Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

It wasn’t as if they hadn’t been warned. They had. Clearly. Concisely. In an eloquent speech, Judah’s king, Abijah, stood on Mount Zemaraim and listed Israel’s sins. Some of them, at least. Their entirety was likely longer than he had time to detail. They had divided the kingdom of David. They had rebelled against God and His appointed king. The people had banished the priests of the Lord and chosen new priests to preside over the worship of the golden calves their newly chosen king had created for them to worship. And now they had come against Judah as if they could win a war against the Lord’s kingdom. (II Chronicles 10)

Maybe they could. In theory. By the numbers, it wasn’t impossible. Judah had four hundred thousand warriors. Israel had twice as many. Measured in physical strength alone, Israel clearly had the advantage. Any other kingdom would be terrified to face an army of such magnitude. Any other people would be worried for the lives of their friends and family. Any other king would have scoured the countryside for more men to enlist, more kingdoms to unite with, more people to engage in the battle. Not Judah. Not Abijah. They weren’t worried. At all. Not even a little. They didn’t need to be. 

All of Judah knew who their God was. They knew His power. They knew His consistency. They knew they could trust Him. They had been doing it for a while now. Having chosen God as their Lord, they had never abandoned Him. Every command He issued was followed with diligent accuracy. Every requirement He set forth was their delight to fulfill. They had dedicated themselves, their hearts, their lives to be God’s alone. He was their leader. In everything. They wouldn’t march into battle on the flimsy hope to somehow come out on top. No. They would confidently stride out to face an army twice their size, knowing God went before them. He would deliver them. God would never abandon the people who had not abandoned Him. 

This was the warning Abijah issued before the ambush was set, before the first battle cry rang out, before the first sword was drawn, before the priests of the Lord blasted their trumpets. He begged Jeroboam and the army of Israel to listen up. Evaluate their choices. Consider the consequences. Decide if this action was in their own best interest. Because it wasn’t. Fighting against God never was. It would never be successful. Those who chose not to follow the requirements God had explicitly laid out for them would never succeed in a battle against Him. God would always win. His people would always be victorious. Choosing to start a fight with them was pointless. Yet Jeroboam refused to listen. 

No one knows why Jeroboam chose to proceed with the battle. Arrogance? Ignorance? Purposeful obtuseness? Regardless of the reason, he pushed Israel’s army ahead. Dividing his men, he strategically surrounded Judah’s army. The visible army faced them. The ambush approached from the rear. Judah had nowhere to turn. No space was free from impending battle. Fear gripped their hearts. Panic clawed at their throats. Concern for the outcome of the battle teased the corners of their minds. Then they remembered the choice they had made. The one to follow God. Always. Obey God. Consistently. Dedicate themselves to the service of the Lord. Forever. And they remembered His promises to those who did so. Victory. Looking around that battlefield, seeing the opposition on every side, knowing they were grossly outnumbered and the odds were severely stacked against them, Judah did the only thing they could do. They called in the heavy artillery. They cried out to the Lord. (Deuteronomy 28:1-13)

We don’t know what they said to God. There is no record of their pleas. There is no indication of how long they prayed or how quickly God answered. We have no way to know how much time elapsed between the first frisson of fear and the triumphant blast of the priests’ trumpets. Those things aren’t really important. What we need to know is written in the account. When things got tough, when it looked impossible, when they were hugely outnumbered by the enemy, Judah had such a committed relationship with God that they called on Him and He answered. Their commitment to and dependence on God is the reason they succeeded. The only reason. It wasn’t strength or cunning. They had neither. They weren’t blessed with the most strategic military minds. Their weapons weren’t advanced or superior. The reason they won, the cause of their success, was because they chose God to be their Lord. They chose obedience to Him when it wasn’t popular or easy. They chose to depend on God’s strength rather than their own, and they felt comfortable in doing so, because they knew from historical records, if not personal experience, that no one wins against the Lord. 

Five hundred thousand warriors of Jeroboam’s original eight hundred thousand died that day. It was unnecessary. There was absolutely no reason for those men to lose their lives. They had every chance to change their minds. They were warned. Not just with a single sentence warning, but with facts and evidence that highlighted their inevitable defeat. If they chose to come against the people who had chosen God as their Lord, defeat was unavoidable. And it wasn’t just a blow to the army of Israel. It was a blow to their chosen king as well. Jeroboam found his power slipping away. Eventually, the Bible tells us, God struck him and he died. (II Chronicles 13)

None of that had to happen. Not one man had to die. No one had to lift a sword against another. If they had all simply decided to make the Lord their God, the skirmish would never have occurred. We wouldn’t read about it. Wouldn’t even consider it. They could all have lived to a ripe old age. If they had listened when they were warned. If they had made the right choice. If they had chosen God as their Lord. 

