Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

Tears burned the backs of her eyes, threatening to cloud her vision and roll down her cheeks. It was all such a mess! She just wanted to find a room. She wanted to sit down, lie down, get off her feet. She wanted to sleep. Somewhere comfortable. Somewhere that wasn’t the ground by the side of the road. Somewhere, she didn’t have to roll out bedrolls and gather wood for a fire. She needed food. Decent food. Something better than the now stale bread they had in their bags. A vegetable would be nice. Maybe a piece of lamb. She wasn’t extremely picky, as long as it had been prepared recently and she didn’t have to do it. Mary wasn’t sure she could cook anything. This ridiculous journey had sapped every ounce of her energy. 

Odds weren’t in her favor. They weren’t the only ones Caesar Augustus had forced to leave home and comfort and travel to their birthplace just so he could count them. The streets of Bethlehem were teeming with people. Bustling, jostling crowds. Jabbing elbows. It was pure chaos. Civilized manners were non-existent in the mad rush to secure a path to walk, a place to eat, a room to rent. No one gave a second thought about the person next to them. Not the elderly. Not the lame. Certainly not the very pregnant lady wishing she could be anywhere but there. No. The goal of every soul was to get there first. Before the rooms were full. Before the food was gone. Before they were forced to sleep rough under the dark Judean sky. 

Mary’s heart resonated with that same goal. It was her greatest fear. Sleeping rough. Again. The very idea was revolting. After a week of sleeping under the stars, she was ready for a room and a bed. She was too far gone in her pregnancy to want, or even be able, to comfortably go camping. A blanket bed under the stars was not her idea of an adventure. A year ago, before the angelic visit, her teenage heart would have thrilled at the fun. Not now. She didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want to be travelling. She didn’t want to be racing a thousand other people for the few available rooms in town. She just wanted a bed. A quiet space to lie down. The journey had taken its toll. She was completely exhausted. And suddenly, although she couldn’t quite put her finger on what was wrong, she wasn’t feeling so well. 

Walking multiple miles a day for a week will do that to a pregnant woman. Especially one in the final throes of her forty weeks. Her feet were swollen and uncomfortable. Her back ached. Sheer determination and lack of choice forced her to place one foot in front of the other. It had been a terrible journey. Long. Hard. Riding wouldn’t have been better. It would still have been awful. Tears had frequently threatened. Often they had spilled quietly down her cheeks. Joseph had been forced to travel more slowly than usual. Resting often. Worrying about his wife. They had both been looking forward to the bed at the inn. Warm water to wash away the dirt of their travels. Hot food to fill their grumbling stomachs. A good night’s sleep before the events of the following day. Neither ever believed it would be an issue. Mary was carrying God’s Son. Surely, He would provide a decent place for them to stay. 

Looking around the burgeoning city, Mary felt her faith plummet. The likelihood of finding a room, any room, was rapidly dwindling. Lines had formed outside businesses. Families huddled together discussing options. Campsites were being erected in nearby fields. Still, hope kept Mary and Joseph trudging from one door to another, checking every possible space, until they were certain every available room was full. The threatening tears welled up and overflowed as the innkeeper shook his head at their inquiry. His rooms were full. Completely. People were already sharing spaces. There was literally no vacancy in his establishment. Not even a corner. He was sorry. He couldn’t help them. 

Ushering Mary away from the door before her sobs erupted in loud wails, Joseph looked around for a private place to calm his wife and evaluate their situation. Before they had taken more than a few steps, the innkeeper called them back. He was not unsympathetic to Mary’s condition or their current plight. He was deeply sorry for the situation in which they found themselves. He understood how loath Mary was to sleep another night completely outdoors. He had a space. He was almost embarrassed to offer it. It wasn’t great. Wasn’t pretty. It was all he had available. It was the stable. They would have to share it with the animals, but there were walls, a roof, and hay. It wasn’t a bed, but it wasn’t the ground, either. It was all he had. Take it or leave it. Joseph and Mary were left with no choice. They took it. 

It wasn’t as bad as Mary thought it would be. A little drafty. The animal smell wasn’t great. But the hay was just as comfortable as any bed they would have been given. And it was better than the ground. The gentle lowing of the oxen and rumination of the sheep could even be called relaxing. She told herself she’d be fine there. She would sleep. She would rest. She would wake up feeling better. Whatever ailed her would be fixed by a proper night’s sleep in a relatively decent place. She hoped. 

Hope had been her lifeline over the past few months. After the first visit with the angel, her faith had been bold and strong. She believed God would do what He said He would do. And He had. She was miraculously pregnant. But the angel hadn’t outlined some of the finer details. Those were the things that troubled her. Those were the times her faith wavered. It was then she found herself clinging to hope. Hope that God would take care of her. Hope that she had made the right choice. Hope that Joseph would love her child as if it were his own. Hope that she would be a good mother. Hope that she wouldn’t be giving birth along a steep, bumpy, dangerous road between Nazareth and Bethlehem. And now, right this very moment, hope that she could make it back home to familiar surroundings, her nicely prepared baby things, and the comfortable space she had created for welcoming her first child, before her delivery time came. It was not to be.  

