Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

Uncomfortable silence fell as the unexpected statement hung in the air. He wasn’t wrong. Originally they had fallen over one another in a mad rush to follow Jesus because they had seen so many sick being healed. It was fantastic! Their wildest imaginations couldn’t have conjured up such a person. Everything about Him healed! Hands.Thoughts. Words. Simple verbiage they used every day, when uttered from His mouth, was enough to have the nobleman’s nearly dead son up playing ball, the lame man skipping down the road with his pallet under his arm, and the guests in Cana drinking wedding wine instead of water. Of course they followed Him to see more. Who wouldn’t?! 

In fact, so distracted were they by the miraculous, they forgot the simplistic. In their rush to stay right on Jesus’ hemline, they forgot to eat lunch. Winding through the booths of food in the middle of town hadn’t reminded them. The sights and smells hadn’t invaded their single-minded focus. The heat of the sun high in the sky hadn’t set off their internal food alarm. So intent were they on witnessing more miracles, they forgot to grab a sandwich, a salad. Not even a croissant. Instead, they ended up ravenously hungry covering the hillside like a community of preschoolers waiting for their portion of the miracle menu to be handed out. Bread and fish for everyone. Seconds. Thirds. Leftovers. Lots of leftovers.  

The moment probably should have been humiliating, would have been just so, if they hadn’t been so amazed. They hadn’t seen this kind of miracle before. Some kid pulled a couple of fish and a handful of rolls out of his pocket and handed them to Jesus. He’d taken the meager offering, blessed it like He was about to partake of Michelin star cuisine, and told His disciples to pass it out. Looking as skeptical as the guys seated in the back of the felt, they complied.

Walking among the rows of seated men, their hands never emptied. There was always more bread. The fish never ran out. No one was left hungry. And the leftovers? A lot. Twelve full baskets. Enough to feed another large crowd, the homeless, the marginalized, the destitute. Enough to flip the switch on an ingenious idea. If this man could miraculously feed the country, heal the sick, cast out demons, and make water taste like wine, they shouldn’t let Him out of their sight. He was the perfect candidate to be king. 

It would be the greatest kingdom the world had ever known! Hunger would be eradicated. Illness would be eliminated. The effects of evil spirits would be annihilated. And maybe, just maybe, He’d come to all the weddings and serve the finest wine and most delicate hors d’oeuvres imaginable! There was so much He could do for them, so many ways He could improve their lives. Without a doubt, they had to keep Him there! 

Except He was already gone. Hastily arranging search parties, they went out to bring Him back. One group went to the seashore. Another trekked back to the afternoon’s picnic area. Still others knocked on every door in town. It was all to no avail. He wasn’t on the mountain where a few people still milled about just waking from their after-dinner naps. He wasn’t in town passing out leftovers at the homeless camp. He wasn’t at the docks waiting to board a boat. He didn’t seem to be…anywhere. At least not anywhere they thought to look. 

Desperately brainstorming among themselves, they realized the disciples who traveled with Him weren’t there either. Racing to the beach, they searched for the boat on which Jesus had arrived. It wasn’t there. He was already gone! Somehow He’d given them the slip and was likely headed to Capernaum. They had to follow. Had to stop Him from working miracles in another place. Had to keep His talents secret until they had secured His allegiance to them alone. 

 Commanding the small boats still in the harbor, they crammed tightly aboard and set sail across the sea. The conversation while crossing must have been eloquent. Accusations thrown about as to who allowed their king-elect to escape. Lamenting lost comforts should other people claim Him first. Sky castles of what He would do, give, award, allow the people under His reign. Dreams of a lavish lifestyle, a painless existence, every favor granted. They simply must crown Him their king!

Docking in Capernaum, they set out to find Jesus. It didn’t take long. He wasn’t hiding.  Unsuccessfully attempting to conceal the fact they were chasing Him down, in feigned surprise they asked, “Jesus, when did you get here?”  And Jesus answered. Not with the words they were hoping to hear. Not with an answer that was pleasant and palatable. With an answer that was true whether they liked it or not. “Your souls didn’t send you, your bellies did. You aren’t seeking me to find substance for eternal life, but sustenance for earthly life. Stop it. Stop following Me for what I can do to enhance your earthly existence. Follow me to secure your eternal existence. Seek Me to find eternal life that doesn’t fade, never erodes, and can’t be stolen away.” (John 6; Matthew 6:19-20; I Peter 1:3-4; Luke 12:21) 

The silence was deafening. His obvious rebuke stung. But He wasn’t wrong. They were following Jesus for all the wrong reasons. Personal reasons. Selfish reasons. Reasons for which He’d never have come. He wouldn’t have left Heaven to be a personal physician, gourmet chef, or jack-of-all-trades. His words concerning their motives were true. So eager were they to enhance their earthly existence, they had made no preparation for their eternal existence. They weren’t following Jesus out of grave concern for their life after death options; they were only concerned with the ease of their life before death.  

