Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

His wife was missing. Given her personal history, it shouldn’t have been such a shock. It was. He hadn’t seen it coming, hadn’t even suspected anything. A handful of years and three children later, Hosea assumed his wife of ill repute had left her previous lifestyle completely behind. Settled in. Felt content. He was wrong. The woman God had told him to pursue and marry had run off to pursue her own desires. The mother of the children God had meticulously planned and named had abandoned her young to seek her own excitement. The person to whom Hosea had vowed lifelong faithfulness had chosen to be unfaithful herself. She’d run away. More accurately, she’d been lured away. By other men. By grander offerings. By the lusts of her own heart. The reason didn’t matter. Facts were facts. And the fact was, Gomer was gone. 

Everyone would say he should have expected as much. It wasn’t as if their’s had been some star-crossed lovers’ match. Marrying her hadn’t even been his idea. It would never have occurred to him to walk down an alley, pick up a prostitute, and rush her to an all-night wedding chapel. So surprised was he when the command came, his poor brain surely had to engage in quite a few mental calisthenics before he could even force his feet to the door. In a move that cemented the quality of Hosea’s relationship with God, he went out and did exactly as he was told. Hosea married a prostitute. (Hosea 1)

His obedience was not without risk. The possibility that one man, a simple prophet, could hold the attention of a woman accustomed to the attentions of many men was nearly laughable. Yet it seemed to work. At least for a time. But Gomer still carried fond memories of her past in the recesses of her heart. She still longed for the freedom of her former lifestyle. She still relished the gifts of many suitors. She had never truly committed her heart to this relationship. And the thrill of the chase, the glitter of gifts, and the lust of her heart were singing a siren song she found impossible to ignore. Abandoning the stability and relationship Hosea offered, Gomer vanished to chase down the loves of her past. 

Hosea surely felt the blow of her rejection to the depths of his soul. How could he not? His act of abject obedience, his gallant rescue all thrown back in his face as though it was worthless. Although by now he thoroughly understood the correlation between his marital relationship and God’s relationship with His people, Hosea must certainly have found little comfort in God’s commiseration. The comparison of his dismally failed marriage to the abysmal deterioration of Israel’s godly devotion brought no healing to his scarred heart and wounded ego. Unlike the loving, forgiving God of Israel, Hosea wasn’t immediately inclined to find a way to woo Gomer back. He wasn’t even certain he wanted her back! Who would? She’d proven her taste lay outside the confines of their marriage. She’d publicly humiliated him by slinking back to her previous proclivities. Her actions highlighted her incredible dearth of desirable traits. What individual in full possession of their mental faculties, possessing even a modicum of self-respect, would purposely go and seek the one who had so violently betrayed their trust?! No one. No one would do that. No one but God. (Romans 5:8; I John 4:19; John 3:17-21; Luke 19:10)

God would do that. Only God in steadfast love and mercy would chase down those who rejected Him and offer them healing and hope and Heaven. It had been the reel historically playing over and over again before their eyes. While Israel chased after the lyrical flutes and lovely promises of false gods, the true God was still busy planning their reunion with Him. He didn’t leave them to their own devices. He didn’t write them off. He didn’t annihilate them all and raise up new, more devoted people for Himself. No. He. Chased. Them. Down. Lured them back with words of love. Spoke words of tenderness and kindness to their sullied souls. Betrothed them to Himself forever in righteousness, faithfulness, justice, and love. And He wanted Hosea to do the same. (Hosea 2:14-20)

Humanly inclined to do so or not, Hosea was divinely instructed to reclaim his wife. Literally. Go buy her back. However she looked. Wherever she’d been. Whatever the price. As his feet trudged the path of obedience, the constantly commenting voice in his head proclaimed the idiocy of his actions. She wasn’t worth it. Not his time. Not his money. Not his pride. Her betrayal cut deep, scarred badly, severing every thread of trust that bound their relationship. No matter how small the closing bid, it would still be more than he should pay to bring back a wayward wife with the capacity to stray again. She wasn’t worth the fifteen shekels of silver or the multiple bushels of barley. Yet still Hosea bid. Knowing all he did about Gomer, realizing her propensity for flight, wearing the still healing wounds of her previous defection, Hosea buys. Gomer. Back. Not to be kept under lock and key so as not to embarrass him further. Not as a nanny to her own children. Not as a household servant. No. Hosea reinstates her to the elevated position of his wife, but this time he sets parameters.