Abijah tried to warn them. In carrying out the commands and requirements of God, he attempted to put them on the right path. Warning them of the dangers of creating other gods and appointing priests to treat them like God. He carefully adhered to the words written in Deuteronomy. He kept his own house clean. No idols. No false priests. No worship of anything that wasn’t God. He challenged Jeroboam to do the same. He tried to watch for Jeroboam’s soul. He admonished him and his people to stay true to God and bear good fruit. He warned them of the consequences and offered them the option of changing their minds. When it was all said and done, they opted out. But Abijah and the people of Judah didn’t. They held to what they knew to be true. They chose to follow God rather than running off down a nicer path, an easier route, a justifiable detour. And God blessed them with victory. (Deuteronomy 29:9, 16-21)

It is such a familiar tale. Perhaps not this exact account, but the concept. Nearly every day, I hear another report, read another article, watch another broadcast underscoring just how closely our day relates to Abijah’s. Everyone is divided. Countries. Communities. Churches. That one worries me the most. The people who claim to be God’s are divided among themselves. They are all choosing their own truth. Determining their own god. Forging their own path. The commands and principles of God, written by His own hand and inspired by His Holy Spirit, are up for discussion and subject to re-interpretation. That frightens me. Because God’s words, His truths, His rules don’t bend or break. His word doesn’t change. Nor does God Himself. He is always the same. (II Peter 1:21; Matthew 24:35; Hebrews 13:8; Malachi 3:6; Isaiah 40:8)

We are the ones who change. When our hearts turn aside to the thing we love more. When our eyes fix on something we want more. When our souls yearn for something instant and earthly. It is then we begin to finagle God’s word to say what we want it to mean. Unfortunately for us, no amount of verbal maneuvering or theological manipulation will change the meaning and intent of God’s original commands. God’s word stands. Alone, if necessary. And we are called to do the same. Called to stand with Judah and Abijah. Called to stand up for right and truth in a world constantly altering its perceptions of those things. Called to firmly plant our spiritual feet and proclaim, “As for us,” we refuse to abandon the words and teachings of God. We won’t change them to be more palatable. We won’t give them new meaning that better fits society’s desires. We won’t engage in the dangerous business of adding or taking away from them. For us, right now, today, we choose the Lord as our God. Forever. (Psalm 119:89, 160; Numbers 23:19; Proverbs 30:5-6; Deuteronomy 4:2; Matthew 5:18)

Are you there? Have you made your choice? Popular or unpopular. Comfortable or uncomfortable. Have you taken your stand, planted your feet, and proclaimed your intentions? Have you purposefully chosen to follow God? Is He your Lord? Are you meticulously adhering to His requirements? No matter what friends or family choose. Regardless what society says. No matter how persuasive the pundits are. Do your actions and words unmistakably reflect your choice? As for you, have you chosen the Lord as your God? Forever. (Joshua 24:15; Deuteronomy 30:19, 31:6; Exodus 19:5-6; II Peter 2:1-3; I Corinthians 15:58; James 1:12; II Thessalonians 2:15; Ephesians 4;14-19; Colossians 2:8; Jude 1:4, 12-13, 19)

They had all seen him a hundred times. Maybe a thousand. They were used to him sitting there at the place travelers entered and exited Jericho. He had been an unchanging fixture there for years. Unkempt beard. Worn clothes. Sightless eyes staring out of an expressionless face. Tin cup held out in the hope of a coin dropping from a compassionate visitor’s hand. They didn’t socialize. At all. They didn’t want to. It simply wasn’t done. Wasn’t socially acceptable. The sighted people busily going about their business, and the blind beggar conducting his own form of business had nothing in common. Not one thing. At least not one they could see. 

No one really saw him. Not because they couldn’t see, but because they chose not to. Mostly, they ignored him. It was a practice many had perfected. So accustomed were they to his presence, they could attend their business without so much as a glance in his direction. To those passing by daily, the begging blind man didn’t exist. At all. Men ignored his voice, kept their distance, averted their eyes. Women switched sides of the street to avoid him. Mothers carefully guided their small children away, tucking them behind voluminous skirts as they passed. No one stopped to chat. No one asked how his day was going. No one regularly placed a piece of bread in his hand to ward off hunger. Even with sighted eyes, the people missed his presence. They didn’t see him. Not really. Not as a person. Not as useful. Not as worthy. They had never seen him that way. No one had. Until Jesus passed through town. (Mark 10:17-22)

Exiting the town of Jericho, a large crowd encompassed Jesus. Their progress was slow, impeded by their own urgency to have a personal encounter with Him. Their voices were loud, leaving no mistake about who was passing by. As they approached the blind man’s spot, they didn’t stumble or grind to a halt. People simply went around him. Ignoring him, as usual. But they didn’t stop talking. Their mouths kept going, making it impossible for the blind man to miss who was passing by. Jesus of Nazareth. He’d heard of Him. Of course, he’d heard of most people. He knew the gossip. It was the only perk of being the ignored, rejected blind beggar by the road. No one was particularly careful about what they said in his presence. Apparently, they thought blindness included lack of intelligence. It didn’t. He knew many things about many people. Things they would never tell him. Things they wouldn’t necessarily want him to know. He definitely knew about Jesus. He knew He was a Healer. He knew Jesus didn’t ignore the disabled, discouraged, disenfranchised, or depressed. He wasn’t impressed with social status or acceptability. In fact, Jesus’ reputation suggested he was more familiar with the tattered margins of society than the leading edge of power and prominence. It seemed Jesus saw everyone. Even people like him.  

