Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

They hadn’t washed their hands! How disgusting! Those filthy disciples just dug into their bread without observing the proper rituals! Clustered together and casting disapproving glances at the obvious heathens in their midst, the scribes and Pharisees were filled with outraged repulsion. How could these men claim to be so righteous yet not follow all the religious traditions and rituals passed down from their elders? More importantly, why didn’t their Leader, the great Teacher, tell them to mind their manners? The affront was intolerable. Unwilling to leave the issue unaddressed, they approached Jesus demanding to know why His men were eating without proper washing according to their traditions. 

I wonder what response they were expecting. Did they think He was going to run over and slap the bread out of the disciples’ allegedly dirty hands? Did they assume He would call them out publicly for their great offense? Did they mistakenly believe Jesus He would make His disciples engage in the ritualistic handwashing of their tradition? I don’t know. I do know this. Whatever response they expected, they were in for a huge surprise. 

Jesus, looking calmly over the scene, answered like this, “You are hypocrites. Isaiah was right about you. What you say and do doesn’t match the mess in your heart. What you teach reflects the commands of men, not the heart of God. You religiously observe your own traditions passed down from generation to generation, giving them more reverence than the commands of God. You have effectively invalidated God’s precepts, replacing them with your rituals and traditions. You don’t truly love, honor, or worship God and it shows in what spews from the ugliness of your ungodly hearts.” Then, to the entire crowd, Jesus clarified His words, saying, “What you eat or drink doesn’t contaminate you, but what springs up from within can.” (Mark 7:1-16)

The disciples were confused. What was Jesus saying? Eating spoiled food won’t make you ill? Of course it could! And too much wine could have negative effects as well. They all knew these things. So what could Jesus possibly mean when He said, “What you eat doesn’t contaminate you?” They needed an explanation! 

Jesus gave it to them. “Don’t you understand? Following Me has nothing to do with what you eat or how clean your hands are when you eat it. There are no traditions or rituals that can save your soul. Only a clean heart, free from evil thoughts, adultery, greed, deceit, promiscuity, pride, and every other sin, will ever make it to Heaven. The evil of one’s heart contaminates their entire being.” (Mark 7:17-29)

You see, following Jesus has nothing to do with food, traditions, or rituals. You can’t cleanse your heart by washing your hands, following a bunch of guidelines, or putting money in the collection plate. Your soul can only be contaminated by the evil that springs up from within and flows out of your heart. Sins that you pamper and nourish. Anger, bitterness, jealousy, hate. These things contaminate your entire life. Adhering to traditions and rituals can’t decontaminate it, either. Only following Jesus wholeheartedly, living for Him doggedly can cleanse the contamination from your soul. Because Following Jesus has nothing to do with following a bunch of traditions and everything to do with the state of your heart.  (I Corinthians 8:8; Proverbs 23:7; Luke 6:45)

We are people of traditions, completely immersed in their practice. Cultural traditions. Family traditions. Religious traditions. Traditions like Lent, which starts today. Across the globe, people will choose something to forgo and eschew it for the next 40 days. It seems it’s often a food item. Coffee, chocolate, caffeine, carbs. I’ve never been able to understand it. I can’t find a correlation between drinking coffee and following Jesus. According to the above account, Jesus didn’t see one either. So why do we hear so much about quitting a food group in keeping with Lent? When did the Lent tradition turn into a diet plan? Do you spend more time in Bible reading and prayer without your coffee cup or carb-laden breakfast? If not, what possible connection can there be between your diet and your relationship with Jesus Christ? 

There really isn’t one. Unless, of course, your besetting sin is gluttony. You can give up candy, pasta, or pie. It might change your body, but it won’t change your heart. No type of fasting alone will change your heart. You can forego the new shoes and donate the money to the poor, but it won’t make you more devoted to Jesus. You can give up an exciting novel, stop watching your favorite television show, skip social media, decline dinner with friends, but if you don’t fill those voids with Jesus, it means nothing at all. Lent isn’t about exclusion. It’s about inclusion. Lent is about finding or making more room in your life for Jesus Christ. It’s about rearranging your priorities to give Him first place. It’s about laying aside the temporal and reveling in the eternal. 

Your soul can’t live without it, this decadent feasting on the things of God. You won’t survive without intimate knowledge of Jesus in the deepest part of your being. You can never safely navigate the tricks and traps of the world without a profound personal relationship with Jesus Christ. You need it desperately. Your soul longs for it. If you can shush the clamoring noises of the world long enough to listen, you would know it. Mary did. 