Sometime in the evening darkness, Mary felt the first pain tighten her abdomen. She tried to ignore it. She’d had a few before. Nothing serious. She hoped this was the same. Repositioning herself, she tried to get more comfortable. Tried to calm her mind, relax her body, fall back asleep. She almost made it, too, but just as she began to doze, another pain came. The strength of it had her paying attention, her chest tightening, her fear mounting. This wasn’t the way she planned. Her baby wasn’t supposed to be born in a barn. He wasn’t supposed to be birthed in unsanitary conditions. She didn’t have any of His things here. She didn’t have her family, the midwife, her friends. Nothing was the way she believed it would be. Hot tears once again scalded Mary’s cheeks. Her faith shook. Her mind reeled. Where was God now? Could He not see what was going on? Was He too busy to care? Everything was a mess, and Mary didn’t understand why. Why was it turning out this way? Why was this thing, this grand thing God had asked her to do, turning into such a disaster? (Luke 2:1-6; Matthew 1:18-25)

It wasn’t. There was nothing disastrous about what was happening. It was perfect. Even if Mary couldn’t see it at the time. Even if she never recognized it. Everything was going exactly according to plan. God’s plan. A virgin (that was her!) would give birth to a Son in Bethlehem. He would be named Jesus. His mission in life would be to save people from their sins, show them how to live on earth, and leave them with directions to Heaven. The prophets told the story centuries before. The people faithfully watched for the grand event. For a time. Eventually, they had become less diligent, less watchful. Faith in the truth of the prophecy dwindled. Logic wrestled with the probability. For some, faith in the promise began to feel impossible, and all they could do was hope. Hope that a Messiah was coming. Virgin or no virgin. Grand entrance or stealthy takeover. It didn’t even matter. They just hoped it was true. Somehow. Some way. They needed a Messiah to come and rescue them. From sin. From turmoil. From death. And He did. (Isaiah 7:14; 9:6-7; Micah 5:2; Mark 2:17; John 10:10; I John 3:8; Romans 6:22-23)

In the dark of night, with no complications or unnecessary fanfare, Jesus was born in a stable in Bethlehem of Judea because there was no proper room available. He was wrapped in strips of cloth and laid in an animal feeding trough because there was no open cradle. He went completely unnoticed by the people of Bethlehem then and the people of Nazareth later, because their faith, even their hope, was fixed on a grand birth announcement, a glorious fanfare, a triumphant arrival. It didn’t change the facts. Their Messiah had come. Jesus was there. The Hope for which they hoped. The Hope of salvation. The Hope of eternal life. The Hope on which they could lean when their faith wavered, faltered, failed. When the outlook was dark and growing darker still, Jesus came and brought the light of hope to the world. Whether they knew it or not. (I Timothy 1:1; Romans 15:13; Colossians 1:27; Psalm 39:7)

Whether you know it or not, whether you see it, whether you feel it, Jesus is here. When your faith is small and shriveled and sad. When all you have is hope. Do that. Hope. Hope that God will make good on His promise. Hope that He will come through with a miracle. Hope that He hasn’t forgotten your circumstances, your situation. Hope that He has a plan and a purpose for the trials and troubles that currently plague your soul. Hope that in the discord and discouragement, distress and disharmony of this world, God is still moving and working out His divine purpose. Hope in a power greater than any other power. A name greater than any other name. A God greater than any other god. A God of love who cares about every little detail of your life. Every emotion. Every ailment. Every temptation. Every fear. A God who is deeply invested in you. The God who sent Jesus, His Son, into a world who had lost faith that He was coming, a people who found it impossible to believe. To people who were clinging to hope alone, Jesus came. Dwelt among them. Emmanuel. God was with them. (Ephesians 1:19; Philiipans 2:9-11; Exodus 18:11; John 3:16)

Perhaps you know exactly how it feels, that white-knuckled clinging to hope. Maybe you are struggling to have faith right now. The outlook is dark and bleak. The news is harrowing and terrifying. Everything seems unstable and unpredictable. Most days, you read the news and wonder where God is. As you grieve the effects of calamities beyond your control, you wonder what God could possibly be doing. As things in your world, your town, your life appear to careen out of control, you bury your face in your hands and wonder why nothing is going to plan, why everything is ending in disaster. You wonder what God is doing, if He’s doing anything. Your head and heart know you are supposed to have faith in God, but it feels impossible. So hope. Hope in God. He has never failed. Anyone. Even when it took weeks, years, or centuries to happen, His word, His promise, occurred. God hasn’t changed. He can’t. It isn’t in His character. God is no different today than He was 2,000 years ago. He will do everything He says He will do. For you. For me. Not one word He promised will fail. Not His spoken word. Not the written Word. So when things are bleak, you are overwhelmed, and faith feels impossible…hope. In God. He is faithful. He will help you. Emmanuel. He is here. (Isaiah 41:10; 55:8-9; John 5:17; Luke 1:37; Mark 11:22-24; Psalm 42:11; Joshua 21:45; Numbers 23:19; Hebrews 13:8; Deuteronomy 7:9; Philippians 4:5)

He was upset. Annoyed. Irritated. Angry. The very thought was ludicrous! He was in charge here. Everyone knew that. The sound of his voice sent people scurrying. The flick of his wrist made things happen. His word, when he chose to use it, was final. His desires were always granted. His physical presence among the people was considered a gift. Yet he hadn’t found a way to get an audience with the newest religious teacher on the scene. Other people had. Not royal people. Not even just the upper classes. Poor people. Sick people. Dirty people. The guy was literally hanging out with the dregs of society, yet he, tetrarch of the entire region, had yet to meet Him. The man named Jesus, who, by all accounts, was preaching and teaching and performing amazing miracles, hadn’t even stopped by the palace for a quick visit. He hadn’t come to introduce Himself. Hadn’t made derogatory remarks about the king. Hadn’t outright condemned specific royal behaviors. Not like John. John had been vocal and outspoken in his accusations concerning Herod’s lifestyle, giving cause to haul him in for questioning and imprisonment. Jesus had done nothing of the sort. There was no excuse to bring Him in, no reason to incarcerate Him. Herod Antipas rather wished there was. (Luke 9:9)

