Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

A gentle sigh escaped her lips as she tucked the blankets more snugly around her sleeping baby. She wondered if hers was the first baby to spend His first night on earth cradled in a manger. This entire string of events would make quite the story for posterity. The journey to Bethlehem made arduous by her advanced pregnancy. The untimely labor pains. The unsanitized delivery conditions. The birth of a baby boy to a virgin mother heralded by angels and winked at by a star. It would make for an incredible tale. (Luke 2:1-20)

Lightly running the backs of her fingers over His plump baby cheek, Mary ruminated on what the future held for her newborn Son. Every fiber of her being wanted Him to stay at the family home, follow Joseph into carpentry, live, love, and die right there in their hometown. Her heart told her otherwise. She knew who He really was. She knew why He’d really come. She knew He was the fulfillment of the prophecies they’d been hearing for hundreds of years but did she know, did she surmise, did she have even the slightest notion her Son, the Messiah, would eat with publicans and sinners? Did she know He’d speak with unworthy women? Did she know the places He’d visit, the people He’d touch? Did Mary fully comprehend all the reasons He came? 

It seems unlikely. How could she? She couldn’t possibly have known about a tiny tax collector who scampered up a sycamore tree in hopes of catching just a glimpse of Jesus. As the crowd lined the street of Jericho, pressing together, hoping to be the one to whom the great Teacher spoke, Zaccheus tried to wedge his way in. It was an exercise in futility. He wasn’t tall enough, strong enough, liked enough for anyone to give way and let him through. Chief tax collector. Wealthy by scam. He had nothing to recommend him. No one to help him see. 

Frantically glancing down the road, his eyes fell on a giant sycamore tree. Its strong, leafy branches extended over the roadway. Immediately inspiration struck. Wheeling around, he raced behind the crowd, dodging children and a few straggling adults. With only seconds to spare, he scampered up into the tree and settled in those branches just above the road. Thinking to look from a distance and salvage the pride of needing to climb a tree in the first place, Zaccheus hunkered down among the leaves and branches of the tree. He only meant to look, after all. 

Stopping beneath the tree, Jesus looked up at the dangling feet visible through the leaves and called Zaccheus out. By name. He literally said, “Zaccheus, come down, I need to stay at your house today.” There was no hiding from Jesus. He came specifically for this reason. To seek and save the lost. And Zaccheus was certainly lost. Cheat. Scammer. Sinner. Those were all him. Until now. Now he had a reason to change. A reason to do better, be better. A reason to view eternity with hope, regardless of his past. A reason to look in his mirror and say, “I’m the reason He came.” (Luke 19:1-10)

Surely Mary never dreamed her Son would take a seat by a well in Samaria and strike up a conversation with a woman. A Samaritan woman. Astonished to see a Jewish man sitting nearby, the woman was even more flabbergasted when He asked her for a drink. What was He thinking? Jews didn’t talk to Samaritans. Ever. Yet there He sat, calmly asking her for a drink and talking about living water. Water that would eternally quench the thirst of her parched soul. 

She badly wanted that water! Her life was a mess. She’d spent years trying to satisfy the cravings of her sin-ridden heart. Husband after husband. Now a man who wasn’t her husband. The things they whispered about her were every one true. Adulteress. Sinner. Steeped in embarrassment, she’d quit trying to change. Hung her head in shame. Avoided the good people in town. Until now. Now she had reason to believe she could change. Reason to think help and hope were available. Reason to believe a heavenly eternity was possible. Even for her. A reason to peer in the looking glass her third husband had gifted her and say, “I’m the reason He came.” (John 4:4-26)

Caught up in his own goodness, the wealthy young ruler never thought for a second that eternal life wasn’t possible for him. He’d earned it. He’d kept all the commandments. Been faithful to his wife. Never killed anyone. The sheer magnitude of His wealth made stealing superfluous. His lofty social standing eradicated the need to embellish or alter the truth. He deeply revered his parents. He literally had no faults. No sins. He was flawless. Except he wasn’t. 

Never in a million words could that young man have predicted the words that would come from Jesus’ mouth. “Sell everything. Bless the poor. Follow me.” Mouth agape, the man stood in shocked silence. Sell it all? Everything he loved? Give up his lifestyle, his friends, his family, his things? No way! His things were too precious. His status too valuable. His lifestyle too comfortable. He loved them all more than he loved Jesus. 