Determining he had nothing to lose should another human decide his existence was superfluous to requirement, the blind man gathered his courage and called out to Jesus. Loudly. Loud enough to get the attention of the men on the nearest edge of the crowd. And they weren’t having it. Whirling around in his general direction, they issued menacing warnings. He needed to shut up. Stop yelling like a madman. Quit trying to get attention. Don’t be embarrassing. Jesus wasn’t there to see an unkempt, uncouth social reject. They couldn’t imagine He would be interested in conversing with a useless scrap of humanity. Except He was. 

Utterly surprising, the crowd surrounding Him, Jesus requested the blind man be brought to stand before Him. A ripple of astonished whispers must have whipped through the crowd. Regardless, they did as He asked. Making a path, some men helped the blind man to his feet and walked him safely to Jesus. As he stood there, his knees knocking, his heart in overdrive, his stomach in knots over what may or may not happen next, Jesus gently asked a simple question. What did he want? What did he need? What was he hoping to take away from this encounter? There is no surprise in the blind man’s answer. He wanted what everyone in his position would want. He wanted to see. He wanted to be healed. He wanted to be equal to the people currently crowded around him who didn’t see him or hear him or speak to him except to scorn and scold. He wanted to be healed so he could be accepted in his world. And Jesus obliged. 

With not even a modicum of drama, Jesus healed him. He could immediately see. He could go clean up his filthy little spot by the side of the road and go home. Scrub up. Learn a trade. Get a job. Find a wife. Have a family. Live happily ever after. He could be integrated into the society that had long held him at arm’s length. Why? Because Jesus saw him through the eyes of His compassionate heart. He looked beyond the bedraggled, disabled outer shell and saw his inner potential. When everyone else saw a pointless blight on society, unworthy of their time or attention, Jesus saw the possibilities of usefulness and worth.  (Luke 18:35-43)

The Luke account tells us that all the people who saw the blind man receive his sight praised God. I wonder why. Not because it isn’t praiseworthy. It is. I wonder because it seems so out of character for people who were previously attempting to shut him up, thwart his attempts to speak to Jesus. I find I have questions about their motivation. Were they truly happy on the man’s behalf, or were they simply excited to be in the presence of a miracle? Were they ecstatic to no longer have to pass the beggar on their travels, thrilled to have one less blight on society? Or, is it possible, the scales had fallen off their own eyes? Did they get Jesus’ message? The unspoken one? The message Jesus lived out in word and deed every day of His life. Love your neighbor as yourself. Don’t judge someone based on their outward appearance, visible shortcomings, or obvious inabilities. Treat others the way you wish to be treated. Include the despised and rejected of society. Do to others what you would like them to do to you if the tables were turned, the shoe was on your foot, the disability, inability, or inequality was yours to bear. (Matthew 22:36-40, 25:40; Luke 6:31; Ephesians 4:32; Deuteronomy 15:10-11; Proverbs 19:17, 31:9; I John 3:17-18; John 7:24)

It was a lesson to the crowd then. It is a lesson to us now. One we often miss. It is simple. You do not have an edge on Jesus’ love and attention because you are physically whole, mentally well, emotionally stable, or spiritually solid. Jesus came for everyone. Clean. Dirty. Wealthy. Poor. Able or disabled. No one is excluded. We miss that fact. We forget that the love and tenderness of Jesus has no boundaries. His grace and mercy transcend every human situation and circumstance. We look with our eyes and determine one another’s worth based on their looks, speech, or abilities. We forget the lesson Jesus embodied with every person who crossed His path. Love one another. Always. Love everyone. No exceptions. See one another through the eyes of Jesus. Look for good in one another, even when it isn’t obvious. Don’t shy away from those who are different, disabled, or distasteful to look at. Love them. See them. Sit down beside them. Spend time there. Talk to them. Share Jesus with them. You never know whose life you can change when your heart sees like Jesus. (I Peter 4:8; Matthew 5:16; John 13:34-35, 15:12-13; I Samuel 16:7; I Corinthians 4:5; Mark 16:15-16: Hebrews 13:16) 

