Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

They were tired of being here. In this wilderness. At this campsite. By this mountain. They were tired of waiting. It was all they had done since they arrived. At least it was all they remembered. Moses had disappeared up the mountain for weeks. No messages back. No postcards of his progress. Just radio silence while they sat in the wilderness, waiting for his return, suspended between the promise of heaven and the memory of hell. Hell was most certainly behind them. Slavery in Egypt could be considered nothing less. The brutal conditions. The violent taskmasters. The impossible workload. It had been hell on earth. 

Stagnating in this wilderness was a close second. The food wasn’t great. The conditions barely tolerable. Water was often scarce. The terrain was unforgiving. But. Heaven was allegedly ahead of them, the promise of God for a land overflowing with abundance. Milk. Honey. Lush grass. Flourishing trees. Flowing water. Great abundance. They were anxious there. That final, delightful dwelling place. But they hadn’t moved in weeks. Months. Even though Moses had returned, they were still here. Stuck in their own purgatory. Waiting for Moses to give the signal.  Waiting for the pillars of cloud and fire to move. Waiting for the moment the promise would be a reality. Yet, as another silent morning dawned, they had to wonder if they were to blame for the extended stay. 

Admittedly, they had gone off the rails. Even for them. They weren’t averse to some grumbling and complaining. They experienced only a twinge of guilt at having wildly pouted until manna and meat fell from the sky. But creating, celebrating, and worshipping an actual idol was a step too far. Even for them. They knew it when they started the process, when they approached Aaron and twisted his arm, when they exuberantly collected their gold jewelry and threw it into the melting pot. It hadn’t mattered then. Their singular focus was retribution for Moses’ abandonment. He had left and taken too long to return. Their fickle faith had failed. They were bored. Their minds were wandering. The enemy was roaming the camp, liberally sprinkling discontent and angst. They needed something to do. Something to celebrate. Something to worship. Something, someone, to believe in because Moses had disappeared. 

Molding the calf, preparing the feast, and planning the celebration had gone beautifully. Better than expected. Until it hadn’t. Until Moses returned in the middle of their tumultuous festivities. It was a surprise. For all of them. The people and Moses alike. Moses was beyond angry. He was irate. Infuriated. Absolutely incandescent. The stone tablets inscribed with God’s own handwriting, carefully hauled down the mountain, ended up in a crumbled pile at his feet. Had a whip been readily available, he would have liberally doled out an Old Testament-style thrashing, foreshadowing the New Testament-style cleansing Jesus gave the temple. These people needed cleansing! They deserved stoning. Had Moses’ mind been clearer, he may have been inclined to use the broken tablets at his feet to stone them! They deserved it. Instead, striding into camp full of fury and purpose, Moses tore down their idol, ground it to powder, threw it in the water, and forced everyone to drink it. It did not taste good. It was disgusting. Their stomachs revolted. Violently. Perhaps they would have preferred the thrashing. Or not. Because Moses wasn’t done. 

Shouting to the camp, Moses commanded everyone who would side with God to step forward. Stillness fell. Silence reigned. Steadfast gazes stared downward. Except in the Levite division. Boldly stepping forward, ever ready for action, they took their orders from Moses. “Grab your swords. Cleanse the camp.” Don’t be careful. Don’t be judicious. Don’t go soft. Spare no one and nothing. Brothers. Friends. Spouses. Neighbors. Cleanse every part of the camp. And they did. But God wasn’t done.

Knowing their hearts, the part of them that mattered, God knew they could pretend to repent. They could stop openly worshipping the idol, remove their jewelry, put away their fine clothes, and mourn pitifully without it meaning a thing. He knew they weren’t with Him. They hadn’t truly repented. They weren’t really changed. They chose not to be. So God sent a plague to get their attention. Illness fell. They were weak and miserable. It changed nothing. Their hearts remained stubborn and rebellious. They never fully turned to God. They never really changed. They didn’t welcome His presence among them or ask Him to accompany them on their journey. They refused to make a space for Him, unable to realize that without God, they were never leaving the wilderness. Because Moses was going nowhere without Him. 