Yet still Jesus offered. Knowing the outcome, knowing the deficit in that young man’s heart, Jesus still took the time to offer. Not some meaningless frippery He’d never have to follow through on, but a genuine offer for an eternal upgrade. Water of life for the dregs of sin. Found-ness for lostness. Heaven for Hell. For some elusive reason, the man declined, leaving us to wonder how often he looked at himself and regretfully bemoaned his loss, saying, “I was the reason He came.” (Luke 18: 18-30)

  Strapped to a cross beside Jesus, the thief had no misconceptions about what he deserved. He was getting it. His sin had brought about his early demise. The gaping chasm of a condemned eternity yawned before him. His last hope, his only hope, hung beside him, an innocent man condemned to die. It had been impossible not to hear the stories of healing and redemption and grace. They seemed like dreams and wishes then. Now they whispered hope. Hope for an eternal future. Hope beyond the grave. Hope that the last breath he breathed today wouldn’t be the last breath of his soul. 

Turning his head, between gasps of pain and the groping fingers of death, he accepted the gift hanging beside him. Forgiveness. Peace. Eternal life. Surely, on his final sigh, he whispered, “I’m the reason He came!” Because, in a moment of clarity, the condemned thief comprehended what we so often forget. Jesus came to seek and save the lost. All of us. Every. Single. One. (Luke 23:39-43)

We are each the reason Jesus came to earth. We are the reason He took on flesh. We are the reason He endured scorn and rejection. We are the reason He spent so many hours alone pleading with the Father for endurance and strength. We are the reason for His suffering, the beatings, the bleeding, the thorns. We are the reason He endured the nails. We are the reason He fought the harrowing battle to conquer Satan, sin, death, and hell. It was all for us. For me. For you. We all are the reasons He came. (Luke 23:39-43)

Billions of people have walked, are currently walking, and will someday walk this planet. We come from all walks of life. Our faces and skin, accents and languages, customs, and practices are all different. We are all the same. We are all sinners. Filthy. Wretched. Morally destitute. Spiritually bankrupt. There is nothing to recommend us. We deserve punishment for the sin in which we have so gleefully engaged. We deserve eternal death. But God…God sent Jesus to lay aside His divinity and put on humanity that we might gain eternity. We are the reason He came. All of us. Jesus came to seek and save the lost. Those who accept Him. Those who reject Him. Me. You. Your neighbor. Your boss. The thief, the scammer, the liar. The addict, the abuser, the adulterer. The murderer on death row and the prison chaplain alike. We deserve nothing, but Jesus gave up everything so we could gain something. The greatest thing. The greatest gift. Life. Abundant. Eternal. For you. For me. For everyone. The ability to look in the mirror, no matter who you are, where you’ve been, or what you’ve done, and say with absolute certainty, “I am the reason He came!” (John 10:10; Luke 19:10; Matthew 18:12; II Corinthians 5:15; I John 2:2; Romans 6:23; Revelation 22:17)

She took a moment to look long and hard at the reflection in her washing water. It was not a habit. In fact, she tried not to look. There was nothing to look at. Nothing worthwhile, anyway. The twinkle that used to be in her eyes had been replaced with the emptiness of shattered dreams and broken promises. The half-smile that used to tilt up the side of her mouth bringing out the dimple in her cheek had shriveled into a scowl of scorn and self-contempt. There was no reason to look at her reflection now. The unhappy picture was always the same.   

It had been a long time since she’d become who she was. So much had happened to bring her to this place. So many bad decisions, poor choices, disreputable resting places. She’d earned many of the names people called her. Pariah. Disgrace. Sinner. Some had been added out of hate. Unworthy. Unwanted. Unloved. She hoped they weren’t true, but couldn’t be certain. Years had passed since anyone had looked at her with anything but disdain. Fast fading was the hope that anyone ever would. 

Hope was like that. Fast fading. At least for her. She’d always hoped to change, be better, do good. She hoped for an opportunity to make her life worthwhile, meaningful, useful. The opportunity never seemed to present itself. It seemed she was stuck in an exitless cycle.  Over time, her hopes had dimmed. She’d nearly given up. Accepted her life the way it was. Wrote herself off as hopeless, helpless, useless. Almost. Until today. 

Today, that hope flickered to life as if it had never faded at all. She heard that Jesus of Nazareth was in town. He’d been the talk of the town for so long that even she had heard all about him. His miracles. His power. His teachings. His love. His mercy. His grace. She knew the idea He would speak to her was implausible. Good men never talked to her. But she had to know, had to find out for herself if His love really was for everyone. She needed to check for herself if His mercy was true. She deeply longed to feel in her soul the cleansing of grace she’d heard so much about. If it reached her. 

With boldness born of desperation, she loitered around corners she had no business frequenting, did a little eavesdropping, found a way to ask a few discreet questions. Finally, she learned where to find Him. She started to run in that direction but stopped short. She couldn’t approach Him without a gift. Wheeling around, she raced toward her hovel, flew through the doorway, scurried across the room to pull a vial of perfume, her most treasured possession,  from its hiding place. It was her favorite. A rare gift from a particularly pleasant patron. It was the best she had. It was all she had. She hoped it would be enough. Clutching her sacrifice tightly in her fist, she gathered her robe in her free hand and raced off to the place Jesus was said to be dining. 