No longer will Hosea abide Gomer’s straying. She has to come home. Completely. Body and soul. She has to be his and his alone. No chasing other men. No welcoming outside advances. No haring off, pretending to belong to someone else. She must remain faithful to her husband alone. She must commit to building a stronger relationship. She must lean into emotional intimacy with him. She must press in to know Hosea and allow herself to be known by him. Hosea promises to do the same. (Hosea 3)

It seems like such a risky choice for him. Only for him. Gomer knows Hosea will be faithful. He always has been. It wasn’t Hosea who went off chasing other skirts down main streets and alleyways. He didn’t reject his wife or abandon his children. He was still the same stable, upright man who came seeking to rescue her from harlotry in the first place. He was still offering the same things he offered then. Home. Family. Stability. Relationship. Nothing changed in what Hosea offered Gomer. And nothing changes in what God offers us. No matter how far you’ve strayed, how lost you are, how irreversible the effects of your poor choices seem to be, God is still offering you what Hosea offered his runaway bride. Relationship. Because we are all Gomer. (Hosea 3)

Maybe you can’t readily see it. Perhaps you have difficulty placing yourself in Gomer’s sandals. Maybe you simply cannot believe you could possibly be as purposely obtuse, as openly deviant as the people of Israel depicted here. Perhaps you look at your life and see a litany of good things prominently displayed while the less-than-desirable traits that turn you back and draw you aside lay hidden in the dark recesses of your closeted heart. None of this changes the facts. You are Gomer, too. You have selfishly chosen your own way, your own desires, your own will over God’s. You have run from His voice, His chastening, His call. You have followed the alluring things of the world to the detriment of your soul. You have settled for a fleeting fancy over an eternal relationship. Just like the Israelites. Just like Gomer.

Years and babies, a faithful husband and a safe home weren’t enough to keep Gomer from racing back to her old life. Why? Because her heart wasn’t fully committed to Hosea. Lifetimes of watching God work on their behalf, of hearing His commands and seeing His blessings result were not enough to keep the Israelites from turning aside to other gods. Why? Because their hearts weren’t fully committed to God. Years of rigorously adhering to rules and commands and edicts won’t be enough to keep you faithful, either. Why? Because following a litany of rules and regulations does not create a committed, intimate relationship with God alone. Without that relationship, you’ll find yourself right back where you started. Or worse. You might find your soul on the auction block. 

We’ve all been there. Like the straying children of Israel depicted throughout the Old Testament, and exhibited in the account of Gomer, many of us have been rescued from the dregs of our own sin only to leave the safety of our relationship with God and run back into the same degradation. Eventually we find ourselves, bedraggled by the consequences of our own sinful choices, once again stepping up to the auction block. Painfully aware of our declining worth, we refuse to make eye contact with the bidders. Behind our back, our hands are clenched in white-knuckled anxiety that someone, anyone will want us, love us, find a place for us in their lives. Just as we begin to believe the only bidder is the evil one offering a pittance for our immortal soul, a voice resounds from the back of the room. Echoing through the rafters, it names an exorbitant price. A price to be paid in blood. 