It is not a new story. Over and over through the centuries between then and now it has played like an old record player with the needle stuck in the same groove. People are still chasing Jesus down so He can do them a favor. Heal an illness. Grant a wish. Land a job. Fatten a bank account. Build a following. They are desperately seeking a genie in a bottle, a beck-and-call boy, a personal physician, a celebrity chef. They want the glamor without the gore. People want to follow Jesus, but only for the fringe benefits. 

And that is where they follow Him, too. On the fringes, the outskirts, the edges. Close enough to hopefully get in on the miracles but far enough away to avoid submission. Surrender isn’t in their vocabulary. They have plans and dreams and goals. They want nothing to do with death to self and life in Christ. It doesn’t fit the brief. They aren’t interested in picking up a cross–daily or otherwise–and following His lead. It’s outside their scope. They want no part of fiery trials, tribulation, temptation, or persecution–even if it does lead to Heaven. None of those are in their life plans. They are simply interested in the list of favors, whims, wants, urges, and desires for which their hearts long, a magical genie not a majestic Savior. (James 4:7-10; Galatians 2:20; Luke 9:23; James 1:2; I Peter 4:12; John 16:33; Matthew 5:11)

Over the past week, I have posed this question to my family, “Why do you follow Jesus?” The answers were varied. I promised not to write them here. But I will tell you mine. After much contemplation, I realized my answer was simple. I believe. I believe that Jesus Christ is the only way to God and Heaven and eternal life. I believe that every account, every promise, every word spoken of and through Him is true. I believe that He is life. Not just eternal life in the future, but abundant life now. Every good and perfect gift comes not from my own goodness, but from Him alone. My life. My breath. My being. Without Him I am nothing. And I believe–yes, I do–that He is a rewarder of those who diligently, relentlessly, unselfishly seek Him. And because I believe, I follow. Not on the fringes. Not on the outskirts. Not on the edges. I follow closely. As close as I can. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. (John 14:6; John 10:10; James 1:17; Acts 17:28; Hebrews 11:6; Philippians 4:13)

So why do you follow Jesus? Do you know? Really know? Is it just the way you were raised, the influence of your social circle, the desire to cast yourself in a brighter light? Or is it something more, something real, something eternal? What are you hoping to gain from following? Something earthly like health, wealth, security, status? Or something eternal…like life? And where are you following? From the edge of the crowd or the fringes of His garment? Are you truly Jesus’ follower or simply hanging about hoping He’ll do you a favor?

Opening tightly squeezed eyelids and vigorously shaking his head, he studied the water sluicing over his hands. Clear, clean water. A sigh escaped his lips. For a moment, his guilt-ridden mind had believed it pink from the blood that surely dripped from his fingers. He shouldn’t be doing this. Shouldn’t be preserving his own peace over the safety of an innocent man. Shouldn’t be turning Him over to certain death at the hands of a crazed, angry mob. He really shouldn’t have been brought this case in the first place. Shouldn’t be ridiculous enough to think he could wash away his own guilt at this Man’s fate.  

His conscience was screaming at him, echoing with his wife’s warning to steer clear of this whole mess. Upon asking the chief priests and scribes to state their accusations against Jesus, Pilate found himself stunned. Misleading the nation? Patently untrue. Pilate would know about it if it were. There was no record, no evidence, just angry allegations. The second count, forbidding people to pay taxes, was also indubitably false. Caesar’s tax trackers would know all about that if it were happening. Jesus would have never made it to Pilate’s courtroom, He’d be in theirs. Not to mention the very public detail of Jesus’ statement, “Give to Caesar what is Caesar’s; and to God what is God’s.” (Luke 23:2; Matthew 22:15-22)

Their final charge was the strangest of all. Jesus says He is Christ, the King of the Jews. He acknowledged its factuality when questioned. But why were they so upset about it? Scores of people had shown up over the years making the same claim, gathering a following, teaching their beliefs. No one had been brought to him in the past. Eventually, their humanity had risen to the top, their deception revealed. Not so with this Man. If all the stories Pilate had heard were true, Jesus was the only claimant who even appeared to qualify. Healer. Savior. Miracle worker. Intellectual teacher. Temple speaker. He ticked all the boxes. The Jewish priests had spent the last several hundred years waiting, hoping, predicting His arrival. Could they not see His excellent candidacy? If He didn’t meet their kingly expectation, who could? What, exactly, were they expecting from their King?

Perhaps their overactive imaginations conjured up images more majestic than a carpenter boy from Nazareth working miracles in the streets. Maybe the passage of years between the prophecy and the actuality had turned some of the teachings into fairy tales. A weatherbeaten knight thundering into town on an enormous white destrier, tossing its head and stomping its hooves in barely restrained anticipation of the next battle. The knight’s scabbed and scarred hand would clutch an intimidating sword, its blade dripping with the blood of those who had defied him along the way. Stopping in front of the palace, he’d leap to the ground, throwing the reins of his fractious horse at a timid and unsuspecting stable hand. The echo of his determined brogans would pound up the wide steps. From far and wide his henchmen would descend on the city, overthrowing the reigning authority and claiming the throne as his own. Authority would again be back in Jewish hands. They would be triumphant. They would be saved. It would be a magnificent display. 