It was a discussion God and Moses had on more than one occasion. God would tell Moses to lead the people forward. He would promise the leadership and protection of His angel. He plainly stated it was for the people’s own safety that He not accompany them. Their rebellion would soon lead to their destruction if He were present. Moses wasn’t having it. No matter how many times he heard God say, “Go ahead and lead the people to the land I promised.” Moses also heard the caveat, “I will not be travelling with you.” Moses couldn’t think of anything less appealing. Leading a troupe of brats and hooligans through the wilderness without even the whisper of God’s presence among them was a terrifying thought. He couldn’t do it. It was beyond his ability, leaving them in limbo. Moses couldn’t handle them. God couldn’t stomach them. The possibility of entering the promised land was looking dim, because Moses was taking them nowhere unless God was going along. 

Daily the people watched as Moses trekked outside the camp to pray in the Tent of Meeting. They watched the pillar of cloud come down and cover the entrance. They knew he was talking to God. Personally. Face to face. Inside that tent, Moses begged and bartered and bargained with God. There was no way he could or would go forward without the promised presence of God. He was under no illusion that he could lead these people on his own. He had already proven his inability. How often had he been angry with them? How often had he wanted to throw in the staff and leave this bunch of crazies to fend for themselves, wilderness or not? And how many times had God given him the strength and courage and wisdom to lead a people who wouldn’t recognize a proper choice if it sat down beside them? Every time. Every time Moses was overwhelmed and frustrated and angry with the people or the situation, God had carried him. Directed him on how to handle every situation. Without God’s presence, Moses could do nothing. He knew it. And he was absolutely not interested in pushing forward without God now. Unless God went with them, they would end up lost and confused and probably dead. Moses believed that. He believed they needed God to go with them. So he stood his ground, planted his flag, and made his choice, “If You aren’t going, Lord, I’m not going either.” (Exodus 32:1-33:17)

Moses didn’t want to be anywhere God wasn’t. Not in the wilderness. Not on the trail. Not in the promised land. Moses understood the importance of God’s continual presence. Going before them. Following behind them. Hovering over them. He was fully aware that their defining characteristic, the one thing that separated them from everyone else in the world, the thing that brought them safe travels and miraculous victories, was the presence of God among them. His glorious presence that covered their encampment. Peaceful presence that engaged with His people. Powerful presence that shut down enemies, brought water from rocks, and sent food from the sky. Preserving presence that made shoes and clothes last for decades. No holes. No wear and tear. No problems. Moses was absolutely not confused about the mess that would ensue if he tried to lead the people on his own. It would be an epic failure. And he wasn’t having it. As much as he wanted to move forward on their journey, as much pressure as he felt from the people to break camp and get started, he would only do so if God was going along. Because Moses only wanted to be where the presence of God was. So should you. (Deuteronomy 8:4; Nehemiah 9:21; Exodus 16; 17:1-13) 

Echoing from the depths of our hearts, in every situation, should be the words of Moses. Before every decision, they should be the prerequisite. “If God’s not going, if God’s not in it, if God doesn’t sanction it, I’m not interested.” They should be playing on loop in the heart of every person who claims to know and love and follow Jesus Christ. We should be deeply cognizant of the unmitigated importance of having the presence of God surrounding us, accompanying us, and leading us through every moment of every day. Wherever we are. Whatever we are doing. Whoever we are with. No matter what. We need Emmanuel. God with us. Literally. We need His thoughts in our minds. We need His words on our lips. We need His hand guiding our actions. We need His peace, His courage, His strength, His wisdom. We cannot live this life on our own. We will fail. We will crumble at the first sign of trouble. We will capitulate to friends. We will cave to social pressure. We will collapse under the weight of the demands of life. We need God with us. Every step of the way. Everywhere we go. No matter the promised joys or potential benefits,  if God’s not going, you shouldn’t be, either. (Exodus 33:14-15; Deuteronomy 13:4; 31:8; Joshua 1:5; John 14:27; 15:5; Psalm 16:11; Proverbs 21:23; James 1:5; Isaiah 40:31; Lamentations 3:25)

Shocked amazement rapidly turned to exhilaration as they looked into the eyes of their son. Bright eyes. Clear eyes. Intelligent eyes. Eyes overflowing with joy, excitement, and laughter. Tears poured down all of their faces. Their overflowing hearts nearly burst with emotion. Their son, the one everyone knew had been born blind, the one who regularly sat on the street corner begging, the one every doctor said would never see, could now see! Blue sky. Green grass. Bright flowers. Dark earth. His stare was no longer blank. He needed no one to guide him as he walked. Although they hadn’t been there to witness the miracle, the proof stood before them. Their son, born blind, could now see. They were beyond grateful.  