Beset on every side with cleaning, cooking, and a nagging Martha, Mary plopped down at Jesus’ feet, focused her gaze on Him, tuned her hearing to His voice alone, and listened. Others were gathered to listen as well, Mary didn’t notice them. Martha came to insist she stop wasting time and help serve, it didn’t break her concentration. Mary wasn’t unaware that there were important things to do. She simply understood what most of us miss, the most important, most needful thing was to feed her soul. The dishes could wait. The meal didn’t need to be elaborate. The laundry would be there tomorrow. The sweeping would only need redone once everyone left. So she laid aside Martha’s absorbing tasks and soaked up Jesus’ presence instead. Mary knew her soul would die without Him. (Luke 10:38-42)

Your soul will too. Your soul cannot exist on a constant diet of news, social media, and television programs. It cannot survive day after day on a calendar Scripture and a quick prayer as you rush out the door. Simply put, your soul will die if you don’t make time for Jesus. You can’t possibly know Him if you don’t spend time with Him. You’ll miss hearing His voice if you don’t shut out the noise of the world and listen. You will never experience spiritual growth when you are actively denying your soul the one nutrient it needs to survive. You must have Jesus. Your soul will die without Him.

Today is Ash Wednesday. It’s the traditional beginning of Lent. Maybe in the past you have followed the tradition grudgingly as part of your religious affiliation. Perhaps you have half-heartedly participated because a parent or spouse or friend thought you should. Maybe you have observed the tradition in an attempt to assuage the guilt for the things springing out of your ungodly heart. Perhaps the taunting echoes from that same heart are tempting you to forgo Lent this year. I hope you don’t. I hope you participate. Not in some tradition alone that doesn’t change your heart, save your soul, or bring eternal joy, but in the spirit of the traditions. Don’t just give up peanut butter and go on with your life as usual. Keep your peanut butter. Rearrange your life instead. Spend more time with Jesus. Sit at His feet. Listen to His voice. Learn from Him. Let Him change your heart. Not by tradition alone, but by the cleansing and continued presence of His Spirit. (Titus 3:4-7; Mark 8:37)

After a brief moment of hesitation and short inner struggle with the ill-advised plan, I quickly tapped the button posting the advertisement. “Looking For The Last Best Man.” It didn’t take long for responses to ensue. Apparently, males have an undeniable need to protect the reputation of their gender, although many of the responses only more vividly underscored the basis of my statement. If those responses were the measure, there were, indeed, very few decent men left. One responded only in Shakespearean style verbiage. One was obsessed with keeping up appearances. Others were so painfully lacking in manners they were immediately deleted. Others were nice for a conversation or two but ultimately missed the mark. When all the responses were sorted, only one measured up. I married him nearly two decades ago. 

We sent out about 200 wedding invitations. Responses came back. Most invitees planned to attend. Some sent regrets. When the day arrived, the weather was perfect. The wedding, held in a beautiful little chapel with stained glass windows, was a lovely event. Our friends gathered in their wedding attire. Suits and ties. Beautiful dresses. Everyone came dressed respectfully for a wedding. No ripped jeans or faded T-shirts. I wouldn’t have kicked them out if they had been incorrectly attired. But Jesus did. 

In Jesus’ wedding feast parable of Matthew 22, the king of the feast had been rebuffed by the original invitees. They didn’t want to come. He sent his servants to invite them a second time, hoping they would change their minds. They didn’t. Some of them even murdered the servant messengers. Angry at this second spurning of his graciousness, the king sent his troops to destroy the murderers. Then he sent his servants out to the fringes of the city to invite as many people as they could find to come indulge in his feast. 

They brought everyone! Good people. Evil people. Poor people. Rich people. So many people the wedding feast was filled with attendees. The king came in and began to look over the guests his servants had brought in at his command. He was pleased until his eyes lit on one man. A man who hadn’t bothered to put on wedding garments. 

Right now, I’m trying to understand what constituted wedding garments. My 21st-century mind conjures a man with unkempt hair and beard, stained shirt half-tucked into his grease-covered jeans. Filthy work boots with untied laces thudding the floor with every step. Unwashed hands. Dirt caked under his fingernails. His evident lack of a shower preceding him by several feet. But jeans weren’t even a thing then. That can’t be what the king in the parable saw. So what did he see? What was it that made him deem this man unworthy to attend? What made the king banish that particular guest to outer darkness?