If these were their expectations, their disappointment was acute. Jesus was none of those things. Patiently teaching and preaching. Kindly touching and healing. There really was no fault in the man. Perhaps that was the problem. The individuals making these outrageous accusations weren’t looking for someone to calmly come in and reign, they were looking for someone with other qualities. Qualities more in line with their own. Pompous. Pugnacious. Political. Easily bought. Showing favoritism. Someone through whom they could extend their authority, not bow to his. The emotion motivating them to avidly pursue this Man’s death was not a deep-seated belief He was a heretic. No. It was born of envy. Envy over the attention He got, the crowds He drew, the miracles He worked. Terror that their limited authority would be replaced by His obvious superlative command. 

Pilate didn’t want to capitulate. It wasn’t his practice to get involved in a squabble with the Jews. Jesus had committed no crime against anyone. He was not a rabble-rouser. He was not a heretic. He was not a threat to Rome. He did not deserve death. Pilate was certain of it. But outside, the crowd was growing more raucous by the minute, stirred up by the overzealous, manipulative chief priests and scribes. A decision must be made, but he wasn’t about to take responsibility. The raging crowd would have to do it. It would be their choice. A vote, as it were. Release Him or crucify Him. Jesus or Barabbas. Sovereign Savior or sinister sinner.

The options had barely crossed his lips when the crowd, swayed by the miscreants infiltrating their ranks, made up their minds, shouting, “Crucify Him!” In spite of Pilate’s feeble attempts to dissuade them, his proclamation that he could find no guilt in Jesus, or his staunch refusal to punish Him for crimes he hadn’t done, the ignorant crowd still screamed, “Crucify Him!” Even the offer of a known criminal failed to alter their determined cries, “Crucify Jesus!” It seemed someone had made a choice. Or everyone had. 

Calling for a basin and towel, Pilate shouted his innocence in these shenanigan proceedings over the melee. Dramatically washing his hands in front of the crowd, he turned Jesus over to certain death and walked away. Away from the screaming mob. Away from the insidious allegations. Away from the judgment hall. If Pilate expected peace, he surely was disappointed. Haranguing guilt is not limited to halls of judgment, pricks of conscience are not restricted to moments of questionable choices, and peace returns only at the acceptance of extended grace. (Matthew 27:11-26; Mark 15:1-15; Luke 23:1-7,13-25; John 18:28-40; Isaiah 57:18-19)

That’s where the account gets me. Knowing that guilt and a troubled conscience will plague you day and night, I wonder why Pilate didn’t go to the cross. How many times did he wash his hands attempting to eliminate his guilt? Was his sleep restless and plagued with graphic dreams of beatings and death for the already abused, yet innocent, Man who had stood before him that day? Did he overhear stories passing between the servants of Jesus staggering beneath the weight of an undeserved cross, of blood running down his face from thorns thrust in His brow? Did his ears ring with the sound of a hammer striking nails, the sobs of a mother losing her son, the muffled weeping of those who believed, the loud guffaws of those who didn’t?  How did he feel when darkness overtook the bright afternoon sky and the earth shook beneath him? Did rumors of the torn temple veil confirm the affirming words of Jesus definitively stating He was Christ the King? Did Pilate ever realize that in spite of all the choices he made, refused to make, or failed to stop, the redemption provided for mankind at Calvary was for him too? He just needed to go to the cross. (Luke 23:44-45; Mark 15:38; Matthew 27:51) 

It is difficult to imagine. We’ve built up such a store of anger against the individuals in the trial and crucifixion of Jesus. Judas. Chief priests. Scribes. Pilate. The angry horde. We hate what they did. Some go so far as to say they deserve their eternal punishment. Jesus doesn’t. He came to save them. All of them. Although plenty have refused to accept His proffered grace, there is no one Jesus didn’t come to save. (John 12:44-46; Romans 10:13; John 3:17; Acts 10:43)

Spineless, selfish, sinful Pilate. The men who falsely accused Him, the crowd who abused Him, the soldiers who crucified Him, the mockers, the scorners, the unbelievers. Horrific, undeserving sinners of the worst kind. People who couldn’t see love and grace and redemption for the hate and envy and fear clouding their vision. Souls buried so deeply in their trespasses and sins they couldn’t imagine a way out, a path to freedom, a salvaged eternity. People like you. People like me. Jesus came into the world to save us all. We just have to go to the cross. (Hebrews 9:22; John 3:16; I Timothy 1:15; I John 1:9, 2:2; Luke 19:10, Titus 2:11) 

