Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

I had never been to an air show before. I didn’t really know what to expect. Airplanes. Flying. Vendors. Food. It didn’t seem exciting to me, but friends and family raved about how amazing air shows were, so we packed up our kids and went. Admittedly, I very much enjoyed watching the amazing feats and stunts, walking through the vendor booths, looking at the military planes, and visiting the children’s activities. I did not enjoy the weather. We managed to have all three types of Louisiana weather in the same day. Unbearable heat, unbreathable humidity, and unexpected rain. In an effort to escape the heat and avoid sunburn, we spent a considerable amount of time inside a partial building. But since you can’t see the planes from indoors, we ran out of things to do inside, so we wandered back into the heat. 

Then the rain came. In an effort to remain at least moderately dry, we took refuge under the wing of an enormous plane. (My husband says it was a B-52. I wouldn’t know!) Huddled there, waiting out the rainstorm, I realized something. No matter the size of that plane, you had to be pretty close to its body to get much protection from the elements. The farther you got away from the plane’s considerable bulk, the less protection you had. The wings narrowed. The tail tapered. The nose sloped to a blunt point. As a shadow from the heat or refuge from the rain, it offered little. Unless, of course, you were right up close to the body.   

We started out there, my little family nestled together under the largest part of the plane wing, waiting for the rain to halt. But inch by inch, we moved. Someone came with a small child and we made room for them in our refuge. A couple with a stroller and a toddler came looking for shelter. We moved over to let them in too. We didn’t realize our error until it was too late. The more we moved, the further away from the plane we got, and the less sheltered we were from the elements. The rain pounded. The wind blew. We got wet. Only those who stayed close to the body of the plane walked out dry. 

The situation of Noah’s day was similar. Only those who entered the ark endured that flood unscathed. People and animals alike. I shudder at the mere thought of entombing myself in a shadowy floating cavern with hundreds of animals and several other people for an undisclosed amount of time. My sensitive nose and susceptibility to motion sickness and claustrophobia have my stomach lurching. Thoughts of failing to board that particular vessel do the same. Wickedness was rampant. Corruption ran wild. Depravity had reached epic proportions. (Genesis 6:11-13) Not boarding that boat wasn’t an option. God had decreed punishment. The only hope for escape was to take refuge in that shadowy ark.  

So the ark was built. Food was gathered and stored. The animals queued up for rescue. When all was finished, loaded, and secured, Noah, his wife, his sons, and daughters-in-law took one last look at the earth they knew, turned, and boarded the ark. God shut the door. With the dull thud of its closing, He made them shadow dwellers. People who put all their faith and trust in His protection and chose to dwell in Him when no one else was doing it, when it wasn’t popular, when everyone thought they were crazy. In the middle of the worst storm in history, they were hunkered down in the shadow of the Almighty. 

They waited. What else could they do? The flood came. I wonder what it was like.  Pounding torrential rain that battered their boat before it lifted to ride the rising waters? Perhaps it was a quiet, steady rain saturating the earth causing flooding when the ground could no longer absorb the moisture? Or maybe God simply lifted the boundaries He had placed on the oceans and allowed them to flow over the face of the earth, destroying everything in their wake? I don’t suppose it matters. What does matter is that, when everything on earth was destroyed and drifting and decaying, God remembered those who had unquestionably, obediently taken refuge and sought protection inside a shadowy, water-tossed vessel. God remembered and set out to retrieve them. (Genesis 6, 7, 8:1)

Winds came, blowing over the earth. God closed up the flooding oceans, locked the floodgates of the heavens, halted the rain. The waters receded. The ark came to rest on the mountains of Ararat. It would still be months before Noah sent out the dove and it would find a place dry enough to nest. It would be weeks before Noah would receive the long-awaited command from God to disembark. The danger had passed. 

It must have been a sight to behold! Noah, his family, and his own personal menagerie parading in orderly fashion out onto dry land. The people. The wildlife. The livestock, birds, creepy crawlies. Every single one safe. Preserved by the God in whose shadow they chose to dwell, in whose protection they chose to rest. (Genesis 8) Proving the words in Psalm 91:1 true before they were ever penned, “The one who abides in the secret place of God, will dwell in the shadow of the Almighty.”  

Unfortunately, nothing has truly changed since the days of Noah. Humanity is inordinately self-absorbed.  We find ourselves surrounded by wickedness, rebellion, depravity, and sin. Nowhere is safe. Nothing is sacred. Every day seems to be brimming with another exercise in the ridiculous. Evil masquerades as good. Sin is condoned. Righteousness condemned. We find ourselves bracing for the worst social storm our generation has ever seen. If left to our own devices, we tend to be filled with worry, anxiety, and fear.  

