Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

It wasn’t the weirdest thing God had ever asked him to do. Not by a long shot. That had to be a tie between hiding his underwear in a hole in the rocks and publicly wearing a yoke attached to his neck with leather straps. It wasn’t the most difficult command God had given him, either. There had been more harder, more gut-wrenching things. Not praying for his people in a time when they so clearly and desperately needed his prayers ranked at the very top of the list, followed closely by the command to forego marriage and resign himself to childlessness. It certainly wasn’t the most dangerous instruction he had received. Standing before kings and priests and peers, calling out their sin and pronouncing God’s impending judgment was the most terrifying thing he was ever asked to do. His knees shook. His heart pounded. People hated him. Wanted him dead. In light of that, buying a plot of land in a country destined for destruction seemed ridiculously simple. Silly, even. Still, Jeremiah did it. (Jeremiah 13:1-11; 14:11; 16:1-4; 27)

Not without questions. Jeremiah still had queries about the purchase. He knew what was going to happen to the land. He had already spoken God’s words to the king. The Babylonians were coming. Not for negotiations. They were coming to take over the land. Everything would soon belong to them. Every acre of land. Every blade of grass. Every home, hotel, and hostel. Even the field Jeremiah was currently weighing out silver to purchase. It would all belong to the invaders. Begging the question, why was he doing this? Why was he buying land he would most certainly lose? More importantly, why was he sealing up the documents in a pottery jar?  

The questions surely flashed across Baruch’s face as Jeremiah issued God’s instructions. Seal these up in a pottery jar. Put them in a safe place. Why? Because someday, people will own land here again. Someday they will buy the houses, own the vineyards, purchase the fields. Someday, things will return to how they used to be here. So put the documents in a jar. A jar of hope. Hope for the people now and for the generations to come. Hope that God would once again reconcile His people to Himself. Hope for the day when God’s people would turn from themselves, their sin, their idols, and follow God with all their hearts. Hope that peace would once again reign.  

It did not immediately reign for Jeremiah. He had more questions than answers. His faith was fraying a little at the edges. Not that he would change what he had just done. He wouldn’t. Long ago, he learned not to base his obedience on personal comprehension of God’s reasoning or plan. But Jeremiah was confused. Not about God. He knew God. Knew His power. Knew His character. Knew His voice. Jeremiah knew God had created the heavens and earth and everything in them by His amazing power. He knew God could do anything. Nothing was beyond the scope of His power to perform. He knew that God was love. For everyone. Those who followed Him. Those who didn’t. God loved humanity, but His love did not equal approval. God was not one to silently overlook sin. In love, He would chasten and punish in an effort to bring His people back to a place of relationship with Him. A place of blessing. A place of hope. He knew God could do anything. God could do everything. He had done amazing things over the preceding generations. What Jeremiah didn’t know, what he couldn’t quite understand, was why, with the siege ramps built against the city walls, the impending famine and war and disease, and the conquering by the Babylonians, why did God ask him to spend his good money on a field he couldn’t keep? 

Speaking directly to Jeremiah, in words he understood then, and we understand now, God said, “Do you know who I am? I am God. The Lord. Almighty. Invincible. Is anything too difficult for me?” In other words, do you really believe God would ask you to do something this crazy and have it mean nothing? Do you even know God’s character? Do you trust God’s judgment? Do you believe, from your head to your heart, that nothing is too hard for your God? 

Nothing Jeremiah was told to prophesy was incorrect. The Babylonians were coming. They would capture the city. Set it on fire. Burn houses and altars and places where sins were repeatedly committed. Everything would be destroyed. The people deserved it. As frequently as God had tried to teach the ways of holiness and truth, they had just as frequently turned from His teachings. They had angered God with their rebellion. Their sins had piled up against them. Their punishment was well deserved. But it wouldn’t be the end of them. There was still hope. In God. That’s what the land and the deed and the jar were all about. Hope. Hope that God would forgive their sins and restore them to their land. Someday. 

It was God’s plan to do so. In His grand plan, He would bring them back to that place. He would make them live in peace and safety. Their fields would flourish. Their families would grow. He would make them His people and gladly be their God. They would live like it. Their hearts would long for it. They would be devoted to worshipping Him without turning aside to idols. God had chastened, but He would heal. He promised. In the middle of all the disaster crashing down on their heads, there was hope for the future. Sealed up in Jeremiah’s jar. (Ezekiel 32)

Seems hope is often found in jars. Centuries before Jeremiah’s feet touched earth, another prophet whispered hope in a similar way. Through jars. Empty jars. A lot of them. Approached by a desperately poor and indebted widow whose sons would soon be taken as slaves to pay off her debt, Elisha told her to collect as many empty jars as she could find. Ask friends. Beg neighbors. Check every house in town. Once she had collected every available jar, she was to enter her house with her sons, shut the door, take her own little flask of oil, and start filling those jars. 

