Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

When I was a child, we used to play a game we called, “king of the hill.” There weren’t a lot of rules. Or any, if it comes to it. One person, dubbed the king, would stand atop a mound of dirt, rise in the land, or actual hilltop. The rest of us would race up and attempt to remove them from their position by force. Pushing. Pulling. Dragging. Lots of laughter. You get the idea. It wasn’t a particularly serious or competitive event. In retrospect, I have no idea why we did it. It wasn’t really fun. It didn’t serve a specific purpose. It wasn’t incredibly athletic. There was no prize for winning, no special recognition, no granting of authority. It seems the only point of playing the game was to gain the title of “king” for a moment.

 Apparently, the chief priests and leaders of Jesus’ day were playing a similar game. Similar because they were all jockeying for a specific position. Different in every other way. Absolute authority and prestige were at the top of their hill. Being always right and allegedly indisputable came with that top of the hill territory. They didn’t rush the hill with pushes and shoves and shrieks of laughter. Their assault was much more serious, more stealthy. Their opening salvos words of dissent, disgust, diversion. Their game had unwritten rules only a select few knew. Their game was fixed. Their force was deadly. Their stakes unmatched. At the end of the game, someone would die and someone would become king. 

Never, in their wildest dreams, did they imagine it would be the same person. They hadn’t thought it possible. Death of the One claiming they were seeking to eradicate would certainly be the end of it. They would find another king. Someone who would forcefully put people in their place and rule with the iron fist of a powerful leader. Maybe it would even be one of them. A man could certainly dream. 

They laid their groundwork. Struck a deal with Judas. Collected an armed mob to go make the arrest. Brought Jesus to stand trial before their cohorts, the Sanhedrin, twisted His words, made up lies. Spit. Slapped. Punched. Lightened by the clear progress they were making in claiming the hill, they organized His death. Pulled Him before Pilate. But Pilate couldn’t find justification for a death sentence. They thought they were losing ground. So they went out and accosted the crowd, convincing them to demand the death of Jesus. And so it was, Pilate failed to stand for justice, the fickle people failed to remember mercy, the chief priests and elders got their way. Jesus was to be crucified. It looked like they had won. (Matthew 26-27)

I wonder if they went out to celebrate. I wonder if that is why they were surprised by the sign Pilate dictated for the top of Jesus’ cross. Perhaps they forgot about its necessity. Pilate made those signs all the time. Actual and alleged guilt scrawled on a plaque for all the world to see. Few really cared what he wrote. Too late, the purported winners in this vicious “king of the hill” game realized they did care. While they were off celebrating their victory (or plotting their next game), Pilate had declared a winner. In an astounding victory, the truth screamed out from the top of the cross, “Jesus the Nazarene. King of the Jews.” King on the hill. (John 19:19)

And Jesus owned that win. Not by strutting down the streets of Jerusalem, shaking hands and kissing babies. Not by buying a round at the local watering hole. Not with press conferences, edicts, or delusions of grandeur. Not in any way we or his opponents would celebrate such a victory. No. In celebration, Jesus willingly laid down on a cross, stretched out His arms, and let them do their worst. 

In truth, enough had already been done. The mocking and bullying had been intense. The beating had left ribbons of flesh hanging from his back, dripping blood and drawing flies. The humiliation of standing naked before a room of soldiers to be scorned and scoffed was nearly unbearable. The pain of thorns plunging into the tender flesh of His brow, the blood flowing into His eyes, stinging, burning pain upon pain upon pain. Yes, enough had already been done. It is difficult to imagine worse. 

Worse was coming. As the guiltless, sinless Son of God lay down on that cross and stretched out His arms, those burly soldiers gathered sledges and spikes. The ring of sledge to spike sounded out across the valley as they drove nails through the flesh of His hands and feet, tearing skin, bursting veins, inflicting unbearable pain. One would think it would be enough, they’d be done by now. They aren’t. The cross was then lifted and set upright, jostling the Savior, the nails tearing at ripped flesh as He hung suspended by hands and feet from a rough, splinter-shedding cross. There are no words to help us explain or comprehend the enormity of the Savior’s pain. 

The horror boggles my mind. My stomach turns, tries to rebel. I hate contemplating the atrocities of that hellacious day. My mind wants to shy away from it, skim the accounts quickly, not think too deeply. My heart knows I have to stay. I need to stay. I need to look. I must carefully read the accounts. I must purposefully remember. I need to let my imagination creatively conjure up the sights and sounds of mocking, beating, torture, hammering, and death. I need to smell the blood and sweat. I need to hear the weeping of His mother, His aunt, and Mary Magdalene. I need my heart to break at their loss. I need to hear the echo of His final cry, “It is finished.” Why? Because I need to remember what it looks like to win. (John 18-19; Luke 22-23; Mark 14-15; Matthew 26-27)

For Jesus, winning looked like hanging on a cross, bruised and beaten, so the people who abused, derided, and deleted Him could find forgiveness and peace for their souls through His blood shed on the cross. The thief beside Him. The priests. The scribes. The Pharisees. Jews and Gentiles. Disciples and doubters. Betrayers. Sinners. Pilate. Judas. Peter. Thomas. You. Me. 

