Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

There’s a stunning, emotion-filled painting of Jesus as our tower of strength in a storm. The background is grey. Turbulent clouds clutter the sky. The wind rages, whipping strands of hair across His face. His clothes, caught by the same punishing wind, wrap tightly around His body. He stands on a grouping of rocks, body braced against nature’s onslaught like a lighthouse for wandering seamen. Waves crash against the rocks with violent force. Rain pelts His uncovered head. His eyes are lifted skyward, watching for the next flash of lightning. His body is braced for the next barrage of thunder. His arms appear to be folded across His chest. Upon closer inspection you will see, sheltered safely, sleeping soundly in the cradle of His arms is the soul who has run to Jesus for refuge from nature’s fury. It is impossible to verbally do the painting justice. I’ve never physically seen it. It exists only in my mind. To my knowledge, this exact painting does not exist on canvas. I don’t know how to put it there, because I am not an artist. 

Set against the backdrop of the majestic Mission Mountain Range in Western Montana, is the Saint Ignatius Mission. It looks just like any old church. Boxy, brick exterior. Heavy doors of dark wood on the front. Stained glass windows in perfect rows down the sides. That staid exterior belies its inner splendor. Lining the architecturally amazing walls and vaulted ceilings of the sanctuary are fifty-eight stunningly beautiful, hand-painted murals. I’ve visited several times. It is gorgeous, stealing my breath and quieting my soul each time I enter. I stand amazed, not just at the artwork, but at the structural integrity of a building still standing and sound more than 200 years after it was built and wonder how it was done, because I am not an architect. 

My children and I often watch baking competitions. I am continually surprised at the knowledge and ability of the competitors. Who knew you could blow melted sugar as thin as glass? What inspires one to consider creating a cathedral out of gingerbread? What makes one even attempt melting isomalt crystals and pouring them into giant window panes to stand on end in a baked structure? We often sit in wrapt amazement as wildly extravagant things are created with bread and sugar and chocolate. Things I could never do, wouldn’t even attempt. The very idea is overwhelming, because I am not a professional baker, sugar artist, or chocolatier.

Some days I wish I was one of those things. Or something other, something more than I am. You probably have days like that too. Few would be the souls who could say they have never wished they had another skill, a different look, a stronger ability, a more palatable calling. Peter certainly couldn’t say it. 

In the final chapter of John, there is a record of Jesus’ conversation with Peter about loving God and feeding sheep. Three times Jesus asked Peter, “Do you love me?” Three times Peter answered, “Of course, I love you!” Three times Jesus instructs Peter to care for the people of God. It seems like a great calling. It seems like a compliment. It is an enormous honor to be tapped as the one to shepherd God’s church. The glory of that honor fades a bit when Jesus says, “You’ll die for doing it, an untimely and unpleasant death. Still, follow me.”   

Justifiably, Peter was upset. Scared. Frustrated. No one else had been told in such graphic detail how they would die. Looking around, he caught a glimpse of John. There’s that guy! The beloved disciple of Jesus. The one who leaned against Jesus at supper and asked if Judas would betray Him. Immediately his mind did what our minds do every day, compared his calling to John’s, and Peter asked, “What about John? How is he going to die? Is he going to die? You didn’t give him any specific revelations.” 

In a response similar to one I’ve used with my children a thousand times, Jesus simply replied, “John’s calling isn’t your business. You just need to follow me.” Follow Me into prison. Follow Me to the Gentiles. Follow Me to death. Don’t worry about anyone else, their calling, their life, their demise. Just keep focused on what I’ve called you to do and follow Me. Peter must have been terrified, he must have hated that answer, but he didn’t stop following Jesus. (John 21:15-24)

Esther must have been terrified as she was taken from everything she knew to be trained as a possible queen. She hadn’t asked for this. She was content with her life as it had been. Why had she been chosen to leave her village, her friends, her people, her life to marry a man she didn’t want to marry, be queen in a land she didn’t care to rule? Why were none of her friends chosen? Why did they get to go on with life as usual? Was this a punishment, or, as Mordecai had suggested, had God really brought her to this place for this moment and asked her to follow Him no matter the outcome?  

She was likely shaking in her sandals as she stepped into the inner courtyard seeking an audience with King Ahasuerus. She was breaking the law. She hadn’t been summoned. Her life was literally hanging in the balance of the king’s mood. If the golden scepter came up, she would be spared. If it did not, she would die. 