She’d never been there before. Normally, she wouldn’t be allowed to enter. Today, everyone was so busy trying to impress their special guest they forgot to watch the door. Slipping in unnoticed, she tiptoed to the dining room. Hope surged in her soul as she discovered her information had been correct. Jesus was there! But doubt quickly evicted her hope. All those voices from days and years gone by sounded in horrific cacophony inside her head. Unworthy. Useless. Unwanted. Unloved. She shrank back, turning to creep out the way she had come. What if those things really were true? What if He said those things, too? What if she really was all those things people said she was? 

The first step toward the door was her last. She had to know. Had to hear it from His lips. Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she stiffened her spine, squared her shoulders, and stepped out to complete her mission. The truth would soon be revealed. She would finally know if she was worth it, worth anything. She wished she had more to offer Him. A cleaner past. Wiser choices. Fewer scars. Tears of sorrow flowed in unchecked rivers down her face. Grief for an ill-spent life oozed out in groaning sobs. The depth of her unworthiness enveloped her like the darkest shroud. She knew who she was. She knew what she had become. She knew He’d have every right to send her away. Yet still she went. She felt compelled to go. She had to know if there really was love that reached people like her. 

Knowing she could never face Him, never be worthy of speaking His name or meeting His gaze, she approached from behind in penitence and respect. Fear and anxiety clawed at her throat with each step. How would He react to her overture? As she reached the couch on which Jesus reclined, she slid to her knees, crawling the last couple of steps. Upon reaching Him, she did the only thing she could think of to do. She began to wash His feet. Not with water from a basin as a servant should have done, but with the rivulets of tears flowing from her face. Tears of guilt, regret, and sorrow. There were certainly enough of them. They kept coming. Years’ worth of tears. Tears of rejection, pain, betrayal, and fear. She couldn’t speak, could barely breathe, so she poured out her scarred, aching, broken heart to Jesus in her tears.

And something beautiful happened. Jesus heard her. Every single word she didn’t speak. Every pain and hurt she’d suffered. Every end-of-the-rope moment she’d endured. He felt her woundedness. Every cruel comment, every name she’d been called. Every time she’d looked at her reflection in the water and allowed those comments to become who she believed she was. And, with just a handful of words, He wiped it all away. He simply said, “Your sins have been forgiven.” Five words. Only five. Five words wiped away the words she was so used to hearing. Five words changed the theme of her story to worthy, useful, wanted, loved. Five words changed her life. Five words He was born to speak over and over again. (Luke 7:36-50)

Imagine the emotion as this woman, once so brutally scarred, finally pulls herself together and leaves that house. Watch as she races back to her home, grabs her water pitcher, and sloshes water into her basin. She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and leans over the bowl. Her hands are clenched in nervousness, but nothing can stop her now. She draws in yet another sustaining breath and slowly lifts her eyelids. What she sees brings tears to her eyes. Again. There’s something different there. Her eyes are softer, hope-filled. Her lips are lifted in just a hint of a smile. The aching sadness that etched her features is gone. The guilt cannot be found. Why? Because God looked down from Heaven and saw a different reflection than she did. He saw worth and value. He was moved with love and compassion. And He sent Jesus, to just the right place at just the right time, to change her story by speaking the words He was born to speak, “Your sins are forgiven.”  

I know there is more to this story. I know about the hank of hair drying towel. I know about the perfume foot anointment. I even understand the lesson Jesus is teaching. I’ve heard the account a thousand times. But today, well, today I can’t get enough of these words. I can’t get enough of their beauty. I can’t get enough of their value. I can’t get a strong enough grasp on their magnificence. I am overwhelmed by their mercy, love, and grace because I am a product of the same. Dirty, sinful, wilful, my unworthiness insurmountable, my tears the only words I could utter when I came to Christ. Yet still I came. Thank God! He spoke those timeless words to me too. I don’t deserve them. Could never earn them. There’s nothing I could do to redeem my life, but God…God sent His Son to be born in a stable so He could speak those words in response to my guilty tears. And I, when I dare to think on it, I am completely undone by His immeasurably magnanimous gift. (Isaiah 43:4; Romans 5:8, 20; Psalm 103:12; Romans 3:24) 

 Perhaps, in a moment of introspection, you find yourself sobbing over Jesus’ feet. Your sin and guilt and shame have brought you to a place where you can’t imagine feeling worthy or useful or loved. You acknowledge that you can’t rescue yourself. You admit you don’t deserve a rescue at all. You know, in the depths of your soul you can’t earn your way out of the mess you’ve made. Tears of hopeless, helplessness fill your eyes and cascade down your face. Know this. Jesus hears them. He hears the story behind the tears. He hears the pain, the regret, the remorse. He sees and hears and knows. And He’s been waiting for you to come. Waiting to speak over you those words He was born to say, “Your sins are forgiven.” (Ephesians 2:8-9; Acts 4:12; Titus 3:5; Romans 6:23; Psalm 103:10-11)