Unfortunately, many of us are still those people. Our alleged enlightenment has not changed our predicament. We are still sinners in need of forgiveness, mercy, and grace. You can dress up your sins and call them all kinds of sophisticated names–indiscretions, lapses, misconducts, mistakes. Suit yourself. It doesn’t change what they are. Eternally damning sins. The only remedy is to bow at the foot of the cross and allow the redemptive blood of Jesus Christ to erase the incriminating stains of our sins. Like Pilate, the chief priests, the crowd, the soldiers we so readily scorn, we don’t deserve it, could never earn it, but God provides it because His gracious loving kindness toward sinful humanity never ends. It has only to be accepted. Saint or sinner. Heaven or hell. It’s up to you. All you have to do is go to the cross. (Psalm 49:7-8; Galatians 3:13; Colossians 2:13-14; Ephesians 2:1-5; Isaiah 55:7)

From the moment he heard the invitation, “Follow Me,” Peter had been all in. Watching him dash out across the water toward Jesus only to realize what he was doing and falter in the middle of the sea, the other disciples would shake their heads and call him unpredictable. Eavesdropping as Peter reprimanded Jesus for attempting to prepare them for His coming death and resurrection, the listening disciples would hear the stinging return rebuke and call him impulsive. Holding his severed ear in the palm of his hand, sputtering in pain and disbelief, Malchus would deem Peter rash. But, no one, not one single person, would say that Peter wasn’t all in when he dropped his nets and raced across the sand to follow Jesus. (Matthew 4:19-20; 14:22-32; 16:21-23)

As quickly as he answered the call, the actual leaving must have taken an enormous amount of courage. It wasn’t difficult to leave the boat and nets for a few minutes and follow Jesus into town. But the call wasn’t about minutes. It was about a lifetime. It meant leaving everything behind. Friends, family, home, responsibilities. Trusting someone else with the family business. Enduring long separations from his wife with no regularly scheduled visits. No promise of tomorrow’s health, luxurious retirement, excessive hedge funds. It made for a hazy outlook over an uncertain future.     

There were a thousand things calling him to stay. The tears pooling in his wife’s eyes even as she nodded her supportive assent. The sad resignation in the eyes of his family as he hung up his fishing net, possibly for the last time. The pull of responsibility. The judgmental side-eye from neighbors. The jarring, grating voices in his own mind chanting that his decision was delusional. The uncomfortable ball in the pit of his stomach caused by the complete inability to know how this endeavor would end, if it would all be for nothing. Yet still, Peter chose to follow. 

It wouldn’t be the last time Peter heard those words or answered the call to follow Jesus. At the very end of John’s account, Jesus once again stood on the shore watching Peter surrounded by a boat and fishing nets. Emotions still in roller-coaster upheaval from recent events. Peter had gone back to his roots, his place of safety, his thinking spot. Peter went fishing. 

 Deeming it a proper place to quietly reflect, several other disciples went along. They all had thinking to do, were all attempting to process the barrage of scenes and emotions parading around their minds. The gut-wrenching scene of Jesus, beaten, bruised, bloody, hanging like a common thief on a cross still plagued them. The amazement of gazing into the empty tomb should have eclipsed it, but they couldn’t forget. And although no words could express their exhilaration at His upper room visit, it hadn’t really given them clarity concerning themselves, their future. Who were they now? Where did they go from there? What was their mission? And who was leading the charge? 

All through the night hours Peter and his friends silently let down their nets and waited. Unfocused on their task. Minds reeling. Each lost in his own thoughts, beleaguered by his own questions. It was not a productive night. As the first streaks of dawn began to creep up over the hills, not one fish graced their net. Not one answer illuminated their minds. Discouraged with life in general and their lack of fish in particular, they gloomily rowed toward shore.

Having done the task a hundred times, they didn’t bother to look onshore first. There was no need to line up with a dock. No one cared to quicken their pace. They didn’t even notice the stranger standing on the beach until He called out to them, inquiring if they had caught any fish. At their negative response, the man issued a peculiar command. “Throw the net over the right side of the boat and you will catch fish.” 

The oddness of the request notwithstanding, they saw no reason to deny the stranger attempting to help. Gathering the net up, they moved to the right side of the boat and threw it in the water. Expecting nothing, one can only imagine their surprise when fish filled the net with lightning speed. Hustling to get either the fish in the boat or drag the ridiculously full net to the shore, one enlightened man’s awestruck whisper resounded through their ranks, “It is the Lord.”  