Thankfully, the scepter came up. Her life was spared. The lives of her people were spared, too. Esther chose to focus not on the things her friends were doing, but on the task God had called her to do, and saved the lives of an entire nation. For Esther, following God looked nothing like she thought or hoped it would. It looked like marriage to a king she didn’t want to marry, living a life she wasn’t born to, and risking it all for the God who through this series of nerve-wracking events accomplished His will to deliver His people from death. Following Jesus rarely looks the way we think it should. (Esther 2-9)

We can’t fault Peter for looking at John and comparing what he knew about their futures. We are right there with him, constantly looking around comparing our circumstances, success, popularity, and wealth to what we assume about others. Busily trying to figure out what others are supposed to be doing and reminding God that they need a job too. Jealously wondering why God doesn’t seem to be allowing the struggle bus to stop at everyone’s house, only ours.  Questioning why we are slogging along while others are living the high life. 

We are not in a position to insult Esther’s lack of enthusiasm to walk to her death, either. We aren’t much interested in sacrifice ourselves. We aren’t fighting for space on the plane to minister in the world’s tumultuous, war-torn places. We are more than happy to pray and give as long as someone else goes. But what if God is calling you there? What if God is calling you to sacrifice here in your world of success and status and selfishness? What if He is calling you to do something that will gain no recognition, no applause, no bright lights? What if He is calling you to quietly serve Him, live in poverty, and wait until Heaven for your reward? Are you still willing to follow Him? 

I don’t see that we have much choice. Jesus laid out the parameters of discipleship like this. Deny yourself–wants, wishes, dreams. Take up your cross–yours, the one assigned to you. No matter what it looks like. No matter if it fits your preconceived notions. No matter that it isn’t the same as your neighbor’s. Pick up your cross. And follow Jesus. (Luke 9:23)

In elementary school, our teachers were inordinately focused on making it impossible to cheat. Not that I was looking to do so. I wasn’t. It was likely because they knew we needed help enforcing godly principles in our lives. We were made to use cover sheets, our hands, our arms, anything to deter cheating. Countless times, in the quiet of a room of testing students, we heard this reminder, “Keep your eyes on your own paper.” 

I wonder how many times we’ve heard God say that to us. Perhaps not those exact words. They probably sounded a little more like the ones He said to Peter, “What does that matter to you? Focus on yourself and follow me.” We desperately need to hear them. It’s so easy to look around and feel jealous of those who seem to be doing better than we are. It’s easy to resent those who have more glamorous talents than we have. It is easy to allow a little bitterness to set up camp in our hearts when we see someone else gaining the success we so covet for our own. Dangerous business, that. Therefore, it is vital that we follow the advice of those elementary teachers and the command of Jesus to keep our eyes on our own paper. (Hebrews 12:15; James 3:16; Galatians 6:4-5) 

Sometimes it is so difficult to see God’s plan. It is then we have to trust His heart and keep our eyes focused on Him. Don’t get busy studying the success of those around you. Don’t get distracted by the siren call of the world and things and opinions. Don’t allow yourself to become despondent or despair that your circumstances are below what you hoped they would be. Don’t allow your peace to be disturbed by jealousy toward those who have their reward now, but lock your eyes on Jesus and follow Him relentlessly. When it isn’t hugely glamorous. When it isn’t wildly successful. When the result is social suicide, rejection, ridicule. Deny yourself. Shoulder your cross. Keep focused on your own calling. And follow Jesus. (Proverbs 14:12,30)

Perhaps you are acquainted with the phrase military police use to exercise their authority when someone of higher rank balks at their enforcement of laws. Maybe you’ve heard it in movies. Perhaps you’ve heard it personally. I’ve occasionally seen it on plaques or bumper stickers as I strolled through shops on military installations. I’ve used it in jest with my husband. It simply says, “Don’t confuse your rank with my authority.” 

That seven-word phrase is telling. It says a lot about humanity that we even need such a phrase. It speaks to our arrogance, our ignorance. It points out the glaringly obvious issue besetting society today–the complete confusion between rank and authority. Somehow, we have decided that power, influence, and rank automatically carry authority. Some stalwartly believe their job title gives them ultimate authority to remove parameters on their actions. They commit crimes, violate ethical standards, and flout societal norms under the mistaken belief that their rank makes them untouchable, their standing limits the reach of legal authority. 

It is not a new problem. It’s been thriving for centuries, possibly since the dawn of time. Pharaoh was certainly confused about it. Why wouldn’t he be? As the highest rank in Egypt, everyone obeyed his decrees and adhered to his ideals. He had only to speak the word. His advisors didn’t try to balance out the scales of justice. No one questioned his judgment. No one tried to change his mind. No one except Moses, an adopted nobody, without rank or authority of his own, sent by God to lead the Israelites out of captivity. 

All Pharaoh saw was some crazy guy and his brother trying to argue a case to take away his slaves. He wasn’t having it. His slaves were going nowhere. Not to worship their God on the edge of the desert. Not out from under his authority. Not to freedom in another land. So when Moses and Aaron came and asked, Pharaoh flexed his bulging muscles of authority, and tightened the reins on his slaves. He increased their workload. Withheld supplies. Had them beaten. Made them more miserable than they already were. 