We are all lined up at the foot of that cross. Every single one of us. We are all filthy, sinful beggars of grace. Losers. So deeply steeped in sin those mocking words, pounding fists, scourging strikes, and hammering nails might as well have come directly from our hands. And they do. Every time we choose sin over salvation, self over the Savior, we hammer another nail, throw another punch, spit in His face once again. In our sin-ridden state, we look at that cross and see losing. (I Corinthians 1:18; Matthew 7:13-14)

It wasn’t. The cross was the only way for humanity to win. God knew that. We are all dead, eternally so, in our trespasses and sins. On our own, we are hopelessly lost. We can’t save ourselves. We can’t change our own eternity by human machinations. But God, in breathtaking love, sent Jesus, His only Son, to change our ending. It is only through the blood of Jesus painfully, atrociously shed on the cross that we might find repentance, forgiveness, and remission of sins. You only have to ask. Losing in the eyes of the world was the only way to provide salvation for lost humanity. It was the only way for us to win. And Jesus did so, as He hung there, our King on the hill. (John 3:16; Luke 24:46-47; Colossians 2:14; Ephesians 2:8; Hebrews 9:22; I Peter 2:24-25; II Corinthians 5:21)

If you miss all the other celebrations of Holy Week, I hope you don’t miss Friday. We selfishly call it good. I doubt it felt good for Jesus’ followers at the scene. I know it was horrible for Mary to watch her son die. There is no question it was incomparable in pain and suffering for the Savior. So don’t gloss over it. Read every account. Slowly. Picture the scenes in your mind. Feel the pathos. Don’t gloss over Friday “because Sunday is coming.” You can’t afford to skip Friday. Without Friday, your soul would lose for all eternity. With it, you have the opportunity for an eternal win. It’s your choice. Your King hung on a hill to give you options. Life or death. Heaven or hell. Win or lose. (Acts 4:12; John 3:36, 8:24; I John 5:11-12)

We are all standing at the foot of the cross. You. Me. The soldiers that pounded the nails and pierced His side. The mockers, scorners, spitters. We have all sinned and fallen so far short of God’s glory that we are clearly losing Heaven. But this is our moment. This is our opportunity. This is our chance to choose. Now is the time, the day, the moment of salvation. You have only to ask. It will change your life. What we do at the cross today will make all the difference in every tomorrow. It will determine our eternity. It’s up to you. Win or lose. You choose. (Romans 3:23, 6:23; Joshua 24:15)

My oldest daughter loves Palm Sunday. With the exception of Easter, it is her favorite. It seems to stem from a heart-warming and impactful experience at a church we attended in North Carolina. She would have been in elementary school then, serving as an acolyte and accustomed to the morning procession of carrying the light into and out of the service. The morning that changed her perspective of Palm Sunday, she was part of a different type of procession. 

On this particular Palm Sunday, as the children came from their respective classes, our pastor’s wife gathered them outside the swinging doors at the back of the sanctuary. They were a motley crew, ranging from preschool to grade five, clothed as varied as their ages. It made no difference. Each child was given a palm branch and placed in line. The instructions were simple. As I played the processional music, the acolyte would walk up the aisle carrying the light, and the children would join the pastor in his procession up the aisle, waving their palm branches. Our own Palm Sunday Parade of praise. 

Watching from the piano, I couldn’t stop a smile from stealing across my face. Our God-fearing, people-loving pastor who could both raise the roof and quietly plead with the people, came slowly down the aisle, his face wreathed in delight, surrounded by children of every size. Some were actually waving their palm branches. Some held them at half-mast while sucking a thumb. Some marched stoically along with their friends; others beamed and waved like royalty. Most finished the procession to the altar rail. Some dropped off in the middle. A few went straight to their parents as soon as they reached their pew. It didn’t go off without a hitch, but it is indelibly etched in our memories. Our praise parade to the King.

No matter how our rag-tag bunch fared in recreating the great procession from Bethany to Jerusalem, we didn’t have a patch on the actual one. It must have been glorious! The donkey,  draped in the robes of Jesus’ disciples, carrying the Messiah, the Savior of the world! The two-mile stretch of road from Bethany to Jerusalem colorfully covered in the robes of the crowd as they threw them before Him. Hastily cut tree branches thrown atop the robes in an effort to add honor upon honor to the One riding upon the donkey. Some led, some followed, but all shouted the same message, “Hosanna to the king!” (Matthew 21:7-11; Mark 11:6-10; Luke 19:35-44; John 12:12-19; Zechariah 9:9)

One has to wonder how long the crowd followed Jesus. Did they watch Him unceremoniously cleanse the Temple and applaud His powerful display of authority? Did they stick around to listen to His teachings, hear His parables, learn His commands? Were they intent on spending every possible moment in His presence, doing every day with Jesus? If so, where were they when the rabid, angry mob cried, “Crucify Him”? (Matthew 21:12-13; 21:28-22:14; 22:34-40; 27:22-25)

What happened to those followers between the “Hosanna” and the “Crucify Him”? Why weren’t they there to decry His guilt? Did they simply need to get home for Passover? Or did they dislike His teachings? Were they disappointed because He didn’t violently overthrow the Roman government and institute His own rule? Or did the days between the triumphant ride and the deathly verdict give the religious leaders of that day time to whisper lies and half-truths in their ears, persuading them to switch their allegiance? 