Admittedly, Herod missed John the Baptist. Their forthright conversations had been a bright spot in the nearly nauseating obeisance surrounding him. Sometimes he longed for someone to argue with. Someone to break up the monotony of simpering servants and ingratiating employees. John would never have been one of those. He had no problem speaking his mind and standing by his beliefs. They had some interesting conversations. Thought-provoking. Incisive. Herod had no business stealing another man’s wife. At all. John saw no issue condemning the act. Publicly. Pointedly. That was how he ended up in prison. 

Herod never intended to kill John. It wasn’t about that. He held him in high regard. He valued the words he spoke, even if he chose not to adhere. It is likely he would have kept him in prison for the rest of his life. John’s or Herod’s. Whichever ended first. It was a convenient arrangement. For Herod. But for all his great status and trusted leadership qualities, he’d been naive. His wife, Herodias, loathed John. Every fiber of her being wanted him silenced. Herod may have been smart, but his wife was cunning. It was as if she trained her entire life for the moment she would trick her husband into killing John. She used her daughter to do it. A sultry dance before a lecherous king, and she had him. Her wish was his command. And she wanted John the Baptist’s head on a platter. 

With much sadness and great regret, Herod followed through on his promise. He had to. He couldn’t renege and keep the respect of the people. The words nearly stuck in his throat as he issued the order. He hated every single syllable. He had no choice. Herodias knew that. Planned it. What she hadn’t known, been able to plan, or had the power to manipulate was that a new prophet would immediately take John’s place among the people. He would preach and teach without ambiguity. He would heal and help those others would avoid. He’d tenderly welcome children and forcefully chastise religious leaders. No one could leave His presence unchanged. Herod Antipas badly wanted to meet Him. (Luke 9:7-9; Mark 6:14-29; Matthew 14:1-11)

Apparently, it was a family trait. Wanting to meet Jesus. Nearly three decades earlier, his father told the same story. Unsettled by the arrival of travellers from a distant country looking for the newborn King of the Jews, Herod the Great called his leading priests and scholars in for a meeting. They had some explaining to do. Had they missed the birth of the Messiah? If so, how? How had they missed the most awaited moment in human history? Wasn’t it their job to know these things? Why had no one come to him with the news? Why had no one already found the child? Why was the child even still alive? Why did he, the king, have to do everything himself? 

Quickly calling a private meeting with the travelling scholars, Herod peppered them with questions. He was intensely interested in every detail. Where they got their intel? How they knew where to travel? When they left their homeland. When they first arrived in Jerusalem. He didn’t want them to leave anything out. Every detail mattered. Then he told them what he knew from his own religious leaders. The words the prophets had written centuries before. Go to Bethlehem. Look everywhere. Don’t quit searching until you find the Child. It seemed like Herod was helping them until he added a stipulation phrased to sound like a request. “When you figure it all out, when you find Him, come let me know where He is. I want to worship him too!”

Liar. Herod had no intention of worshipping the Christ child. None whatsoever. He wasn’t even intending to go see the Child himself. He’d just send his henchmen. Do away with the competition. End the problem before it started. God knew that. God saw every stinking, dirty inch of Herod’s darkened heart. Speaking to the travellers in a dream, He sent them home a different way. Avoiding Herod. Outwitting him. Herod was incandescent. In an action that could only be attributed to a madman, Herod ordered that all baby boys under 2 years old be slaughtered. Yanked from their mother’s arms and brutally murdered. One wonders how the story would read if Herod had only gone and met Jesus. 

Why didn’t he? Why didn’t Herod go meet Jesus? Either of them. Father or son. Both claimed a desire to do so, but neither made the effort. Neither rose off their royal duffs, ordered their carriages, organized the guard, grabbed a snack from the kitchen, and went to see Jesus. They didn’t even try. Not so far as the Bible mentions. Herod the Great wanted the magi to pinpoint where Jesus was. Herod Antipas chose to “try to see” Jesus. Neither really stepped out in a grand gesture to see Him. Meet Him. Get to know the Savior. And Jesus wasn’t very far away. 

Except for the two years spent in Egypt as a child, Jesus was often close at hand. Six miles separated Bethlehem from Jerusalem. Herod the Great could have made it round trip in a day, yet he made no move to visit. When teaching and preaching in Galilee, Jesus was only about 4 miles from Herod Antipas’ palace, yet there is no record of an attempt to go meet Him. One wonders why he never made the effort. It wouldn’t have been difficult. The crowds would have melted away at the approach of his guard and entourage. No one would have stood in his way. No one would have blocked his path. No one would have lifted a restraining hand. They wouldn’t dare. Yet Herod Antipas chose not to make the effort. Neither did Herod the Great. He sent people out to find Jesus and report back, but he didn’t go himself. He didn’t even try. Why not? What about their lives was so much more important than meeting the one person they both so deeply wanted to meet? No matter their ulterior motives, why didn’t they go? What held them back when they were just that close to Jesus? 