Seems it would have been a great time for God to whisper, “Don’t confuse your rank with my authority.” God knew Pharaoh wouldn’t listen. He needed physical evidence of a power greater than his own. He got it. Separated only by time for a chance at repentance if he chose it, God unleashed one plague after another on Egypt. Bloody water. Frogs. Boils. Locusts. Hail. Pharaoh wouldn’t budge. He still thought he held the winning hand. He refused to release God’s people. Only the indiscriminate death of every firstborn Egyptian male across the nation convinced Pharaoh his rank was under Someone Else’s authority. He learned the hardest way possible that no finite rank on earth can possibly hope to transcend God’s infinite authority. (Exodus 3-14)

King Nebuchadnezzar never seemed to fully comprehend God’s all-encompassing authority. Even after Daniel’s interpretation of his dream and the king’s own admission that their God was the God of gods, he still built a 90-foot statue of gold to be worshipped. He required its worship, in fact. When the music sounded, all the people were to fall on their faces and worship the statue. Those who refused would be escorted to their death in a blazing furnace. Servants of the true God who commanded them not to bow down or serve any gods except Him, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego wouldn’t bow. They knew they could trust the God they served. They knew His authority surpassed any earthly rank. (Daniel 2-3; Exodus 20:3-5)

In incandescent rage at their refusal to bow and their conclusion that rank does not equal ultimate authority, Nebuchadnezzar bellowed, “Who is this god you think can rescue you from my power?” He gave them one more chance. Played the music one more time. They didn’t bow because their God, the King of the universe who holds all things together, in whom they lived and breathed and had their being, has always, will always, carry more authority than any rank on earth. (Daniel 3:15; Psalm 47:7; Colossians 1:17; Acts 17:28)

Wildly angry and bursting with hate, Nebuchadnezzar ordered the furnace heated seven times its normal temperature. He ordered Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego bound and thrown into the furnace. It was done. The men who carried out his orders were killed by the heat and flames. Yet inside, surrounded by raging flames, stood three untied men, fully clothed and unharmed, and a fourth man who looked like an angel. In a grand exhibition of the undeniable, unmatchable authority of God, Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego walked out of that blazing furnace without a singe. (Daniel 3)

In the time following the birth of Jesus, King Herod, terrified someone would usurp his throne, ordered the Magi to send him directions to the Christ child. It wasn’t part of God’s plan. He warned the Magi to keep that location to themselves and travel home another way. They did. Angry at having his plan to find and kill the Christ Child thwarted by the non-reporting Magi, Herod ordered the killing of every Bethlehem boy child under the age of two. Surely that would take care of his problem! But God had already sent His Son out of harm’s way, because no king, queen, prime minister or president can ever supersede God’s supreme authority. (Matthew 2:1-16)

As part of a series of brutal attacks on the church, King Herod, arrested and imprisoned Peter with the intention of killing him. No one thought it wouldn’t happen. He’d already killed James. The night before his execution, bound by two chains, sleeping between soldiers, guarded by sentries, the angel of the Lord came and released Peter. He walked away from the chains that bound him, past the men who guarded him, through the doors that imprisoned him, because God still had work for Peter to do. (Acts 12:1-18) Herod shouldn’t have confused his rank with God’s authority. There is absolutely, unequivocally no comparison between the fragile ranks of earth and the indisputable authority of Heaven.

The victorious authority of God is not solely written at the back of the Book, it is exhibited countless times throughout the entirety of its pages. From the beginning words of Genesis to the final syllables of Revelation, God never once surrenders His authority. Kings and queens have tried to usurp it. Nations have tried  through war to expropriate it. Satan has tried to abscond with it. No one has ever made off with it. Because that Baby born in the humblest circumstances, treated as the lowest ranking citizen from the lowest caste, having no beauty or status or wealth, is still the omniscient, omnipotent, sovereign God of the universe!  

Didn’t you know? Haven’t you heard? God, the One who created the beginning of the earth, the end of the earth, and everything in between is still God! His authority can never be stunted. He will never relinquish His position. He is not weary, doesn’t faint from exhaustion, doesn’t fall down on the job. And you can trust Him. He’s never botched a plan. He’s never been outfoxed. He’s never had to resort to plan B. His power is eternal. His authority is unparalleled. His care for His children is meticulous. (Isaiah 40:28-30; Isaiah 44:6-8; Isaiah 45:6-7; II Chronicles 20:6; Isaiah 43:13; Psalm 91:1-12) 