Did he skulk in with donkey dirt stuck to his skin? Was there a stain on his robe, a tear in his hem? Did he have crumbs in his beard? Was he still wearing his work sandals? Or was it something less tangible, less obvious? A shifty look in his eyes. A subversive set to his shoulders. A sullen set of defiance in his jaw. Is it possible the king’s issue wasn’t with the guest’s outer garments at all? Could it be that his robe was pristine, his hygiene impeccable, but his actions and intentions deplorable? Was he appropriately attired on the outside, but in woeful disarray on the inside? (Matthew 22:1-14)

Immediately I’m back in the 21st century reading religious t-shirts as I walk through the store, sit in church, watch a little league game. They’ve become the rage in recent years. Seems everyone has one. Some have a Scripture passage across the front. Others have a catchy little “Jesus slogan” down the back. Those shirts identify the wearer as a Jesus follower. Or at least someone who claims to be. People read that shirt and their expectations increase. They expect love and kindness. They think Jesus will ooze out of their pores. Then the T-shirt wearer starts talking and the truth becomes embarrassingly obvious. The t-shirt is often as deep as their Jesus goes. 

See, it’s easy to forget you are wearing a Jesus t-shirt when the cashier irritates you, your child decides to scream at the top of their lungs in the grocery store, the guy in the big truck cuts you off, or the school bully makes your son their target. I know. I’ve been in every one of those situations. Your lips bow down in consternation. Your mouth says something it shouldn’t. Your soul twists in frustration, anger, irritation, revenge. You forget you are accountable for your actions. You forget your clothes say you represent Jesus. Your T-shirt might pronounce you ready for Jesus’ wedding feast, but the actions springing from the state of your heart say you aren’t. 

Unfortunately, for every beauty seeker, fashion follower, and trendsetter out there, none of the outside fluff matters if the inside isn’t right. Not the latest fashions. Not a t-shirt with a religious slogan. Not perfect hair and makeup. Not the giant donation you make to the children’s home. Not the facade you wear at church or around your friends. Not the godly posts you put on social media. All of that is external. It’s all skin-deep. None of it will get you welcomed to Jesus’ wedding feast. Wedding garments aren’t about your stellar accomplishments, commendable actions, or outer attraction. Wedding garments are all about what’s in your heart.  

 In a thought-provoking passage, Jesus tells us that the things we pamper and tolerate and nourish in our hearts will be evidenced in our lives. (Luke 6:45; Matthew 7:16) Blessings. Cursing. Love. Hate. Apparently, we don’t believe it. If our actions are the measuring stick, and Jesus says they are, I’m afraid we don’t measure up. So many people are still trying to buy their way into Heaven with a big donation to the church building fund, a time donation on a mission trip, or a grocery donation to the food bank. Anyone, from a heart of good or evil, can do those things. Not one of them will buy you entrance to the wedding feast. These things are not what Jesus is talking about. 

Jesus is talking about things that can’t be housed in a building and can’t spring from a heart of sin. Loving your enemies, for instance. Doing good to the person who hates you. Praying for the one who mistreats you. Looking beyond the offense to the cause and praying for the need from which the offense sprung. He’s talking about forgiveness. Not just the words. The unseen actions that make them true. Abandoning ideas of revenge. Loving when it’s uncomfortable. Showing mercy when it isn’t deserved. Not keeping a tally of wrongs. (Luke 6:27-38; Micah 6:8; I Corinthians 13:5; Proverbs 23:7)

We aren’t good at any of this. Not on our own. We can’t be. Our hearts are solely human and our humanity is exclusively selfish. It is only through repentance, forgiveness of sins, and the indwelling of the Holy Spirit that we can do the things God requires of us. It is only through Christ we can look in the closet of our hearts and find anything remotely good enough to wear to the marriage supper of the Lamb. Not by our works, but by His work in us. (Ephesians 2:10; Philippians 2:13, 4:13)

When Jesus died on the cross, He extended an invitation for all humanity to come to the wedding supper of the Lamb. Millions of invitations. Whoever wants to come, can come. No membership classes. No secret handshake. No special lingo. Only one simple requirement. Christ in you, flowing through you, running out of you. It’s more than a generous donation to missions. More than showing up at church every Sunday. More than a T-shirt slogan. It’s living like Jesus every single day in every single way. This is the dress code for a seat at Jesus’ wedding supper. 

You can change your clothes a hundred times, make your hair and makeup perfect, practice all the right phrases, learn the proper behavior, but if Jesus doesn’t saturate your heart, you won’t get a seat at the wedding feast. You can wear a Jesus T-shirt, volunteer at church, donate your body for martyrdom, but if your words and actions spring from anything other than a heart bursting with God’s presence, someone else will get your seat. Or you can come, just like you are, rags or riches, articulate or stuttering, imperfect or exquisite. You can consecrate your entire being–heart, body, mind, and soul–to Jesus Christ. Allow Him to renovate your heart and life, live in you, flow through you, gush out of you. Then, and only then, can you be assured of a seat at the marriage supper of the Lamb.  (I Corinthians 13:3)

Jesus is inviting you to be so much more than the words on a T-shirt. He’s inviting you to be His guest at His wedding feast. He wants to help you get into your wedding garments. The choice is yours. The T-shirts and trappings of the world, or life and eternity with Him. The choice seems simple, but I feel compelled to ask, what are you choosing to wear? (Revelation 3:20, 22:17; John 6:37)

She had spent years praying. Every day she asked God to send a child. She tried to wait patiently. She had fought off discouragement, forced herself to believe, but nothing had happened. Over and over her hopes dissolved into disappointment. And time wasn’t on her side. She had a deadline. Having babies isn’t an older woman’s gig. Eventually, hope died on the rocks of discouragement. Her faith shriveled to nothing. She’d seen no answers to her prayers. She stopped telling herself it would happen. As she watched the last of her normal childbearing years slip away, Sarah quit believing she might have a child of her own. 