I don’t know. It’s a conundrum to which we have no answer. No one does. Perhaps I am wrong to think none of the crowd hung about. Perhaps a few of them were present, but their voices of dissent were covered by the bellows of “Crucify Him!” Maybe frustration with Jesus’ methods really did cause some to change sides of the aisle. Perhaps they were upset Jesus didn’t work the way they expected. Maybe they grew tired of waiting to see His kingdom come. I  don’t know what happened to them. I don’t know what happens to us either. I know only this, the lives of many church-attending, self-proclaimed Christians of our day echo the contrasting cries of theirs. 

Somewhere between the Sunday morning sanctuary and the Monday morning commute, our cries also change from “Hosanna” to “Crucify Him.” We don’t like to admit it. We push it aside, refuse to consider it. It is no less true. Following hard on the heels of the beauty and presence, glory and holiness of Sunday morning worship, comes the rush of the world, the pleasure of sin, the care of this life. We find ourselves at a crossroads, determining who Jesus truly is to us. Is He King for a day or King for always? (Mark 4:19)

Sunday morning is easy. We collectively gather with the congregation of the righteous. We attend morning Bible classes. We greet our fellow parishioners as we make our way to the sanctuary for worship. As we find our seats, strains of beautiful music float from the organ, the band plays, or some canned music floats over the speakers. Some of us recite creeds and pray The Lord’s Prayer, reminding ourselves what we believe, why we believe it, and through Whom it is all possible. Our souls are hushed and quieted. We become introspective. 

The music begins, sometimes congregational, sometimes choral. Sometimes hymns, sometimes contemporary. As it flows, the music works our emotions. In that moment, we are convinced we have crowned Jesus King for always. The sermon is preached. We nod our heads, take notes, underline Bible passages. We tell ourselves we’ll remember it all because Jesus is certainly King. We partake of communion, bow for the final prayer, and exit the church with our hearts singing, “Hosanna to Jesus, the King!”

But it’s Monday morning now. Meticulously dressed and coiffed for the office, you grab your keys, briefcase, and coffee mug, and race out the door. You furiously honk your horn at the car that cut you off, flipping a single-fingered wave at the driver as you fly past on the other side. You delve into the dodgy deal you are working and fervently hope for its success. Your much-desired promotion rests on it. That promotion is everything. You’ll do anything to get it, the raise it brings, the prestigious job title, the corner office. Yesterday your lips cried “Hosanna”, but your actions today cry, “Crucify Him!” 

As you wolf down your lunch and scroll through your phone, what links do you choose? Are you reading articles, watching videos that edify your soul or crucify Christ? At the end of the day when you drop down on the couch and mindlessly turn on the television, what programs do you select? Is the language objectionable, the subject matter offensive, the treatment of humanity crude? Do the advertisements encourage you to crown Jesus King or crucify Him again? If you picked up a book, could you read it aloud? Would you offer Jesus a place on the couch or only a spot on a cross? (Psalm 101:3)

When payday comes and the bills are paid, what plans do you have for God’s money? Do you pray over each penny or spend indiscriminately on the things that are passing away? And how do you choose to spend the time you call your own? With Christ the King in prayer and Bible study and service or by sleeping late and lounging by the pool? Is Jesus truly King of your spending, be it time or money, or simply Lord of your leftovers? (Deuteronomy 15:7)

What do you do with your multitude of words? Can you, could you, would you invite Jesus into your conversations, text messages, and social media posts? Caught up in the vicious cycle of perceived popularity, is Jesus King of your thoughts and comments then? When a neighbor, co-worker, or stranger on the street curses you, belittles you, offends you, does your response prove that Jesus is King, or do you crucify Him afresh with your words? Are you the prudent soul of Proverbs 10:19, or are your words your own, is self your king?