In anticipation, our breath painfully caught in our chest, we wait to see if anyone cares to raise the bid. Silence reigns. Finally, the auctioneer raps his gavel and proclaims, “Sold.” Through the silent room, footsteps echo. And under our still downturned face a hand appears, palm upward. A ragged scar mars the center. The spot where blood flowed out and ran in rivulets down His wrists to drip from His elbows in atonement for our sins and indiscretions.  Blood for us. Blood to pay our ransom. Blood that rescued us from the awful merry-go-round of sin and shame. Blood that paid the ultimate price so we could live in personal, intimate relationship with Him. It’s not the only thing we notice there. Above the scar we see the proof. Immutable evidence that it was all for us. Confirmation that we belong to Him. Verification of our standing. For right above the scar, tattooed on His hand, we see our name. Your name. My name. The name of whosoever comes to Jesus Christ in faith, choosing eternal relationship with Him over trivial relations with the world. (John 20:24-29; Isaiah 49:16; John 14:6; John 6:37, 40) 

The Biblical account of Hosea and Gomer ends without telling us exactly what happened. My heart desperately hopes Gomer opted to grasp that second chance with both hands. I hope she buried her past and left it there. I hope their relationship grew and flourished to the point no one even remembered who she’d been or from what she’d come. Why? Because that’s the type of relationship God offers you. No matter where you’ve been, what you’ve done, how far you’ve gone astray, the nail-scarred hand of Jesus is offering you a fresh opportunity to have a personal, intimate, committed relationship with Him. I hope you take it. I hope you cherish it. And when doubts and fears and temptations threaten your soul, I hope you clasp His hand in yours, turn it upward and read your name. Indelibly etched on His palm. Just above the nail scar. (I Kings 8:61; II Timothy 1:12; Song of Solomon 2:10; Zephaniah 3:17)

Taking a page from Peter’s script, I’ve chosen this week to go fishing. I encourage you to do the same. Find time to spend in solitude with Christ alone. There is no better week to do so. As we remember and observe the events of Holy Week, may our hearts again be shattered by the love and grace that pours continually from Heaven to earth, rescuing us from the chains of sin and death. May we rest in the continual presence of our ever-living Savior. May we follow ever closer in His steps. May our redeemed hearts forever resound with the irrefutable truth, “Christ is risen, indeed!”

Uncertainty was making him antsy. Anxious. Agitated. He had stood up and sat down. Wandered to the window to peer between the latched shutters. Gotten a drink of water. Offered the guys with him a drink as well. He couldn’t seem to sit still. Recent events had clarified so many things, yet shrouded others in great mystery. Like the future. What did their future look like now? What were they supposed to do with themselves? Where should they go? Would it ever be safe to walk the streets again? They had been Jesus’ disciples. What were they now since He’d returned to Heaven? Who were they? Has-beens? Wanna-be’s? What were they supposed to do with the rest of their lives on earth? Embark on new careers? Return to old? And where, exactly, had Jesus been sending them when He first visited after His resurrection? Jerusalem? Judea? Samaria? (John 20:19-21)

Sighing heavily and shaking his head at the jumble of thoughts racing in circles around his brain, Peter made a decision. He wasn’t going to sit there cluelessly ruminating. He was going fishing. He’d been doing it as long as he could remember. Taught as a boy to cast his line and quietly, patiently wait for the tug of a fish, Peter had learned early on that there was peace and calm in those moments. Silence that allowed the contemplative sorting of substantive thoughts from chaffy mental ramblings. He desperately needed such time. Time to row his boat, drop his net, and peacefully, quietly listen. Time to allow the calming sound of lapping waves to silence the insanely swirling questions and help him listen for divine direction.

It comes as no surprise that Peter would choose the water as a place to be alone with God. He was accustomed to finding Him there. Peter had been in his boat when Jesus initially called him to leave everything and follow Him. It had been his very boat on the lake of Gennesaret into which Jesus had climbed and instructed them to go out from land and put down the net for a catch. Discouraged by a profitless night, Peter hadn’t believed Him. The fish weren’t moving. He already knew that. But it wasn’t worth the argument.  In spite of the disbelief pulsing through his veins, Peter and his men rowed the boat out into the lake and lowered their nets. Surreptitiously glancing at one another, they silently wondered how long the net would hang empty before Jesus allowed them to admit defeat and head back to shore. They would never find out. The net was already moving with snared fish. A flame of hope ignited in their exhausted hearts. The net tightened and multitudes of fish could be seen in the water around them. By the time it was over, the size of the catch threatened to sink their boat, forcing them to hail another for assistance. And Peter learned his first lesson about Jesus and fishing. When we are desperate, discouraged, disheartened, or distressed, Jesus comes to us, right where we are, steps into our boat and offers us the miracle of hope. (Luke 5:1-11)