So rest in Him. Don’t let the ranks of this world cloud your knowledge of Who holds all the authority. Trust Him. Find comfort in the fact that the just and righteous God who has kept this planet spinning for so long is not asleep, uninterested, or tired of looking after His people. He’s still God! He has not relinquished His position. He never will. So be still. Rest in the safety of His singular authority. Allow Him to renew your strength and infuse you with courage. Boldly cast your faith in the only One actually able and willing to do all He has promised, and rest assured that He will. (Isaiah 40:31; Psalm 46:10; Deuteronomy 31:6; Psalm 9:10)

There are a lot of things going on in this old world. There’s an enormous power struggle between right and wrong, good and evil, man and God. Often it seems evil is winning. It’s not. It never will. Just as He did in every Biblical account, at just the right time, God will step in. Earth is still His jurisdiction. His authority cannot be stifled, repressed, or canceled, and no rank on earth can ever compare or compete with His authority. (Isaiah 46:9-11) So, if you are concerned about who has what rank and holds what authority in this world, relax. The indomitable God of the universe who holds all things together can never be supplanted by the ranks of earth. He’s still sovereign and you can trust Him!  (Isaiah 45:7-9; Job 42:2; Nahum 1:7; Psalm 27:1; Zephaniah 3:17; Romans 5:8; Psalm 16:8)

I had never been to an air show before. I didn’t really know what to expect. Airplanes. Flying. Vendors. Food. It didn’t seem exciting to me, but friends and family raved about how amazing air shows were, so we packed up our kids and went. Admittedly, I very much enjoyed watching the amazing feats and stunts, walking through the vendor booths, looking at the military planes, and visiting the children’s activities. I did not enjoy the weather. We managed to have all three types of Louisiana weather in the same day. Unbearable heat, unbreathable humidity, and unexpected rain. In an effort to escape the heat and avoid sunburn, we spent a considerable amount of time inside a partial building. But since you can’t see the planes from indoors, we ran out of things to do inside, so we wandered back into the heat. 

Then the rain came. In an effort to remain at least moderately dry, we took refuge under the wing of an enormous plane. (My husband says it was a B-52. I wouldn’t know!) Huddled there, waiting out the rainstorm, I realized something. No matter the size of that plane, you had to be pretty close to its body to get much protection from the elements. The farther you got away from the plane’s considerable bulk, the less protection you had. The wings narrowed. The tail tapered. The nose sloped to a blunt point. As a shadow from the heat or refuge from the rain, it offered little. Unless, of course, you were right up close to the body.   

We started out there, my little family nestled together under the largest part of the plane wing, waiting for the rain to halt. But inch by inch, we moved. Someone came with a small child and we made room for them in our refuge. A couple with a stroller and a toddler came looking for shelter. We moved over to let them in too. We didn’t realize our error until it was too late. The more we moved, the further away from the plane we got, and the less sheltered we were from the elements. The rain pounded. The wind blew. We got wet. Only those who stayed close to the body of the plane walked out dry. 

The situation of Noah’s day was similar. Only those who entered the ark endured that flood unscathed. People and animals alike. I shudder at the mere thought of entombing myself in a shadowy floating cavern with hundreds of animals and several other people for an undisclosed amount of time. My sensitive nose and susceptibility to motion sickness and claustrophobia have my stomach lurching. Thoughts of failing to board that particular vessel do the same. Wickedness was rampant. Corruption ran wild. Depravity had reached epic proportions. (Genesis 6:11-13) Not boarding that boat wasn’t an option. God had decreed punishment. The only hope for escape was to take refuge in that shadowy ark.  

So the ark was built. Food was gathered and stored. The animals queued up for rescue. When all was finished, loaded, and secured, Noah, his wife, his sons, and daughters-in-law took one last look at the earth they knew, turned, and boarded the ark. God shut the door. With the dull thud of its closing, He made them shadow dwellers. People who put all their faith and trust in His protection and chose to dwell in Him when no one else was doing it, when it wasn’t popular, when everyone thought they were crazy. In the middle of the worst storm in history, they were hunkered down in the shadow of the Almighty. 

They waited. What else could they do? The flood came. I wonder what it was like.  Pounding torrential rain that battered their boat before it lifted to ride the rising waters? Perhaps it was a quiet, steady rain saturating the earth causing flooding when the ground could no longer absorb the moisture? Or maybe God simply lifted the boundaries He had placed on the oceans and allowed them to flow over the face of the earth, destroying everything in their wake? I don’t suppose it matters. What does matter is that, when everything on earth was destroyed and drifting and decaying, God remembered those who had unquestionably, obediently taken refuge and sought protection inside a shadowy, water-tossed vessel. God remembered and set out to retrieve them. (Genesis 6, 7, 8:1)

Winds came, blowing over the earth. God closed up the flooding oceans, locked the floodgates of the heavens, halted the rain. The waters receded. The ark came to rest on the mountains of Ararat. It would still be months before Noah sent out the dove and it would find a place dry enough to nest. It would be weeks before Noah would receive the long-awaited command from God to disembark. The danger had passed. 