There must have been a hundred excuses the Herods had for not physically going to see Jesus. It was unnecessarily dangerous to be in public. They had meetings to attend. A neighboring king was visiting. They were stuck in diplomatic discussions. The threat of war might someday loom, and they were organizing the military. Maybe the scribes were overworked, and they had to write their own paperwork. Perhaps there was a formal dinner celebration. Maybe (insert teenage whine here) they were just really tired, and people normally do everything for them, and it was just too much work to make the trip when they wanted to be hunkered down in the peace and quiet of their room. It really doesn’t matter. They were all just that. Excuses. We know, because we make them ourselves. And they sound no less ridiculous.  

Living as we are in the beautiful redemptive space created by Jesus’ death and resurrection, it is important for us to realize how close we are to Jesus. His constant availability to us. His eager readiness to answer when we call. His urgent longing to spend quality time with us, know us, be known by us. It is equally important for us to honestly examine ourselves and own the excuses we make for not meeting with Him. We are too busy. Our fledgling business requires our constant attention. Our own fledglings require food and education, and transportation. Our boss demands our time. Our bills demand our paychecks. Our electronics demand our attention with pinging phones, blaring televisions, flashing billboards, and overflowing inboxes. Our society sings in our ears the siren song of self-care, self-absorption, self-importance. Our focus is inward and outward, but rarely upward. In the exhausting race to do more, have more, be more, we miss the fact that we can have everything we need if we just reach out and touch Jesus. He is as close as breathing His name. He is near to the desolate, desperate, discouraged, and downtrodden. He answers all who call on Him. He hears the unspoken cries of your exhausted heart. He sees your tears and feels your fears. He is poised and waiting to come when you call. When all you can do is think His name, Jesus will come.  Jesus will answer. That’s just how close you are to Jesus. (Psalm 18:6; 34:18; 139:2; Jeremiah 33:3; I Samuel 2:8; Hebrews 4:15) 

Friend, you are ever so much closer to Jesus than the Herods were. They had miles to travel. You can meet Jesus right where you are. You can know Him and spend time with Him. You can sit in His presence, rest in His love. He is not far away. He is near. So don’t waste your moment. Don’t waste a second of the time you could be spending with Jesus. Do the things that build the relationship, foster the connection, encourage true change in your life. Read your Bible. Talk to Jesus. Listen for His voice. Get to know it. Hear Him speak. Rest in the words He has for you. Wise words. Encouraging words. Words of eternal life. And don’t make excuses. At all. You really don’t have a valid one. You don’t have to leave your office or easy chair. You don’t have to make an appointment, arrange a guard, or pack a lunch. You can meet Jesus anytime, anywhere. At home. In traffic. At the gym. In class. Wherever you are, Jesus is.  When you call, He will hear. When you ask, He will answer. Nothing can separate you from His love. Today is your day. Speak His name and find yourself in His presence. Immediately. It is that simple. You really are just that close to Jesus. (Isaiah 65:24; Psalm 145:18-19; Luke 11:9-10; I John 5:14-15; Matthew 28:20; Romans 8:38-39; James 4:8)

It wasn’t the first time she’d felt her baby move. It wouldn’t be the last. He was an active little guy. Although she had no idea what he could possibly be up to with all the rolling and kicking and punching, it didn’t bother her. Not at all. Every movement filled her heart with renewed awe and rejoicing. She was having a baby! Finally. After years of wishing and dreaming, hoping and praying, the woman who thought God had forgotten her was being remembered. Elizabeth was with child. If she could do the somersaults her son was doing in her womb, she’d likely join him! Except for this most recent one. Elizabeth wasn’t sure she could mimic such an extraordinarily joyous jump. 

Mary’s voice seemed to be the cause of his jubilation. The normal kicks and flutters, rolls and punches were lost in the intensity of this most recent move. In utero, the child had recognized Mary’s voice. Elizabeth had too. Not just the voice of her beloved cousin come round for a visit, but the mother of her long-awaited Messiah. Their Lord. Mary was the obvious fulfilment of the ancient promise. A virgin would give birth to a son. Mary believed that promise. Every single word. She had faith God would do what He said. Her faith was the basis of the angelic visit. It was the foundation for God choosing her to help fulfil the promise. Mary unwaveringly believed God would do what He said He would do. Virgin birth. Messiah. Redeemer. Coming King. She believed every word. Thus, it comes as no surprise that, when the angel approached to give her the leading role in the greatest story of all time, Mary’s faith responded with a resounding, “Yes.”    

The decision still hadn’t been easy. Nor immediate. No amount of faith prepared one to actually be chosen for such an enormous task. She hadn’t spent hours dreaming of being the single, virgin mother of a child. Not even God’s child. Shocked and frightened by the angel’s appearance, Mary was originally confused by his message. It sounded implausible. Virgins didn’t give birth. They couldn’t. It wasn’t possible. She wasn’t certain of everything, but of this she was. And her betrothal was still just that. A betrothal. No marriage had taken place. She and Joseph weren’t cohabitating. In her spinning brain, the whole thing was nonsensical. As lovely as it was to hear that she had found favor with God, as much as she wanted to believe that was true, as dearly as she would love to gift Joseph with a son, none of what the angel was saying made logical sense. These things followed a sequence of events. Always. There was no other way. Ever. Not that she knew. Except for the prophecy. 