Fortunately, we don’t have to cling to our own devices. The truth of the Psalmist’s words are as accurate today as they were when Noah lived them and the Psalmist penned them. Every single word is reliable. But you have to actually do those things. You have to put your trust solely in God and refuse to take it back. You have to spend every waking moment so close to Jesus that you never stray from the wide part of His shadow. Indiscriminately place yourself–mind, body, and soul–in God’s hands. Follow Him. Obey Him. No matter what anyone else is doing. Choose to become a shadow dweller. (Psalm 57:1; 91:1-2, 4; 121:7) 

Sadly, there is so much crazy going on in our world that it is easy to believe God is too busy with the mess to remember us shadow dwellers. Maybe you’ve read the above words and thought, “Hey, writer lady, have you read the news? Do you see how terrifying it is out there? Do you know how helpless I feel?” Yes. I have. I know. I get it. I also know this. When the waters were raging and the earth being destroyed by the biggest flood in history, God remembered every single shadow dweller on the ark. Not just the people. Not just Noah, his sons, and their wives. God remembered the animals too. They earn specific mention in Genesis 8:1. The livestock. The wildlife. God remembered every single thing He had sequestered in His shadow, from the baby field mouse to the biggest elephant. Not one thing on that ark was forgotten by God. No one who stays in His shadow ever is. (Isaiah 49:15-16; Psalm 27:10)

In lamentation over Jerusalem and the people’s lack of belief in Him, Jesus paints a beautifully moving picture of His desire for us. It is of a hen gathering her chicks under the shelter of her wings, protecting them from the outside world. (Matthew 23:37) It is the exact depiction of what happens when we make God’s shadow our dwelling place. We find refuge under His wings. Regardless what it looks like out your window or on your newsfeed, no matter what your neighbors and friends are doing, whatever the current status quo, Jesus calls you to come live in His shadow, take refuge in Him, and find rest for your soul. Wing refuge for shadow dwellers. (Psalm 62; Matthew 11:28) 

Shadow dwelling doesn’t happen without effort, though. Just as Noah had to choose to build the ark, fill it with food, and walk on board, you have to choose to dwell in God’s shadow too. Choose obedience when it is unfashionable. Forget what’s trending and follow God alone. Read your Bible more than you read the news. Talk to God more than you talk about current events. Run into the name of the Lord. Place yourself in His shadow and lodge there. Refuse to leave. No matter the pandemonium around you, no matter how society taunts you, no matter the disorder and turmoil in our world, stay close to the Almighty. There is no better option, no other place of safety for your soul. He will never forget about you or leave you to figure things out on your own. As the raging storms around us wreak upheaval and despair, run into the safety of His shadow, find rest in the shelter of His wings. (Deuteronomy 32:11; Psalm 17:8; Psalm 36:7; Psalm 63:7) 

Football is not my “thing”. Not the variety where grown men violently assault one another over a little brown ball. Not the version where folks run wildly up and down a field chasing a rolling circle of black and white hexagons. I care not at all. My complete lack of knowledge in these sports is eclipsed only by my lack of interest. Unfortunately for me, the males in my family avidly watch football. College ball. Professional ball. Games and scores and rankings are tracked. They talk about the teams and players as if they frequent the practices, dropping names like they sat next to the quarterback at lunch. 

They didn’t. They’ve never met him. They have no idea if he really is all those things the media says he is or does all those things his public relations team says he does. But they believe them, repeat them, use those published opinions to build their assessment of the man’s character. A man they have never met. Will likely never meet.   

In a recent conversation with my son, he mentioned that a certain quarterback was “a jerk.”

“So you know him, then?” I asked. 

He paused. “Well, no, but he is,” came the staunch reply. 

I clearly understood. He had drawn a conclusion concerning another man’s character based solely on media reports and the varied opinions of a handful of people in his circle. He hadn’t met the man. Probably never will. Doesn’t even really want to. Yet that man is “a jerk.” He knows it because everyone else is saying it. 

Although largely at fault for this misconception, the media is not fully to blame. This method of “knowing” people predates radios and newspapers, telephones, televisions, and the internet. It goes back as far as the origin of the gossip grapevine. People were forming their opinions on the backs of other people’s speculations clear back in the New Testament. Whispers about Jesus were everywhere. Who was that guy anyway?