It must have been a sight to behold! Noah, his family, and his own personal menagerie parading in orderly fashion out onto dry land. The people. The wildlife. The livestock, birds, creepy crawlies. Every single one safe. Preserved by the God in whose shadow they chose to dwell, in whose protection they chose to rest. (Genesis 8) Proving the words in Psalm 91:1 true before they were ever penned, “The one who abides in the secret place of God, will dwell in the shadow of the Almighty.”  

Unfortunately, nothing has truly changed since the days of Noah. Humanity is inordinately self-absorbed.  We find ourselves surrounded by wickedness, rebellion, depravity, and sin. Nowhere is safe. Nothing is sacred. Every day seems to be brimming with another exercise in the ridiculous. Evil masquerades as good. Sin is condoned. Righteousness condemned. We find ourselves bracing for the worst social storm our generation has ever seen. If left to our own devices, we tend to be filled with worry, anxiety, and fear.  

Fortunately, we don’t have to cling to our own devices. The truth of the Psalmist’s words are as accurate today as they were when Noah lived them and the Psalmist penned them. Every single word is reliable. But you have to actually do those things. You have to put your trust solely in God and refuse to take it back. You have to spend every waking moment so close to Jesus that you never stray from the wide part of His shadow. Indiscriminately place yourself–mind, body, and soul–in God’s hands. Follow Him. Obey Him. No matter what anyone else is doing. Choose to become a shadow dweller. (Psalm 57:1; 91:1-2, 4; 121:7) 

Sadly, there is so much crazy going on in our world that it is easy to believe God is too busy with the mess to remember us shadow dwellers. Maybe you’ve read the above words and thought, “Hey, writer lady, have you read the news? Do you see how terrifying it is out there? Do you know how helpless I feel?” Yes. I have. I know. I get it. I also know this. When the waters were raging and the earth being destroyed by the biggest flood in history, God remembered every single shadow dweller on the ark. Not just the people. Not just Noah, his sons, and their wives. God remembered the animals too. They earn specific mention in Genesis 8:1. The livestock. The wildlife. God remembered every single thing He had sequestered in His shadow, from the baby field mouse to the biggest elephant. Not one thing on that ark was forgotten by God. No one who stays in His shadow ever is. (Isaiah 49:15-16; Psalm 27:10)

In lamentation over Jerusalem and the people’s lack of belief in Him, Jesus paints a beautifully moving picture of His desire for us. It is of a hen gathering her chicks under the shelter of her wings, protecting them from the outside world. (Matthew 23:37) It is the exact depiction of what happens when we make God’s shadow our dwelling place. We find refuge under His wings. Regardless what it looks like out your window or on your newsfeed, no matter what your neighbors and friends are doing, whatever the current status quo, Jesus calls you to come live in His shadow, take refuge in Him, and find rest for your soul. Wing refuge for shadow dwellers. (Psalm 62; Matthew 11:28) 

Shadow dwelling doesn’t happen without effort, though. Just as Noah had to choose to build the ark, fill it with food, and walk on board, you have to choose to dwell in God’s shadow too. Choose obedience when it is unfashionable. Forget what’s trending and follow God alone. Read your Bible more than you read the news. Talk to God more than you talk about current events. Run into the name of the Lord. Place yourself in His shadow and lodge there. Refuse to leave. No matter the pandemonium around you, no matter how society taunts you, no matter the disorder and turmoil in our world, stay close to the Almighty. There is no better option, no other place of safety for your soul. He will never forget about you or leave you to figure things out on your own. As the raging storms around us wreak upheaval and despair, run into the safety of His shadow, find rest in the shelter of His wings. (Deuteronomy 32:11; Psalm 17:8; Psalm 36:7; Psalm 63:7) 

Football is not my “thing”. Not the variety where grown men violently assault one another over a little brown ball. Not the version where folks run wildly up and down a field chasing a rolling circle of black and white hexagons. I care not at all. My complete lack of knowledge in these sports is eclipsed only by my lack of interest. Unfortunately for me, the males in my family avidly watch football. College ball. Professional ball. Games and scores and rankings are tracked. They talk about the teams and players as if they frequent the practices, dropping names like they sat next to the quarterback at lunch. 

They didn’t. They’ve never met him. They have no idea if he really is all those things the media says he is or does all those things his public relations team says he does. But they believe them, repeat them, use those published opinions to build their assessment of the man’s character. A man they have never met. Will likely never meet.   

In a recent conversation with my son, he mentioned that a certain quarterback was “a jerk.”

“So you know him, then?” I asked. 