Specifics were sketchy on that, too. She didn’t understand it. How that could happen was beyond the scope of her ability to comprehend. But Gabriel knew. Calmly and clearly, he answered her question, spelling out for her the new path her life would take. She would become pregnant. As a virgin. The baby wouldn’t be Joseph’s. It would be God’s. His Son. His miracle. He would be the miraculous means of salvation for the world. The whole world. No one would be left out. Through Him, everyone would be offered the magnificent opportunity to inherit eternal life. He would change the entire landscape between heaven and earth. He would do away with the veil that kept people from going directly to God themselves. He would be her earthly Child. He would be God’s heavenly Son. They would call Him Jesus. He would save all people, everywhere, from their sins. (Revelation 22:17; I John 2:2; John 1:29; Colossians 1:19-20; Matthew 27:51; Hebrews 4:16; Mark 1:11)

Whether or not Mary understood the entire explanation or took time to weigh the options and fully comprehend every possible ramification of her answer, she stepped out in vibrant faith and said, “Yes.” In words similar to those that would someday fall from her Son’s lips, she yielded herself to be God’s servant, acquiescing to His will, superceding her own. Her mind was still reeling as the space Gabriel occupied became empty. Staring for long minutes at the now blank space, Mary likely found herself wondering if she had really seen him, heard his voice, understood his message. In those moments, hours, or days between Gabriel’s visit and the clear culmination of his message, Mary had plenty of time to doubt. Lose her faith. Drop her confidence. Change her mind. One wonders how tempted she was to do so. (Luke 1:26-45)

Knowing the evil one’s penchant for attacking every plan of God, it is not illogical to believe he tried to infiltrate Mary’s mind. She was human. Regardless of how glorified some have made her in the ensuing decades, Mary was just like you and me. Susceptible to temptation, random thoughts, discouraging fears. And she was a teenager. Scholars and historians agree on that fact. No matter how mature young teenagers are alleged to have been at that time, it is not illogical to believe doubts and fears chased one another through her mind. Her stomach clenched at the thought of what she had agreed to do. Yet she didn’t tell anyone her secret. No one knew. No one except Elizabeth. And Joseph. She’d had to tell him. He deserved to know. He didn’t understand it either. Nor did he buy her story about a holy pregnancy. Sadly, yet respectfully, he decided to quietly end their betrothal. He couldn’t marry her. He couldn’t trust her. He wasn’t a teenager. He knew how things worked. Virgins don’t have babies. Ever. Usually. 

Punching his pillow into a semblance of something comfortable, Joseph pondered his predicament until he fell asleep. Not that sleep was any relief. The craziness chased him down even there. Except now an angel was present. It had a message for him. From God. The words were many, but the meaning was simple. “Don’t let Mary go.” Don’t end the betrothal. She wasn’t making up a story. She wasn’t unfaithful. As ridiculous and far-fetched as it sounds, Mary really is a virgin. She really is miraculously pregnant by the work of God. The coming child really is God’s Son. The promised One. The Messiah. Jesus. He is coming to save His people, all people, from their sins. Go through with the wedding. Mary isn’t the only chosen one. Mary isn’t the only one being asked to choose faith over fear and yes over no, Joseph, so are you. 

Waking from sleep, Joseph faced the unenviable position of determining if he believed the angel and his message were from God or a figment of his over-hopeful imagination. He had to weigh the outcomes, decide what he was going to do. Sitting on the edge of his bed, rubbing his hands over his still-exhausted face, Joseph had to choose. He had to decide if he was going to place his faith in God’s explanation and marry Mary or if he was going to turn tail and run. Just like Mary, Joseph had to decide if he would say, through his actions if not his words, “I am God’s servant. May your will supercede the desires of my own heart.” Sitting in that place where he couldn’t explain the circumstances, couldn’t envision the future, couldn’t determine his real part in the plan of God, Joseph still grabbed his faith with both hands and responded with a fervent, “Yes.” (Matthew 1:18-25)

Such impressive acts of faith make it impossible to determine who exhibited the greatest faith with their “Yes.” Perhaps they are equal. Mary had to believe God would do what He said, even when she had no proof. Early pregnancies can be undetectable for weeks. Pregnancy tests were centuries from invention. She couldn’t run down to the doctor for a quick check without highlighting her condition. In spite of what she believed would occur, Mary literally had to wait, in faith, and see. Trust through the doubt when she didn’t have proof. So did Joseph. He had to wait. Indefinitely. Mary being pregnant in and of itself was not proof she was carrying God’s child. Outside of his faith in God’s word through the angel, Joseph had nothing to go on. May never have anything to go on. No proofs. No blood tests. No DNA results. Joseph’s faithful “yes” meant he would trust God to be honest and true, not to manipulate or trick, and he would parent Jesus as if He were his own. 