It seems Jesus wanted to hear the answer to that as well. He comes right out and asks the disciples, “Who is everyone saying I am?” The answer isn’t encouraging. Whispered words at the well, hushed conversations at the market, quiet discussions around the Temple all came up with different conclusions. Maybe He was a preacher. Maybe He was a prophet back from the dead. Maybe He was a different prophet. “The Messiah” never crossed their minds. They hadn’t even considered it. How could they? They didn’t actually know Him. They had no way of knowing anything about Him other than what they’d heard. Apparently, they hadn’t heard much. (Matthew 16:13-14) 

But how could that be? He’s been teaching and healing and feeding people for quite a while now. They are coming in droves to be healed or watch others be healed. He amazes them, holds them spellbound. Yet they don’t make the connection. It makes one wonder if the disciples had it figured out yet, either? Had they followed Him from place to place, witnessed miracle after miracle, learned precept upon precept, and the light still not dawned? Is that possible? 

Thankfully, no. At least not for Peter. He wasn’t confused about who He was following around, sacrificing everything for. Peter knew exactly who He believed Jesus was. His opinion wasn’t based on roadside gossip. It wasn’t something the priest had told him. It wasn’t an epiphany gained when catching up on the latest speculations from the village well. Peter knew exactly who Jesus was because Peter knew Jesus personally. 

Peter had been out fishing with his brother, Andrew, when he first met Jesus. It took no time at all for him to drop His net and follow. (Matthew 4:18-19) He’d walked with Jesus all over Galilee as He taught and preached and healed. Peter’s own mother-in-law was healed by the touch of Jesus’ hand. (Matthew 8:14-15) He’d been on boats tossing in storms, seen Jesus quiet the waves with simple words. (Matthew 8:23-27) Peter had witnessed Jesus’ compassion as He healed a Gentile girl and fed thousands of people. (Mark 7:24-30; 8:1-10) Peter knew exactly with whom He walked. He had firsthand knowledge. He was deeply, intimately acquainted with Jesus, the Messiah, the Son of the living God.   

It comes as no surprise then, when it is Peter who pipes up first in response to Jesus’ question, “Who am I to you?” Peter doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t scrape his toe in the ground and wait for someone else to answer first. No. He confidently speaks the truth he has seen with his own eyes, heard with his own ears, and experienced in his own soul, “You are the Messiah.” To Peter, Jesus was everything God had promised through the prophets hundreds of years before. Not because someone else said so. Not because he’d heard the notion over a meal at the local inn. Not because it was the popular opinion in the village. Peter knew exactly who Jesus was because he was busy walking through life beside Him.  (Matthew 16:15-16; Mark 8:29)

Right beside Him, in fact. Peter is the guy who jumped out of a boat in the middle of a storm to walk across wind-driven waters toward Jesus. He could have just believed it when Jesus called out saying they didn’t need to be afraid. He could have stayed on the boat and waited for Jesus to get there. He didn’t need to leave the boat to prove Jesus was the Messiah. He already knew. Peter knew that if the person walking toward them on raging waters was Jesus, not a ghost as the others suspected, He could make that water hold Peter too. So he called out, “If it’s really You, call me to walk to you.” Jesus called. Peter walked. Even when the waves threatened to overtake Peter’s faith, he cried out to the One he knew could save him. Why? Because Peter knew with certainty Whose company He was keeping. Jesus. Messiah. Son of God. (Matthew 14:22-32)

Five chapters after Peter’s declaration in Matthew is the account of Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem. Crowds of people watched as He approached the town. They threw their robes on the ground before Him. They tossed branches down to pad His path. They sang Hosanna and blessed Him. But when He got into Jerusalem, the people there didn’t know who He was. Apparently, the people following Him didn’t really know either. When asked, their answer reflected the murmurings around town, “It’s the prophet Jesus from Nazareth.” (Matthew 21:1-11) Not Messiah. Not Savior. Not the Son of God. They were clearly unaware with Whom they walked. They knew all about Him, but they didn’t truly know Him.    

Which makes me wonder about us. How well do we know Jesus? In a society that has diluted the importance of Jesus and His story to be part of an insignificant historical backdrop, who, exactly, is Jesus to us? Do we know Him personally, intimately, like Peter, or are we still following the crowd and forming opinions based on the speculations of others? Do we actually know Jesus, or do we only know about Him?

See, you can know about a hundred celebrities. You can drop names, quote stats, and guess trades. You can quote their hometown, birthday, and the last three teams they played on. It will never matter. Knowing about them is quite different than knowing them. Jesus is the same way. You can know all about Him–His birth, His life, His death, His resurrection. You can quote Scripture, cite meanings from the Hebrew and Greek. You can pray with eloquent words, turn a lovely phrase in speech, but if you don’t spend every moment of every day with Jesus permeating your entire existence, you don’t really know who He is. 