  I hope you listen closely. I hope you hear those words. Words of healing, help, hope. Words of worth. Words that change your story by flooding it in mercy, love, and grace. As the words leave His lips and land on your ears, I hope you let them settle down in your soul and heal your heart. I hope you wrap yourself in them like a sherpa blanket on a cold winter night and let Jesus hold you close through them. I ache for us to hear them! Really hear them. Grasp their importance. Believe them. Know they are true. I want those words to resound within our very beings in a timeless echo that will not let us go. Why? Because there is no greater gift, no present more precious. Christ was born for this! (John 3:16-17; II Corinthians 5:21; Ephesians 1:7; Colossians 1:21-22: I Timothy 1:15)

He couldn’t remember when they’d stopped asking, stopped petitioning God for a child. It hadn’t really been a conscious decision. As Elizabeth exited her obvious childbearing years, they had assumed their answer had come. There would be no child. The broken petitions had evolved into desperate cries for grace to accept God’s choice. It wasn’t that they didn’t believe in miracles. They did. They knew nothing was impossible with God. They also knew with absolute clarity that God’s plans and ways are better than anything humanity could contrive. (Isaiah 55:8-9)

Years had passed since they buried their dream of parenthood. Their disappointment hadn’t caused them to doubt God’s omnipotence, but apparently it had made them forget a few things. Like the prayers of Elijah that raised the widow of Zarephath’s son from the dead. Like the Shunammite woman’s son God’s prophet, Elisha, raised from the dead. Like the man whose dead body sprang back to life when it touched the resting bones of a previously passed Elijah. Perhaps the disappointment and sadness of broken dreams had clouded their memories, obscuring the proof that the God they served had a history of bringing things back to life. People. Petitions. Hopes. Dreams. (I Kings 17:17-22; II Kings 4:32-35; I King 13:20-21)

Perhaps if they had remembered, Zechariah’s angelic encounter with Gabriel wouldn’t have come as such an overwhelming shock. He had grown accustomed to the ornate carvings and molded cherubim of the temple, their beauty daily taking his breath away. The real thing was even more breathtaking. It also instilled more fear! What heavenly business would have an angel lying in wait for him? Had he sinned? He didn’t think so. Nothing came to mind.  He’d been faithful to God. Lived righteously. Fastidiously so. But why was the angel there? What was happening? Was he going home at the end of his shift, or would they be dragging his lifeless corpse from the temple and bearing sad news to his wife?

The reassuring voice of the angel broke through, “Don’t be afraid, Zechariah. That petition you prayed so long ago was heard and now, in God’s perfect timing, is being granted.” His scattered mind barely beginning to focus again, Zechariah struggles to decipher which petition was being granted. There had been many. Gabriel didn’t leave him wondering. A son was coming. To them. A miracle son years after it should be possible. Years after they had given up. Years after that first petition had left their lips. It was being fulfilled. God had heard. God had not forgotten. He had seen their tears, their patience, their faith and chose to reward them with a son no matter what medical science decreed. A baby was coming. They were to name him John.

John wasn’t going to be average, either. He would be a child on a mission, filled with the Holy Spirit while still in his mother’s womb. John would literally be born a Christian. His preaching would begin the turning of the Israelites back to the God they had so wildly abandoned. He would pave the way for the coming Messiah, the One for whom the people had grown tired of waiting. The One of whose coming they had become skeptical. John would be the preacher tasked with the job of preparing God’s people to accept the Savior when He came.

The whole event was unbelievable! The living angel. The exciting, glorious, amazing message. The unimaginable, nearly impossible task. Oddly, Zechariah focuses on the one part that seems most possible. The birth of a son to people well past their prime. Why did he stumble there? He knew the story of Isaac’s birth. The improbable circumstances, the unlikely timing. It was woven into the very fabric of his heritage. Yet still he questioned it. Why? Why did he ask something silly when the more puzzling question was how John would turn a bunch of backsliders into a people prepared to accept and embrace the coming Messiah? (Genesis 18, 24)

Zechariah had roughly 40 weeks of silence to contemplate his questions with all their possible answers. He had time to think and plan and pray. He had time to tell Elizabeth to name the baby growing in her assumed useless womb, “John.” But how much was he able to tell her through homegrown sign language and frustrating charades? Was he able to describe the angel? Convey the message? How did he tell her they would have a child? A miracle child blessed by God to be the forerunner of the Messiah?