Quietly, nearly silently, Mary and Joseph went about their lives, with nearly no one knowing Mary was carrying the Messiah. They didn’t spread the news. There was no big announcement. People weren’t prepared. By the time Jesus was 12 and they accidentally left Him behind in the temple, even Mary and Joseph seemed to have forgotten He was there on a mission. They had to be reminded. He had business to do. The Father’s business. The reminder must have again tested Mary’s faith. Having heard the prophecies concerning the coming Messiah, the suffering He would endure, surely she had to once again take a steadying breath and reiterate the words she’d said so long ago, “I am God’s servant. May His will be done.” (Luke 2:41-51)

Years later, Jesus would cry out similar words as He bowed in the Garden of Gethsemane, begging God to find another way to rescue mankind from their sin. The cross loomed before Him, the torture stared Him down, the pain and darkness of death laughed in His face. His humanity warred with His deity as He looked down the path of anguish He was planned to walk. He wasn’t excited about it. He wasn’t even resigned to it. But He trusted God. His faith was firmly placed in the Father. His words prove it. “No matter what I want, may Your will be done.” Words like these had been part of Jesus’ life since before He was conceived. Mary voiced them. Joseph acted on them. All three meant them. Because true faith in the plan of the Father is exhibited when you answer His call with a simple, “Yes.” (Matthew 26:36-42)  

 The most difficult words you may ever speak will be in acquiescence to the will of God when it runs counter to yours, when you don’t understand why, when you can’t envision a positive outcome. Faced with a call, a choice, an opportunity to be part of God’s eternal plan, I hope you, like Mary and Joseph, place your faith in what you cannot see and say, “Yes.” Yes to a career change. Yes to a new ministry. Yes to another mission. Yes to a plan you can’t even begin to understand or see the end results of. Yes to blind faith in an all-seeing, all-knowing God. Yes to a God who never makes a mistake or missteps. Yes, when it doesn’t make sense. Yes, when it feels uncomfortable. Yes, when everyone else would flatly decline. “Yes,” to God.  His will. His way. Yes to Jesus for time and eternity. This Christmas, may your gift at the manger be the same one Mary and Joseph gave centuries ago. Faith in the form of “Yes.” (Hebrews 11:1; II Corinthians 5:7; James 2:7; Psalm 40:8)

The strong warning quickly snapped their straying attention into focus. It was not what they expected to hear. Dropped in the middle of the soothing words offering rewards to those who were humble, repentant, and merciful, the change in tone had them scrambling to sit up straight, pay attention, and mark Jesus’ words. “Don’t be confused about why I came.” Do not be misguided. Do not misunderstand. Don’t allow outside opinions to color the truth. Don’t believe everything you hear from pompous leaders and self-important historical interpreters. Don’t fall for the idea that the coming Messiah will bring social turbulence, war, and religious change. Don’t think for a second that Jesus came to rewrite the laws of God. He didn’t.  He came to uphold them. All of them. Every single one. (Matthew 5:1-20)

God hadn’t changed in the centuries since He carved commandments into tablets of stone for Moses to take to the people. Neither had His rules and regulations. When He commanded His people to love God first, their neighbors second, He wasn’t offering an editable manuscript. When God, through prophets and psalmists and kings, told His people to live humbly, act justly, and react with mercy, He didn’t include an expiration date. No. The blueprint for godly living handed down from Heaven was indelibly etched for every generation of humanity. No one has the power to override them. No one can alter them. No earthly authority can render them void. And no one is required to inhabit a space where adherence to God’s laws is a burden. It doesn’t have to be. That’s the reason Jesus came. (Exodus 20; Mark 12:30-31; Matthew 28:18; Micah 6:8)

It wasn’t currently like that. The laws were their taskmaster. Heavy. Harsh. Binding. Interpreted by religious scholars, the people were forced to obey their ideals. They didn’t know any better. Didn’t have the education to study it themselves. Weren’t aware there could be another way. Religious authorities dangled the carrot of eternal life in front of them, offering it only to those who radically adhered to their interpretation of the law. There was no room for deviance. There was no mercy, no grace, no justice. Paralyzed by ignorance and fear, yet desperate to inherit eternal life, the people bowed under the burden. Until Jesus came. 

Stepping into that world where eternal life was earned, not bestowed, Jesus came. He came to show them a better way. A way of joyful obedience that came from a heart right with God rather than the burdensome drudgery they were currently enduring. Jesus came to save them from their sin. All of it. Graciously. Mercifully. He came to fill their hearts with His peace, joy, and love. He came to give them eternal life. They didn’t deserve it. They couldn’t earn it. No matter how intricate their maze of rules and regulations, nor how meticulously they adhered, the only way to find it was to repent and accept the life-changing forgiveness offered through the sacrifice of Jesus on the cross. That was the reason He came. (Matthew 1:21, 11:28-30)

No one realized it at the time. As Jesus walked among them, teaching, preaching, healing, and loving, no one thought for a moment one of the reasons He came was to die a horrific death on a rough-hewn cross. No one believed He was going to be betrayed and suffer and die so eternal life could be free. Even His disciples were confused about it. Couldn’t understand it. Refused to believe it. Peter went so far as to reprimand Jesus for saying these things. Poor choice. Jesus wasn’t having it. In strong words of rebuke, he pointed out the error of Peter’s ways. He was thinking like a human. Limited. Fallible. Selfish. Jesus didn’t come for that. He didn’t come to earth to show off his miraculous healing abilities. He wasn’t trying to build His own fame or share His own name. This wasn’t the moment to bring His final kingdom to earth. That wasn’t why He came. Not this time. Jesus came at that time, in that century, to those people, in fulfillment of the prophecies they had heard about for so long. But He didn’t come as a triumphant warrior separating the wheat and the tares. No. He came as the suffering servant depicted in Isaiah. He came to be the sacrificial lamb. For their sins, then. For our sins now. Jesus came to pay the ultimate price so humanity could live. Truly live. Be at peace with God. Be in love with God. Build a relationship with the Father that was so deep their obedience to His commands would come easily. Naturally. They would seek to do His will. First. Long for it. Completely. Jesus came to live a life that would demonstrate how to continue living after He died. (Matthew 16:21-23; Isaiah 53; Psalm 40:8; James 4:8)