The course of life was not a mystery. Older women didn’t bear children. It was impossible. Her ragged faith knew better than to believe in the impossible. She couldn’t handle the disappointment. She stopped asking God for a child. Stopped praying for a son. Stopped believing it could still happen. Stopped hoping for a miracle. 

Desperate to create the family she so desired, Sarah took matters into her own hands. She sent Abraham to her maid. Hagar conceived. A son was born. But things didn’t turn out the way Sarah thought they would. There was no sweet family unit. The birth of the child also birthed a whirlwind of anger, bitterness, and hate. Sarah stood in the ashes of her attempt to play God and watched her chance at a family slip through her fingers.

There wouldn’t be another chance. As precious as the idea was, neither Abraham nor Sarah believed they would get one. At their age, the very idea was ridiculous. They were well into their golden years. If all their prayers and hopes hadn’t been answered when they were young, they didn’t have a chance of being answered now. Resigned to their childless situation, they were caught completely off guard when God announced they would still have a son. 

In a conversation with Abraham, God tells him he is going to give him future offspring. Abraham thinks maybe it will be Ishmael. But no. God says the child will come from Sarah. She will conceive and bear a child, a son. In shock, or possibly humor,  Abraham falls face down…and laughs. How could this possibly be? He would be 100. Sarah would be 90. It just doesn’t happen. It’s impossible. It can’t happen. But God says it isn’t and it will. 

 Abraham wasn’t the only one that saw humor in the promise. Sarah, shamelessly eavesdropping on the conversation between the angels and Abraham, laughed when she heard news of her impending pregnancy. It was outrageous, really. Everyone knew a woman decades past her childbearing years couldn’t conceive and have a son. It was impossible, and Sarah no longer believed in the impossible.  

All those years of hoping and praying, begging and waiting, disappointment and tears had finally ended in resignation. There had been no babies. So why, now that they had quit asking, now that they had given up hope, now that they had recalibrated their life expectations, why would they think God was going to come through? Was He going to do the impossible when they were beyond the age of possibility? Of course He was. He did. Because God deals in the impossible. Perhaps they would have known that if they had kept asking, kept seeking, kept knocking. (Genesis 16-18)

Looking down from my soaring position of perfection, I wonder what Sarah was thinking. Why didn’t she believe God when He said she’d have a son? Hadn’t she spent years asking and hoping for that very thing? Why did she stop? Why did she lose hope? Why did she decide God wasn’t going to answer her prayer? What made her think anything could possibly be impossible with God? 

As these accusatory questions swirl around my mind, I realize that I am not perched on some pinnacle of prayerful perseverance. I’m right down there with Sarah. I’m praying prayers I desperately want answered. Prayers for family and friends. Prayers for situations. Prayers for our nation. Prayers for revival in our churches, salvation for our children, and holiness in our homes. I’m sitting on the edge of my seat waiting for them to be answered. Now. On my time table. In the way I think they need to be done. 

From where I’m sitting, some of those answers are looking pretty impossible. I’ve been praying some of those prayers for a long time. My patience is wearing thin. My frustration is mounting. I’m getting tired of pounding on Heaven’s door to what seems like no avail. I feel discouragement looming. My hope is fading. I’m terrified God is going to miss His cue and not answer when and how I think He should. My timetable passes. It shakes my faith. Slowly but surely, I get discouraged, quit praying that particular prayer. I quit asking. Quit seeking. Quit knocking for that specific thing. Because it feels impossible, like it will never happen. And I, not unlike Sarah, have so much trouble believing in the impossible. 