Going forward, Peter should have simply expected Jesus to do the miraculous when water and boating and fishing were involved. Time and again Jesus would meet them in watery places meeting their needs and improving their faith. Navigating a ship across the sea with the rest of the disciples when a raging storm arose, Peter and his colleagues wondered how Jesus could sleep when the storm was so fierce it threatened to capsize their ship. As the waves rose higher and their boat rocked harder, panic and fear raced from one end of the ship to the other. The worst possible outcome was expected. Everything would be lost. Nets. Boat. Lives. Unless Jesus did something. And He did. In a glorious demonstration of His grand omnipotence, Jesus rose and rebuked the elements, calming them with His voice alone. Proving that when all human options are exhausted, when the scholars and theologians believe it implausible, when doctors deem it improbable, when the whole world screams it’s impossible, our great God is just fixing to get started.  (Matthew 8:23-27)

Following the death of John the Baptist, Jesus boated out to a desolate place to be alone, but the crowd hunted him down. His compassionate heart-wrenching at the sight of sick needing healed and hearts needing changed, Jesus came to them. He healed and preached until it was evening, but the crowd didn’t dissipate. Knowing there were limited restaurants on the way home, the disciples begged Jesus to send the people away. They weren’t expecting his answer. “You feed them.” Seriously?! With what? Two measly fish and five tiny bread rolls? Was He being facetious? Could He not see the crowd? 

Oh, He saw them, alright. Not only did He see them, He saw their need. And He met it. Right there. Right then. Jesus blessed the tiny snack of fish and bread, then handed it to the disciples and told them to start serving. As food coma settled in, the people lounged around, uninterested in leaving. But the disciples needed a break. Jesus needed a respite. Time to be alone. Time to pray. Time to reconnect with His power source in Heaven. Sending the disciples ahead across the sea, Jesus went into the mountains to pray. (Matthew 14:10-23) 

There is no record of Jesus establishing a rendezvous point for later in the day. They probably didn’t need one. The disciples were not unaccustomed to Jesus heading into the mountains or desert to pray. He always met back up with them. Odd then, isn’t it, that they were so ill-prepared for His arrival. Or maybe they were caught off guard by the method He chose to reach them. One would think they’d have been prepared for anything by this point. They’d seen so much. Things without explanation. Things that could only be described as miraculous. Surely by now they should have been waiting with bated breath to see how He’d arrive. Yet they were terrifically unprepared when Jesus came comfortably walking across the raging water. 

Intently focused on the oars and the increasing, wind-driven waves, the disciples had no time for sightseeing. For what must surely have felt like the millionth time, they were fighting a storm on the sea. The winds were fierce. The rowing was difficult. Progress was slow. They were tired. When the first man saw the ghost walking across the water, he must surely have thought his exhaustion was affecting his sight. Until he blinked and the alleged ghost remained. His cry of alarm alerted the others. Their fear was palpable. As Jesus continued toward the boat, they cried out in fear. Not wanting them to remain in their terrified state for a moment longer than necessary, Jesus called out. They didn’t need to be afraid. Not of the wind beating their sails. Not of the waves rocking their ship. Not of the vision crossing the waters. It was Jesus. He had come to them. Right where they were. And Peter’s impulsiveness dropped into hyper-drive. 

