. Those shirts identify the wearer as a Jesus follower. Or at least someone who claims to be. People read that shirt and their expectations increase. They expect love and kindness. They think Jesus will ooze out of their pores. Then the T-shirt wearer starts talking and the truth becomes embarrassingly obvious. The t-shirt is often as deep as their Jesus goes. 

See, it’s easy to forget you are wearing a Jesus t-shirt when the cashier irritates you, your child decides to scream at the top of their lungs in the grocery store, the guy in the big truck cuts you off, or the school bully makes your son their target. I know. I’ve been in every one of those situations. Your lips bow down in consternation. Your mouth says something it shouldn’t. Your soul twists in frustration, anger, irritation, revenge. You forget you are accountable for your actions. You forget your clothes say you represent Jesus. Your T-shirt might pronounce you ready for Jesus’ wedding feast, but the actions springing from the state of your heart say you aren’t. 

Unfortunately, for every beauty seeker, fashion follower, and trendsetter out there, none of the outside fluff matters if the inside isn’t right. Not the latest fashions. Not a t-shirt with a religious slogan. Not perfect hair and makeup. Not the giant donation you make to the children’s home. Not the facade you wear at church or around your friends. Not the godly posts you put on social media. All of that is external. It’s all skin-deep. None of it will get you welcomed to Jesus’ wedding feast. Wedding garments aren’t about your stellar accomplishments, commendable actions, or outer attraction. Wedding garments are all about what’s in your heart.  

 In a thought-provoking passage, Jesus tells us that the things we pamper and tolerate and nourish in our hearts will be evidenced in our lives. (Luke 6:45; Matthew 7:16) Blessings. Cursing. Love. Hate. Apparently, we don’t believe it. If our actions are the measuring stick, and Jesus says they are, I’m afraid we don’t measure up. So many people are still trying to buy their way into Heaven with a big donation to the church building fund, a time donation on a mission trip, or a grocery donation to the food bank. Anyone, from a heart of good or evil, can do those things. Not one of them will buy you entrance to the wedding feast. These things are not what Jesus is talking about. 

Jesus is talking about things that can’t be housed in a building and can’t spring from a heart of sin. Loving your enemies, for instance. Doing good to the person who hates you. Praying for the one who mistreats you. Looking beyond the offense to the cause and praying for the need from which the offense sprung. He’s talking about forgiveness. Not just the words. The unseen actions that make them true. Abandoning ideas of revenge. Loving when it’s uncomfortable. Showing mercy when it isn’t deserved. Not keeping a tally of wrongs. (Luke 6:27-38; Micah 6:8; I Corinthians 13:5; Proverbs 23:7)

We aren’t good at any of this. Not on our own. We can’t be. Our hearts are solely human and our humanity is exclusively selfish. It is only through repentance, forgiveness of sins, and the indwelling of the Holy Spirit that we can do the things God requires of us. It is only through Christ we can look in the closet of our hearts and find anything remotely good enough to wear to the marriage supper of the Lamb. Not by our works, but by His work in us. (Ephesians 2:10; Philippians 2:13, 4:13)

When Jesus died on the cross, He extended an invitation for all humanity to come to the wedding supper of the Lamb. Millions of invitations. Whoever wants to come, can come. No membership classes. No secret handshake. No special lingo. Only one simple requirement. Christ in you, flowing through you, running out of you. It’s more than a generous donation to missions. More than showing up at church every Sunday. More than a T-shirt slogan. It’s living like Jesus every single day in every single way. This is the dress code for a seat at Jesus’ wedding supper. 

You can change your clothes a hundred times, make your hair and makeup perfect, practice all the right phrases, learn the proper behavior, but if Jesus doesn’t saturate your heart, you won’t get a seat at the wedding feast. You can wear a Jesus T-shirt, volunteer at church, donate your body for martyrdom, but if your words and actions spring from anything other than a heart bursting with God’s presence, someone else will get your seat. Or you can come, just like you are, rags or riches, articulate or stuttering, imperfect or exquisite. You can consecrate your entire being–heart, body, mind, and soul–to Jesus Christ. Allow Him to renovate your heart and life, live in you, flow through you, gush out of you. Then, and only then, can you be assured of a seat at the marriage supper of the Lamb.  (I Corinthians 13:3)