This is what the Sermon on the Mount was really all about. Sometimes it reads a little like a secondary list of do’s and don’ts, a more detailed reiteration of the Ten Commandments. It isn’t. Rather, it is a guidebook. A literary pathway for humanity to successfully live in obedience to God without all the legalistic claptrap. It wasn’t about counting steps and carrying cloaks. It had nothing to do with being able to publicly prove you were a rule follower. It wasn’t about doing enough good things to buy your way into Heaven. The Sermon on the Mount was about what is in your heart. Because everything you do comes from there. Obedience. Disobedience. Love. Hate. Whatever is in your heart comes out in your actions. God knew this. So He sent Jesus, the propitiation for your sins, to be mocked and beaten, suffer and die on the cross, so your heart could become His home. You could be cleansed inside and out. You could be filled with the Spirit of God. Your life could exhibit His attributes. His love. His joy. His peace. His mercy. This is the reason Jesus came. (Matthew 5-7; I John 2:2; Matthew 23:26; Ephesians 5:18)

I know. I have said that same phrase more than once. I did that on purpose. Jesus didn’t have just one earthly mission. Not so far as I can see. Although the culmination of His time on earth was death on the cross for the salvation of humanity, Jesus came to do other things too. He came to show us the way to God. Not just through repentance and salvation. Through change. Change in our hearts that leads to a change in our actions. Change that leads to obedience. In the best of times. In the worst of times. All the time. Just like Jesus. 

The Apostle Paul would eventually pen the statement that Jesus obediently gave Himself over to death for our sins, so we could live in harmony and obedience and oneness with the Father. It’s true. He did. But it was so much more. At the beginning of this Christmas season, I was just ending my annual reading of the Gospel of Matthew. The arrest, retention, and crucifixion of Jesus. As I write this, I am more acutely aware of that specific reason Jesus came. Normally, we save that thought for Easter. We need to think on it now. The mocking and spitting. The punching and slapping. The beating and bleeding. The crown of long, sharp thorns brutally stabbed into His brow. The excruciating pain of spikes hammered into His hands, breaking the skin, tearing the flesh. Blood running down in every possible direction. We need to close our eyes, picture that scene, hear the people still throwing insults at Him. We need to hear His cry to God, not for Himself, but for His enemies. We need to feel that final breath leave His lungs. And somewhere, deep in our souls, we need to realize, to understand, all the reasons He came. (Romans 4:25; Philippians 2:8; Matthew 27; John 14:15)

Jesus didn’t come just to die, although that would have been enough. He came to live. In your heart. In your life. He came to call you to repentance. He came to dwell in you, to make you His home, to change you from the inside out. Jesus came to give you the extraordinary opportunity to live every day in close, personal relationship with God the Father. He came to demonstrate true love and mercy, and grace. For you. For everyone. Jesus came to bring you life. Spiritual life. Abundantly. On earth. In Heaven. He came to set you free. From yourself. From your sin. He came to give you the greatest gift of all–Himself. His presence, His peace, His protection. You don’t deserve it. You couldn’t earn it. You could never afford to purchase it. He offers it freely. To change your life. That’s the reason He came. (Luke 5:32; Ezekiel 35:26; Jeremiah 31:33; Hebrews 8:10; John 8:36, 10:10; I Peter 1:18; Revelation 3;20)

This was not their home. Not anymore. It never really had been. No matter how many generations came and went in that place, how nice it was, or how much they flourished. It was not the promised land. It was not the place God vowed to give Abraham’s descendants. It was not the area God confirmed to Isaac and later to Jacob as the place His people would inhabit. They might have settled for it, might have been happy to stay there forever, but this was not the place. Even if it felt like it. 

Egypt did feel like it. As the generations passed, it began to feel like home. Familiar. Abundant. Safe. Tucked away on the good land given to their ancestors when Joseph was favored by Pharaoh, they flourished. Crops thrived. Flocks and herds multiplied. Families increased. The Israelite population in Egypt grew to impressive numbers. They were strong from working the land. Given a little military power and structure and the opportunity to join forces with the enemy, they could have posed a threat to Egypt. They didn’t. It never crossed their minds. They were content to continue living in the land, eating good food, enjoying the peace and protection Egypt offered. It felt like they thought home should feel. But it wasn’t home.  

By the time the fourth Israelite generation came along, a Pharaoh came to power who didn’t know their backstory. At all. Apparently, he had never read the historical scrolls. He knew nothing about a multiple-year famine. He had no clue who Joseph was. He didn’t know the Egyptians owed their very existence to the God-inspired engineering of a purchased Israelite slave. What he did know was their numbers were large and growing. He knew they were powerful in their own right. He knew if he and his people didn’t get control over the Israelites, they would have to keep them happy lest they become disgruntled and side with the enemies of Egypt against them. He knew that would spell disaster. For his people. For his country. For his reign. (Exodus 1:6-10)