Boldly, in a move many find appalling, Peter asks for proof. “Prove it’s you, Jesus. Tell me to walk on water too.” If Peter thought Jesus would chuckle and tell Him to stay put, he was in for a grand surprise! He called him to come. If nerves hadn’t been quivering in Peter’s stomach before, they surely were now. Yet still he went. Cautiously slipping over the side of the boat, Peter gingerly touched the sole of his foot to the wildly rolling sea. And the shifting liquid beneath his feet stood firm. One step. Two steps. Three steps. It was going beautifully! Until a particularly strong gust of wind ruffled his hair, whipped his cloak and supercharged his fear. Looking down at the unstable water beneath his feet, unable to mentally work out exactly what was happening, doubt and fear clouded Peter’s mind and he began to sink. As the water rose over his ankles and continued up his calves, Peter cried out words similar to the ones the disciples cried the last time they’d been caught in a storm, “Lord, save me.” And He did. Immediately. Because when we are tossed about by storms, either of our own making or simply the inevitable ones life hands us, we can trust Jesus to immediately come to our rescue with hope and help and peace. (Matthew 14:24-32) 

While Peter and his friends sat fishing on the sea, pondering Jesus’ resurrection and the trajectory of their future, Jesus came. Again. They recognized Him this time. Seems they had learned the lesson. Into the quietness of solitude, when you can hear Him best, Jesus comes. It is then He speaks ministering words to our desperate souls. Words of comfort. Words of hope. Words of healing. Guiding words that abolish the confusion the evil one uses to draw us off course. Strengthening words that give us courage to face the journey ahead. Loving words reminding us that even when we can’t see His hand and don’t understand His plan, we can always trust His heart. Words that tell us He is working whether we understand it or not. Always. In everything. God is working. He has our best interest at heart. And He wants us to find rest in Him. (John 21:3-14; Romans 8:28, 31; Philippians 4:13; Proverbs 3:5-6; I Corinthians 14:33)

When the world gets too noisy, too pushy, too angry, too tempting, take a page out of Peter’s book, and go fishing. Find your place of solitude–your favorite armchair, a walk in the woods, the front porch swing. Or the grassy bank of a stream where your line dangles hopefully in the gurgling water below. Into the silence of your soul, Jesus will speak. He will revive and restore. He will give you rest. Jesus wants to meet with you. Isn’t it time you went fishing? (Matthew 11:28-30; I Peter 5:7; Jeremiah 31:5; Psalm 55:22; Psalm 23)

The ticking of Heaven’s clock had become nearly audible over the last few weeks. Not that the disciples had noticed. Whether purposely obtuse or accidentally imperceptive, not one of the men closest to Jesus realized their physical time together was drawing to a close. No one seemed to understand that the things He’d told them would occur were not some distant dream, but an imminently inevitable reality. It was all Jesus could think about. He was leaving. His men were staying. There was so much more to teach them, so much they needed to fully grasp. Their spiritual strength depended on complete comprehension of the principles He was teaching. Their souls would die without the knowledge. The aftereffects of His death and subsequent physical absence would unleash times on earth that could be titled nothing other than survival of the fittest. Preparation was imperative.

He’d spent every moment of their time together attempting to equip them for His departure. Time and again He’d drawn lessons and parallels from events around them. He’d told parables and preached sermons. He’d gently reprimanded and harshly rebuked. Yet still, their human minds were veiled. Peter still needed an explanation before allowing Jesus to wash his feet. Both Simon Peter and Thomas showed a distinct dearth of comprehension when it came to where Jesus was going, why He was going, or why they couldn’t travel with Him. And Philip was clearly clueless to the unbreakable bond between God the Father and Jesus the Son. Had He been anything like me, Jesus would have thrown His hands up in exasperation and determined the teaching impossible. On behalf of the disciples then and us now, thank goodness Jesus wasn’t patterning His life after me! Instead of throwing up His hands in despair, Jesus took a deep breath and tried a new track. Abide in Me. Rest in My love. (John 13:1–6, 36-38; 14:1-11; 15:4)