Today, as He did centuries ago, Jesus is asking, “Who am I to you?” I hope you know Him well enough to recognize His voice. I hope your heart resounds with personal knowledge of the truths Peter spoke. Jesus. Messiah. Son of God. I hope you know from personal experience and are not simply living vicariously through Peter’s words, the preacher’s sermon, or parental teachings. I hope you know Jesus for yourself because you spend every day walking with Him, living in His presence, drinking in His life. I hope you remember who Jesus is to you. Savior. Friend. Comfort. Strength. Not because you’ve been told He is those things, but because you have experienced them firsthand. (Hebrews 7:25; John 15:13-15; Isaiah 51:12; Psalm 46:1; Isaiah 40:29) As you step to the starting line of this new year, I hope you know with absolute certainty born of deep relationship, who Jesus is to you. Messiah. Savior. Son of God. Prince of Peace. (Ephesians 2:14-22; Mark 1:11; John 1:29; John 3:17)

Jesus is still asking. Asking where He fits in your life. Do you really know Him or do you simply know about Him? Is He just another prophet or is He your King? Who, exactly, is Jesus to you?

My mind is overwhelmed when I try to imagine how a parent handles this type of anguish. How heartbreaking to impotently watch your child suffer time and time again. Surely every other pain pales in comparison. The agonizing father in Luke 9 knew it all too well. He’d been watching his son be tormented for years. Nothing helped. Nothing healed. Nothing changed the situation. No matter what they tried, the sequence remained. Seized by an evil spirit, shrieking, convulsing, foaming at the mouth, followed by injury. His father’s heart was torn and ragged from watching and knowing he was helpless to heal his son. 

Willing to go to any length for a chance to save his only child, he came to the disciples and begged them to help. Perhaps their fear overcame their faith. Perhaps they forgot the power working through them was that of the God of impossibilities. Perhaps they hadn’t given themselves enough to previous prayer and fasting. (Mark 9:29; Matthew 17:20-21; 19;26) Whatever impeded their faith, it rendered them unable to help. The boy remained besieged. 

In a final attempt to bring peace to his son and assuage the pain in his own heart, the man joins the crowd surging around Jesus as He walks into town. The crowd is growing large and pressing. The possibility of this father even getting to Jesus seems to be diminishing. Unparalleled urgency spurs the man to action. Unwilling to let the opportunity pass, unable to wait another moment, unconcerned with what anyone thought of him, the distraught father cried loudly to Jesus from the crowd, “Please have mercy on my son!” (Matthew 17:15)

Jesus calls for the boy to be brought forward. As father and son weave their way through the crowd, the evil spirit begins to pull its pranks. The child is knocked to the ground and thrown into wild convulsions. The crowd pulls back in dismay, widening their circle. In silence they stand watching the spectacle, waiting to see if this man Jesus could or would do anything. The father stands back with bated breath. His hands clasped tightly together as if in prayer. This is his last hope, his boy’s only chance. Will it happen? Will the great Teacher do what His disciples couldn’t? 

The convulsions worsen. In a testament to the bleak loneliness of their future should the boy remain unhealed, the crowd puts even more distance between them and the convulsing child. They certainly don’t want what he has! They want to watch. They like a good show, but they absolutely do not want his germs! Unlike the fickle crowd, Jesus doesn’t step back. Jesus steps forward. He rebukes the evil spirit forever, heals the boy, and hands him back to his father. The immensity of that father’s relief must have been palpable. One moment it seemed all was lost, everything was hopeless, the future was a bleak mass of pain–but then there was Jesus. (Luke 9:37-43)

The Gentile woman from Canaan was in the same heartbreaking position. Her daughter was horribly tormented by an evil spirit. In an effort to save her child, the woman came and unabashedly cried out for help from Jesus. In spite of His proclamation that He had come to save Israel, she falls on her knees before Him in desperation and begs Him to help. Her faith in His ability doesn’t allow her to give up. She can’t walk away. This is her last option, her daughter’s only hope. From the bottom of her aching mother’s heart, she knows this Man is the answer to her daughter’s needs. She persists. Her faith pays off. When it seemed like all was lost, everything was hopeless, the future an unending episode of terror and pain–in her time of deepest need, there was Jesus. (Matthew 15:21-28)

He wasn’t just rescuing children overcome by evil spirits. Over and again throughout the Gospels, we see Jesus stepping into scenes of angst, fear, grief, hopelessness, helplessness, and pain, reaching out His hand in hope, help, healing. He walks into rooms of mourning and turns them to joy. Remember Lazarus? He had been dead for four days! His body had long been shrouded in burial linens and placed in a grave. Their hearts were broken. They were mourning. Then there was Jesus.