See, there are a million moments every week to choose your anthem. “Hosanna” or “Crucify Him.” It is in every choice you make, every deal you write, every word you say, every post you “like”. It’s in your budget, your books, your blogs. It’s how you treat your neighbor, the homeless man on the street corner, the child with a dirty face and constantly running nose. It’s in your diatribe on drug abuse, homosexuality, and homelessness. It is in your private sins and public transgressions. Who you have truly chosen to be your King today will show up in every action and reaction, every moment, every day, every week. You have to choose your king every single second. (I Kings 18:21; Micah 4:5; I John 2:3: Luke 6:45; Matthew 7:16-20)

I don’t know what changes your anthem song from “Hosanna” to “Crucify Him.” I don’t know what besetting sin makes you crucify Jesus over and over and over again. I don’t know what voices whisper in your ear to draw you aside. I do know this. Jesus cannot be your King for just a day. Jesus must be the Lord of your lifetime. It’s an all or nothing commitment. You can’t walk with Jesus and look fondly back at sin. You can’t serve God and money or anything else. There can be no idols. Not money, prestige, honor, fame, leisure, power, or press coverage. The throne of your heart must be occupied by Jesus only. Always. (Exodus 20:3-5; I John 2:15-17; Luke 9:62)

In Deuteronomy, Moses told the people of Israel, “Today life and death are set before you. Life if you serve God and follow His commands. Death if you choose not to. Choose life for yourself, your family, your descendants.” Joshua told the people to choose that day, right then who they would serve. Paul, in a letter to the Corinthian church, said, “Now is the time to choose Jesus, to choose salvation.” Although not a pastor, priest, or prophet, I would echo their words. Today is the day, right now is the time to choose, “Hosanna” or “Crucify Him!” Is Jesus your King for a day or have you chosen Him to be your King always? (Deuteronomy 30:11-20; Joshua 24:15; II Corinthians 6:2 )

He never thought it would end like this. In the clandestine meeting to hammer out the monetary details of betrayal, Judas clearly never thought Jesus would allow the chief priests and elders to carry out their dastardly deeds. As he led the armed mob into Gethsemane, offered a cheeky greeting, and placed a breezy kiss of betrayal to Jesus’ cheek, he didn’t think the outcome would be so dire. It was the news of a condemning verdict and impending death that forced Judas to acknowledge the error of his thinking, the monumental flaw in his judgment, the glaring fault of his traitorous acts. 

Was he really so naive to expect a different outcome? Did he know so little about the men with whom he dealt in dark corners and secret meetings? Could he have possibly believed Jesus would call down that legion of angels at His disposal to set Him free from their evil clutches? Had he witnessed miracle after miracle, redemption after redemption yet comprehended so little of what Jesus was on earth to do? Had he really been deceived into thinking his sin would unfold without great cost? 

If Judas entered this agreement with such delusions, reality quickly disabused him of these notions. Regret and remorse gnawed at his soul. Guilt knotted his stomach. What had he done? Traded the life of the greatest Man he’d ever known for a couple handfuls of coins. Thirty to be exact. Thirty pieces of silver. It sounded like a bargain at the time. The greed of his sinful heart easily convincing him Jesus would find a way to escape the evil plot against Him. Surely no Man so great at evasion, so gifted with miraculous ability would allow Himself to be captured and killed. Yet, standing here, listening to the murmurs and cries around him, Judas knew it had happened. Jesus had no intention of fighting back. Not with Peter’s sword. Not with His legions of angels. Not even with His words. He was going to fulfill the words He uttered when He responded to the Pharisees who said Herod wanted to kill Him. Jesus was going to die. (John 18:10; Luke 13:31-33)

 It was most assuredly Judas’ fault. His sin, his greed, had delivered Jesus to those men. They hadn’t come knocking at his door. He’d sought them out. He’d laid the groundwork to profit from Jesus’ betrayal. He’d led them to Gethsemane with a spring in his step and a smirk on his lips. This was all his fault. He might as well be the soldier laying Jesus on that cross himself, so deep was his guilt. (Matthew 26:14-16) 

Desperately seeking to find respite from the crushing weight of guilt and sin, Judas rushes to the sanctuary to confront the chief priests and elders. He admits his sin, pours out his remorse. If he is looking for absolution, he’s in the wrong company. If he is hoping to reverse the course of their actions, his hopes are in vain. They want nothing to do with his backtracking. Not one of them cares for his plight. They feel no compassion. They care not at all about sin or guilt or innocence. They have a strict “No Return” policy. They don’t want their money back. They don’t want to change their course. They gleefully celebrate the success of their mission. They rejoice in Jesus’ impending death. As the chief priests and elders sneer in Judas’ face, he realizes there is nothing he can do to save Jesus from death.  