In a breathtaking depiction of the eternal love of our Vinedresser, Jesus invites His disciples to dwell in Him. Live there. Spend every day wrapped up in Him. Know Him intimately. Mimic His ways. Always. He offers permanent lodging for their weatherbeaten souls in the comfort of Himself. He knows they’ll die without Him. Literally. Their spiritual lives will droop and shrivel if they attempt to become their own independent branches. They need the pruning and feeding, the nurturing and watering that life in Christ affords. When the removal of dead branches and nutrient-siphoning offshoots became unpleasant or uncomfortable, the disciples needed to remember the Vinedresser’s work was never malicious or self-serving. No. It was done in perfect love. Love they could rest in. Love they could trust. Love that would endure the test of time. Love in which they could confidently abide. Forever. The same love the Father had for His Son. (John 15:1-6)

The very thought must surely have stolen the air from their lungs. So breathtakingly beautiful it is! The infinite, unfailing, unreserved, overflowing love of God for Jesus was now lavishly spread on humanity by Jesus Christ Himself. Love that sees us in our sin and degradation, yet loves us still. Achingly. Longingly. Love so deep, so wide, so grand it transcends our guilt and blame, our unbelief and rebellion. Love that never falters when we fail. Love that loves still, even when we are unlovable, unpresentable, unfathomably mired in doubt, defection,  and disgrace. Love that never fails. Not the disciples then. Not us now. Love so deep it changes our lives forever. Love so grand it turns our hearts to obedience, toward sharing the amazing love of God with the world. Jesus commanded them to live in that love. Daily. (Lamentations 3:21-23; Psalm 136; Psalm 6:4; Jeremiah 9:24; Joel 2:12-13)

In words that wash my soul in peace and calm every time I read them, Jesus leaves behind the instruction, “Abide in my love.” Live there. Rest in it. Don’t just dip your feet. Dive in and stay there. Bathe your soul in the fountain of loving acceptance and compassionate forgiveness. Soak it in. Absorb its truth. Let it take root in your soul. Embrace it. Accept it. Believe it. Jesus loves you. No matter what. When it looks impossible. When it seems improbable. When your stack of ugly adds up to absolute unacceptability, Jesus loves you with the same love His Father had for Him. Peter can vouch for it. When the situation grew tense and the climate hostile, he threw aside his promise to follow Jesus to death, vehemently denying he knew Him. Not once. Not twice. Three times. Yet Jesus loved Him still. Read Thomas’ story. Absent when Jesus originally appeared to His disciples after His resurrection, Thomas stubbornly refused to believe it had occurred. He demanded proof. Physical proof. Absolute proof. Stepping into Thomas’ cloud of stubborn unbelief, Jesus came. Held out His nail-scarred hands for inspection. Bared His spear-pierced side for Thomas’ touch. Why? Because Jesus loves people. And no matter how far you stray down the path of unbelief, no matter how many times you go off course, no matter what mess you find yourself needing rescued from, He will love you still. Know it. Believe it. Abide in it. Even when it doesn’t look the way you think it should. (John 15:9; 20:24-29; Luke 22:54-62; Romans 5:20-21; I John 4:16; Jeremiah 31:3)

Admittedly, we rarely picture love as pruning branches or deadheading plants, yet it is possibly the greatest love we can give. It is the removal of that which would cause destruction and death. True love corrects and chastens, prunes and plows in an effort to enable the loved one to flourish and grow. In the instance of our souls, the eradication of ungodly, unholy attitudes, actions, desires, and demands is the grand exhibition of an even grander love bestowed on us by our loving Heavenly Vinedresser. It is always in our best interest. It is always for our good. Even when we do not readily see it. Even when it is frustrating. Even when it puts our back up and raises our indignation. It is never angry punishment, but loving care. 