Jesus is inviting you to be so much more than the words on a T-shirt. He’s inviting you to be His guest at His wedding feast. He wants to help you get into your wedding garments. The choice is yours. The T-shirts and trappings of the world, or life and eternity with Him. The choice seems simple, but I feel compelled to ask, what are you choosing to wear? (Revelation 3:20, 22:17; John 6:37)

She had spent years praying. Every day she asked God to send a child. She tried to wait patiently. She had fought off discouragement, forced herself to believe, but nothing had happened. Over and over her hopes dissolved into disappointment. And time wasn’t on her side. She had a deadline. Having babies isn’t an older woman’s gig. Eventually, hope died on the rocks of discouragement. Her faith shriveled to nothing. She’d seen no answers to her prayers. She stopped telling herself it would happen. As she watched the last of her normal childbearing years slip away, Sarah quit believing she might have a child of her own. 

The course of life was not a mystery. Older women didn’t bear children. It was impossible. Her ragged faith knew better than to believe in the impossible. She couldn’t handle the disappointment. She stopped asking God for a child. Stopped praying for a son. Stopped believing it could still happen. Stopped hoping for a miracle. 

Desperate to create the family she so desired, Sarah took matters into her own hands. She sent Abraham to her maid. Hagar conceived. A son was born. But things didn’t turn out the way Sarah thought they would. There was no sweet family unit. The birth of the child also birthed a whirlwind of anger, bitterness, and hate. Sarah stood in the ashes of her attempt to play God and watched her chance at a family slip through her fingers.

There wouldn’t be another chance. As precious as the idea was, neither Abraham nor Sarah believed they would get one. At their age, the very idea was ridiculous. They were well into their golden years. If all their prayers and hopes hadn’t been answered when they were young, they didn’t have a chance of being answered now. Resigned to their childless situation, they were caught completely off guard when God announced they would still have a son. 

In a conversation with Abraham, God tells him he is going to give him future offspring. Abraham thinks maybe it will be Ishmael. But no. God says the child will come from Sarah. She will conceive and bear a child, a son. In shock, or possibly humor,  Abraham falls face down…and laughs. How could this possibly be? He would be 100. Sarah would be 90. It just doesn’t happen. It’s impossible. It can’t happen. But God says it isn’t and it will. 

 Abraham wasn’t the only one that saw humor in the promise. Sarah, shamelessly eavesdropping on the conversation between the angels and Abraham, laughed when she heard news of her impending pregnancy. It was outrageous, really. Everyone knew a woman decades past her childbearing years couldn’t conceive and have a son. It was impossible, and Sarah no longer believed in the impossible.  

All those years of hoping and praying, begging and waiting, disappointment and tears had finally ended in resignation. There had been no babies. So why, now that they had quit asking, now that they had given up hope, now that they had recalibrated their life expectations, why would they think God was going to come through? Was He going to do the impossible when they were beyond the age of possibility? Of course He was. He did. Because God deals in the impossible. Perhaps they would have known that if they had kept asking, kept seeking, kept knocking. (Genesis 16-18)

Looking down from my soaring position of perfection, I wonder what Sarah was thinking. Why didn’t she believe God when He said she’d have a son? Hadn’t she spent years asking and hoping for that very thing? Why did she stop? Why did she lose hope? Why did she decide God wasn’t going to answer her prayer? What made her think anything could possibly be impossible with God? 

As these accusatory questions swirl around my mind, I realize that I am not perched on some pinnacle of prayerful perseverance. I’m right down there with Sarah. I’m praying prayers I desperately want answered. Prayers for family and friends. Prayers for situations. Prayers for our nation. Prayers for revival in our churches, salvation for our children, and holiness in our homes. I’m sitting on the edge of my seat waiting for them to be answered. Now. On my time table. In the way I think they need to be done. 

From where I’m sitting, some of those answers are looking pretty impossible. I’ve been praying some of those prayers for a long time. My patience is wearing thin. My frustration is mounting. I’m getting tired of pounding on Heaven’s door to what seems like no avail. I feel discouragement looming. My hope is fading. I’m terrified God is going to miss His cue and not answer when and how I think He should. My timetable passes. It shakes my faith. Slowly but surely, I get discouraged, quit praying that particular prayer. I quit asking. Quit seeking. Quit knocking for that specific thing. Because it feels impossible, like it will never happen. And I, not unlike Sarah, have so much trouble believing in the impossible. 