Strangely missing from the accounts is Elizabeth’s reaction to her impending condition. Instead, upon discovering the pregnancy, she secludes herself for five long months. She does not go out and shout the news. She does not send word to her friends and family. There is no elaborate celebration. Outside of the quiet affirmation that God has looked on her favorably and eliminated her alleged disgrace among the people, Elizabeth remains silent. (Luke 1:5-25, 29-41)

I wonder why. Why did she keep her secret so long? Why did she choose to remain alone with a mute husband for months on end? Why does Elizabeth seem to show so little enthusiasm for an event she had desperately longed for, urgently prayed for, endlessly hoped for? What was going on in her mind, her heart as she spent countless hours in silence? 

The Bible doesn’t say it in a specific chapter and verse, but Elizabeth’s reaction to Mary’s even more important pregnancy indicates it is true, Elizabeth spent five months conversing with God. Drawing closer to Him. Tracing His hand of goodness over the childless years of her life. Extolling His compassion and greatness exhibited in the gift she now carried nestled beneath her heart. Elizabeth had to have spent that time with God. How else would she have had the grace, the strength, the love to greet Mary the way she did? 

See, Mary’s arrival would have been an opportune moment for the evil one to take up one of his favorite song and dance routines. He’d flood Elizabeth’s mind with questions. Why was Mary chosen for such an important role? She’s young and inexperienced. Why does she get special treatment? Why did God make you wait until you were old to have a child? Does God love her more than you? Is she His favorite? Is following God, being faithful, living righteously really worth it if He leaves you in the background?”  Oh, yeah! It was a perfect opening for the evil one, and we know he never misses a tick!

We know because we’ve been there. We have watched as our peers gain the blessings we only hope for, the child we prayed for, the success we dreamed of, the evil one has put on a grand display. In the dark hours of the night, when sleep evades your worry-ridden mind, he has spoken words of angst. Told you horrid lies. Said you were insignificant, unloveable, unworthy. Whispered the blatant untruth that every negative event in your life is the result of you not being good enough, holy enough, prayerful enough. Your illness. The lack of work notice. The broken-down car. The bad-hair day. The upset on the ball field. He says it’s all punishment. If you were better, those things wouldn’t happen to you. He says God is punishing, taunting, pushing you. Just checking to see if you were worth the price He paid. He says you are alone. God doesn’t care, doesn’t listen, doesn’t love you. He tells you God plays favorites. (I Peter 5:8)

I call rubbish! Flagrant lies! Traps, the lot of them! So does Elizabeth! If the evil one came at her with myriad accusations and questions, she paid them no mind. Not for a second. She refused to allow such refusal to crush her joy. Instead, she snatches Mary into her arms, does a little dance around the room, and cries out with loud rejoicing, “You are blessed to be chosen as the mother of the Messiah! The Child in your womb will be a blessing to the world! And, I, as undeserving and unworthy as any other human being, am blessed beyond measure that you would visit me while carrying the sacred Gift of God to mankind!” (Luke 1:42-45) As her joyous shouts echo from the windows of that home, the evil one hung his head and slunk away. And I, centuries later, laugh in pure, unmitigated delight.

Why? Let me tell you. After all the macho, big bad wolf persona the evil one pulls, it takes nearly no effort to route him. He is nothing. Less than nothing. Insignificant. Unworthy of our time or attention. Utterly unloveable. He is not the fearsome warrior he pretends to be. He is puny, pathetic, pregnable. He lies because he has nothing else to say. Literally nothing. Every word that proceeds from his mouth is a filthy lie from the pit of hell. And even if he gives pompous, eloquent speeches enrapturing thousands of people, just the mention of one name shuts him up and sends him packing. “Jesus!” (John 8:44; James 2:19; Luke 10:17; Philippians 2:9-10)

That’s who all the shouting was about on that day Elizabeth so exuberantly welcomed Mary into her home. The visit alone would not have warranted singing and shouting. The celebration was not about Elizabeth’s long-awaited pregnancy. The celebration was all about Jesus. The Messiah was coming. Redemption was on its way. Elizabeth could do nothing but rejoice that the hope of the ages was finally becoming reality. In her fantastic joy, she easily routed the enemy with glory and praise of Jesus. Because the truth is this, when the options are to praise Jesus or run, the evil one will wear out his track shoes. 

So speak His name. Speak the name of Jesus. In the best of times, in the worst of times, whatever times may come, speak His name. In penitence, petition, praise, call on Jesus. He will answer. Before anyone even imagined you could exist in this time and place, God’s love for you was so immense He sent His only Son to a humble birth, a lowly lifestyle, a criminal’s death, so you could be rescued from that idiot satan. And God won’t leave you alone in all the unpleasantness of this life. He will hold you steady and secure in the barrage of uncertainty. He will be your shelter in the storm of unfortunate events. He will be your stability when everything you count on is shaking and tumbling. And when the voice of the evil one starts those whispers in your ear (and he will), you don’t have to let him win. Just raise your eyes toward Heaven and speak His name. (Isaiah 33:6; James 4:7; II Corinthians 2:14; Proverbs 18:10)

Another slab of wood sailed into the rapidly increasing pile of rejects. The measurements were wrong. Again. He really needed to focus! But how do you focus on measuring boards when your mind is reeling, your stomach churning, your heart aching? How do you make sense of work when you can’t make sense of the bewildering events in your own life? How do you believe a story with absolutely no foundation, no evidence, no logic? How do you separate the truth from a lie? How do you make a choice when it seems you are missing half the facts? 

