Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

It was a perfect place to rest, sleep even. The garden was calm and peaceful. The olive trees were swaying in a gentle breeze. The soft scent of flowers floated in the air. There were few other visitors. Dusk had fallen. The disciples had just celebrated Passover with Jesus. There had been some interesting conversations at dinner. Conversations about desertion and denial. Conversations about Jesus’ departure. Finally, they had sung a hymn together and headed to the Mount of Olives. 

It had already been an emotionally draining evening. There was so much to digest. Not food. Information. Overwhelming amounts of information. Incomprehensible, unbelievable, unpleasant information. So perhaps it was a combination, both the calm garden and the mental exhaustion, that made the disciples fall asleep when Jesus asked them to watch and pray. Pray for Him. Pray for themselves. Pray for the future. They failed. They didn’t pray. They slept. (Mark 14:27-31)

Walking farther into the garden to be alone with the Father, Jesus didn’t sleep. He couldn’t. His mind wouldn’t relent. His spirit wouldn’t settle. His humanity was at war with His Deity. He knew His mission, the end as well as the beginning. He knew he was headed to the cross. It would be a treacherous trip. As awful as death would be, the journey to the cross would be worse. He already knew what was coming. Every. Single. Detail. His humanity cringed, recoiled at the thought. The urgency of His mission pressed Him forward. 

Riddled with anxiety, crushed with grief, alone in the darkened garden, He falls to the ground as His humanity begs the Father to let Him off the hook. Isn’t there another way? Can’t we change the plan? Send someone else. Use an angel. Wave a hand. Speak a word. Something. Anything. Then His Deity steps in, His unfathomable love for lost humanity has Him saying, “But if none of those things will have the desired effect, if salvation for humanity cannot be purchased any other way, not my will, but yours be done.” (Mark 14:35)

Not once, but twice this battle rages. A struggle that would determine the fate of all humanity. His anguish is palpable. His prayer is intense. His sweat runs rivulets of blood down His face, dripping off His chin to stain the grass and soil. The Heavens are silent. The Father doesn’t speak. The angels don’t come wafting in with a rescue. The original plan stands. There will be no substitutions. There can’t be. The result wouldn’t be the same. (Mark 14:32-42; Luke 22:39-45)

And so it was. Judas arrived. The betrayal kiss occurred. Jesus was led away. The disciples scattered. (Mark 14:66-72) Jesus was truly alone now, at the mercy of those who hated Him. The sin of humanity would be laid on His back. Centuries of sin. Sin He didn’t commit, but chose to bear so every soul could inherit eternal life. 

He was bound and led before Pilate. Vicious accusations rang through the air. Palpable hate-filled the room. Jesus stood quietly, allowed the raging, the railing, saying nothing in His own defense. The prayer in the garden had strengthened Him for this moment. He wasn’t there to change God’s plan, simply fulfill it. Pilate realizes the trial is ludicrous. He doesn’t want this decision on his hands. He doesn’t want to lose his rank or status, either. In a move rank with political intention, Pilate places the responsibility for Jesus’ future on the people. Who do they want on the middle cross? Barabbas or Jesus? Criminal or Savior.

The answer was a deafening roar, “Crucify Him!” The very people Jesus had come to seek, to save, to help, to heal were chanting, screaming, demanding His death. The soldiers were all too happy to comply. Taking a whip, they beat him. Not just a few times. Not halfheartedly. They didn’t stop when the first blood appeared. They beat Him until the flesh of His back was torn and bleeding. Then, in one last mocking gesture, they wove a crown of thorny vines and crammed it down on His head. Pain. Agony. Disgrace. 

The soldiers didn’t care. Brutality was their job. They were just getting started. They take Jesus outside, lay a heavy, wooden cross on His shoulder and force Him to begin the trek up the hill of crucifixion. No attention was paid to the blood oozing from His thorn pierced brow. No one cared about His bruised, bloodied back. No one stopped the procession as Jesus struggled to make the climb. No one came to His defense. No one offered to die in His place. 

As they reached the top of the hill, laid the cross on the ground and forced the Savior to stretch out on it, no one tried to intervene. No one on earth. No one in Heaven. The echo of hammer to nail rings out across the hillside. Nails tearing skin and flesh as they pierce hands that have only ever healed and helped. Surely the people standing around had to look away. Surely their hearts weren’t so hardened as to be able to watch without horror. Then the cross was lifted and thumped into the ground. Jesus hangs, attached by nails to a cross, beaten, bruised, bleeding. Dying for the people there and for those who would come after them. Dying for you, for me. 

Speculation causes us to wonder what was going on in Heaven through all of this. Did God weep? Were angels, with tears streaming down their faces, poised on the edge of a cloud waiting for the command of rescue? Were they all hoping the Father would change His mind? The command would never come. The Father didn’t send angels swooping in to rescue the Son. He didn’t step in to change the scene for the weeping women watching in anguish as Jesus breathed His last. No matter how much the Father loved the Son, there could be no substitutions if humanity was to be rescued. 

Darkness falls. Hours of darkness. Jesus cries out to the Father, “Why did you forsake me?” The Heavens remain silent, but a storm of change is brewing. With His final breath, Jesus cries, “It is finished.” Those final words ring out in a victorious chorus for those standing there that day and for those every soul walking in sin throughout history and even today. With those words, Jesus’ earthly work was done. He had accomplished the mission. The veil in the temple is triumphantly torn in half allowing us to approach the Father with boldness. Sin is defeated. Salvation is available to all who believe. There is hope for the desperate messiness of our sin-filled hearts. Only because Jesus died for us. No substitution could have loved us enough to endure the torture, the brutality, the abandonment so our sins could be erased. (Matthew 26-27; Mark 14-15; Luke 22-23; John 18-19)

Oddly, this is not our favorite Biblical account. It should be. We desperately need to spend time carefully reading and absorbing the events of the cross. We need to ponder them. We need to listen to the angry mocking cries of people just like us. We need to feel the pull of arm muscles as that whip is swung over and over again. We need to stand at the foot of the cross, gaze up at the anguished Savior, and know that He died on behalf of our sins. We need to admit we put Him there. We need to let it sink deeply into our hearts, our minds. We need to understand the act of relentless love that provided exceptionally worthless humanity with an altered eternity. 

Then we need to do something. We need to put Jesus in His rightful place in our lives. His place is not on a cross, crucified over and over again. His place is the throne of our hearts, the center of our lives. Without Jesus, without His unbelievable sacrifice on the cross, we are nothing. Our filthy, sinful souls deserve hell. We have made a mockery of His sacrifice, His suffering, His death. We have loved the world more than Jesus. We have allowed our busyness, our responsibilities, our pleasures, our friends to take precedence over Jesus Christ. (I Peter 2:24; II Timothy 4:10)

We should be ashamed. Ashamed at what we have forgotten, what we have let slip, how far we have drifted away, how many substitutes we have accepted over true relationship with Jesus Christ. Apparently, we have forgotten that nothing is more important, more vital to our spiritual survival, than Jesus. Nothing is more necessary than spending every day in His presence. Nothing is more extravagant than the blessing of His peace. Nothing is more integral to our daily existence than constant communication with Christ.

So take a moment, quiet your heart, and remember. Remember the angry mob. Remember the beating. Remember the thorns. Remember that trek up Golgotha. Remember the nails. Allow the cries and echoes to reverberate in your soul. Remember it was for you. Remember where you would be without His sacrifice. Remember Jesus. Remember your first love. Remember how much you need His presence. And always, always remember this–in a world of substitution, where you can replace anything you want with something new, something different, there is absolutely no substitute for Jesus.