Leaning back to peruse his writing, he took a moment to stretch his aching back. He had been bent over this parchment far longer than anticipated. What had begun as a simple letter had become a multiple-page sermon. His shoulders were tight from holding the same position. His fingers were beginning to cramp. He wasn’t done yet. Some of the most important bits were still coming. Truths about God. Truths about humanity. Truths so closely interwoven they could not be independently held. Concepts so important John felt compelled to read them over and over again before sending them on. The verbiage had to be exact. There could be no room for misinterpretation, no space for misconceptions, no chance at misunderstanding. If they were living in the awareness of being sons and daughters of God, residing in His amazing love for them, their lives would show it. Every day. They would reciprocate His love. They would keep His commandments. Willingly. But there was only one way to make that happen. Stay away from idols. (I John 2:3-6,15; 3:1, 11, 17; 4:15-16, 20-21; 5:2-3, 21)

John tacked those exact words to the end of his letter. A postscript meant to underscore the whole. Guard against idolatry. Stay away from other gods. Don’t become enamoured with things that aren’t God. Don’t let anything take God’s place. Not fleshly desires. Not earthly things. Not pride in possessions, prosperity, or prominence. Idols of any kind are dangerous. They will distract you, draw you aside. Destroy your relationship with God. You don’t want that. At all. So. Remember who you are in Christ. Remember you are loved and treasured by God. Remember you are forgiven by Him. Remember you are His child. Then live like it. Don’t allow the desire for things temporal to displace your love for God eternal. It was not a new concept. (I John 1:9; 2:7, 28-29; 5:21)

Since the dawn of time, this had been God’s instruction and expectation of His people. In the Garden of Eden, He commanded Adam and Eve to stay away from the center tree. Don’t touch it. Don’t pick its fruit. Don’t eat even one bite. Leave that tree alone. Completely. It was the one rule. The only rule. They didn’t keep it. Enticed by the idea of being as wise as God and captivated by the tantalizing color of the fruit, Eve picked just one piece and tasted. Adam didn’t stop her. Not when she picked the fruit. Not when she bit into it. Not when she offered him a bite. Complicit in her disobedience, either because he also wanted to be wise or he simply didn’t wish to refuse his partner, Adam sided with Eve and chose something earthly over things eternal. (Genesis 3: 1-7)

Achan made a similar choice. After Israel’s exhilarating triumph over Jericho, God’s command had been clear. Rescue Rahab and her family. Burn the city. All of it. To the ground. Only the silver, gold, bronze, and iron were to be taken and placed in the treasury of God’s house. Nothing was to be kept for personal use, stored in a trophy cabinet, or kept for a rainy day. Everything had to go. Everyone knew it. No one was ignorant of the order. But as he wandered around the city, Achan saw things. Things he thought he could secret away without anyone noticing. Things he wanted for himself. A beautiful Babylonian garment. Things that already belonged to God. Five pounds of silver. A bar of gold. Achan’s eyes lusted after those things. His heart desired those earthly possessions more than it hungered for the eternal God. Achan forgot, if only for a moment, that he was one of God’s beloved, precious people and, in that moment of weakness, chose death over life. (Exodus 19:5; Joshua 6:22-7:26)

Even King Solomon, with all the wisdom he had, all the wealth he had, all the good he did, still fell prey to idols. Actual idols. Wood. Stone. Unseeing. Unhearing. Impotent foreign gods belonging to his wives. Wives he should never have had in the first place. Wives, God commanded the Israelites not to take. But Solomon loved women. Many women. He must have. His seven hundred wives and three hundred concubines attest to that fact. Little by little, Solomon’s wives turned his heart away from his God. He followed their gods. Built altars to them. Allowed the burning of incense and offering of sacrifices to them. Completely disregarded his relationship with God Almighty. Entirely forgot who he was. A king chosen by God, blessed by God, prospered by God. A child of God. Distracted by the beautiful women in whom he delighted, Solomon traded spiritual integrity for physical intimacy, sacrificing the constancy of God’s presence for fleeting earthly companionship. (I Kings 11:1-11)

The list could go on. Over and over we read the accounts of those drawn aside by the very things John cautions against to follow their own nefarious desires, chart their own path, become their own person, do their own thing. We read of people drawn into outrageous sins because they forgot who they were. They forgot they were God’s people. They forgot how immense His love for them was. They got distracted by earthly things, their love for God grew cold, and they forgot to live for eternity. They forgot the historic words of Moses as he led the Israelites through the wilderness, “You are sons (and daughters) of God.” You are His children. Your lives should reflect it. Your words should echo it. Your hearts should rest in that truth. You should carefully obey all the things God has commanded because you are beloved, precious children, chosen by God to be His alone. That is who you are. And it should show. In how you live. In what you value. In who you worship. (Deuteronomy 11:16; 12:25-32; 13: 1, 16, 22; 14:1-2; Exodus 20:3-6)    

You see, friend, who you know yourself to be matters. Immensely. Your identity is pivotal to your performance. When you live in the awareness of being a loved, precious child of God, it changes you. Your outlook. Your worldview. Your focus. Belonging to Jesus makes you different. In every way. Being loved by God changes your life. It opens you up to love God in return. Love Him with your whole heart and mind, and strength. Loving God changes your actions. It changes everything about the way you live your life. It changes how you interact with others–who you run from as well as who you run toward. Loving God above everything else in your life enables you to willingly comply with His commands. No drudgery. No hesitancy. No resentment. When you know who you are in Christ, you live like it. (Psalm 26:3; 90:14; 106:7; John 13:24) 