Sarah and I aren’t unique. Many others have struggled with God’s timing and answers when they don’t match our own. Mary and Martha certainly did. Jesus was late. Too late. Lazarus was already dead. Four days dead. Upon hearing Jesus was headed into town, Martha went out to have a talk with Him. She had things to say. If He had been there earlier, this wouldn’t have happened. Once He arrived, a brokenhearted Mary threw herself at Jesus’ feet, crying out in frustrated anguish, “If You had gotten here earlier, You could have saved his life!” They didn’t like what happened. They weren’t happy with Jesus’ timing. But they didn’t know what He was doing. He was about to perform a miracle no one would be able to deny. God had a purpose for Jesus’ tardiness. In fact, He wasn’t tardy. He was just in time. (John 11)

 He was just in time for Daniel, too. When the decree came commanding everyone to pray only to the king, Daniel must certainly thought to stop praying. At least contemplated praying somewhere less conspicuous and in a softer tone. He didn’t succumb to the temptation. He kept his normal schedule, knelt by his window, and petitioned the God who had never let Him down. And he kept praying. As he entered that lion’s lair, perhaps he thought surely God should have come through by now. Being room service for a lion isn’t anyone’s dream. But God had a different plan. A plan that would expose His power and glory for all to see. It wasn’t that Daniel is stronger and braver than everyone else. He simply understood that the struggle to understand God’s plan and timing isn’t license to quit praying. It’s never time to do that. Praying people must always remain praying people. They must never give up, never stop knocking on Heaven’s door. (Daniel 6)

Isaiah cries out a rallying call to prayer when he speaks of the watchmen appointed to keep watch over Jerusalem. Positioned on the walls of the city, they will walk those walls, watch, and pray. Pray for the nation. Pray for the people within. Pray that they follow God. Pray they don’t stray. It is their duty as watchmen. The prophet instructs them to pray without ceasing with these words, “Don’t give God a rest from the sound of you praying.” Keep praying. Pray day and night. Never let Him rest. Ask then ask again. (Isaiah 62:6-7) 

As Isaiah gave that charge so long ago, we need to hear it again today. We are the watchmen walking the walls, keeping watch over our families, churches, communities, and country. We are those commissioned to cover them in prayer. We are charged to pray without ceasing. We are tasked with keeping our petitions before God, never letting Him rest. When the answers don’t seem to be coming, when the timing seems to be off, when the situation seems impossible, keep praying. When discouragement rears its head, when anxiety rattles your cage, when frustration addles your brain, keep praying. When the outlook is grim, the people are stubborn, the nation resistant to godliness, keep praying. Keep asking. Don’t take a break. Don’t lose heart. Don’t let Him rest. Ask again. Bring yourself, your loved ones, your country, your world to God and ask for a rescue, a ransom, a second chance, a saving grace. In His time, in His way, He will answer. Just ask again.  

The Psalmist beautifully reminds us that God doesn’t sleep. He doesn’t take vacations. He constantly watches over His children. His ears are always open to their cries. The wise writer of Ecclesiastes tells us God’s timing is never wrong, even if it doesn’t agree with yours. And the Apostle Paul informs us there is never a time to stop praying. No matter your circumstances or surroundings. Pray. Persistently. Pray without ceasing. Make your requests known to God and trust Him to handle them. Don’t let Him rest until He has completed the good work He has begun. (Psalm 121:3-4,8; Psalm 34:15; Ecclesiastes 3:11; I Thessalonians 5:17; Philippians 1:6, 4:6-7) 

He will complete it. Even if it seems impossible, improbable, or implausible, God will complete His work. Impossible things are His wheelhouse. So don’t become discouraged or frustrated when your prayers don’t get answered when and how you want. Don’t give up. Ask again. Don’t let Him rest. Keep praying. Keep asking. Keep knocking. Be the praying people of God who never let Him rest from the sounds of their petitions. He will hear. He will answer. Just ask again. (Luke 11:5-13; Mark 11:20-24)

There’s a stunning, emotion-filled painting of Jesus as our tower of strength in a storm. The background is grey. Turbulent clouds clutter the sky. The wind rages, whipping strands of hair across His face. His clothes, caught by the same punishing wind, wrap tightly around His body. He stands on a grouping of rocks, body braced against nature’s onslaught like a lighthouse for wandering seamen. Waves crash against the rocks with violent force. Rain pelts His uncovered head. His eyes are lifted skyward, watching for the next flash of lightning. His body is braced for the next barrage of thunder. His arms appear to be folded across His chest. Upon closer inspection you will see, sheltered safely, sleeping soundly in the cradle of His arms is the soul who has run to Jesus for refuge from nature’s fury. It is impossible to verbally do the painting justice. I’ve never physically seen it. It exists only in my mind. To my knowledge, this exact painting does not exist on canvas. I don’t know how to put it there, because I am not an artist. 

Set against the backdrop of the majestic Mission Mountain Range in Western Montana, is the Saint Ignatius Mission. It looks just like any old church. Boxy, brick exterior. Heavy doors of dark wood on the front. Stained glass windows in perfect rows down the sides. That staid exterior belies its inner splendor. Lining the architecturally amazing walls and vaulted ceilings of the sanctuary are fifty-eight stunningly beautiful, hand-painted murals. I’ve visited several times. It is gorgeous, stealing my breath and quieting my soul each time I enter. I stand amazed, not just at the artwork, but at the structural integrity of a building still standing and sound more than 200 years after it was built and wonder how it was done, because I am not an architect. 