Sarah and I aren’t unique. Many others have struggled with God’s timing and answers when they don’t match our own. Mary and Martha certainly did. Jesus was late. Too late. Lazarus was already dead. Four days dead. Upon hearing Jesus was headed into town, Martha went out to have a talk with Him. She had things to say. If He had been there earlier, this wouldn’t have happened. Once He arrived, a brokenhearted Mary threw herself at Jesus’ feet, crying out in frustrated anguish, “If You had gotten here earlier, You could have saved his life!” They didn’t like what happened. They weren’t happy with Jesus’ timing. But they didn’t know what He was doing. He was about to perform a miracle no one would be able to deny. God had a purpose for Jesus’ tardiness. In fact, He wasn’t tardy. He was just in time. (John 11)

 He was just in time for Daniel, too. When the decree came commanding everyone to pray only to the king, Daniel must certainly thought to stop praying. At least contemplated praying somewhere less conspicuous and in a softer tone. He didn’t succumb to the temptation. He kept his normal schedule, knelt by his window, and petitioned the God who had never let Him down. And he kept praying. As he entered that lion’s lair, perhaps he thought surely God should have come through by now. Being room service for a lion isn’t anyone’s dream. But God had a different plan. A plan that would expose His power and glory for all to see. It wasn’t that Daniel is stronger and braver than everyone else. He simply understood that the struggle to understand God’s plan and timing isn’t license to quit praying. It’s never time to do that. Praying people must always remain praying people. They must never give up, never stop knocking on Heaven’s door. (Daniel 6)

Isaiah cries out a rallying call to prayer when he speaks of the watchmen appointed to keep watch over Jerusalem. Positioned on the walls of the city, they will walk those walls, watch, and pray. Pray for the nation. Pray for the people within. Pray that they follow God. Pray they don’t stray. It is their duty as watchmen. The prophet instructs them to pray without ceasing with these words, “Don’t give God a rest from the sound of you praying.” Keep praying. Pray day and night. Never let Him rest. Ask then ask again. (Isaiah 62:6-7) 

As Isaiah gave that charge so long ago, we need to hear it again today. We are the watchmen walking the walls, keeping watch over our families, churches, communities, and country. We are those commissioned to cover them in prayer. We are charged to pray without ceasing. We are tasked with keeping our petitions before God, never letting Him rest. When the answers don’t seem to be coming, when the timing seems to be off, when the situation seems impossible, keep praying. When discouragement rears its head, when anxiety rattles your cage, when frustration addles your brain, keep praying. When the outlook is grim, the people are stubborn, the nation resistant to godliness, keep praying. Keep asking. Don’t take a break. Don’t lose heart. Don’t let Him rest. Ask again. Bring yourself, your loved ones, your country, your world to God and ask for a rescue, a ransom, a second chance, a saving grace. In His time, in His way, He will answer. Just ask again.  

The Psalmist beautifully reminds us that God doesn’t sleep. He doesn’t take vacations. He constantly watches over His children. His ears are always open to their cries. The wise writer of Ecclesiastes tells us God’s timing is never wrong, even if it doesn’t agree with yours. And the Apostle Paul informs us there is never a time to stop praying. No matter your circumstances or surroundings. Pray. Persistently. Pray without ceasing. Make your requests known to God and trust Him to handle them. Don’t let Him rest until He has completed the good work He has begun. (Psalm 121:3-4,8; Psalm 34:15; Ecclesiastes 3:11; I Thessalonians 5:17; Philippians 1:6, 4:6-7) 

He will complete it. Even if it seems impossible, improbable, or implausible, God will complete His work. Impossible things are His wheelhouse. So don’t become discouraged or frustrated when your prayers don’t get answered when and how you want. Don’t give up. Ask again. Don’t let Him rest. Keep praying. Keep asking. Keep knocking. Be the praying people of God who never let Him rest from the sounds of their petitions. He will hear. He will answer. Just ask again. (Luke 11:5-13; Mark 11:20-24)