We have come a long way since the day Moses stood before the congregation of Israelites and reminded them that they were children of God. Society has enormously changed since John penned the letter reminding his readers that they were sons and daughters of God. Yet we, centuries later, living in an entirely different society, still need the same reminder. We are children of God. Precious to Him. He has redeemed us. His love for us is steadfast and unchanging. We can count on it. We can also count on a million distractions from the world crowding our minds and attempting to draw our hearts away from following Him. We need to remember John’s postscript. Stay away from idols. All of them. Anything that would draw your mind, heart, or soul away from God. We need to remember that if we allow something, anything, to take the place of Jesus Christ in our lives, if love for money, things, success or power becomes more important to us than God, if we choose to run hard after anything that isn’t of God, we will lose our relationship with Him. Our souls will be in danger. We must be constantly on guard, always watching, because possible idols are everywhere. (Isaiah 43:4; John 3:16-17; Micah 7:20; Lamentations 3:22-23; Romans 12:21; Deuteronomy 6:4-7)

Idols aren’t only wood and stone creations made by human hands, named by human tongues, worshipped at handmade altars. No. Idols are anything that mean more to you than your relationship with God. They are the things you would shortsell your soul to have, do, or be. And they may not be things you can touch or see. Maybe it’s the zeroes on your bank statement. Maybe it’s the letters behind your name. Maybe it’s a posh address, a flashy car, a pretty boat, or a limit-free credit card. It doesn’t matter. Big or small, whatever drives you to do the things you do is your idol. If you love God most, it will show. He will be the driving force behind all you do. His words will be your words. His actions will be your actions. His choice will be your choice. Every day. All day. When you love Him, when you find your identity solely in being God’s child, you will keep His commandments. Because that is who you are. (I John 3:2, 10; Galatians 3:26; Romans 8:16; 12:2; I Peter 2:10; John 14:15; Psalm 40:8; I Corinthians 3:16-17; John 10:3-5)

Tears burned the backs of their eyes as the two women carefully picked their way along the path. The tears were not a surprise. Crying and sighing were what they did now. What they had been doing for the past two days. Nearly all they had been doing. Sleep eluded them. Rest evaded them. Peace had long since fled. Horrific scenes from the Friday hours flashed through their minds in vivid detail. It was all they could think about. All their broken hearts could feel. Jesus, bruised and bloody. Jesus, hanging on a cross like a common criminal. Jesus–their Savior, Healer, Teacher, Friend–painfully lifting His shattered body to force out His last breath and speak His final words. Words that echoed in their minds even this morning as they walked up to His tomb. Words that seemed to end the story. “It is finished.” 

It wasn’t the first time Mary Magdalene and “the other” Mary had been to this place. Sitting on a large rock facing the tomb, they had watched as the men wrapped Jesus’ body in burial cloths and carefully laid Him in the dark, coldness of the cave. Then they hoped something would happen. A miracle like Lazarus. A healing like Jairus’ daughter. Something visible. Something tangible. Something, anything to restore sight to their faith. Nothing happened. No lightning bolts. No earthquakes. No sudden exodus from the tomb. As the sun began to journey toward the western horizon, the women were forced to gather the remains of their tattered faith, end their vigil, and head home for the Sabbath.  

For so long their faith had been sight. It was based on the living, breathing, physical presence of Jesus. They had spent time in His presence. Walked with Him. Talked with Him. Watched Him perform nearly unbelievable miracles right before their very eyes. Miraculous healing. Amazing deliverance. Stunning resurrections. They knew He forgave sins. All sins. Great sins. Ugly sins. Their sins. They had sat at His feet as He taught, drinking in His words, somehow knowing that in those words, through this Man, they would find eternal life. They knew He was more than just another guy. He was Jesus. God’s Son. Messiah. Their faith firmly held to that belief. It was easy–so long as He was right there with them. But Jesus wasn’t there anymore. He had breathed His last, and kind men had placed Him in the tomb. The place they were headed as the first streaks of dawn lit the eastern sky on the third day. The place their faith had lost its sight. 

Not that they didn’t have any faith left. They did. Meager. Tiny. Struggling. Hopeful but doubting. That was why they made this trek in the first place. Hope. Hope in the promise of Jesus that He would rise again. Hope that their faith in His word would become sight. Because their faith wasn’t as robust as it used to be. Without the tangible presence of Jesus, their faith had become scared and worried. Fearful of the future. Filled with a flurry of “What if…” questions. What if death held Him? What if He didn’t rise again? What if He was just another guy traveling around doing good works? What if He wasn’t really the Son of God? What if their faith, now without sight, had been misplaced all along?  