They were also afraid. Not without reason. Before they had time to absorb the initial shock, the couple found themselves unceremoniously summoned before the religious leaders to give an account of their son’s healing. It was an impossible ask. They hadn’t witnessed the event. They didn’t know the details. They had only their son’s explanation. They had no reason to disbelieve him. They knew his diagnosis. They had seen the results of his encounter. They knew what he said was true. It didn’t mean they wanted to repeat the story. Especially not to the men who could eject them from the temple. Permanently. Make them outcasts. They knew the men would find the account impossible to believe. They had found it nearly impossible themselves. Except they had seen the evidence. It spoke for itself. Their son was blind. Now he wasn’t. It was a miracle. 

Fear had the words sticking in their throats. They didn’t want to be outcasts. To be expelled from the temple would be an enormous blight on their character. They would lose friends, social status, religious affiliation. Business associates would turn their backs. Neighbors would ignore them. Relatives may alienate them. Their earthly lives would be shattered if they promoted the truth of Jesus’ miraculous work. It was all they could think about. 

Choosing their words carefully, the parents sought to separate themselves from the miracle. They agreed the man was their son. They admitted he had been born blind. It was obvious he could now see. But they hadn’t been there to witness the event. They didn’t know who had done what. They weren’t certain anyone had done anything. They had no idea who or what or how he had received his sight. And they absolutely couldn’t speak for him. Wouldn’t speak for him. If the religious leaders wanted to know how their son had been healed, they would have to ask him. He was an adult. He could speak for himself, risk his own temple admission, endanger his own social future. That was a choice he would have to make for himself. And he did.     

Standing before the religious leaders for the second time, the man retold the events of his fantastic account. He was sitting in his normal spot, minding his own business, holding out his cup in hopes of coins from the passersby, when Jesus’ disciples decided to stop and ask questions. About him. Why was he blind? Had his parents sinned? Had he sinned? In a voice brimming with confidence, Jesus answered. No one had sinned. Not mom. Not dad. Not him. The affliction wasn’t a punishment. At all. They were not inherently bad people whose son was suffering for their sin. No. It was better than that. The affliction had a purpose. God’s purpose. There was a plan behind his blindness. God’s plan. For that day. That moment. It was through his blindness that Jesus would reveal God to everyone. And He did.

Declaring Himself to be the light of the world, Jesus spit in the dirt, mixed up some mud, slathered it on his eyes, and sent him to wash his face in the pool of Siloam. There were likely closer places to wash his face. Surely some nearby home or establishment had a pitcher of water. Maybe he was tempted to stop at a well or spring along the way to speed up the process. He didn’t. In total trust and absolute obedience, the blind man left the mud to dry on his face and walked to the exact place Jesus told him to wash. Once there, he dipped his face and scrubbed with his hands until every grit of dirt was gone. Standing up, with water dripping from his chin, he looked around. The darkness was gone. The light was shining. He could see! 

Comprehending who, exactly, had touched his eyes, the man returned to the scene of his miracle only to be disappointed. Jesus had moved on. He had wanted to thank Him. Follow Him. Learn from Him. He couldn’t. But he could testify about Him. And he did. He didn’t really have a choice. A crowd engulfed him upon his arrival. They knew him. They remembered him. They recognized his face, if not his eyes. They struggled to believe his version of events. He was healed. Blind for half a lifetime, he could now see. He could walk without a guide. He could find a job. Make a living. Find a bride. Build a family. They could barely believe their eyes, but when they asked, he confirmed it. He was that guy. The blind guy. Jesus had given him sight.  

Standing before the religious leaders, the man’s exuberant story never changed. Not the first time, nor the second. He had been blind. Now he could see. Jesus had done it. He couldn’t explain it better than that. He didn’t have medical knowledge or miraculous explanations. He knew only that one thing. He was blind. Now he wasn’t. Because Jesus touched him. That was his story. He was sticking to it. No matter the outcome. 