You see, my friend, God loves you too much to leave you a mess. He cares too much for you to negligently release your soul to tangled overgrowth with harmful weeds and sinful sprouts. You are far too important to abandon. God’s love for you compels Him to work tirelessly and clean endlessly because He cherishes you eternally. His plan is for you to live every day secure in the knowledge of His steadfast love, even when it demands the unpleasantness of chastening and pruning, and plowing. God wants you to rest in His love, trust His heart, and live like you’re abiding. (Hebrews 12:5-11; Hosea 10:12; Deuteronomy 8:5; Psalm 94:12; Proverbs 3:11-12; Revelation 3:19)

Recently, I listened to a woman explain how God asked her to do something she didn’t want to do. It was unpleasant. The ask seemed unrealistic. She couldn’t fathom what good could come of it. From her resting place in the center of God’s love, knowing He works only for our good, she gathered her courage and obeyed. The result of her continued obedience has had rippling effects. God has worked in and through her to turn a negative situation positive. Perhaps not perfect, but positive. Why? Because she was so busy abiding, trusting, resting in the love God has for her that when He adjusted her lean from far left to due north, she didn’t throw a tantrum, she simply chose to obey His leading. Even if it was unpleasant. Even when she had other ideas. Even when others thought she should choose a different track. Resting in God’s love caused her to react in such a way her life exhibited that she was living like she was abiding.

So how are you living? What do your words and actions say about where you are abiding? Do they reflect an unkempt garden overgrown with thistles and weeds? Do they exhibit an area of dead branches and drooping leaves? Is your soul wilting or flourishing? Does your life reflect the loving care of the heavenly Vinedresser? Are you living like you’re abiding? (Psalm 15)

The comfortable dinner proceeding screeched to an abrupt halt at the startling announcement. Heads previously bent over the table snapped to attention. Astonished eyes clashed across the table. Concern echoed deep in every heart. Fear saturated their souls. Panic clawed at their throats and anxiety settled like a weight in their stomachs. The words were too ugly to be untrue. There was a traitor among them. 

As the first blush of stupefaction began to fade, questions arose. Who could it be?  Who among them would engage in such a nefarious act? Perhaps the men they once had been would be tempted to this extent, but they weren’t those men anymore. They had each come so far since Jesus unceremoniously called them to leave everything and follow Him. Having eagerly done so, they had never regretted the choice. Not because it had been easy to leave their lives behind. Not because following Jesus was comfortable. There was no social prestige or physical prosperity involved in the following. Yet still they followed. By choice. Their hearts wanted nothing less than to spend each day in the absolute presence of Christ. 

Or so they thought. Apparently, one of them had no such desire. Someone with whom they had spent day and night, someone they trusted, someone who had access to the information of their inner circle was not a friend, but a foe. One of them wasn’t relishing the time they spent with Jesus, they were carefully calculating their steps, biding their time, waiting for the perfect moment to betray Him. But who would do that? Who wasn’t all in? Who had watched the miracles, listened to the preaching, heard the teaching, and still wasn’t committed to Jesus? Who was the poser in their company? Who was the snake in their garden? (John 13:21-22)

As Jesus’ statement fell into the room, plunging it into momentary silence, each man seated there must surely have had a thousand questions. Narrowed gazes searched the faces opposite them, seeking to determine the defector’s identity. Was it Peter? He was always impetuous and impulsive. An ill-advised decision from him would come as no surprise. Maybe it was John. He’d managed to get quite close with Jesus. Even now he was close enough to lean back and speak in Jesus’ ear. Of course, it could be any of the rest of them, too. Andrew. James. Philip. Me. It could also be me. What if I’m the one?  (Matthew 14:24-30; Mark 9:2-6; Matthew 26:31-35; John 13:23)

The jarring realization must surely have caused each man to immediately embark on a personal inventory check. A quick, yet thorough soul search. A test of their absolute commitment to Jesus. A measure of their devotion. An evaluation of their internal fortitude should the pressure to betray Him become too much. Even as they peeled back the layers to peer in scrutiny at their own souls, their voices echoed around the table in frenzied asking, “Is it I? Am I the one whose heart is divided? Am I the one who isn’t all in? Am I the one who is weak and unstable? Am I the one whose attachment to popularity, power, prosperity, or prestige is greater than my love for Jesus? Someone is going to betray our Lord. Jesus, is it me?!” (Matthew 26:20-22; Mark 14:19-20, John 13:22-25)