Frustrated with their ambivalence and desperate to rid his soul of the all-encompassing guilt, Judas flings the money to the floor of the sanctuary. The bag thuds and jangles as it hits the floor. The top opens. Thirty pieces of silver scatter, rolling around the feet of cunning, evil chief priests and elders. Men with hate-filled hearts and over-inflated egos. Men who would rather crucify the Savior than crucify self to walk with Him. Too late Judas realized he had fallen in with the wrong crowd. He was not one of these men. He had tried to be. It had cost him. Far more than he wanted to pay. (Matthew 16:24-26; Galatians 5:24; Romans 8: 12-13; Luke 9:23-24)

Only a few short hours ago Judas had been fingering the coins, testing their weight in his hand, considering what would be his first purchase with his ill-gotten gains. Now he knew the truth. Those thirty silver coins cost more than they paid. They absolutely weren’t worth it. Nothing was. Not the excitement of cutting a deal with the chief priests. Not the fun of spending, gambling, or saving–whatever his plans were. Certainly not the black mark of greed on his own soul. None of it was worth the guilt, despair, and hopelessness that wracked his heart and drove him to the desperate act he next chose. Fleeing the temple, the chief priests and elders, the clinking coins, and the horrific results of his sin, Judas went out and hanged himself. (Matthew 26:14-16, 47-50; 27:1-5)

With the exception of Jesus’ crucifixion, there is no other Biblical account that tears at my heart like this one. It makes my breath catch, my stomach clench, my heart break. The desolation of Judas’ soul nearly reduces me to tears. I want to rewrite the story. I want to grab him, shake him, remind him of what he knows about Jesus. I want to remind him of Jesus’ love and compassion. Remind him of grace and forgiveness and mercy. Help him remember all the things Jesus preached, taught, and lived. I want to remind Judas that it was all for him. Breathtaking mercy and grace poured from God’s heart of extravagant love, followed Judas as he left that temple doorway, ran after him as he traveled down the darkened path, and wept bitterly when he chose to end his life instead of racing to salvation’s hill. I wish Judas had known. (II Peter 3:9)

Unfortunately, there seem to be a lot of things Judas didn’t know, didn’t realize were for him, didn’t believe applied in his circumstances. Perhaps he didn’t know he could stand along the path to Golgotha and cry out for forgiveness as Jesus passed by. Perhaps he didn’t realize he could fall at the foot of Jesus’ cross and find absolution from the grating guilt and damning sin. Perhaps he simply couldn’t believe all that love and grace and mercy Jesus had shown to the possessed, prostitutes, poor, reprobates, and hypocrites was still available for the one who denied, betrayed, and abandoned Him. It was still available for Judas. I wish he had known that the King of Heaven sent His Son to pay the ransom for Judas’ soul, for your soul, for every soul–every soul that will come to Him. It would have changed Judas’ life.  

It will change your life too. Believing that the love, mercy, grace, and forgiveness of Jesus Christ reaches your cruddy, messy, unfit soul will change your life. No matter where you are or what you’ve done, don’t let it separate you from Jesus. Don’t run from Him, run to Him. Run to the foot of the cross, throw yourself, your sin, your brokenness before Him and let Jesus change your life. Maybe you look in the mirror and see damaged goods, a broken life, a scarred soul. Perhaps you find it unbelievable that a perfect God would want you when you look the way you do, have done the things you’ve done. Maybe the siren song of sin has led you down a path from which you think there is no recovery. Think again! This is why Jesus came. Jesus Christ came into the world for this express purpose–to save sinners! Hypocrites. Heretics. Deniers. Defiers. Me. You. Everyone. Anyone. All covered when the King of Kings stretched out his arms on a cross and paid the ransom for all mankind. (I Peter 2:24)

See, Jesus’ entire earthly ministry was a ransom mission. He didn’t come to pick and choose a few good people to get to Heaven. No. He came to save sinners. He came to give life. He came that “whosoever will” may come. Me. You. The enemy you hate. The friend you love. Jesus, the King who will reign over all earthly kings, put aside His kingly crown, left His heavenly throne, and came to ransom the souls of people who despise, abuse, ignore, and offend Him. He left the riches of Heaven to be born in a stable, live in a humble carpenter’s house, and die on a cross. Not because Heaven wasn’t wonderful. No. God paid a King’s ransom for your soul because He knew Heaven with you would be light-years better than Heaven without you. (I Timothy 1:15; John 10:10; Revelation 17:14, 22:17)

As angry as I am when the evil one whispers in your ear telling you to give up, give in, give over, I rejoice even more every time my mind pictures the King of Heaven with His arms outstretched in a ransoming sacrifice so that sinners like you and me can be saved. You are not worthless. You are not hopeless. You are not helpless or useless or any of the other “less” words the evil one uses to keep you from Jesus. The simple truth is this. The price of your soul was the death of a King. You are the reason Jesus came. So run to Him. His grace never runs out. His mercy never ends. His love never fails. Run to Him and let the forgiveness and peace of the King ransom your soul. (Ephesians 2:14; John 3:16; Romans 5:8; John 1:16; Romans 8:38-39)

The crow of the rooster fell like a death knell to Peter’s soul. His guilt-ridden, anguished eyes collided with Jesus’ gaze. One phrase from their previous conversation relentlessly repeated in his mind, “You’ll deny me. You’ll deny me. You’ll deny me.” (Luke 22:34, 54-61) His stomach clenched and rolled. He’d been warned. Jesus told him this was going to happen. His arrogance had made him believe it never could, yet here he stood. He should have listened, should have been prepared. 