Heaving a sigh of frustration, Joseph dropped heavily into a chair, the conversation with Mary running on repeat in his mind. She was pregnant. It wasn’t his. Couldn’t possibly be. She claimed it was God’s. Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t. If it was, this was the greatest moment, the most significant pregnancy, the most important baby to grace the annals of history. If it wasn’t, well, that would be mortifying. He’d be forced to admit, if only to himself, that he had been swindled by a pair of gorgeous eyes and a brilliant smile. If it wasn’t true and he believed it, that would make him something he’d never been before–a fool. The title didn’t sit well.  

Choosing a course of action was a horrific conundrum. How do you make such a choice when you don’t know truth from error? By law, he could divorce her. It would follow the societal norm. Every other man he knew would file that in an instant. No one wanted to be saddled with an unfaithful woman. But Joseph was fond of Mary. And he wasn’t completely certain she was lying. Publicly setting her aside didn’t feel right. He wouldn’t choose to have her humiliated in such a way. He’d rather save her from disgrace. Quietly sending her away would be a better idea. Surely there was somewhere she could go. In time the rumors would fade, some other scandal would entertain the town gossips, and he would find another wife. A faithful woman. Someone he could trust.

His decision made, the day done, Joseph focused on rectifying the mess he’d made of his woodshop. He cleaned up the pile of inaccurately cut wood, organized the tools his frustration had tossed hither and yon and headed to bed. He wouldn’t head out to start the process tonight. Tomorrow was a new day. Tomorrow would be soon enough to get started on the dissolution. He’d procrastinate a little longer. Contemplate his decision overnight. Savor the memory of the relationship while he could. Think of Mary as the innocent to whom he’d been betrothed. Ponder his choice. Question it, because somehow, a dissolution didn’t feel like a solution at all. 

It is certainly a good thing Joseph didn’t immediately strike out to have a word with Mary’s father. The next day would have been a bit embarrassing. There would have been a lot of back and forth, hemming and hawing, rescinding and re-offering if he had. He would have lost face. Could have been labeled double-minded. It turned out Mary hadn’t concocted the most elaborate tale of all time from her treasure trove of girlhood dreams. It wasn’t an epic fairy tale at all. It was God-breathed truth. 

When his mind finally settled enough to fall asleep, Joseph had his own Heavenly visit. An angel came, called him by name, and asked him to do something unheard of. Go ahead and take the pregnant-to-someone-besides-him Mary as his wife. She had not been unfaithful. She had not been dishonest. She truly was carrying a child conceived by the Holy Spirit. A Son. The promised Messiah. Jesus. Savior. Emmanuel. And Joseph, a simple carpenter with no grand accolades, no great accomplishments, no fabulous following, was being asked to be His earthly father. The pleasure was all his. (Matthew 1:18-25)

I wonder what would have happened if Joseph had refused. He stood to benefit not at all from the arrangement. He would not become popular because his Son turned water to wine. He wouldn’t mingle with the disciples, trading stories of eventful moments in Jesus’ childhood. He wouldn’t stand at the foot of the cross as Jesus bequeathed his care to John. There would be no great monetary gain, no social standing, no sainthood. He wouldn’t be called to speak to thousands crammed into concert halls, recounting his life as the father of the Messiah. There would be no book deals, no media coverage. Indeed, his name would fade from the Gospels as if his importance was insignificant. If Joseph was basing his decision to marry Mary on how he would benefit, he’d surely have declined.  (John 2:1-11; John 19:26-27)

For all intents and purposes, Joseph was simply a placeholder, the guy that stood between Mary and complete social destruction. Without him, her Child would be illegitimate. She would no longer be accepted in polite society. Her alleged reputation would precede her. No other man would want her. She wouldn’t have been at the wedding in Cana to prompt the beginning of Jesus’ miraculous mission. She wouldn’t have spoken the command for the servants to do Jesus’ bidding. She’d have been unwelcome, uninvited. And people would have missed the miraculous because, tainted by his mother’s reputation, Jesus possibly wouldn’t have been there either. 