He paused. “Well, no, but he is,” came the staunch reply. 

I clearly understood. He had drawn a conclusion concerning another man’s character based solely on media reports and the varied opinions of a handful of people in his circle. He hadn’t met the man. Probably never will. Doesn’t even really want to. Yet that man is “a jerk.” He knows it because everyone else is saying it. 

Although largely at fault for this misconception, the media is not fully to blame. This method of “knowing” people predates radios and newspapers, telephones, televisions, and the internet. It goes back as far as the origin of the gossip grapevine. People were forming their opinions on the backs of other people’s speculations clear back in the New Testament. Whispers about Jesus were everywhere. Who was that guy anyway?

It seems Jesus wanted to hear the answer to that as well. He comes right out and asks the disciples, “Who is everyone saying I am?” The answer isn’t encouraging. Whispered words at the well, hushed conversations at the market, quiet discussions around the Temple all came up with different conclusions. Maybe He was a preacher. Maybe He was a prophet back from the dead. Maybe He was a different prophet. “The Messiah” never crossed their minds. They hadn’t even considered it. How could they? They didn’t actually know Him. They had no way of knowing anything about Him other than what they’d heard. Apparently, they hadn’t heard much. (Matthew 16:13-14) 

But how could that be? He’s been teaching and healing and feeding people for quite a while now. They are coming in droves to be healed or watch others be healed. He amazes them, holds them spellbound. Yet they don’t make the connection. It makes one wonder if the disciples had it figured out yet, either? Had they followed Him from place to place, witnessed miracle after miracle, learned precept upon precept, and the light still not dawned? Is that possible? 

Thankfully, no. At least not for Peter. He wasn’t confused about who He was following around, sacrificing everything for. Peter knew exactly who He believed Jesus was. His opinion wasn’t based on roadside gossip. It wasn’t something the priest had told him. It wasn’t an epiphany gained when catching up on the latest speculations from the village well. Peter knew exactly who Jesus was because Peter knew Jesus personally. 

Peter had been out fishing with his brother, Andrew, when he first met Jesus. It took no time at all for him to drop His net and follow. (Matthew 4:18-19) He’d walked with Jesus all over Galilee as He taught and preached and healed. Peter’s own mother-in-law was healed by the touch of Jesus’ hand. (Matthew 8:14-15) He’d been on boats tossing in storms, seen Jesus quiet the waves with simple words. (Matthew 8:23-27) Peter had witnessed Jesus’ compassion as He healed a Gentile girl and fed thousands of people. (Mark 7:24-30; 8:1-10) Peter knew exactly with whom He walked. He had firsthand knowledge. He was deeply, intimately acquainted with Jesus, the Messiah, the Son of the living God.   

It comes as no surprise then, when it is Peter who pipes up first in response to Jesus’ question, “Who am I to you?” Peter doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t scrape his toe in the ground and wait for someone else to answer first. No. He confidently speaks the truth he has seen with his own eyes, heard with his own ears, and experienced in his own soul, “You are the Messiah.” To Peter, Jesus was everything God had promised through the prophets hundreds of years before. Not because someone else said so. Not because he’d heard the notion over a meal at the local inn. Not because it was the popular opinion in the village. Peter knew exactly who Jesus was because he was busy walking through life beside Him.  (Matthew 16:15-16; Mark 8:29)

Right beside Him, in fact. Peter is the guy who jumped out of a boat in the middle of a storm to walk across wind-driven waters toward Jesus. He could have just believed it when Jesus called out saying they didn’t need to be afraid. He could have stayed on the boat and waited for Jesus to get there. He didn’t need to leave the boat to prove Jesus was the Messiah. He already knew. Peter knew that if the person walking toward them on raging waters was Jesus, not a ghost as the others suspected, He could make that water hold Peter too. So he called out, “If it’s really You, call me to walk to you.” Jesus called. Peter walked. Even when the waves threatened to overtake Peter’s faith, he cried out to the One he knew could save him. Why? Because Peter knew with certainty Whose company He was keeping. Jesus. Messiah. Son of God. (Matthew 14:22-32)

Five chapters after Peter’s declaration in Matthew is the account of Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem. Crowds of people watched as He approached the town. They threw their robes on the ground before Him. They tossed branches down to pad His path. They sang Hosanna and blessed Him. But when He got into Jerusalem, the people there didn’t know who He was. Apparently, the people following Him didn’t really know either. When asked, their answer reflected the murmurings around town, “It’s the prophet Jesus from Nazareth.” (Matthew 21:1-11) Not Messiah. Not Savior. Not the Son of God. They were clearly unaware with Whom they walked. They knew all about Him, but they didn’t truly know Him.    