His parents were a different story. Standing before the religious leaders, being interrogated about their son’s miraculous healing, like witnesses before a court, they completely missed their moment. Their moment to choose. Stand up and be counted for Jesus, or shrug their shoulders and slink away into the crowd. Weighing the options, they decided the earthly reward of social acceptance and religious approval was more important than following Jesus. By shifting the focus and claiming ignorance, they could keep from being shunned. They could still worship at the temple, offer sacrifices, be purified from their sins. Their social circles wouldn’t change. They would be included in celebrations. Their son would still be healed. From where they were standing, it looked like an enormous win for them. They gained everything and sacrificed nothing. Until the religious leaders they sought to please excommunicated their son. 

Hating the words he spoke about Jesus and the gospel he inadvertently preached, the religious leaders threw the now sighted man out of the temple. He couldn’t come back. Ever. He was an outcast. A pariah. He wasn’t welcome in their community. No one could do business with him. No one was to associate with him. Not his friends. Not his neighbors. Not his parents. They had no one to blame but themselves. 

It was their own fault they had chosen not to stand up for their son and back his miraculous story. No one had forced them to look truth in the face and choose lies because it was easier. Safer. Less difficult. It was their own decision to choose their social group, their religious traditions, their personal comfort over Jesus. It was their personal choice to decide that something, anything, was worth more than Jesus. It was them alone who chose to deny Him. Because that is what they did. It is the worst part of the whole account. When given the opportunity to stand up for Jesus, to be His people and claim Him as their God, in fear for their social amenities, the parents crumpled like a wet paper towel. Unfortunately, it feels very familiar. (John 9:1-34)

In our world, where we are pressured on every side to align ourselves, our beliefs, our standards, our morals with things that do not align with God’s Word, we have the opportunity to stand up and be counted for Jesus or slink away and melt into the crowd. It is so easy to do the latter. Hide our beliefs. Soft sell sin. Short sell God. Pretend His Word is negotiable, His laws are bendable. It isn’t. They aren’t. God didn’t waste words or make rules He didn’t intend to enforce. He hasn’t rewritten the guidelines to fit our culture, our society, our day, our age. God doesn’t change. Neither do His requirements. His people can’t, either. You can’t pick and choose which parts of His Word you want to support and which you prefer to leave behind. God didn’t call you to be His editorial staff. He called you to follow Him. Blind faith. Absolute obedience. Unwavering devotion. No matter the outcome. (I John 2:15; Isaiah 40:8; Psalm 111:8; 119:89; Malachi 3:6; II Corinthians 5:7; Acts 5:29; John 12:26; Matthew 16:24) 

Fear calls you to do the opposite. It tells you to second-guess your decision to follow Jesus. It promises you short-term consolations. Public praise. Social acceptance. Surface friendships. Fleeting relationships. Flawed networks. Fear says you should compromise your beliefs. Just a little at first. Then a lot. It encourages you to distort the truth of God’s deity with definitions of humanity. Eliminations. Substitutions. Limitations. Fear boxes you in and makes you live in bondage to public opinion when God wants to give you freedom. Freedom to stand on the truth of His word in the face of threats, taunts, and persecution. Freedom to live in Him, walk with Him, trust in Him. No matter the outcome. (II Timothy 1:7; Proverbs 29:25; Galatians 5:1; Romans 8:15; I Peter 2:16; Ephesians 3:12; Psalm 119:45) 

Night had finally settled over the town. It was time for his mission. The dark blanket of sky lit only with a handful of stars and a sliver of moon offered the perfect cover. And he was ready. So ready. Pulling the hood of the dark cloak tightly around his face, he tiptoed to the door, carefully lifted the latch, and slipped through the portal. Pausing on the stoop, he furtively glanced to the right and left, studied the neighboring houses, searched for signs of people milling about. No one. The neighborhood was silent, still. Good. Quietly closing the door behind him, he hurried down the street, making a quick turn into an alley at the sudden sound of approaching voices. He didn’t want to be seen. Couldn’t afford to be recognized. Wasn’t interested in the possible consequences of being followed. Winding his way around buildings and down alleys, Nicodemus finally reached his destination, squared his shoulders, and prepared himself to find the truth. 