Gathering his leaders together, they devised a plan they believed would protect their land from the alleged power of the Israelites. Pharaoh clearly knew nothing of the people he was attempting to oppress. He knew nothing about the Israelite’s God. He failed to understand and acknowledge the power that was on their side. In what he believed was a stroke of genius, Pharaoh forced the Israelites into submission by making them slaves. Not household servants. Not cooks, housekeepers, and stable boys. Slaves. People assigned back-breaking labor overseen by brutal taskmasters. People were so oppressed and overworked that they had time for nothing else. No planning meetings with the enemy. No forming uprisings. No plotting against a paranoid Pharaoh. Nothing but work, eat, and sleep. Surely this would stop their growth, tame their numbers, break their spirits. The Israelites would be securely under their thumb, completely reliant on Egypt for every need. Right where Pharaoh wanted them. (Exodus 1:11-14)

Except the plan didn’t work. In spite of the difficulties, the Israelites kept growing. As their workload increased, so did their numbers. And Pharaoh’s anxiety grew. Exponentially. Desperate to stop the population influx and keep control over the people, he called in the Israelite midwives and ordered them to kill every baby boy the moment it was born. Have no mercy. Spare no child. They may have nodded their heads in consent, but Puah and Shiphrah weren’t having it. The request was beyond the pale. They wouldn’t be cooperating. And they didn’t. Much to Pharaoh’s dismay, every baby born in Israel was allowed to live. Girls and boys alike. 

Pharaoh was enraged. His plan wasn’t working. Something was happening out among the Israelites that he didn’t understand. They were surviving, thriving even. It shouldn’t be this way. Not if his plan was working. But there was no report of perished baby boys. There was no sign of the foreigners’ numbers shrinking. No indication that the work orders, the death threats, the evil measures enacted against them were having the desired effect. So he tried again. Issuing a ferocious order, he demanded all Israelite baby boys be thrown into the Nile River. Sink or swim. Be fish food. He really didn’t care. And he never changed his mind. In spite of the lack of evidence that a grand coup was coming, Pharaoh never lifted the work orders. He never gave them their lives back. Instead, he passed the entire process on to the next Pharaoh, who continued the oppression and bondage. (Exodus 1:15-22, 2:23)

When the new king did nothing to change their circumstances, the people of Israel finally realized Egypt was not their home. It never would be. They were never going to be comfortable here again. Shouldn’t have gotten comfortable in the first place. They had focused on where they were and forgotten where they were going. They had allowed the comforts of enemy territory to become the habits of their lives. Now things had gone sideways, and they were trapped in a land where they didn’t belong under the oppression of people who operated out of fear rather than faith. Distressed, discouraged, desperate, they realized the error of getting too comfortable in the wrong place. Acknowledging their need for divine intervention, all Israel cried out to God for a reprieve, a rescue, a relocation. And God answered. Just not immediately. (Exodus 2:23-25)

Eventually, Moses arrived. He brought Aaron with him. The people thought they would be released. It wasn’t so. Not yet. Pharaoh was stubborn. Hardhearted. Evil. He refused to let them go peacefully. He increased their workloads. Again. It seemed like they would never be free. Maybe Egypt really was their home. Ten plagues later, Pharaoh finally let them go. Pushed them out, really. Not that he left it that way. He didn’t. He chased them down. God had to physically separate the Red Sea and create dry land for them to safely escape his army. They had little food with them. Water was scarce. Quickly, they came to the end of their resources. And arrived at the beginning of their complaints. 

The wilderness wasn’t as good as Egypt. The food wasn’t appetizing. The housing wasn’t comfortable. Freedom didn’t look the way they thought it would. Arriving at the promised land wasn’t happening as fast as they thought it should. In the midst of their discomfort, they fussed and fumed about how much better Egypt was than this. They could still smell the cucumbers, leeks, and melons. Their minds could still picture the bounty. They should have stayed. Should have made it their forever home. Why did God bring them out of Egypt with the promise of a permanent home, only to lead them into the wilderness to die? 

 From the comfort of my home, with food in the cupboards, water flowing from the sink, and temperature controls on the wall, I feel indignant every time I read this account and see the things they didn’t. These people were already home. The pillars of cloud and fire proved it. God was with them. Always. He was their home. He was the place they would find everything they needed. He was their Protector, their Provider, their Sustainer. He claimed them as His people. He promised to be their God. The lack of gourmet food and permanent housing notwithstanding, God was with them, watching over them, feeding them, leading them, protecting them. He was shepherding them every step of the way, carefully bringing them to the promised land. What more could they have possibly needed? (Exodus 4:29-17:13)

What more do you need? In a world that pushes us to believe we need more and more and more, what if you found all you need in Jesus? What if you looked to Him for your strength and encouragement? What if you drew guidance from reading His Word? What if He was your sounding board for every word you speak, every message you write? What if you blindly placed your faith in Him to supply your needs, sustain your soul, survive the struggles of this life? What if you realized Jesus is all you need? What if you made your home in Him and let His home be in your heart?      

I hope you do just that. Make your home in Christ. Get to know Him so well you are comfortable in His presence. May it be the only place you long to be. May you come to know Him as your resting place, your hope, your comfort, your peace. Allow Him to make His home in you. Cleanse your heart. Change your mind. Correct your behavior. Allow Christ to set up in you a place that cannot be altered by the shifting moods and opinions of the world because it is firmly settled in the only place that can ever truly be your home. The presence of Christ alone. Today. Tomorrow. Always. This is home. (Psalm 23:1, 27:5, 61:3, 84:2, 90:1; Deuteronomy 33:27; Ephesians 3:17; II Corinthians 6:16; John 14:23)