Which makes me wonder about us. How well do we know Jesus? In a society that has diluted the importance of Jesus and His story to be part of an insignificant historical backdrop, who, exactly, is Jesus to us? Do we know Him personally, intimately, like Peter, or are we still following the crowd and forming opinions based on the speculations of others? Do we actually know Jesus, or do we only know about Him?

See, you can know about a hundred celebrities. You can drop names, quote stats, and guess trades. You can quote their hometown, birthday, and the last three teams they played on. It will never matter. Knowing about them is quite different than knowing them. Jesus is the same way. You can know all about Him–His birth, His life, His death, His resurrection. You can quote Scripture, cite meanings from the Hebrew and Greek. You can pray with eloquent words, turn a lovely phrase in speech, but if you don’t spend every moment of every day with Jesus permeating your entire existence, you don’t really know who He is. 

Today, as He did centuries ago, Jesus is asking, “Who am I to you?” I hope you know Him well enough to recognize His voice. I hope your heart resounds with personal knowledge of the truths Peter spoke. Jesus. Messiah. Son of God. I hope you know from personal experience and are not simply living vicariously through Peter’s words, the preacher’s sermon, or parental teachings. I hope you know Jesus for yourself because you spend every day walking with Him, living in His presence, drinking in His life. I hope you remember who Jesus is to you. Savior. Friend. Comfort. Strength. Not because you’ve been told He is those things, but because you have experienced them firsthand. (Hebrews 7:25; John 15:13-15; Isaiah 51:12; Psalm 46:1; Isaiah 40:29) As you step to the starting line of this new year, I hope you know with absolute certainty born of deep relationship, who Jesus is to you. Messiah. Savior. Son of God. Prince of Peace. (Ephesians 2:14-22; Mark 1:11; John 1:29; John 3:17)

Jesus is still asking. Asking where He fits in your life. Do you really know Him or do you simply know about Him? Is He just another prophet or is He your King? Who, exactly, is Jesus to you?

My mind is overwhelmed when I try to imagine how a parent handles this type of anguish. How heartbreaking to impotently watch your child suffer time and time again. Surely every other pain pales in comparison. The agonizing father in Luke 9 knew it all too well. He’d been watching his son be tormented for years. Nothing helped. Nothing healed. Nothing changed the situation. No matter what they tried, the sequence remained. Seized by an evil spirit, shrieking, convulsing, foaming at the mouth, followed by injury. His father’s heart was torn and ragged from watching and knowing he was helpless to heal his son. 

Willing to go to any length for a chance to save his only child, he came to the disciples and begged them to help. Perhaps their fear overcame their faith. Perhaps they forgot the power working through them was that of the God of impossibilities. Perhaps they hadn’t given themselves enough to previous prayer and fasting. (Mark 9:29; Matthew 17:20-21; 19;26) Whatever impeded their faith, it rendered them unable to help. The boy remained besieged. 

In a final attempt to bring peace to his son and assuage the pain in his own heart, the man joins the crowd surging around Jesus as He walks into town. The crowd is growing large and pressing. The possibility of this father even getting to Jesus seems to be diminishing. Unparalleled urgency spurs the man to action. Unwilling to let the opportunity pass, unable to wait another moment, unconcerned with what anyone thought of him, the distraught father cried loudly to Jesus from the crowd, “Please have mercy on my son!” (Matthew 17:15)

Jesus calls for the boy to be brought forward. As father and son weave their way through the crowd, the evil spirit begins to pull its pranks. The child is knocked to the ground and thrown into wild convulsions. The crowd pulls back in dismay, widening their circle. In silence they stand watching the spectacle, waiting to see if this man Jesus could or would do anything. The father stands back with bated breath. His hands clasped tightly together as if in prayer. This is his last hope, his boy’s only chance. Will it happen? Will the great Teacher do what His disciples couldn’t? 

The convulsions worsen. In a testament to the bleak loneliness of their future should the boy remain unhealed, the crowd puts even more distance between them and the convulsing child. They certainly don’t want what he has! They want to watch. They like a good show, but they absolutely do not want his germs! Unlike the fickle crowd, Jesus doesn’t step back. Jesus steps forward. He rebukes the evil spirit forever, heals the boy, and hands him back to his father. The immensity of that father’s relief must have been palpable. One moment it seemed all was lost, everything was hopeless, the future was a bleak mass of pain–but then there was Jesus. (Luke 9:37-43)

The Gentile woman from Canaan was in the same heartbreaking position. Her daughter was horribly tormented by an evil spirit. In an effort to save her child, the woman came and unabashedly cried out for help from Jesus. In spite of His proclamation that He had come to save Israel, she falls on her knees before Him in desperation and begs Him to help. Her faith in His ability doesn’t allow her to give up. She can’t walk away. This is her last option, her daughter’s only hope. From the bottom of her aching mother’s heart, she knows this Man is the answer to her daughter’s needs. She persists. Her faith pays off. When it seemed like all was lost, everything was hopeless, the future an unending episode of terror and pain–in her time of deepest need, there was Jesus. (Matthew 15:21-28)

He wasn’t just rescuing children overcome by evil spirits. Over and again throughout the Gospels, we see Jesus stepping into scenes of angst, fear, grief, hopelessness, helplessness, and pain, reaching out His hand in hope, help, healing. He walks into rooms of mourning and turns them to joy. Remember Lazarus? He had been dead for four days! His body had long been shrouded in burial linens and placed in a grave. Their hearts were broken. They were mourning. Then there was Jesus.