He came to the tomb and commanded the stone be rolled from the door. Startled at this request, and possibly trying to save herself the mental horror, Martha warned against it. Decomposition would have already started. It was not going to look or smell pretty. Jesus could not be deterred. After speaking to His Father, He called Lazarus to exit the tomb. And he did. In the middle of a helpless, hopeless impossibility–there was Jesus. (John 11:1-44)

It wasn’t only during His earthly ministry that He showed up. Gathered in terror and hiding behind locked doors, the disciples were huddled together mourning Jesus’ death. They were hiding for their lives. The drapes were pulled. The candles were gutted. No one was talking. The future was dark. Their hearts were awash in hopelessness and despair. Perhaps they were mulling over the future. Maybe they were drawing up an exit strategy. Perhaps they were writing their last will and testament. It doesn’t matter. They wouldn’t be alone for long. Into their moment of hopeless, helpless despair stepped Jesus. Just when it seemed like all was lost–there was Jesus, bringing them the gift of the Holy Spirit. (John 20:19-22)

A million things have changed in the centuries since Jesus walked the earth. Possibly everything. Except Jesus. Jesus doesn’t change. Ever. He will always be there. He doesn’t shy away from issues. He doesn’t run from problems. There is no challenge too big, no effort too Herculean. When Jesus said He would be with us always, He meant it. He never goes back on His word. (Hebrews 13:8; Matthew 28:20; I Samuel 12:22; Joshua 21:45) In the middle of your life, whether things are foul or fabulous–there will always be Jesus.

Poised on the threshold of a new year, we find ourselves looking back at the old one. It’s an awful view. The year through which we have just traversed was full of treachery, heartbreak, frustration, anxiety, and fear. As we look back, squinting to see good in the swirling eddy of unfortunate events behind us, it is so difficult to see the hand of God in all the mess. It seems impossible to find His plan. It is easy to wonder where God has been, what He has been doing the last few months. Yet faith tells us He was there. When we were locked in bewilderment, despondency, and despair–there was Jesus, bringing strength and courage and hope.

In the middle of all the loss and frustrations the past year brought, a sweet friend of mine was diagnosed with terminal cancer. She is a wonderful woman of faith, prayer and relationship with Jesus. She would happily say Jesus has been there for her every moment, every day, every year of her life. With a broken heart and tears clouding my vision, I read the post outlining her status, diagnosis, and prognosis. It was not what I wanted to hear. At the end of the post, true to their character, her husband had written this statement of their faith, “For this, we have Jesus.” It has been my favorite phrase of 2020. It will be my sustaining phrase for 2021. No matter what happens. No matter how ridiculous our society gets. No matter how far things spiral out of control. No matter how dark, how hopeless, how bleak. I must continually remind myself, “For this, we have Jesus.”

Like the children in the above Luke and Matthew accounts, the evil one is doing his best to traumatize our souls. He is hiding around every corner, behind every bush, at the top of every new day waiting to ambush our hearts. Some days it feels like he is winning. Sometimes we just aren’t certain we can endure even one more frustration, hardship, or sorrow. Our desperate hearts are burdened. Our bedraggled souls are exhausted. It feels like we’ve been in mourning most of the year. Hiding out in discouragement, despondency, anxiety, and fear seems like the only option. It is hard. I know. I also know this, when it seems like all is lost, it isn’t. Jesus is there.

As I stand looking over the blank existence of 2021, I don’t pretend to know what lies ahead. I do know this. Jesus is already there. He is not surprised by what is coming. He is not stymied by our perplexities. He will not prove unavailable when hard times come. And they will come. It’s the nature of life. And we will find, when faced with despair, hopelessness, frustration, or fear–there will be Jesus. So when your hands are tied, your resources limited, your hope dwindling, straighten your spine and firmly place your faith in the God of the impossible, solidly plant both feet on His promise to never leave us alone, and remember that for any situation, for every situation, whatever it may be, “For this, we have Jesus.” (Jeremiah 29:11; Isaiah 57:15; Mark 11:22; Deuteronomy 31:6,8)

A beautifully interesting thing happens when you consecutively read one chapter of Luke each day starting with the first day of December. Something that speaks to the question I once overheard my nephew asking a priest, “Which holiday is more important, Christmas or Easter?” I quit my eavesdropping before I heard the answer. I wish I hadn’t. I’ve pondered the question since. I have yet to arrive at a solid answer. This year, though, my annual pilgrimage through Luke has added a new dimension to my ponderings. 

As I write this, I’ve read more than 20 chapters. There are 24. I’ve read of Gabriel’s visit to Mary. The ill-timed census travel. The stable birth. I’ve read through most of Jesus’ life, been awed by His miracles, inspired by His teachings. I’ve read accounts of lives He changed with a word or a touch. I’ve read of those who refused that change. Admittedly, I’ve looked ahead. In these last few days before our celebration of Christ’s birth, I will read the account of His death and resurrection. The relevance to the above question is not lost on me.