Even after being assured Judas was the one whose hand itched to hold the coins of betrayal, it seems their self-examination would continue. There was little difference between them and Judas. He had been one of them. Handpicked by Jesus. Designated purse holder. Trusted friend. Now obvious backstabber. He’d duped them. His duplicity was shattering. As they watched, Judas, in utter abandonment of the people who had been his friends and colleagues, popped the proffered piece of bread in his mouth and walked away. No rebuttal. No explanation. No apology. Judas blatantly, publicly, chose friendship with the world and enmity with God. Shaking their heads in amazement at his treachery, the remaining eleven would be left to ponder their own hearts, weigh their own souls, examine themselves to see if anything resided within that would cause them to do the same. It is imperative we do likewise. (John 13:26-27)

In a moment of absolute transparency illuminated by the light of eternity, we, too, must examine ourselves. Old believers. New believers. Every believer. We must regularly examine ourselves. Check the corners of our souls. Search out every speck of anger or bitterness. Clean out every mite of selfishness or arrogance. Eradicate every particle of self-righteous judgment against our neighbor. We need to clean house. Regularly. Because just one minute spot of sin can fester and grow, causing us trouble. Causing us to hold back when we should be all in. Causing us to leave when we should stay. Causing us to betray our Lord because our hearts are divided. (II Corinthians 13:5)

Judas had the same problem. A divided heart. There’s really nothing to indicate he hated Jesus. Nothing tells us he spent his years following Jesus laying the groundwork for his scheme. But it does tell us that Judas’ loved money. He had a little side gig of helping himself to the group coffers. It was clearly working for him. No one ever seems to question it. No one calls him out. No one asks for an audit or suggests a new bank manager. By all appearances, he could have spent several years skimming the accounts and suffered no consequences. Yet Judas’ love of money was the weakness the evil one needed to draw him away. It was the hook he needed to coerce Judas into risking anything and losing everything. There was no one to blame but himself as his love for something other than God caused him to take the final, detrimental step, annihilating his opportunity for a glorious eternity. (John 12:3-6)

We shake our heads in wonder at it. Roll our eyes in disgust at his defection. Gather our self-righteous robes around us in a non-verbal declaration that we would never stoop to such lows. Until we do. Until we opt for silence when we should speak up. Until we choose to hide when we should step out. Until we determine that earthly approval is worth more than the approval of Heaven. Until we find there is something we desire more than we desire God. 

Perhaps you have never been in that situation. Perhaps your heart is true and devoted and perfect. Perhaps you are never hesitant to speak up, speak out. I am. Sometimes I am hesitant to call people to prayer. Sometimes I am concerned about what folks will think when I mention Jesus. Sometimes I spend hours wondering, worrying whether what I said or did that spoke of spiritual things was accepted or rejected. Sometimes I hold back, sit still, stay silent. So I’m examining myself. Examining my soul to see what makes me hesitate. Is it natural to my introverted personality or is it a stunt in my spiritual maturity? Is there something there, something festering, something growing that could cause me to betray my Jesus? 

 Maybe you are down here in the trenches too. Maybe you find hesitancy in your soul that pricks your conscience. Hesitancy to speak up for Jesus. Hesitancy to obey His voice. Hesitancy to lay aside the things of the world and cling solely to Him. It’s time to do some soul-searching. Time to do some honest self-evaluation. Time to scrutinize your heart and see where your true allegiance lies. Are you wholly aligned with Jesus Christ or is there a piece of your heart that rests elsewhere? If Jesus were to make the statement today that He made then, would your heart rest in the knowledge of your abject devotion to Him or is there something that would cause you to ask, “Is it I?” (Lamentations 3:40; Matthew 12:22-28; Matthew 6:24; I Kings 18:21; Galatians 1:10; Acts 4:29)