Earlier that day Jesus issued a grave warning to Peter concerning the intentions of the evil one. The devil is gunning for him. Similar to approaching God for permission to torture Job, the evil one once again queued up and asked to torment Peter. He wants to bring him down, tear him from the faith, drive him away from Jesus. Apparently, God said, “Do your worst.” And Jesus, knowing not only what was coming, but the state of Peter’s heart, said, “I have prayed that your faith will remain intact. Even after you stumble, repent, turn back to me, and feed my sheep.” (Job 1; Luke 22:31-32)

Deeply hurt and offended by the declaration of his impending defection, Peter indignantly declares it will never happen! He’s going through with Jesus. Prison. Persecution. Perishing. He has no intention of denying their association. He’s not going to retract his friendship. He’s committed for the long haul! 

Jesus knows otherwise. He knows that within hours Peter’s internal fortitude will fail. His humanity will eclipse his spirituality. He will fall. He will deny knowing Jesus. He will reject the idea he is one of His disciples. He will declare himself an ignorant onlooker. The rooster would crow, an irreverent reminder of Jesus’ words, “Before the rooster crows, you will have denied me three times.” (Luke 22:33-34; 54-61)

And so it was. As the final words of cowardly denial sprang from Peter’s lips, the rooster crowed, and, according to the Luke account, Jesus turned and looked at Peter. I wonder what was in that look. Knowledge. Compassion. Understanding. Forgiveness. As Peter met His gaze, Jesus’ prediction broke across his memory. His world crashed down around him. He had done it. He had failed to keep his vigorous pledge of persistence. Denied Jesus. Rejected His Lord. Overcome with self-loathing, guilt, and dismay Peter left that scene, went out, and wept bitter, anguished tears. (Luke 2:54-62)

The current colloquialism is “ugly cry”. I imagine it accurately sums up this moment in Peter’s life. My mind imagines a full grown man doubled over sobbing loudly, face red and scrunched, uncaring what anyone thought, so deep was his grief. As the tears subside, the mental castigation begins. Peter certainly must have wished he’d prayed instead of slept while in Gethsemane. His behavior was inexcusable. After promising, loudly, to follow Jesus forever, he’d denied His Lord. Sky castles of ultimate faithfulness in the face of imminent dangers were shattered by a pitiful, unforgettable lack of courage. Dejected. Disgraced. Distraught. The next logical step in the evil one’s plan was discouragement. 

Really, what would be the point in continuing to associate with the other, more reputable disciples? Clearly, their faith was deeper, stronger, more reliable than his own. They hadn’t verbally, vehemently defected. Not even once. Certainly not three times! Why go back now? Why try to make amends? It was over, right? He’d failed. He was done. Written off. Refused. Rejected. The evil one presses harder, whispers louder. God isn’t interested in defectors, right?

Wrong. God is absolutely interested in defectors. Deniers. Decriers. Deceivers. The disgraced, dejected, distraught, discouraged. God is absolutely interested in everyone. He does not allow the evil one to plague you while He turns His back and plays with kittens. How could He? Jesus is constantly interceding on our behalf, consistently lifting our needs to the Father’s throne before we even know we have needs. Before we find ourselves on the brink of self-destruction, Jesus has prayed for that moment. He has prayed that your faith in God’s ability to redeem your life will be stronger than the fear and discouragement the evil one is trying to slather over your soul. (Romans 8:26-27, 34; Matthew 6:8)  

See, we really aren’t so unlike Peter. Our humanity regularly wars with our spirituality. So often, our words and actions, thoughts, and motives loudly deny any association with Jesus Christ. Frequently we choose to be swept along with the crowd, do what the world is doing, rubber-stamp the rhetoric because our traitorous hearts don’t care to shoulder the onslaught of dissent. Commonly we walk the path of least resistance with its wide lanes and beautiful scenery, rather than trudge the narrow road of righteousness. (Matthew 7:13-14) Oh, yes. We are very much like Peter. 

Just like Peter, the evil one is waiting to trip us up. He is hiding around every corner, behind every bush, in the bottom of every valley, at the end of every wrong turn. He lurks there touting a message for quitters. “You might as well turn back. You failed.” He’s wrong, of course, the father of lies has no other option. It’s impossible for him to tell the truth. But he’ll be perched there, wearing that white robe and helter skelter halo, and we’ll pause for a moment thinking maybe he’s right. He’s not. (John 8:44; II Corinthians 11:14)

Your alleged failure was a momentary blip. It does not define you. Your eternity need not be decided by that singular moment in time. You do not need to turn back. There’s no need for continual self-recrimination. There is still grace, mercy, forgiveness in Jesus. Weep, repent, straighten things out with God, but don’t ever let your faith fail. 