As soon as the words landed on his ears, Peter did what he’d done from the beginning. He followed Jesus. Leaving the nets to his friends, he grabbed up his outer cloak, slung it on, jumped into the water, and headed for shore. It didn’t matter that the boat was going in the same direction. It was of no consequence to him that he was about 100 yards away. None of it mattered. Jesus had called. Peter was answering. Again. (John 21)

He would do it every time. Over and over again Peter would respond to the call to follow with barely a backward glance. He would leave everything, every time, for the privilege of following Jesus. It had nothing to do with a promised earthly reward–there wasn’t one. The only thing promised was their walk on earth would be rife with trials and tribulations. People would come against them, seek their demise. Following Jesus was never presented as a possible cakewalk, a bed of thornless roses, or an ant-less picnic. Yet Peter would never once change his answer when Jesus called. (John 16:33; Acts 14:22; John 15:19-21; Romans 8:36)

In a conversation whose difficulty I find it impossible to imagine, Jesus details to Peter how he will die. Not when. Not where. Just how. It is not pleasant. It is for the glory of God. Nowhere in this somewhat awkward conversation does Jesus promise Peter eternal glory for himself. He doesn’t offer any type of solace. No reparations for Peter’s family. He simply speaks the words and follows them up with the same invitational command He gave when He originally called him. “Follow me!” (John 21)

And Peter does. He follows Jesus. Doggedly. Wholeheartedly. Peter embodies the words of the Psalmist, “My soul follows hard after thee!” Read the book of Acts. In that beautifully inspirational Book, we catch just a glimpse into Peter’s tenacity in following Jesus. Preaching at Pentecost. Healing the lame man. Threats. Arrests. Horrific imprisonment. Miraculous release. The list goes on and on. Yet never once, no matter what atrocity he was facing, did Peter ever stop following Jesus. He had been called to fish for men, he would sacrifice everything to do so. He would deny himself everything, take up his cross daily (no matter what that entailed), and follow Jesus. Even when it meant his life. (Psalm 63:8; Luke 9:23)

At a time when so many of us are negligent followers, it would behoove us to take an act from Peter’s life. He wasn’t perfect. He was flawed. He was faulty and fallible and finite. He was just like you and me. Yet, in spite of all the times he should have held his tongue–or his sword–Peter’s face was set like a flint, his eyes focused on His Lord, his mission to follow Jesus. Completely. Relentlessly. Intentionally. Sacrificing every want, wish, and whim on the altar of self-denial, Peter courageously chose to follow Jesus no matter the cost. Every time. For all time. 

Perhaps Jesus has come to where you are and is calling you to follow Him. Maybe He is calling you to step into repentance and acceptance of the saving grace of Calvary. Maybe He is calling you to go to the boundaries of your social circle and reach out to those relegated to its fringes. Maybe He’s calling you to a career change, a mission field, a different neighborhood. Maybe He’s calling you to leave some things, places, people behind. Maybe He’s calling you from the relative safety of your well-ordered life to the absolute safety of His will. Maybe He’s calling you to get out of the boat and follow Him on the adventure of a lifetime. 

The truth is, I have no idea what Jesus is calling you to do after the fact, but I know with absolute certainty, Jesus is calling you to get out of the boat. He’s calling you to leave it behind and follow Him. Leave everything behind, actually. Once you step out of that boat, He’s got your back. In Him, your victorious Leader who never loses a battle, you will find everything you ever need. Your identity. Your direction. Your mission. Your home. You won’t find it in your creature comforts and cautiously cultivated friend circles. It will be conspicuously missing in your carefully curated houses and lifestyles. You’ll come up empty if you look for it in hobbies, workouts, relaxation techniques, or travel plans. You’ll have to get out of the boat, leave your safety nets behind, and follow Jesus!

It sounded like a setdown. A rebuke from a 12-year-old for whom they had just spent days searching. Intentional or not, the words stung like the verbal backhand they were and it was easy to feel affronted in light of all they had been through. An entire day had passed before they realized He had opted out of joining the caravan headed home from their annual temple visit. Not finding her Son among the other boys His age, His mother had become frantic. Racing from family to family, camp to camp, asking if anyone had seen Him, hope incrementally dying with every shake of another head. 

Finding Joseph, her panic-stricken face crumpled in grief, rivulets of tears flowing from the watery pools of her eyes, Mary begged him to do something. Anything. Everything. Whatever it took. He had to find Jesus. Even though she knew it was inevitable, she was unprepared for this day. The day when her Son, God’s Son, would leave her home and go out to do God’s work. Surely today couldn’t be that day! No. It couldn’t be this soon. Joseph had to find their Son. 

Adrenaline and fear fueling their search, Mary and Joseph set out to retrace their recent steps. A day of travel back to Jerusalem. A visit to the inn where they had stayed. Questioning of local shopkeepers. Speaking with friends. Begging information from strangers. Had anyone caught even a glimpse of a 12-year-old boy busy with business that had nothing to do with earth? 

By day three, out of options and destitute of hope, the heavy-hearted parents sought the solace of the temple. As they entered in reverent silence, they heard a voice that sounded particularly familiar. A voice they were uncertain they would hear again. One that caused their hearts to leap, their downturned mouths to lift with joy, and Mary’s tears to start again. Happy ones, this time. Jesus was in the temple. 