Our society views these momentous occasions as separate events. Today, Christmas is largely touted as a season of celebration punctuated by lavish decorations, extravagant parties, and generous gift-giving. Folks get caught up in the lights, euphoria, and anticipation, forgetting the reason for the celebration–the Baby who was born to die. At Easter, the celebrations might be less, but the commercialization is more. Egg hunts, bunnies, chicks. Although exciting and adorable, not one speaks to the fact the Child whose birth we celebrated scant months before now hangs dying on a cross. We gloss over Good Friday and hop straight to Easter morning and the resurrection. We forget that Jesus didn’t have that luxury. He was born to die.    

Personally, the two accounts have become so intricately interwoven I can no longer determine which is of greater importance. The birth of Jesus celebrated at Christmas is not a separate story from the one of the cross and resurrection. His birth was just the beginning. The manger would lead to the cross. It was always meant to. On that night of strange birthing quarters, caroling angels, and rejoicing shepherds, the stark truth remained–Jesus was born to die. No other baby born in Bethlehem would do what He came to do. He wouldn’t be just another great teacher, another prophet like Elijah, another preacher like John the Baptist. He was Heaven on earth. God in human flesh. He was God on a mission. 

A mission to save the world. He’d do anything to make it happen. Change every willing soul. Heal every faith-filled heart. Teach as often as possible. Care more deeply. Love more strongly. Plead unendingly. And, when the time came, He’d sacrifice Himself freely so all humanity could be saved. Everyone. Those who mocked and scorned. Those who betrayed. Those who believed. Both then and now. He’d die for everyone. It’s what He came to do.

Jesus birth was just the first in a long line of gifts to His people. For those who then believed, He brought the joy of fulfillment and hope for the future. Anna, having spent 84 years in the temple serving, fasting, praying, waiting for the arrival of the Messiah, felt her heart swell with praise and joy that hope for the future had finally arrived. Simeon, promised he would see the Messiah before he died, praised God for the fulfillment of both prophecy and promise, speaking of the hope made possible by His coming. It wouldn’t be without pain, that journey from the manger to the cross. But all humanity would benefit from the trek. It was the reason He came. (Luke 2:25-38) 

The manger made it possible for the cross to stand between us and eternal punishment. Just as Isaiah prophesied. (Isaiah 9:6) Jesus is our Counselor. Our Advisor. In a courtroom setting, our legal defense. The Mediator between God and man. The One who cries out for leniency on our behalf. As we stand guilty and ragged and broken before the great Tribunal of Heaven, the Man from the manger cries out from the cross, “It is finished.” Completing on Golgotha the work that started more than 30 years earlier in Bethlehem. You see, it is impossible to extricate Christmas from Easter!

Over and again He has proven to His people He is their Mighty God. Account after account fill the Gospels of impossibilities made possible only by His power. The virgin birth of Jesus. (Luke 1-2) Water turned into wedding wine. (John 2:1-11) Blind regaining sight. (Mark 8:22-26) The absolution we seek, but find so elusive, made possible only through the beating and scorning, the mocking and death of Heaven’s Child. (Matthew 26-27) Oh, yes, Christmas is all about Easter! 

In the final chapter of Luke, the one I’ll read on Christmas Eve, we find our eternal, everlasting Savior. His lifeless body is taken from the cross, lovingly prepared for burial. Wrapped in fine linen. Laden with perfumes and spices. Placed in a tomb. The stone is rolled over the door. It seemed final. His followers gathered to mourn. They were in for a big surprise! Death couldn’t keep the linen from falling away. The tomb couldn’t hold the Savior down. Triumphantly victorious over sin, death, and the grave, He rose up and came calling. Calling His followers then. Calling His people now. Calling you. Calling me. Fulfilling the mission for which He came, Jesus proved once and for all that death has absolutely no power over the Father who has always been and will always be. Our salvation and eternal life rested on Jesus coming to earth to die and rise again. Don’t you see? Christmas is all about Easter! (Luke 23:50-24:1-49; Isaiah 57:15; Isaiah 43:13; Psalm 102:12) 

After Jesus’ resurrection, He ascended into Heaven to sit at the right hand of God the Father, praying for us. Groaning prayers. Aching intercessions. Prayers we have no idea how to pray or even that we need to pray them. Prayers for our salvation. Prayers for our faith. Prayers for our steadfastness. Prayers that bring us peace. Prayers that touch the Father’s heart because they come from His beloved Son. The One He sent to Golgotha via Bethlehem so His people could be saved from their sins. (Luke 22:69; Romans 8:26, 34; Hebrews 7:25; Matthew 1:21)