Peter didn’t. He didn’t waste time getting squared away with God concerning His denial. He was there to see the empty tomb. At the seaside breakfast, Peter was completely restored and commissioned by Jesus. He got to endure all those things he promised Jesus he’d go through with Him. Persecution. Prison. Perishing. He never defected again. His faith stayed intact. How could it not? It was forged in the furnace of failure. (John 20:1-10, 21:1-19; Acts 4)

Sometimes our failures loom larger than life around us. They cloud our vision, seem insurmountable. Forgiveness we’ve withheld. Anger we’ve been coddling. Cowardice we’ve been hiding. Maybe you have a secret sin. Something no one knows about. No one but God. Maybe it brings you to tears. Maybe it seems too persistent, too hideous, too egregious for repentance and change. Perhaps the father of lies has told you to turn back, you’re finished. Stranded on the sandbar of failure, you are tempted to believe God is no longer interested in your disgraced soul. You couldn’t be more wrong.

As meticulously as He created the universe, God also created a plan for the moments when our humanity trumps our Christianity. His perfect plan is that we don’t sin. We should strive for that. Live every day as close to that as possible. But for moments like Peter’s denial and your defection, He has made a way for humanity to be rectified to the Father. Jesus Christ is your atonement for every shaky moment, every waiver of your faith, every all-out failure. He is your Advocate, your Lawyer, your forgiveness. Your faith in Him is never misplaced. (Genesis 1; I John 2:1-2)

Discouragement is one of the evil one’s greatest tools. He’ll stack up your list of failures (forgiven or not) and tell you it isn’t even worth trying to follow Jesus. He’ll beat on your soul from every side until you feel worn out, washed up, defeated. But Jesus is praying for you. Praying for your faith, no matter how meager, to take hold of what you know about the heart of God. His goodness. His grace. Grasp that knowledge with both hands, firmly rest your faith in God and be reconciled to go and do great things for the Kingdom. Your failures do not define you, but the faith you forge from them does. (Psalm 145:8; Ephesians 2:4; Nahum 1:7; Psalm 86:5)

It felt like the throwing down of a gauntlet. A challenge. Maybe an insult. The minute Jesus pronounced the words, the disciples’ backs went up. “Tonight you are all going to desert me.” It was an arrow to their very souls. They were offended, hurt. How could He say this about them? Hadn’t they left everything and followed Him? Hadn’t they persevered through a thousand things already? No one had thrown up their hands or thrown in the towel. They were all still there, still faithfully following Jesus. No one was planning to separate, walk away, or go into hiding. 

No one except Judas. Judas had his own secret plans unfolding. His divided heart had been swayed by sin and Satan. Greed had become his master. His dirty plans would culminate a few short hours later. Proof that one cannot serve two masters. But that’s a story for another day. (Matthew 6:24)

With that one exception, not one of the disciples had given any thought to deserting Jesus. Ever. Caught up in the awe-inspiring, soul-stirring ministry of Jesus, they didn’t want to be anywhere else. They couldn’t imagine leaving. Where would they go? What would be as exciting as following Jesus? Nowhere on earth could compare to living in His presence. Their staunch discipleship made this statement of desertion especially surprising. The very thought was appalling. They boldly declared it would never happen. They would never deny knowing Him. They vowed to be there to the end. They meant it with all their hearts. Nothing would keep them from walking with Jesus.  

They ran away. Every single one of them. Deserters. Defectors. Driven by abject fear.  The fear that triggers your fight-or-flight response. Staggering terror that tightens your chest and clogs your throat. A deluge of panic that forces you to run and hide for your life. Living wholly in the moment, not realizing how quickly circumstances change, they had sworn to remain faithful even to death. They meant that promise with their entire hearts. That was a few hours ago. 

Things were normal then. Jesus and the disciples were gathered together celebrating Passover. Jesus was reclined at the table. They were talking and eating the meal. There was a strange discourse about betraying Jesus. Disconcerted, they all ask for assurance that it wasn’t them who would do such a dastardly deed. “Is it me? Is it me, Jesus? Surely not me?” They couldn’t fathom ever leaving Him, betraying Him, or denying Him. Surely not them. Never. 

Oddly, there seems to be no reaction when Judas is pegged as the offender. No one tried to show him the error of his ways. No one tried to persuade him differently. No one called in a favor. Perhaps they didn’t think it was going to happen any time soon. Perhaps they thought it was a prophecy for years down the road. Perhaps they thought they had plenty of time to get Judas back on track. They didn’t. As soon as Judas took the bread from Jesus, he went out to commit the betrayal of a lifetime. (Matthew 26:17-30; John 13:30)

The meal ended. They sang hymns together and went out to walk in the Mount of Olives. They don’t seem to miss Judas, or question why he is gone. They don’t wonder why Jesus waited until he was gone to make His declaration of their defection. They are too busy disputing it. They don’t even notice their world is beginning to unravel. 