Odd. He didn’t seem impressed, relieved, or excited they had come back for Him. He didn’t jump up and hug their necks. He didn’t seem to begrudge the time He’d had to spend in the temple. In fact, He almost seemed hesitant to leave. And when He spoke to them, it didn’t feel full of love. Even if spoken with the kindest tone, it was a harsh reminder. One Mary had been trying to squelch since the day she knew she was carrying Him under her heart. Jesus had business to do on earth that had nothing to do with them. He was on God’s mission. And the mission had already begun. (Luke 2:41-52)

This must have been a turning point for Mary, an affirmation of all the truths her mind refused to consider. She had borne God’s Son. He would leave her home to go and do the will of His Father. He wouldn’t stay and become a carpenter like Joseph. He wouldn’t marry a girl from the neighboring farm and settle down nearby. There would be no grandchildren to dandle on her knees. At least not from her firstborn. No. His life would be different. His work would be greater. His calling that of Heaven. His business straight from God. 

It would be the only business in which Jesus would engage. Ever. Never once would He do something to please Himself, increase His own fame, encourage an entourage. His goals were not so peasant. No matter how often someone or something called Him to be drawn aside. He wouldn’t be. His eyes were fixed on the endgame. The ugly, horrific finality of the cross. The beatific, glorious infinity of the resurrection. Eternal life for dying humanity. This moment in the temple as a pre-teen would not be the last time Jesus would be discovered in an unexpected place, speaking unexpected words, bestowing unexpected grace. 

His disciples learned this firsthand. Finding Jesus in a forbidden conversation with a woman at the well in Samaria, the gobsmacked disciples decided to overlook His indiscretion and offer Him food. Perhaps His inordinate hunger had caused this gross oversight. As they urged their earthly bread on their Heavenly Leader, He waved it away. He wasn’t hungry. He’d already eaten. Soul food. The kind of food that feeds the soul who is busy doing the will of God. Because man survives physically on the bread from the ovens of earth, but the soul thrives only on constant communion with and obedience to the Father in Heaven. (John 4:1-34)

Enamored with the multiplication of fish and chips but unable to locate last night’s Cook, the crowd crammed themselves into small boats, vigorously rowing across the sea to Capernaum. Their stomachs were grumbling. Their mouths were watering. They wanted more food. Exhausting a significant amount of energy in the chase, they finally found Him, hopes set on a continental breakfast. Jesus called them on it. Called them out on relentlessly seeking perishable things instead of imperishable ones. But He didn’t send them away hungry. He offered them real food. Soul food. Not the stuff meant to satisfy empty bellies. The one thing, the only thing that satisfies empty souls. Himself. Bread. Water. Life. Feeding their souls as well as His own, because the sustenance for Jesus’ own soul came from doing the one thing He was sent here to do–God’s business. (John 6:1-40)

Over and again throughout the Gospels, Jesus reminds us, “I’m not here to do my own will. I’m simply on business for my Father.” The words are always spoken in moments when He so easily could point out His own excellence and gather glory for Himself. Times He could strike out on His own in pursuit of personal dreams and ambitions. Incidents after which He could use miracles to entice followers, His skilled oration to build the first megachurch of all time, His heavenly abilities to accrue all earthly comforts, fame, accolades, honor. He didn’t. It wasn’t why He came. He was here to do one thing alone. His Father’s will. (John 6:38,57,63; 8:29; 14:10,31) 

Hear it in His declaration, “I came from Heaven, not to do my own will, but only the will of my Father.” See it resonate in His words to the Jews at the Feast of Booths, “My teaching, my words, are not Mine, but My Father’s.” Feel the pathos of His Gethsemane cries, “Not my will, but Thine be done.” As I contemplate these Scriptures, these quotations, I find myself disgusted with humanity. All of us. Such a selfish, forgetful lot. Plodding around the planet claiming it and all its fruits as our own. Scurrying and working to lay up treasures in savings accounts and hedge funds. Preposterously calling people and plans and property our own. What elevated, deluded opinions we have of ourselves! If Jesus was put on earth to do only the business of God alone, who do we think we are to assume, presume, we were placed here for some other reason?! (John 6:38, 7:16; Luke 22:42; Psalm 127:2; Psalm 39:6)

Pompous, presumptuous, preposterous people living for time instead of eternity! Wake up, already! You were not placed on this earth, given life beyond the womb, for personal, proprietary reasons. You were not gifted life so you could get up early and stay up late feverishly working overtime and double time in an effort to gain a more prominent title, a higher position, a larger paycheck. It is unlikely God placed you here with the singular task of owning a beach house, a cabin, a yacht, and three luxury cars. He did not put you on earth to follow your own dreams and ambitions, doggedly chasing the things of this world. Absolutely, unequivocally, resoundingly, no! God granted you life and charged you with one goal alone. Increase the family business. Work for the Father. Do only God’s will. (John 12:25-26; Proverbs 11:30; John 9:4; Ezekiel 3:18-20; Mark 16:15; II Corinthians 5:11)