He came to the tomb and commanded the stone be rolled from the door. Startled at this request, and possibly trying to save herself the mental horror, Martha warned against it. Decomposition would have already started. It was not going to look or smell pretty. Jesus could not be deterred. After speaking to His Father, He called Lazarus to exit the tomb. And he did. In the middle of a helpless, hopeless impossibility–there was Jesus. (John 11:1-44)

It wasn’t only during His earthly ministry that He showed up. Gathered in terror and hiding behind locked doors, the disciples were huddled together mourning Jesus’ death. They were hiding for their lives. The drapes were pulled. The candles were gutted. No one was talking. The future was dark. Their hearts were awash in hopelessness and despair. Perhaps they were mulling over the future. Maybe they were drawing up an exit strategy. Perhaps they were writing their last will and testament. It doesn’t matter. They wouldn’t be alone for long. Into their moment of hopeless, helpless despair stepped Jesus. Just when it seemed like all was lost–there was Jesus, bringing them the gift of the Holy Spirit. (John 20:19-22)

A million things have changed in the centuries since Jesus walked the earth. Possibly everything. Except Jesus. Jesus doesn’t change. Ever. He will always be there. He doesn’t shy away from issues. He doesn’t run from problems. There is no challenge too big, no effort too Herculean. When Jesus said He would be with us always, He meant it. He never goes back on His word. (Hebrews 13:8; Matthew 28:20; I Samuel 12:22; Joshua 21:45) In the middle of your life, whether things are foul or fabulous–there will always be Jesus.

Poised on the threshold of a new year, we find ourselves looking back at the old one. It’s an awful view. The year through which we have just traversed was full of treachery, heartbreak, frustration, anxiety, and fear. As we look back, squinting to see good in the swirling eddy of unfortunate events behind us, it is so difficult to see the hand of God in all the mess. It seems impossible to find His plan. It is easy to wonder where God has been, what He has been doing the last few months. Yet faith tells us He was there. When we were locked in bewilderment, despondency, and despair–there was Jesus, bringing strength and courage and hope.

In the middle of all the loss and frustrations the past year brought, a sweet friend of mine was diagnosed with terminal cancer. She is a wonderful woman of faith, prayer and relationship with Jesus. She would happily say Jesus has been there for her every moment, every day, every year of her life. With a broken heart and tears clouding my vision, I read the post outlining her status, diagnosis, and prognosis. It was not what I wanted to hear. At the end of the post, true to their character, her husband had written this statement of their faith, “For this, we have Jesus.” It has been my favorite phrase of 2020. It will be my sustaining phrase for 2021. No matter what happens. No matter how ridiculous our society gets. No matter how far things spiral out of control. No matter how dark, how hopeless, how bleak. I must continually remind myself, “For this, we have Jesus.”

Like the children in the above Luke and Matthew accounts, the evil one is doing his best to traumatize our souls. He is hiding around every corner, behind every bush, at the top of every new day waiting to ambush our hearts. Some days it feels like he is winning. Sometimes we just aren’t certain we can endure even one more frustration, hardship, or sorrow. Our desperate hearts are burdened. Our bedraggled souls are exhausted. It feels like we’ve been in mourning most of the year. Hiding out in discouragement, despondency, anxiety, and fear seems like the only option. It is hard. I know. I also know this, when it seems like all is lost, it isn’t. Jesus is there.

As I stand looking over the blank existence of 2021, I don’t pretend to know what lies ahead. I do know this. Jesus is already there. He is not surprised by what is coming. He is not stymied by our perplexities. He will not prove unavailable when hard times come. And they will come. It’s the nature of life. And we will find, when faced with despair, hopelessness, frustration, or fear–there will be Jesus. So when your hands are tied, your resources limited, your hope dwindling, straighten your spine and firmly place your faith in the God of the impossible, solidly plant both feet on His promise to never leave us alone, and remember that for any situation, for every situation, whatever it may be, “For this, we have Jesus.” (Jeremiah 29:11; Isaiah 57:15; Mark 11:22; Deuteronomy 31:6,8)