Ending their silent, thoughtful trek at the front of the tomb, the women looked for a way to remove the stone door. It was huge. They were not. The guards would be disinclined to help. They would have to improvise. Except they wouldn’t. Unexpectedly, a violent earthquake shook the ground, and an angel appeared. He rolled back the stone and perched at the top. Then he spoke to them. To the women. Those women. Females deemed inferior by society. Humans who gained little respect. People judged barely worthwhile. The angel spoke to them. First. Before informing the disciples. Before letting the religious leaders know their efforts had failed. Before shouting to the world that Christ was risen, the angel spoke to some insignificant women to say, “Don’t be afraid.” Don’t let your fear overcome your faith simply because you don’t see Him and can’t speak to Him. Jesus isn’t here. He has risen. Just like He said He would. And the women believed, even when they couldn’t see.  

When they couldn’t hear His voice, touch His hand, or see His face, Mary Magdalene and her friend Mary believed. Without definitive proof. Without a note on the stone slab. Without a message written in the sand.  He hadn’t left a stray sandal, the linens tied in a special knot, or a bouquet of flowers inside the cave. There was nothing to prove Jesus had risen and not simply been stolen by some mischievous miscreants. There was nothing to indicate the angel’s message was true. But they believed. Without a note, a token of appreciation, or anything tangible to show the others, the girls headed out to share this exceptional news. Faith without sight. (Matthew 27:57-28:10)

It’s a difficult lesson to learn. Faith without palpable proof, preset notions, or predetermined parameters. Faith, when we can’t see even one step ahead. Faith, when the outlook is so bleak, so awful, so terrifying we feel panic rise to claw at the back of our throats. Faith, when our efforts are futile. Faith, when all we can do is wait. Faith to believe God is working and keeping His promises even when we can’t see the progress. It’s the hardest type of faith to have. It always has been. Ask Thomas.  

He wouldn’t believe without sight. No matter what the women witnessed. Regardless what the other disciples had experienced. Thomas wasn’t about to take someone else’s word that Jesus had truly risen from the grave. Not because He didn’t believe Jesus was the Messiah. He did. Thomas knew Jesus was God Incarnate. He believed that. What he didn’t know, what he refused to believe without proof, was that Jesus had risen from the dead and made appearances to His followers. Thomas wouldn’t believe it. Not at all. Not until his predetermined criteria had been met. He needed to see it. And more. He needed to touch Him. Trace the nail scars with his fingers. Stick his hand in the wound on Jesus’ side. The faith he maintained while Jesus was alive faltered with the sight of Jesus on the cross. Without the visible, living, breathing Lord beside him, Thomas wasn’t sure he could regain his faith at all. Not without sight.

Gathered together in a locked room, Thomas and the other disciples hid, fearing persecution, unsure what their next steps should be. It had been a week since Jesus appeared to the others. Thomas had missed that event. He didn’t know where that left him. Did Jesus value the others more? Were they more lovable? Were they just better people that Jesus would do for them, but not for him? He wasn’t certain where he stood now, what he believed, if he believed. His heart hurt. His thoughts swirled. He just didn’t think his faith could be restored without sight. Into his silent agonizing, Jesus came. Spoke directly to Thomas. Invited him to come, touch the nail scars. Feel the ridges of healed flesh over the spear scar. See, feel, know that Jesus had kept His word. To the other disciples. To Thomas. To everyone. Jesus had risen. Just as He promised. Here was the proof. Here was the sight his faith had lost. (John 20:24-28)

How familiar is Thomas’ story! We have all been there. Not necessarily concerning the resurrection of Jesus Christ, but the million other burdens and cares we are completely impotent to heal. Not always is our sightless faith rewarded quickly or in a tangible way. We often can’t see the hand of God working behind the ugly scenes of our lives. In the mess of the goings on around us, when we are lost in pain and frustration and fear, we frequently hear the mocking voice of the enemy saying to us the exact things the religious leaders said about Jesus as He hung dying on the cross. If God loves us, finds us precious, if we mean anything to Him at all, He would surely swoop down and rescue us from our current situation. The religious leaders said it because they wanted one of two things–to be proven correct, that Jesus wasn’t the Messiah, or given sight to produce faith. If Jesus suddenly came down off the cross, healed and whole, they would believe. But that’s not how it works. Not for them then. Not for us now. Even Jesus, after showing Himself to Thomas, indicated it wouldn’t always be that way. He wouldn’t always offer a physical, visible sight on which to place our faith. But He promised this, “Blessed are those who choose to have faith without sight.” (John 20:29; Matthew 27:43) 