In the prayer Jesus taught us to pray lies the phrase, “Your will be done.” We’ve heard it a thousand times, said it even more. The words roll glibly off our tongues, a final benediction so we can rush out of church and go about our lives. Rarely, if ever, do we stop to think if the thing so pressing as to have us power walking out the door as soon as the last “Amen” is uttered, falls within the parameters of God’s will. Perhaps it is because we completely ignore the three little words that precede them. “Your kingdom come.” They are two inseparable things. Whether you believe those words are speaking of the final heavenly kingdom of God or the surrendering of your heart and life to be God’s kingdom on earth now, one inevitable truth remains. God’s kingdom is where His will, and only His will, is done. Always. (Matthew 6:10)

At a time when it is so easy, so accepted, so encouraged to be caught up in earthly, worldly pursuits and let spiritual things slip, may you pray the words above and mean them. May your surrender to God be complete, without caveat. May you find absolute, unspeakable joy in servitude to the Father and enacting His will alone. May His heavenly kingdom increase because His kingdom on earth went stalwartly about the Father’s business. His will, His way. Always. (Hebrews 2:1; James 1:6-8; Matthew 16:24; Philippians 2:13; Romans 12:2; Proverbs 3:5-6)    

Rubbing eyes still blurry from sleep, they slipped out of bed. The inky darkness of pre-dawn night covered the house, making clear sight impossible. Feeling their way along walls and chairs, they crossed the room to don cloaks and robes and sandals carefully laid out in preparation for this early morning trek. Rushing through their morning ablutions, they hurried to the door as the first streaks of dawn began to light the horizon. Hastily collecting previously packed baskets of spices and perfumes, they set out to attend their final task of devotion. 

Two days ago they watched Joseph of Arimathea gently wrap Jesus’ body in linen and cart it away to a fresh tomb. They had followed him. Sneaking along with the lightest possible footsteps. Hiding behind trees and bushes when necessary. Feigning interest in flowers and leaves. They knew exactly where he’d placed that precious body. And from the moment they saw Joseph leave the tomb, they had been planning. 

The final hours of preparation day had been filled with exactly that. Preparations. Working quickly and efficiently to complete their labor of love before the Sabbath, they gathered spices and created perfumes. The last minutes before observation of the Sabbath forced their labors to cease were a flurry of preparation and assembly of baskets for a dawn-lit journey the following day. 

It would be the third day. Their hearts broke that they had been unable to lovingly anoint Jesus’ body sooner. They were saddened to think of Him lying in that cold, dark tomb shrouded in linen, rotting away. Their aching sorrow at His death, the events leading up to it, and their lack of preparation afterward, filled them with a sense of urgency. They needed to get to that tomb. They were determined to fulfill their duty, enact their final gift of undying love. 

Nearly tripping over one another in their haste, baskets swinging on elbows, garments swishing around ankles, they rushed out the door and down the path to their destination. Arriving at the tomb, slightly breathless and disheveled, they stopped short, colliding with one another and staring in open astonishment. The stone was moved! It had been sealed and guarded, they knew. Not now. Now the tomb stood open, the guards nowhere in sight.

Edging forward, they cautiously entered the tomb. Step by step they walked to the place the body should have been. It wasn’t there. Only a lump of linen rested where Jesus’ body would have lain. Casting questioning glances at one another, their minds reeled with questions. Had someone stolen the body? Had His disciples gotten there before them and moved it to a different tomb? Were those missing guards up to shenanigans? Or, in the emotional upset of that day, had they forgotten the directions and ended up at the wrong tomb? What, exactly, was going on? And where was the body of their beloved Lord? 

Silently agreeing they should go and solve this mystery, the women turned to find two men had entered the tomb as well. Strange men. Curious men. Not like anyone in town. Their clothing dazzled in the damp darkness of the tomb. Their faces shone with angelic light. And their words, when they finally broke through the barrier of terror engulfing the women, asked the probing question, “Why are you looking for the living among the dead?” And followed it up with the victorious revelation, “Jesus isn’t here. He has risen. Just like He said He would.” (Luke 23:50-24:8)

One can hardly blame the women for scooting closer together and gripping one another’s hands a bit more tightly. It was a startling question. A rebuke. An indictment of their measly faith. It would, however, be impossible to find fault with their response to the ensuing statements, either. With not so much as a fare-thee-well, they squeezed through the entrance and raced toward town, sandals slapping hard-packed dirt, billowing cloaks flowing behind them, robes tangling in flailing legs. Their carefully packed baskets full of spices and perfumes lay in mangled disarray in the dirt outside the tomb. They didn’t need them anymore. There was no awful smell to cover. No rotting flesh. No decomposing organs. No dust returning to dust. Jesus wasn’t in that cold, dark, damp, sullen, silent, saddening place! He had risen, just like He said! 