My children and I often watch baking competitions. I am continually surprised at the knowledge and ability of the competitors. Who knew you could blow melted sugar as thin as glass? What inspires one to consider creating a cathedral out of gingerbread? What makes one even attempt melting isomalt crystals and pouring them into giant window panes to stand on end in a baked structure? We often sit in wrapt amazement as wildly extravagant things are created with bread and sugar and chocolate. Things I could never do, wouldn’t even attempt. The very idea is overwhelming, because I am not a professional baker, sugar artist, or chocolatier.

Some days I wish I was one of those things. Or something other, something more than I am. You probably have days like that too. Few would be the souls who could say they have never wished they had another skill, a different look, a stronger ability, a more palatable calling. Peter certainly couldn’t say it. 

In the final chapter of John, there is a record of Jesus’ conversation with Peter about loving God and feeding sheep. Three times Jesus asked Peter, “Do you love me?” Three times Peter answered, “Of course, I love you!” Three times Jesus instructs Peter to care for the people of God. It seems like a great calling. It seems like a compliment. It is an enormous honor to be tapped as the one to shepherd God’s church. The glory of that honor fades a bit when Jesus says, “You’ll die for doing it, an untimely and unpleasant death. Still, follow me.”   

Justifiably, Peter was upset. Scared. Frustrated. No one else had been told in such graphic detail how they would die. Looking around, he caught a glimpse of John. There’s that guy! The beloved disciple of Jesus. The one who leaned against Jesus at supper and asked if Judas would betray Him. Immediately his mind did what our minds do every day, compared his calling to John’s, and Peter asked, “What about John? How is he going to die? Is he going to die? You didn’t give him any specific revelations.” 

In a response similar to one I’ve used with my children a thousand times, Jesus simply replied, “John’s calling isn’t your business. You just need to follow me.” Follow Me into prison. Follow Me to the Gentiles. Follow Me to death. Don’t worry about anyone else, their calling, their life, their demise. Just keep focused on what I’ve called you to do and follow Me. Peter must have been terrified, he must have hated that answer, but he didn’t stop following Jesus. (John 21:15-24)

Esther must have been terrified as she was taken from everything she knew to be trained as a possible queen. She hadn’t asked for this. She was content with her life as it had been. Why had she been chosen to leave her village, her friends, her people, her life to marry a man she didn’t want to marry, be queen in a land she didn’t care to rule? Why were none of her friends chosen? Why did they get to go on with life as usual? Was this a punishment, or, as Mordecai had suggested, had God really brought her to this place for this moment and asked her to follow Him no matter the outcome?  

She was likely shaking in her sandals as she stepped into the inner courtyard seeking an audience with King Ahasuerus. She was breaking the law. She hadn’t been summoned. Her life was literally hanging in the balance of the king’s mood. If the golden scepter came up, she would be spared. If it did not, she would die. 

Thankfully, the scepter came up. Her life was spared. The lives of her people were spared, too. Esther chose to focus not on the things her friends were doing, but on the task God had called her to do, and saved the lives of an entire nation. For Esther, following God looked nothing like she thought or hoped it would. It looked like marriage to a king she didn’t want to marry, living a life she wasn’t born to, and risking it all for the God who through this series of nerve-wracking events accomplished His will to deliver His people from death. Following Jesus rarely looks the way we think it should. (Esther 2-9)

We can’t fault Peter for looking at John and comparing what he knew about their futures. We are right there with him, constantly looking around comparing our circumstances, success, popularity, and wealth to what we assume about others. Busily trying to figure out what others are supposed to be doing and reminding God that they need a job too. Jealously wondering why God doesn’t seem to be allowing the struggle bus to stop at everyone’s house, only ours.  Questioning why we are slogging along while others are living the high life. 

We are not in a position to insult Esther’s lack of enthusiasm to walk to her death, either. We aren’t much interested in sacrifice ourselves. We aren’t fighting for space on the plane to minister in the world’s tumultuous, war-torn places. We are more than happy to pray and give as long as someone else goes. But what if God is calling you there? What if God is calling you to sacrifice here in your world of success and status and selfishness? What if He is calling you to do something that will gain no recognition, no applause, no bright lights? What if He is calling you to quietly serve Him, live in poverty, and wait until Heaven for your reward? Are you still willing to follow Him? 