That’s you and me, friend. We haven’t seen God. We haven’t physically sat at Jesus’ feet and listened to Him teach. We haven’t felt the actual touch of His hand in healing or saving or helping. I wish we could. It would make faith so much easier. Faith in God’s power and ability comes so much easier when we are actively watching Him work out our issues. When things are going well and worries are few, it is easy to have soaring faith and believe God can do anything, will do everything, will work out His good plan for each of us. But. When the reduction in force hits, the bloodwork is poor, the bank account is negative, and the car battery is dead, faith is difficult. So difficult. When we can’t see how God is going to work things out, our now sightless faith crumples. Our fear overtakes us. When we can’t see God moving or doing or helping, it feels like He isn’t. The evil one whispers He’s not. He says if God loved or cared about us these things wouldn’t be happening. And, in that moment, when our faith can’t find sight on which to rest, it feels like he must certainly be right. (Hebrews 11:1; Romans 8:24-25)

Don’t you believe that! It’s not true. At all. Never has been. Just because the women didn’t see Jesus walk out of the tomb didn’t mean someone stole Him away. Just because Thomas wasn’t there the first time Jesus appeared to the disciples didn’t mean He wasn’t alive. Just because Jesus didn’t step off the cross whole and healed didn’t mean God didn’t love Him or take pleasure in His Son. Just because their faith suddenly lost the physical sight of Jesus didn’t mean His followers had misplaced their devotion. Quite the opposite. Their faith was all the more necessary now that Jesus wasn’t physically among them. So is yours.

In uncertain times of worry and fear, when things go pear-shaped and it feels like we are trapped in the crazy scenes of a disastrous film, our faith often loses the sight on which it relied. We can’t see God working. We don’t feel Him moving. We don’t know if He’s going to come through or not. Our faith flickers and starts to go out. But. Know this. Just because you have nothing tangible to see or hold doesn’t mean God isn’t busy. He is. God is constantly working on behalf of His children. Whether you see it or not, you can rest in it. Believe it. It’s always been true. From the days the Israelites were crying out for deliverance from Egypt to this day, when you are crying out for help and hope in your current situation, God has been working all things for the good of His children. Whether you can see His hand moving or not. Whether He is meeting your preset parameters or not. Whether it happens the way you hoped or not. God is working. You can trust Him. Even when your faith loses sight. (Mark 11:22-23; John 14:1; Romans 8:28; Jeremiah 29:11; Psalm 9:10; 37:1-40; Philippians 4:6, 19; Matthew 6:25-34)

Up until this moment, he believed he had heard and seen every courtroom shenanigan imaginable. His position lent to it. From his seat on the judge’s bench, he’d heard every excuse and alleged defense available. Most of them were drivel. Manufactured reasons for failing to keep the law, violating one’s neighbor, or creating unrest. Rarely did a defendant stand before him in true innocence. Until today. Pilate had never seen this. Never watched the accused calmly and quietly standing before him, allowing the accusers to rail and rage, but never raising one word of defense. When asked for a response to the allegations, He said nothing. The silence was deafening. The peace etched in every line of His face spoke far more than words ever could. Jesus was innocent. Pilate’s head knew it. His heart felt it. His lips spoke it. The knowledge held Pilate in the throes of a great decision. 

What was he supposed to do now? He had only one side of the story. An unconvincing list of alleged offenses appearing to have more to do with their religion than his law. It wasn’t his area of expertise. He would take tax collection and military movement over this any day of the week. Yet there they stood. Angry. Indignant. Expecting an answer, but apparently not expecting the decision to be in their favor. The chief priests and scribes had taken matters into their own hands. Effectively stacking the deck in their own favor. While Pilate contemplated his decision, the religious leaders had gone throughout the crowd spreading maliciousness and convincing the people that Jesus should not be released back into society. He was dangerous. To them. To their religion. To their way of life. And, for some reason, the people believed them. 

Pilate wasn’t so certain. Nothing added up for him. Not the allegations. Not the testimony. Not the outward presentation of this allegedly dangerous man. If Jesus had been running about causing real trouble or outrage among the people, Pilate you have known about it. Someone would have come to him long before with the details. His men would have been keeping a close eye on the situation. Not one complaint had been filed. Not one concerning report had reached him. Not one of his officers had felt compelled to bring Jesus to his attention. When necessity demanded he do some research, Pilate had been only able to ascertain positive impacts of Jesus’ presence. He was busy doing good things throughout their society. Healing the sick. Delivering from demons. Teaching unarguable values. Who could condemn those actions? No one. Until today, not one person had come forward to ask that action be taken against Jesus. Today shouldn’t have been that day, either. Not by Pilate’s measure. This was a colossal waste of his time. The man was clearly innocent. He didn’t deserve death. He deserved freedom. A celebration. A medal, even. Unfortunately, no one was asking for Pilate’s opinion, they were asking for action. Or inaction. 