My heart feels the pinch as I picture her hopeful obedience. Hurriedly collecting the jars. Carefully lining them up. Standing back to survey the lines and take a stabilizing breath before she began the work. Her stomach is in knots. Her heart is burgeoning with hope. Her lips are moving in silent prayer that her hope is not misplaced. Her brain registers the truth. There is not enough oil in the flask to fill even the first jar. Not even close. Still, she steps forward. Tips the flask. Begins to pour. Tentatively. Watching the stream of oil flow into the jar, she waits for the flask to lighten, to empty. Except it doesn’t. Ever. The oil keeps flowing until there are no empty jars. Not in her house. Not in the town. Every empty jar sat in her house, full of hope.   

Relief raced in tears down her cheeks as she went to Elisha with her news. She had oil. Lots of oil. More than she could use. Ever. She didn’t know what it meant, or how it helped, but those empty jars, originally full only of hope, now held oil. Miracle oil. And her tentative hope was merging with her faltering faith. Elisha couldn’t scientifically explain the multiplication of the oil, but he did know what to do with it. Sell the oil. Pay the debt. Live off the rest. Remember this day, this moment, this time when all you had was a jar of hope and your willing obedience. Remember to always obey God. Do whatever He asks you to do–the ridiculous as well as the reasonable. Because hopeful obedience will never leave you in shame. (II Kings 4:1-7)  

Mary spoke similar words to the panicked servants at the wedding in Cana. Their wine jugs were empty. A search of the cellar came up dry. There was nothing to offer the guests except water. It wasn’t their fault. They weren’t in charge of meal planning and supplies. They would still be blamed for it. Fear gripped them as they rock/paper/scissored to see who would get the odious task of informing the master of ceremonies that their wine supply had expired. No one wanted the task. They needed their jobs. Needed their paychecks. Overhearing their terrified whispers, Mary pulled Jesus to the servants, explained their problem, and left them with one instruction, “Just do whatever He tells you to do.” 

They hoped she knew what she was talking about. Their jobs were on the line. Listening intently so as not to miss an instruction, the servant’s faces filled with questions at His simple command. Fill the six empty stone water jars, the ones used for ceremonial washing, with water. Plain water. No residual wine. No juice. Nothing extra. Just water. Confusion turned to disbelief. The command was ridiculous! Water, they had. Wine, they didn’t. More water wasn’t going to fix their problem. But they didn’t have a better idea. Right now, they just needed to be obedient and do what Jesus told them to do. And they did. 

Gallon after gallon, they poured their hope into those jars. Hope that they were doing the right thing. Hope that they wouldn’t be publicly humiliated. Hope that their jobs would be saved, their paychecks complete. Hope that Jesus could make a miracle happen. Right there. Right then. In those jars. And He did.

 When the final gallon entered the last jar, Jesus issued His next instruction. Serve the master of ceremonies. The head guy. The one who hires and fires. Bravely, the servant sucked in a deep breath, ladled the wine, and stepped forward to offer it to the head of the banquet. Watching from the sidelines, the servants’ hearts pounded even as their breath caught in their throats. Their entire hope for the future rested on the water in the jar. It rested in the promise of Mary that Jesus would fix the situation. It rested in their own act of obedience. And it paid off. Taking a sip from the cup, the man went back for a second, and a third. The wine was excellent. Better than the first. Relieved, the servants glanced at the jars. Normal jars. Always there. Full of water. Now brimming with hope. (John 2:1-11)

You see, friend, hope should stir you to obedience. When you don’t understand. When it doesn’t make sense. Whether it seems ridiculous, risky, or reasonable. Hope should breed obedience. Hope in the power and presence of God should move you to obey Him no matter what He tells you to do. Hope in His faithfulness should make you obey when it isn’t convenient, isn’t popular, isn’t profitable. Hope in His promises should reinforce your faith and prompt your following. But not just yours. Hopeful obedience isn’t just about you. It’s about others. Your family. Your friends. Your community. You are their jar of hope. You are the one they are watching. You are the one who can model hope in God through obedience. You are the one who can prove it is worth it. Worth it to hope. Worth it to obey. Worth it to follow God no matter what He asks you to do. Silly or solemn. Because He is asking. Every one of us. Every day. Be filled with His Spirit. Be obedient to Him. Be jars of hope to the world. (Jeremiah 7:23; 29:11; Isaiah 1:19; I Peter 1:13-14; John 14:15; Matthew 5:16; Deuteronomy 28:1; Acts 5:29; I Samuel 15:22)