Slipping up to the door, Nicodemus knocked and held his breath. He forced himself to stand tall and still as he waited. It didn’t take long. As Jesus’ face appeared around the open door, Nicodemus released his pent-up breath. He had made it. Safely. No one had seen him. No one had questioned his movements. No one knew where he was. Except Jesus. And it was safe here. Safe to ask questions. Safe to find understanding. Safe to place his faith in what he believed to be true, in what all the evidence suggested was the truth. Because there was more to Jesus than everyone thought. He wasn’t just a miracle worker with special dispensation from God. He wasn’t only a gifted teacher sent from Heaven. Those were the things everyone believed. Everyone knew from the visible evidence that Jesus had been sent to earth by God. There had been no subterfuge, no effort to hide the fact. There was also no arguing with his miracles. Proof right before their eyes. A mountain of evidence manifesting that Jesus was absolutely heaven-sent. God-given. A gift to mankind. A teacher full of spiritual revelation. They all knew it. Nicodemus knew it. But he also believed there was more. 

Perched on the edge of his seat, his head full of questions and his time limited by the few remaining hours of darkness, Nicodemus plunged right to the heart of his visit. There was no reason for small talk. He didn’t care about the weather or what type of flowers were blooming out front. He wanted to get to know Jesus. Really know Him. So he started by stating what he already knew and believed. What everyone already knew. What the physical evidence had proven to be true. God had sent Jesus. To them. Everyone knew this to be true. It was irrefutable. His miracles had given Him away. He was sent by God. The question remained, was He the promised Messiah, or simply a teacher, a prophet, a person with the gift of healing? 

The facts of His power spoke for themselves. No one could do the things Jesus did unless they were authorized by God. Everyone knew that. Whether or not they chose to publicly admit it, they knew it. It was undeniable. No one had come along with healing power since a handful of old prophets centuries ago. Even John the Baptist, with all his preaching and baptizing, hadn’t performed miracles. Only Jesus had done that. But it wasn’t just the miracles for Nicodemus. It was more than that. It was the way He taught. It was the things He taught. It was how He confidently referred to God as “my Father.” It all held an air of more. More presence. More power. More authority. And Nicodemus was starving to know if he was right, if there was more. More to know. More to experience. More Jesus for mankind. 

Nicodemus’ instincts were spot on. There was more to have than simple knowledge about Jesus. There was a relationship. With Jesus. In fact, relationship with Jesus was imperative. He needed it. He needed to repent and be born again. He needed spiritual life breathed into his soul. He needed to believe that Jesus was the Son of God and place His faith for salvation and eternal life in Jesus alone. Not in knowledge. Not in tradition. Not in religion. Not in all the laws he could quote or his own obedience to them. No. Nicodemus had to know Jesus. Personally. He had to obey Jesus. Daily. Eternal salvation was available, but only to those who believed that Jesus was God’s Son, who obeyed His commands, who daily lived in relationship with Him. Though many others chose not to, Nicodemus believed. (John 3:1-21)  

Jesus wasn’t alone in telling His story and calling people to Himself. In another town, John the Baptist was preaching the same gospel. Inspired by God, he was busy teaching that Jesus was God’s Son. The miracles were from God. The teaching was about God. The Teacher was God. His own Son. The fulfillment of prophecy. God in human flesh. Over and over, he pointed out the truth. Jesus was God. The Messiah. They still weren’t getting it. Refused to believe it. He had no idea what it would take to make them believe. Finally, in words that could not be misunderstood, he told them. “Anyone who believes that Jesus is the Son of God and enters an obedient relationship with Him will have eternal life. Everyone who denies Him will experience eternal death.” It couldn’t have been plainer. No one could miss the facts. They were as obvious as Jesus’ miracles. Everyone who had seen the miracles and heard the teaching knew how to find eternal life. They all knew. Still, not everyone chose to find it. (John 3:22-36) 

It’s such a familiar story. Not the one about Nicodemus. The one about humanity making poor choices. The one where people seek book knowledge and degrees and titles and status, but never seek eternal life. The story where the activities and pull of the world are more important than sitting at the feet of Jesus. The one where full church seats on Sunday are not indicative of full obedience on Monday. The tale where selfish humanity begs God for physical and financial miracles, but offers nothing of themselves in return. Not their time. Not their money. Not their resources. The deeply disturbing narrative so prevalent in our day, where everyone knows the truth in their heads, but denies it in their hearts, because the social construct is to serve yourself, love yourself, care for yourself above everything else. It leaves no time, no space to follow the command of Jesus to love God with your entire being and love others as you love yourself. It is a story that allows no place for an obedient relationship with Jesus Christ. No matter what you know. It is a story about humanity, a depiction of the human heart, that hasn’t changed since the dawn of time. What you know doesn’t matter. Who you know does. (John 17:3)