In the midst of his discussion with the tumultuous crowd concerning who should be released at the festival, word came from his wife. She was troubled. Immensely. Sometime in the night, she had a dream, a nightmare of sorts, a terror that left her in fear for her husband. Pilate needed to extricate himself from this mess. Declare a mistrial. Decline judgment for lack of evidence. Deny the accusers their desired outcome. She didn’t really care how he did it, but he needed to wash his hands of this mess. Now. He needed to walk away. Stop the farce. Let that man go. Jesus was faultless. She knew it. Pilate knew it. There was no reason to continue the ridiculousness. Judge Him innocent and walk away. Immediately. He might have done it, too, had the voices of the chief priests, elders, and raging crowd not rang out to cover the urgency of her message. Like a riptide, those nefarious voices planted doubts, raised selfish concerns, and carried him down the path of indecision. 

Standing before the agitated crowd, Pilate listened as they chose the release of a clearly guilty, convicted criminal. He couldn’t imagine such deep hate. Loathing so deep they were willing to have a criminal walk freely among them. Distaste so intense they were content to subject themselves to Barabbas destruction if it meant Jesus’ death. It was a wildly uneven trade. He shouldn’t have offered it. There shouldn’t have been options that day. No one had been able to convince Pilate that Jesus had done anything to deserve the cruelty that awaited one handed the death penalty. No one seemed able or willing to answer that question, to give him something real on which to base his decision. Stuck in the midst of his own moral conundrum, Pilate asked the crowd the question, “What am I supposed to do with Jesus?” Their chilling cry echoed back, unsurprising, yet gut-wrenching still, “Crucify Him!” And he did. (Matthew 27:11-26)

Pilate’s question begs a question of my own. Why did he even ask? Why did Pilate ask what to do with Jesus when he already knew he wasn’t going to follow his gut, his wife’s dire warning, or even his legal logic? Without evidence, proper testimony, or even real allegations, why was he even entertaining the idea of sentencing Jesus to any form of imprisonment or punishment? He didn’t have to punish Jesus at all. Pilate was in charge. He had options. He could have refused their demands. Honored his wife’s request. He didn’t. At the crowd’s urging, he doubled down. After ceremoniously washing his hands as if he could possibly forgive his own bloodguiltiness, Pilate ordered Jesus flogged and sent Him away to be crucified.   

With those actions, Pilate reveals the truth. He wasn’t asking the question to gain insight, garner opinions, or gather options. None of those things would have changed the outcome. Pilate would still have followed the crowd. Why? Because Pilate lacked strength. Inner strength. Moral fortitude. The kind of courage that makes one stand up and take the proper path regardless of the naysayers, the resisters, the haters. Underneath all the voices and opinions and options, Pilate knew what to do. His heart knew. He realized within minutes of Jesus’ appearance before him that He was innocent. He knew any other judgment would be erroneous. He simply didn’t have the backbone to stand up and make that choice. He didn’t have the strength to do the right thing. He didn’t want to face the public backlash. He didn’t want the people to riot. He didn’t want his superiors asking what he was doing meddling in religious affairs when his business was enforcing Roman law. When Pontius Pilate made his decision concerning Jesus, he didn’t base it on what his heart knew to be right and true. No. He based his decision entirely on what the loudest voices around him were saying. He founded it on public opinion. He made the decision to keep the peace around him rather than finding peace within. 

As churched people, we really hate Pilate. He’s the enemy. Evil. Able to stop the madness, but unwilling to do so. We know what Pilate chose to do with Jesus and feel justified in unleashing our distaste in condescending tones of ultimate superiority. We verbally eviscerate him for not being stronger, not standing up to the chief priests and elders, not making a different decision. Yet rarely do we admit that our elbows rub his as we occupy the same space, hearing the evidence for Christ, feeling the call of God, knowing the way Jesus would tell us to walk, yet hesitantly looking around the court of public opinion to ask, “What should I do with Jesus?” 

We need to be so careful with that. Be cautious when asking that question. Choose carefully who you ask. Not every voice will encourage you to seek God’s kingdom first. Not every opinion will value the opinion of God. Not every answer will echo the answer your heart knows to be true. While everyone will have an opinion on the options, not every opinion deserves to land on your options list. So ask your question carefully. Hear the answers prayerfully. Search your Bible. Listen to its words. Be still and hear God speak His truth, the only truth, into your soul. Then follow it. Do what God says to do. Do right no matter what. In a world overflowing with opinions and options, consciously take a stand for truth–if everyone else is doing it, if no one else is doing it, if you gain friends and followers or if you lose them–choose to do the right thing. What good is it if you gain prosperity, popularity, and power on earth, but lose your soul in eternity? It’s nothing. Worthless. Earth is busy passing away. Only eternity is forever. As you stand at the crossroads choosing what you will do with Jesus in this current season of your life, remember this, the only court that truly matters will never be held in public opinion, it will be in the moments you spend standing before the all-knowing gaze of Almighty God answering His question. What did you do with Jesus? (II Corinthians 5:10; Psalm 1:1-6; 46:10; 119:105; Jeremiah 29:13; I Corinthians 15:33; John 6:68; James 1:5-6; Romans 14:12; Acts 5:29; Mark 8:36; Isaiah 51:6)