And what would we miss by not hearing those words echoing down through history, “Whatever He tells you to do, do it”? Who better to speak those words than Mary? She had done it herself. The words Gabriel had spoken to her seemed as improbable, impossible as water miraculously becoming wine. Yet still she accepted. Her husband had done it, too. His obedience was even more impressive than her own. He couldn’t claim the Child as his, would benefit nothing from the birth, the raising, the miraculous, yet still he obeyed. Because, thirty-odd years before the words would leave Mary’s lips, Joseph understood the worth of doing whatever God tells you to do. (John 2:5)

Enormous things. Giant donations. Epic moves. Fantastic speeches. Tiny things. Whispered prayers. Silent support. Wordless hugs. Not everything God asks you to do will set off the bells and whistles of society. Not every word you speak, song you sing, or prayer you pray is meant to be plastered over the Internet for all and sundry. You might never see the end result of your obedience. That’s okay. Joseph didn’t.  (Matthew 6:1-8)

According to many individuals more scholarly than I, Joseph never saw Jesus’ miracles. He never heard the stories of his alleged Son feeding the multitudes, healing the blind, or raising the dead. He’d likely have enjoyed hearing them. He didn’t stand and watch redemptive blood flow down Calvary’s hill, hear the rending of the Temple veil echo on the silent air, or visit an empty tomb. Surely his heart would have overflowed had he seen them. He didn’t get to. Apparently, Joseph passed away before those things happened. (Matthew 14:13-21; Mark 10:46-52; Mark 5:21-43; Luke 23-24; Matthew 27:51)

From his Heavenly vantage point, leaning over the edge of a cloud, perhaps Joseph watched those things with vision only those who have transitioned to glory can have. Explanatory vision. Comprehensive vision. Vision that, as the veil split, the stone rolled away, and the Holy Spirit descended, allowed Joseph to smile to himself and exclaim, “It was worth it!” Worth it to obey without a promised reward. Worth it to be in the background credited with nothing more than marrying Mary. Worth it, overwhelmingly so, to be just a bit player in the grand love story of God. (Matthew 27:51; Luke 24:2; Acts 2:1-13)

Do you find it so? When God comes and asks you to do something small, something no one will notice, something that won’t get your name in lights, do you jump at the chance? Or are you too busy waiting for the crowds to gather round, the stage lights to come on, the millionth follower to join your page? Do you see the things God asks you to do in the light of eternity or examine how they will look in the lights of this world? When God asks you to do something, anything, do you find obedience to be worth it? (I Samuel 15:22; Acts 5:29) 

I hope you do. I hope you find instant obedience to Jesus to be worth it. No matter what He is calling you to do, I hope you do it. I hope you leave the flamboyant applause, monumental recognition, extravagant praise of the world behind, and revel in the abject joy of obedience to God. Whatever He is asking you to do, I hope you do it. Adventurous. Safe. Epic. Insignificant. Insanely public or intensely private. Do it. There are no small roles in God’s kingdom. Not one of His children is superfluous. Everything He asks is imperative to His kingdom. Leading preachers. Supportive prayers. God is offering you a part in His grand love story. I hope you accept. I hope you do whatever He asks. Big role or bit player. “Whatever He tells you to do, do it.” (Colossians 3:23; Ephesians 6:6-7)

What, exactly, had she just agreed to do?! 

The question spun about in Mary’s mind as the haze of the surreal moment abated. She’d been so caught up in the wonder, the amazement, the astonishment of conversing with an actual angel, that the possible ramifications of her agreement were only now dawning on her consciousness. Now that they were, now that she was considering the possible costs, she had to ask herself another question. Would it be worth it? Would the possible outrage from her family, rejection by her betrothed, and shunning by society change her decision? If it should require everything, was this opportunity, this privilege, worth it? 

 Her answer was a resounding, “Yes!” The privilege to carry, birth, and raise the Messiah, be part of the grand plan of God would be worth whatever she lost. And there could easily be costs. She could lose everything she held dear. Family, fiancee, friends. Gabriel had made no promises of ease or glamour. He said nothing about ready acceptance among the people. There was no mention of her family reacting positively to the news. He said nothing about faithful friends and a supportive community. Most importantly, Gabriel said nothing about Joseph. (Luke 1:26-38)

What was she supposed to do about Joseph? What would she say? How could she explain? How would he react? Was his faith strong enough to see the possibility of the impossible? Would he understand she had been chosen by God for a task greater than either of them? Would he be able to look past the inconvenience and accept the importance of the mission to which they had been called? Or would he divorce her, set her aside like so much baggage? (Matthew 1:19)

He could choose that option. If Joseph were to decide her story was too far-fetched, too imaginative, or just a downright lie, the options were all his. He could end the betrothal. Call for a divorce. The news would spread through their little town like wildfire. Everyone would know about it. Everyone would assume they knew the reason. Everyone would talk.      