You see, knowing about something means nothing unless you employ that knowledge. You can know all about Jesus, His miracles, His teachings, His promises, but if you choose not to take it a step further and actually know Jesus Himself, your knowledge is useless. It will gain you nothing. Not forgiveness. Not peace. Not eternal life. You can quote the entire Bible in the original language, pontificate on the historical meaning of every passage, interpret the words of Jesus to the best of your ability, but unless you choose to enter a relationship with the Author, all you know is the Book. A collection of stories. A list of ancestors. A tome of teachings. Unless you know Jesus, you know nothing. But when you know Jesus, you know everything you need to know. 

This was the whole point of Jesus’ conversation with Nicodemus. The man came to Him, an avid student of Jesus’ teachings and miracles, knowing all about Him. He had listened to every religious leader’s opinion regarding Jesus. He had listened to his neighbors and friends ideas. He had gathered as much information as possible. He knew everything he could about Jesus. It all meant nothing. Until Nicodemus came to know Jesus personally. That personal knowledge was the point of all the miracles and signs. The sole purpose. To draw people to Jesus. To bring them near. To foster a relationship. Proper relationship. Obedient relationship. Jesus wanted to bring people, all people, to a place where their sins were forgiven and their eternity was settled. Jesus came to know people and to be known by people. He came to be in relationship with us. All of us. It is the reason He came. Relationship with God the Father. Peace through the blood of the cross. Erased sin. Evaporated guilt. Eternal life. We can all have it. We can all know Him. Not just about Him. We can have more than knowledge. We can have a relationship. We can know Jesus. He is everything we need to know.  (John 14:15; Deuteronomy 5:33; I Samuel 15:22; I John 5:12; Colossians 1:20; 2:14) 

Decorously watching from her place at the front window, she smoothed a hand down the front of her robe and tucked a stray hair back into place. Excitement had her heart beating wildly in her chest. He was here! Coming down the path to her house. She could hardly stand the wait. She loved His visits. Cherished them. These moments when Jesus stopped to visit and spend time teaching in her living room were the highlights of her life. Nothing mattered more. Not the cleaning. Not the cooking. Not the dozens of tasks that normally filled the hours of her day. When Jesus was there, things were different. The dusting could wait. The sweeping could stop. The elaborate cooking could be replaced with simple bread and cheese. There was nothing so desperately in need of attention that Mary wouldn’t gladly set it aside to spend a few hours at Jesus’ feet. 

It was exactly where her sister found her. Decorum gone, she had plunked herself down nearly on top of His feet. Her legs were obviously criss-crossed under her robe. Elbows rested on her knees. Chin in her hands. Body leaned forward at the waist. Eyes trained on Jesus’ face. Ears tuned to every word. Mind filing every truth for later contemplation. Mary sat entranced, completely oblivious to the fact that Martha had plans. Big plans. Elaborate plans. Plans that required help and hands, scurrying and scuttling. Plans that left no time to sit and learn and lean. 

Martha didn’t have time to hang about listening to stories and lessons. She didn’t even have time for a proper visit with their guest. Not that she didn’t want to do so. She did. But she was busy doing the work. All of the work. Enough for two. Too much for one. She very much needed Mary to pull her head out of the clouds and help. There was still cleaning to finish. The table needed to be arranged. The food wasn’t completely prepared. And someone was going to have to help serve. No matter how adept she was at juggling tasks, a girl could only do so much on her own. Yet there sat Mary, enraptured by Jesus’ words, heedless to the havoc her absence in the kitchen was causing. 

Several times Martha had snuck to the doorway and tried to get her attention. She’d waved her apron. Whispered her name. Snapped her fingers. Cleared her throat. Nothing worked. She seemed to be invisible. Or Mary was really good at ignoring her. Disgruntled, Martha finally approached Jesus. He was reasonable and fair. He could judge between them. Considering the unfairness of the workload, Jesus would surely tell Mary to get off her seat and help her sister. Mary needed to pull her share of the load. Surely Jesus would agree with that! Except He didn’t. 