At the edge of Gethsemane, Jesus leaves eight of them to wait while He goes to pray. Those left outside Gethsemane don’t appear to question why Jesus didn’t take them too. I wonder how they passed the time. Did they discuss the inequality of not being taken along? Did they even notice it? Did they pray? Sit quietly in solitary contemplation? Count the stars? Or fall asleep like their counterparts inside Gethsemane?  

That is what Peter, James, and John were doing. Sleeping. That faithfulness they swore they would always have was slipping. Jesus asked them to stay awake and pray. Pray for themselves. Pray for strength. Pray for faithfulness. Faithfulness to withstand the coming onslaught of temptation. Temptation to sin. Temptation to slip. Temptation to separate. They failed. Twice. They couldn’t stay awake. So complacent were they in their belief that the events of which Jesus had been speaking were far in the future, they didn’t apply themselves to do whatever it took to stay awake and pray. The shallow depth of their faithfulness was showing, but they were too drowsy to notice.  

Finally, Jesus comes and wakes them. It’s time. He speaks urgently, but in their sleepy state, they miss the exigency. As they are stretching and yawning and rubbing the sleep from their eyes, Judas and his horde swarm the Garden. A mob armed with swords and clubs surround the betrayer of the Son of God. Those three disciples weren’t prepared for the events that followed. The kiss. The betrayal. The arrest. The dark cloak of choking terror that fell over them as they did the very thing they swore they would never do. They ran away. (Matthew 26:17-56; John 22:39-46) 

I wonder how the account would differ if the disciples had stayed awake and interceded for themselves as Jesus instructed them to do. Would they have still run away? I wonder if Judas’ life story would be different had the other disciples seen the error of his ways and interceded for him. Would he have still hung himself? I wonder if, when fear overtook them, the answer to their prayers would have been a boldness they had never before experienced. I wonder what would have happened if they had faithfully stayed awake to pray. 

Up to that point, their lives as disciples of Jesus had been marked by faithfulness. Faithful following. Faithful obedience. Faith in God. Their own words indicate they believe themselves to be above betrayal. Above desertion. Above unfaithfulness. “We’ll follow you to death!” they exclaimed. Their actions indicated the opposite. They didn’t stay awake. They didn’t watch. They didn’t pray. They did nothing faithful disciples would do in that moment. They slept. Then they ran away.

It cuts very close to home, this lack of faithfulness. We, too, busily proclaim our unwavering faithfulness to Jesus. Like Ruth clinging to Naomi, we vow never to leave Him, to follow Him anywhere, even to death. (Ruth 1:16-17) We are well intentioned. We truly believe we won’t betray Him. Ever. We are His for better or worse. We’ve never had to test the theory. No angry mob has stormed our home as we prayed beside our window. Unlike Paul, our friends haven’t lowered us over a wall to escape those trying to kill us for our beliefs. (Acts 9:25) Would we remain faithful then? 

We are woefully ill-prepared for those circumstances. God isn’t. As we face the current onslaught beating on us to lower our standards, stop taking the Bible seriously, call evil good and good evil, Jesus says the same thing to us as He said to the disciples so many years ago. “Stay awake. Be alert. Pray. Temptation is lurking and, although your hearts don’t want to be derailed, your physical selves have less compunction.” Be vigilant. Pray for soul protection. Focus so intently on God that you aren’t deceived by the news, the subtle advertisements, the opinion articles. Pray that you aren’t lulled into complacency. Beg the Father to keep you faithful in a world rife with unfaithfulness. (Isaiah 50:7; Matthew 6:13; I Peter 5:8; James 4:7)

Prayer is our only hope. Jesus tried to tell the disciples this. He tried to equip them for the frightful hours and days ahead by telling them to stop resting on their spiritual laurels and get on their knees. They didn’t hear Him. As our world turns sideways and things go awry, Jesus is saying the same thing to us. Quit your lackadaisical spirituality, stop drifting, stop dozing. If you want to see true change in yourself, your community, your church, your world, wake up and pray! (Hebrews 4:16; Psalm 18:6; James 5:16; Matthew 26:41)

So often we call ourselves faithful because we attend church every Sunday, quote Scripture, practice integrity, fidelity, and charity. Those are all commendable things, but the disciples had much to recommend them too. They had Jesus physically with them. They had witnessed His miracles, been part of them. They knew His teachings, His ways, His desires. Even with all those things to back them up, when it came down to the wire, they still fell prey to temptation and went to sleep when He needed them to be awake and interceding. Jesus is asking you to stay awake and pray, too. Fight off the temptation to be lulled to sleep by spiritual apathy. When you feel hopeless, helpless, frightened, and terrorized, pray. Intercede. Ask. Seek. Knock. He will hear. He will answer. But you’ll have to choose to stay awake. Will you join the disciples in slumber or unite with the faithful in prayer? (Colossians 4:2; Romans 12:12; I Peter 4:7; Psalm 5:3; I Thessalonians 5:16-18; Matthew 7:7-8; Psalm 50:15)