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)