The truth is, Christmas and Easter are the inextricably intertwined efforts of God the Father and God the Son to bring us the one thing we long for most. The thing we wish for above all things. The thing we dream of as we lay unsleeping in the dark. The thing we hope for with every new bauble, new move, new job. The thing nothing in the world can give. Jesus came to give us peace. Peace no matter what is going on around us. Peace no matter what news we receive. Peace with God through the shed blood of Jesus Christ. (Colossians 1:20)

As Jesus hung on that cross, dragging in His final breaths, the separating curtain in the temple split in two, finishing the fulfillment of Isaiah’s prophetic passage, “He will be called…Prince of Peace”. (Luke 23:44-46; Isaiah 9:6) That torn curtain means we can leave our sheep in the pasture, our grain in the field, our oil in the cruet. Through the shed blood of the manger-born Christ-child, we can directly access the Father. We can have peace with God through the forgiveness of sins by simply calling on the name of the Lord in confession, repentance, faith. (Romans 10:13; Ephesians 2:14) Christ was born for this exact reason. Yes, friends, Easter is all tangled up in Christmas!

I find I’m no longer trying to choose between Christmas and Easter. I found the choice impossible. I cannot leave Christmas behind on December 26 and treat Easter as a separate event. I don’t even want to do so. Just as Bethlehem was the starting place for Jesus’ journey up Golgotha, Christmas has become a starting place for me. My celebrations are just beginning. Earth’s Christmas might be over, but Heaven is still sending gifts. God is still sending out invitations. Invitations for pardon, for peace. Engraved invitations in your name and mine. Invitations that can only be sent because Jesus came as a baby to die as a man so you and I could secure a seat at the marriage supper of the Lamb. Heaven gave us Christmas because we would die without Easter. (James 1:17; John 3:17; Revelation 19:9; Hebrews 9:22)

In a few days, Christmas 2020 will be history. You will put away your opened presents, pack up your decorations, and tuck away your precious memories of this year’s celebrations. The sense of deflation that comes after the realization of a much-anticipated event may settle over your soul. Don’t let it overtake you. You don’t have to stop celebrating. Pick up your Bible. Read the last few chapters of Luke. Heaven is still sending gifts. There’s so much to look forward to! Christmas might be over, but thank God, Easter is coming!

As the holidays approached this year, they have been overshadowed by an ominous cloud of all the things we are missing. So many things have been canceled. So many parties and games and festivals shut down for the season. So many families choosing not to gather in celebration of Christ’s birth for the first time in their memories. So many churches choosing to forego Christmas Eve services. We are saddened and frustrated, maybe even a little angry, to be missing the things that have brought us so much joy in the past. Indelibly etched in the folds of our memory, 2020 will be logged as “The Year of Missed Moments.” 

I wonder if Herod’s year was memorialized as such. It should have been. Herod had missed the memo. Of all the meetings, on all the days of his over-scheduled calendar, he missed that one! The most important one. The one he most needed to attend. It was unfortunate, regrettable. He had no one to blame but himself. His arrogant selfishness had robbed him of a life-changing introduction. The meeting would never be rescheduled. He wouldn’t get a second chance. Herod missed meeting Jesus because he refused to take a few minutes from his own endeavors and travel just six miles to see Him!

It wasn’t for lack of intel or opportunity. He knew about the star the Wise Men were following. He knew which town they should search. He knew the prophecies of a coming Messiah. But Herod didn’t call up his head of transportation and arrange a camel caravan to take him the short journey to meet this miracle Child. He didn’t grab a backpack, stuff in a change of clothes, a bottle of water and a couple granola bars and light off on the six-mile trek. He was too important for that. Too busy to take the time. Too self-absorbed to make an effort. Unfortunately, Herod missed what would have been the most profitable meeting of his life because he was too busy preserving his prestigious position. (Matthew 2:1-18)

What would have happened if Herod had gone to meet Jesus? We think we know. Our minds conjure up images of Herod storming into that little Bethlehem dwelling with soldiers and swords, slaughtering everyone in the house. We see him standing in the doorway, a river of blood flowing past his feet, pounding his chest as he claimed victory over an infant. But what if we are wrong?  What if Herod had come to that house, met the Messiah, and been forever changed? It would have changed his legacy. Instead of being the historic king of seething hate, burning anger and rash violence, known for brutally ordering the killing of Bethlehem’s male infants and toddlers, he could have been the king who supped with the Messiah. (Matthew 2:16)

He could have been. Except he chose not to be. Herod was too tunnel-visioned. Too intent on preserving his authority. Too selfish. Too arrogant. When presented with a golden opportunity to meet the Messiah himself, he sent someone else instead. When gifted the option to live a changed life, he opted out. When blessed with the opportunity to leave a brilliant legacy, he chose to leave violence and hate. When the opportunity of a lifetime was just six miles down the road, Herod couldn’t be bothered to throw off his cloak of self-importance and go meet Jesus. He squandered his chance and left us a legacy of missed opportunity. 