It would be social suicide. She’d be painted a harlot. Loose with her favors. She’d be scorned. Rejected. Outcast. Abused. The truth wouldn’t matter. No one would believe her. The telling would only bring more bullying, more scoffing, more virulent criticism. They’d call it a sham. Deem it the most creative lie they’d ever heard. Judge it an elaborate cover-up. She’d never walk the streets of town without feeling judgmental stares. She’d never visit the market without hearing vicious insults. She’d never again draw water from the well without feeling the harsh rebuff of her one-time friends. 

Her family wouldn’t fare much better. They would feel the sting of her decision as well. Even if they chose to believe she was carrying the Christ child, they would not escape the wrath of the skeptics and unbelievers. The outcome could tarnish her father’s name. His business could falter. Her mother would shed tears of pain and sorrow, worry and fear over the future of her daughter charged with such an atrocious offense. Her siblings might never forgive her for jeopardizing their business relationships, current social standings, and future marriages.

As wonderful as it was to be chosen, after considering the possible ramifications, one would think Mary might be inclined to decline. Yet there is never any indication that she does. Graciously accepting the challenge of a lifetime, Mary replies to Gabriel, with the ancient equivalent of the modern-day, “Let’s do this!”  She said, “I am God’s servant. May it be so.” Instinctively knowing and immediately accepting the answer to the question we now take days and weeks, months and years to answer–Is Jesus worth it? 

Is Jesus worth laying aside yourself, your dreams, your wants, your wishes? Is Jesus worth extricating yourself from your comfortable life with all its conveniences and heading out into the uncomfortable, inconvenient places of the world to share His story, His love, His grace? Is Jesus worth missing the ball game, the movie, the night out with friends to sit with the hurting, serve the homeless, rescue the helpless? Is He worth a decrease in income and social status if it will advance His name? Is He worth the scorn of society in an effort to further His kingdom? Is Jesus worth your undying devotion, your faithful following, your absolute obedience? Is obeying Jesus, being part of His plan, worth anything? Is it worth everything? You know Jesus is worthy. But for you, personally, right now, in this moment–Is Jesus worth it?

Mary was not the only person who found God’s call to the outrageous worth following. Abraham left everything, home, family, friends, to go on a journey with no map, no foreseeable destination, no proof of provision, only a promise on which to place his faith. Peter, Andrew, James, and John all unquestioningly answered Jesus’ call, leaving nets and boats, careers, and family behind for the incredible opportunity to follow Him. Matthew did too. When Jesus called him from his tax collection booth, he didn’t even hesitate. Leaving his ledger and coin purse, station, and job behind, Matthew deemed nothing worthy except following Jesus Christ. For these souls and many more throughout the Bible, it took only seconds for them to know Jesus was worth anything, worth everything. Jesus was absolutely worth it. (Genesis 12:1-4; Matthew 4:18-22; Luke 5:27-28)

They went to their death believing it. Pillars of the faith who silently fell asleep. Martyrs violently abused, beheaded, stoned, forced to sleep in Jesus. They all gave up everything earthly to be part of something Heavenly, knowing that nothing would ever compare with the joy of following Jesus. No matter how they arrived there, natural causes, or a deviant’s choices, Heaven resounds with the affirmation of their shouts, “Jesus is worth it.” Just as Mary’s choice echoes through time in the blood of Jesus shed for our sins, the shouted choice of saints and martyrs echo from the sacred halls of Heaven as a reminder that nothing on earth is more important, more worthwhile, more worthy than Jesus. They gave up everything for Him. They have no regrets. Jesus was indisputably worth it. (Revelation 4:11; 5:12; Romans 8:8)

Unfortunately, not everyone found it so. The Gospels recount the story of a young man who clearly knew Jesus was worthy, yet he found the price of following too steep. His possessions were too precious. He couldn’t let them go. Apparently, no matter what his head knew, his heart was unconvinced that following Jesus was worth it. (Mark 10:17-22; Matthew 19:16-22)

Every time I read that account, I wish he’d made a different choice. I wish he’d have thrown everything down and sprinted after Jesus. I wish that rich young man would have listened to his head and followed Jesus regardless of the cost. I wish he’d have answered a resounding, “Yes.” I wish he’d have found Jesus worthy of anything, of everything. I wish he’d have deemed Jesus to be absolutely worth it. 

The same heart that desperately wishes that for the rich young man of the New Testament, achingly hopes it for you too. I hope you find Jesus worth it. Whatever the cost. Whatever is required of you. Whatever it takes to follow Him. I hope you hold on to the accolades and achievements and affirmations of this world loosely, because you know in your heart and believe with all your soul that Jesus is worth infinitely more than anything the world has on offer. It is a question only you can answer. How important is Jesus to you?  Is He simply worthy or absolutely worth it? (John 21:15-17; Mark 8:34-38; Matthew 16:24; Philippians 3:8)