The staggering exuberance of those women is nearly palpable in the reading of the account. Bursting into the place the disciples were hiding, they related the morning’s events. Early morning hiking. Mid-morning race. Excited voices talked over one another. Rapid-fire words tangled together. Yet one clear, concise, unified exclamation rushed out of the babbling stream joyously announcing, “Jesus is alive!” (Luke 24:8-10)

A thousand accounts throughout the Bible draw our amazed minds to a place of wishing we could have been there, witnessed them. Physical healing. Temple cleansing. Water walking. None pulls so greatly as this. How magnificent would it have been to witness this most glorious pronouncement of who Jesus truly was! How fantastic, phenomenal! What a boost for one’s faith! What a life-changing moment to hear, “Jesus is alive!” 

It is nearly impossible to believe any follower of Jesus could feel differently. But the disciples did. Sequestered away in clandestine crews, anxiously awaiting the arrival of those who would do to them what they had done to Jesus, the disciples were too afraid to believe. Too hesitant to rejoice at the news. Too faithless to believe that a dead man could walk. At least ten of them were. (Luke 24:11)

Not Peter. Bouncing to his feet, he ran out the door and sprinted to the tomb. He didn’t go inside. Didn’t need to. Bending to look in the doorway, he saw all he needed to see. Empty linen clothes. No body. No bones. No decaying stench. A smile pulled itself across his face as he straightened and turned back toward town, a skip in his step. It was a time for rejoicing. The marvelous truth settled deep in his soul. It had all been true. Jesus had died to bring life to those dead in trespasses and sins. People like Peter. Like you. Like me. But He hadn’t stayed dead. He’d kept His word. He had risen. Jesus was alive! The party was just getting started. (Luke 24:12; I Peter 1:3)

I wonder when the party ended. It must have. I see no sign of its continuance. Our churches are full of clock-watching, list-checking attendees who have places to go and things to do. The rejoicing is muted. The praise is stifled. The reveling in the presence of Jehovah is kept to a minimum. It’s as if the message of the resurrection never made it down through time to you and me. Not because we haven’t heard it. Not because we don’t believe it. It simply seems to have lost its luster compared to the shiny baubles of the world. Perhaps we need a reminder. Of who we are. Of what Jesus did. Perhaps we need to hear it again, not in cunning, beautiful phrases of poetry but in the raw truth of what actually happened. 

When you were worthless, useless, disgustingly filthy, completely dead, beyond resuscitation, crushed by the enormous millstone of your sins, God sent Jesus to die for you. He didn’t have to. As horrific as that death was, He chose it over His own life, dying to rescue you. But He didn’t stay dead. He rose again. His death and resurrection removed the weight of your sin, breathed life back into your soul, and provided you the privilege of walking in Him, sitting with Him in heavenly places. Your death is now to sin and self! You are alive in Christ alone! Jesus is your peace, your reconciliation, your hope. He is your access to the Father. You are no longer a stranger or alien, but a living, thriving citizen of God’s own household. If you know all this, have experienced it, and are still not rejoicing, you need to read it again! (Ephesians 2)

Read it until the overwhelming exuberance of being alive in the risen Savior forces you to shed the shroud of mourning and strike up the band for dancing! Act like you know what that “He is risen” flag you are touting means! It means you don’t have to be a captive to sin anymore. It means you don’t have to let sin suffocate your soul. It means you don’t have to die in your sin and sacrifice Heaven. It means you can be alive. Alive in Christ. Alive to rejoice and dance and sing. Alive to run free with exuberance, trip over your sandals, muddle your excited words, and get busy telling someone, anyone, everyone that since Jesus is alive, they can be, too. 

They can come to Him in repentance, accept the free gift of His forgiveness, and Jesus Christ will set up housekeeping in their very being. Sin will die and their soul will live, because the resurrection of Jesus Christ brought life. Abundant life. Resurrected life. Life for everyone who realized they were dead in sin and opted to do something about it. For everyone who asks. Whosoever will. Everyone. Everywhere. No exceptions. (John 7:37; Revelation 22:17; Mark 8:34-38; Romans 6:4-14)

 I am so glad eternal life is for everyone! Me. You. Your co-workers. Your neighbors. Your friends. I’m ecstatic that Jesus isn’t dead! We’d be hopelessly, eternally lost without Him. Seriously. We’d have nothing to say in this day when the world so desperately needs words of hope. Words from the living dead. Words from me. Words from you. Words that tell them their sin doesn’t have to be a death sentence, it can be commuted because Jesus didn’t stay dead and they don’t have to, either. Sin brings fear, torment, anxiety, worry, and death. Jesus brings peace, calm, hope, strength, courage, and life. And this is their day. Their day to choose death to sin. Choose life in Christ. Their day to rejoice as only the living dead can. Our omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent God is alive. He is sovereign. He reigns. The party is just getting started! (I John 4:18; Colossians 2:13-14; John 14:27; Romans 6:23; Deuteronomy 30:19)