I don’t see that we have much choice. Jesus laid out the parameters of discipleship like this. Deny yourself–wants, wishes, dreams. Take up your cross–yours, the one assigned to you. No matter what it looks like. No matter if it fits your preconceived notions. No matter that it isn’t the same as your neighbor’s. Pick up your cross. And follow Jesus. (Luke 9:23)

In elementary school, our teachers were inordinately focused on making it impossible to cheat. Not that I was looking to do so. I wasn’t. It was likely because they knew we needed help enforcing godly principles in our lives. We were made to use cover sheets, our hands, our arms, anything to deter cheating. Countless times, in the quiet of a room of testing students, we heard this reminder, “Keep your eyes on your own paper.” 

I wonder how many times we’ve heard God say that to us. Perhaps not those exact words. They probably sounded a little more like the ones He said to Peter, “What does that matter to you? Focus on yourself and follow me.” We desperately need to hear them. It’s so easy to look around and feel jealous of those who seem to be doing better than we are. It’s easy to resent those who have more glamorous talents than we have. It is easy to allow a little bitterness to set up camp in our hearts when we see someone else gaining the success we so covet for our own. Dangerous business, that. Therefore, it is vital that we follow the advice of those elementary teachers and the command of Jesus to keep our eyes on our own paper. (Hebrews 12:15; James 3:16; Galatians 6:4-5) 

Sometimes it is so difficult to see God’s plan. It is then we have to trust His heart and keep our eyes focused on Him. Don’t get busy studying the success of those around you. Don’t get distracted by the siren call of the world and things and opinions. Don’t allow yourself to become despondent or despair that your circumstances are below what you hoped they would be. Don’t allow your peace to be disturbed by jealousy toward those who have their reward now, but lock your eyes on Jesus and follow Him relentlessly. When it isn’t hugely glamorous. When it isn’t wildly successful. When the result is social suicide, rejection, ridicule. Deny yourself. Shoulder your cross. Keep focused on your own calling. And follow Jesus. (Proverbs 14:12,30)

Perhaps you are acquainted with the phrase military police use to exercise their authority when someone of higher rank balks at their enforcement of laws. Maybe you’ve heard it in movies. Perhaps you’ve heard it personally. I’ve occasionally seen it on plaques or bumper stickers as I strolled through shops on military installations. I’ve used it in jest with my husband. It simply says, “Don’t confuse your rank with my authority.” 

That seven-word phrase is telling. It says a lot about humanity that we even need such a phrase. It speaks to our arrogance, our ignorance. It points out the glaringly obvious issue besetting society today–the complete confusion between rank and authority. Somehow, we have decided that power, influence, and rank automatically carry authority. Some stalwartly believe their job title gives them ultimate authority to remove parameters on their actions. They commit crimes, violate ethical standards, and flout societal norms under the mistaken belief that their rank makes them untouchable, their standing limits the reach of legal authority. 

It is not a new problem. It’s been thriving for centuries, possibly since the dawn of time. Pharaoh was certainly confused about it. Why wouldn’t he be? As the highest rank in Egypt, everyone obeyed his decrees and adhered to his ideals. He had only to speak the word. His advisors didn’t try to balance out the scales of justice. No one questioned his judgment. No one tried to change his mind. No one except Moses, an adopted nobody, without rank or authority of his own, sent by God to lead the Israelites out of captivity. 

All Pharaoh saw was some crazy guy and his brother trying to argue a case to take away his slaves. He wasn’t having it. His slaves were going nowhere. Not to worship their God on the edge of the desert. Not out from under his authority. Not to freedom in another land. So when Moses and Aaron came and asked, Pharaoh flexed his bulging muscles of authority, and tightened the reins on his slaves. He increased their workload. Withheld supplies. Had them beaten. Made them more miserable than they already were. 

Seems it would have been a great time for God to whisper, “Don’t confuse your rank with my authority.” God knew Pharaoh wouldn’t listen. He needed physical evidence of a power greater than his own. He got it. Separated only by time for a chance at repentance if he chose it, God unleashed one plague after another on Egypt. Bloody water. Frogs. Boils. Locusts. Hail. Pharaoh wouldn’t budge. He still thought he held the winning hand. He refused to release God’s people. Only the indiscriminate death of every firstborn Egyptian male across the nation convinced Pharaoh his rank was under Someone Else’s authority. He learned the hardest way possible that no finite rank on earth can possibly hope to transcend God’s infinite authority. (Exodus 3-14)

King Nebuchadnezzar never seemed to fully comprehend God’s all-encompassing authority. Even after Daniel’s interpretation of his dream and the king’s own admission that their God was the God of gods, he still built a 90-foot statue of gold to be worshipped. He required its worship, in fact. When the music sounded, all the people were to fall on their faces and worship the statue. Those who refused would be escorted to their death in a blazing furnace. Servants of the true God who commanded them not to bow down or serve any gods except Him, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego wouldn’t bow. They knew they could trust the God they served. They knew His authority surpassed any earthly rank. (Daniel 2-3; Exodus 20:3-5)