I fear we are doing the same thing. Not sending men to slaughter infants. Missing opportunities to meet with Jesus. Thousands of years after Jesus was born, we are perpetuating Herod’s legacy. Shocked? You shouldn’t be. Look at us! Slouched on our couches in front of big-screen TV’s, a cell phone beside us, a computer on our laps, bowing before the technology god. Look at us! Vainly rising up early to stay up late, working for more money, more things, more importance. (Psalm 127:2) Look at us! Frivolously spending every free moment with shopping and visiting and doing. Look at us! Falling into bed at night, too tired to read our Bibles, too spent to pray, too quickly asleep to ruminate on the day’s missed opportunities to meet with Jesus.  

Shame on us! Even more so than on Herod. Herod was six physical miles from Jesus. No matter how short the distance, he had to travel to make that meeting. We have no such excuse. We don’t need to saddle a camel, don our best walking shoes, or arrange an escort to meet Jesus. We don’t have to move six feet. Or even six inches. We have only to speak His name. Whisper a prayer. (Psalm 145:18; Acts 17:27; Jeremiah 33:3) Pick up your Bible. Dust it off. Read its pages. Hear God speak. (John 10:27; Isaiah 55:3; Hebrews 4:12) Unfortunately, like Herod, we can’t be bothered. 

What does that say about us? What does it say about our souls that we are lazier, more self-absorbed, than atrociously evil Herod? As we push aside opportunity after opportunity to meet Jesus, as we starve our souls on the altar of advancement, as we sacrifice everything for selfish vainglory, what, exactly are we hoping to accomplish? What does it matter if we gain the whole world, but miss the opportunity of a lifetime? (Mark 8:36-38)

The wise writer of Ecclesiastes says it best. It’s all vanity. It’s all useless. Wisdom, knowledge, pleasure, possessions, wealth. It’s like chasing the wind. (Ecclesiastes 1:14, 18; 2:11; 4:13-16) The truth of his words hasn’t changed over the centuries. The truth of his conclusion hasn’t changed either. The things that matter, the things on which you should be focusing, the opportunities you shouldn’t be missing, are these–fear God and keep His commandments. Not just to avoid God’s judgment, but so your children and grandchildren will do them too. (Ecclesiastes 12:13-14; Deuteronomy 6:4-9) Work to build a legacy of grasped opportunities. 

I was given such a legacy. Deeply imprinted in all of my childhood memories are images of my parents and grandparents reading their Bibles and praying. The halls of my mind echo with the legacy of faith they have written. We were beyond poor. We had little of earthly value. But we had Jesus. Daddy would rise at 5:00 every morning to spend time alone in Bible reading and prayer. Many were the mornings I would wake up and listen to his footsteps as he paced the living room talking to God and listening when God spoke back. My mind’s eye clearly recalls my mother sitting at a table or in an easy chair, her Bible open before her. Bible stories told by my Grandmother. Prayers of my Grandfather. Singing when it seemed there was no reason. Praise when things looked bleak. Church every time the doors were open. Every opportunity to meet with Jesus grasped as tightly as a precious jewel. 

Our society has forgotten how to do that. Put Jesus first. So often we miss opportunities to meet with Him because we are too busy chasing the latest craze, following the newest trend, seeking social affirmation. We plan time for work, time for friends, time for ourselves, but run out of time for Jesus. So did Herod. Look where it got him. It won’t take you anywhere different. 

In Philippians 3:8, the Apostle Paul says he has lost everything–social standing, religious standing, all the things we strive so hard to gain–but it was worth it because he gained Christ. Where he had sought to be impressive by the world’s standards, he now seeks one thing only–to intimately know Jesus Christ. (Philippians 3:8-9) You see, intimate relationship with Jesus Christ cannot be found in infrequent Bible reading and irregular prayer. Eternal legacies are not written by schedules too busy for intentional meetings with Jesus. They are carved in the hearts of our loved ones by selflessly, faithfully, grasping every opportunity to spend time with God. 

As lovely as it would be to go back and change history, we can’t. History stands as it played out. The choices of those in its pages echo through time as warnings to us. We can’t change Herod’s choice, but we can heed its warning. We can’t give him another opportunity to meet Jesus, but we can grab the next one that comes our way and hold on with both hands. We can’t change Herod’s legacy, but we can write a better one. An eternal legacy of meeting Jesus and a lifestyle that proves it.