In loving and gentle words of rebuke that would repeat in Martha’s mind over the coming days, Jesus declined. Mary needed to be right where she was. Martha was welcome to be there as well. Jesus didn’t visit so He could judge the cleanliness of the house or the quality of the food set before Him. He didn’t care if the table was elaborately decorated. He wasn’t interested in a four-course meal with all the trimmings. No. That wasn’t why He came. Jesus came to visit so He could teach them more about God. He stopped to encourage their hearts and feed their souls. He was not at all interested in sending Mary out to be distracted by the things of earth. He was happy to have her where she was. Learning. Leaning in. Completely distracted by the things of Heaven. (Luke 10:38-42)

Jesus knew there would be plenty of time for the things of earth, the ideas of the world, the pressures of life to creep in and distract Mary. Things would happen to make her question her faith and what she knew about God. She would be shaken to her core. Her brother, Lazarus, would die an untimely death that Jesus wouldn’t arrive in time to prevent. Not because they wouldn’t send for Him. They would. He simply wouldn’t arrive on time. Mary wasn’t going to understand His tardiness. In her angst and grief, her heart would be tempted to believe He had removed His love. Her grief would lay blame because the pain in her heart would overwhelm her memory of the lessons she’d learned at His feet. Her soul would be tempted to wander as she wondered how Jesus could withhold His presence when they so badly needed Him. Yet none of her wondering would keep her from going back to Him. Back to her place at His feet. The place where she learned to lean on Him and trust His word. 

For all the time Mary spent sitting at Jesus’ feet, soaking in His lessons, she learned one thing well. Lean in. Lean in to Jesus. Lean into His love. Lean into His promises. Lean into His commands and teachings. Listen and learn and lean. Don’t let the mundane things of life sneak in and rob you of your time with Jesus. Hear His words. Sit in them. Contemplate their meaning. Apply them to your life. Lean in to obedience and reverence and relationship. Know Him. Really know Him. Know His nature, His character, His heart. Know that He loves you. Know that He is working for you. And, when life takes an unexpected turn, lean in to His sovereignty. Sit there. Stay there. Trust His heart.  

It is what Mary was doing when she went to see Jesus as He sat on the outskirts of town. Leaning in. It didn’t change what happened when she got there. She didn’t become some docile being who couldn’t formulate words to exhibit the searing pain in her heart. Rather, Mary did exactly what she knew she could do. Spoke her heart to Jesus, painful words pushed through a throat tight with unshed tears. “If You had come when we sent word, my brother would still be living.” It sounded like an accusation. It wasn’t. Not really. It was more a statement of faith. For herself. A reminder to herself that she knew Jesus. She knew who He was. She knew His character, His nature, His heart. She knew that He was always working for the good of His people. And, even if she couldn’t understand why things had happened the way they did, why He was tardy, or what had been more important than her brother’s life, she knew she could still lean in and rest in His wisdom and love. (John 11:1-43)

We all need the reminder. As the world implodes around us, we need to remind ourselves of what we know about Jesus, what we have learned at His feet. His love. His care. His heart. As wars and hate and fear explode both far and near, we need to find ourselves back at His feet. Leaning in. Listening. Learning. We need to spend time in His Word. Really reading. Not just putting in time to check a box or brag at the next Bible study. We need to dig in deeply. Sit in His teachings. Search our own hearts. Allow ourselves to be challenged and changed. We need to pray. Really pray. Pour out our hearts to the Lord. Our needs and requests, yes, but our cares and concerns as well. We need to talk to God. About everything. Even if it doesn’t seem very flattering to Him. Tell Him anyway. He wants to hear what you have to say. No matter what it is. Then let Him answer. Sit in His presence as He addresses your words. Let Him speak. Let Him reveal His heart. Let His words of love and kindness, tenderness and care, wash over your soul and heal your heart. Stay there. Knowing this. Through every storm and trial and care of life, when you don’t understand, when it doesn’t make sense, when the timing seems off, when you are scared, shaken, or spooked, the great heart of God for His people never changes. He is always the same. He is sovereign. He is love. You can trust Him. Just lean in. (Hebrews 4:16; Lamentations 3:40: Psalm 62:8; 91:15; 139:23-24; 145:13; Job 42:2; Isaiah 45:6-7; Proverbs 21:1; Matthew 10:29; I John 4:16; John 15:4-7)    

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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