In incandescent rage at their refusal to bow and their conclusion that rank does not equal ultimate authority, Nebuchadnezzar bellowed, “Who is this god you think can rescue you from my power?” He gave them one more chance. Played the music one more time. They didn’t bow because their God, the King of the universe who holds all things together, in whom they lived and breathed and had their being, has always, will always, carry more authority than any rank on earth. (Daniel 3:15; Psalm 47:7; Colossians 1:17; Acts 17:28)

Wildly angry and bursting with hate, Nebuchadnezzar ordered the furnace heated seven times its normal temperature. He ordered Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego bound and thrown into the furnace. It was done. The men who carried out his orders were killed by the heat and flames. Yet inside, surrounded by raging flames, stood three untied men, fully clothed and unharmed, and a fourth man who looked like an angel. In a grand exhibition of the undeniable, unmatchable authority of God, Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego walked out of that blazing furnace without a singe. (Daniel 3)

In the time following the birth of Jesus, King Herod, terrified someone would usurp his throne, ordered the Magi to send him directions to the Christ child. It wasn’t part of God’s plan. He warned the Magi to keep that location to themselves and travel home another way. They did. Angry at having his plan to find and kill the Christ Child thwarted by the non-reporting Magi, Herod ordered the killing of every Bethlehem boy child under the age of two. Surely that would take care of his problem! But God had already sent His Son out of harm’s way, because no king, queen, prime minister or president can ever supersede God’s supreme authority. (Matthew 2:1-16)

As part of a series of brutal attacks on the church, King Herod, arrested and imprisoned Peter with the intention of killing him. No one thought it wouldn’t happen. He’d already killed James. The night before his execution, bound by two chains, sleeping between soldiers, guarded by sentries, the angel of the Lord came and released Peter. He walked away from the chains that bound him, past the men who guarded him, through the doors that imprisoned him, because God still had work for Peter to do. (Acts 12:1-18) Herod shouldn’t have confused his rank with God’s authority. There is absolutely, unequivocally no comparison between the fragile ranks of earth and the indisputable authority of Heaven.

The victorious authority of God is not solely written at the back of the Book, it is exhibited countless times throughout the entirety of its pages. From the beginning words of Genesis to the final syllables of Revelation, God never once surrenders His authority. Kings and queens have tried to usurp it. Nations have tried  through war to expropriate it. Satan has tried to abscond with it. No one has ever made off with it. Because that Baby born in the humblest circumstances, treated as the lowest ranking citizen from the lowest caste, having no beauty or status or wealth, is still the omniscient, omnipotent, sovereign God of the universe!  

Didn’t you know? Haven’t you heard? God, the One who created the beginning of the earth, the end of the earth, and everything in between is still God! His authority can never be stunted. He will never relinquish His position. He is not weary, doesn’t faint from exhaustion, doesn’t fall down on the job. And you can trust Him. He’s never botched a plan. He’s never been outfoxed. He’s never had to resort to plan B. His power is eternal. His authority is unparalleled. His care for His children is meticulous. (Isaiah 40:28-30; Isaiah 44:6-8; Isaiah 45:6-7; II Chronicles 20:6; Isaiah 43:13; Psalm 91:1-12) 

So rest in Him. Don’t let the ranks of this world cloud your knowledge of Who holds all the authority. Trust Him. Find comfort in the fact that the just and righteous God who has kept this planet spinning for so long is not asleep, uninterested, or tired of looking after His people. He’s still God! He has not relinquished His position. He never will. So be still. Rest in the safety of His singular authority. Allow Him to renew your strength and infuse you with courage. Boldly cast your faith in the only One actually able and willing to do all He has promised, and rest assured that He will. (Isaiah 40:31; Psalm 46:10; Deuteronomy 31:6; Psalm 9:10)

There are a lot of things going on in this old world. There’s an enormous power struggle between right and wrong, good and evil, man and God. Often it seems evil is winning. It’s not. It never will. Just as He did in every Biblical account, at just the right time, God will step in. Earth is still His jurisdiction. His authority cannot be stifled, repressed, or canceled, and no rank on earth can ever compare or compete with His authority. (Isaiah 46:9-11) So, if you are concerned about who has what rank and holds what authority in this world, relax. The indomitable God of the universe who holds all things together can never be supplanted by the ranks of earth. He’s still sovereign and you can trust Him!  (Isaiah 45:7-9; Job 42:2; Nahum 1:7; Psalm 27:1; Zephaniah 3:17; Romans 5:8; Psalm 16:8)