No. It couldn’t be. His clothes weren’t right. His mannerisms were wrong. His entrance completely missed the mark. He wasn’t the One. Couldn’t be. They should know. They’d spent their lives in hallowed halls of learning under the best tutors and religious scholars. They could quote the law verbatim. The prophets, too. Every nuance of their history was on instant recall. Regarded as the religious intelligentsia of their day, they were confident in their appraisal. He wasn’t the One.
When their Messiah arrived, He would be so much different than this guy. He’d have a better pedigree, to start. No son of a carpenter would rise up to be the fierce, conquering warrior they felt certain was coming. In spite of Shamgar’s ox goad, David’s sling, and Samson’s donkey jawbone, no one believed the kingdom overthrow would come at the hands of a carpenter wielding a hammer. No. Their Rescuer wouldn’t trudge out of Nazareth in his dusty sandals and calmly start teaching anyone who would listen. He wouldn’t care so much about the women and children. He wouldn’t touch those afflicted with leprosy or talk to blind men. He wouldn’t sit down to dinner with tax collectors and people of ill-repute. He’d absolutely never stop to talk with a Samaritan woman! Yeah. They’d heard about that. So, no. This guy couldn’t be the One. (Matthew 2:23; Mark 10:13-16; Luke 8:1-3, 43-48; Luke 5:12-16, 27-32; Mark 10:46-52; John 4:1-42; Judges 3:31; I Samuel 17; Judges 15:16)
Perhaps their certainty would have been daunted had they been present three decades earlier when the aged Simeon, awaiting the arrival of the Messiah, took the Child version of this Man in His arms and rejoiced that the salvation of God’s people, the light to the Gentiles, the glory of Israel, had come. Apparently no one had their camera or cell phone at the ready when the rheumy eyes of Anna, the prophetess who never left the temple, lit with recognition and eternal joy at the sight of the Child she knew to be the promised One. It seems the accounts of these endorsements never made it down the gossip grapevine. They didn’t get an article in the Galilee Gazette. No one posted them to social media for all to see. Maybe no one else was even present at the time. Maybe they were there but missed the importance. Maybe they were too wrapped up in their own display of piety to comprehend what was happening. Regardless of the reasoning, they missed it. Missed the brief on heroism. Missed the truth unfolding before their eyes. Expecting a visible earthly kingdom that made their lives perfect, they missed the fact that the kingdom of God was already among them. (Luke 2:25-32, 36-38; Luke 17:20-21)
They expected a powerful, amazing, awe-inspiring hero to sweep in and rescue them. He would thunder into town on the back of an enormous white steed clad in battle array. Skidding to a halt in front of the palace, the stallion would rear, his front hooves beating the air. The warrior on his back would remain statuesque, armor glinting in the sunlight. His sword, still dripping blood, raised high in the air. His head thrown back, a ferocious battle cry bellowing from His lips. Doors would slam. Bolts would be thrown into place. Reigning leaders would take refuge in safe rooms. Hardened soldiers, previously proclaimed fearless, would strap on every ounce of their most resistant armor. It would all be to no avail. With power and might He’d come crashing in and rescue His people from the rule of outside authority, releasing them to live in freedom and peace. Except they weren’t ready to be rescued.
As much as the religious leaders of that day believed themselves to be living in complete accordance with God’s laws and commands, they weren’t. They had picked and chosen which ones to follow. They’d created caveats. Made exceptions. Done some editing. As closely as they followed the letter of the law, the spirit of the law was entirely missing. To the innocent onlooker, their lives looked impeccable, but God saw their messy hearts. They had work to do. They had cleaning to undertake. It wasn’t enough to follow the rules and pray for God to someday come set up His earthly kingdom. They needed God’s kingdom there. Right then. On earth. In them. Their hearts weren’t ready for the final event. They were still catering to whims and desires diametrically opposed to the will and ways of God. If they were going to live forever as inhabitants of God’s eternal kingdom, their hearts and lives needed to become God’s kingdom on earth. The place His will, and only His will, was done. (Matthew 5:20-44; Matthew 15:1-20; Matthew 23; Mark 3:1-6)
Those words are breathtakingly familiar. Our hearts so desperately desire to be places God is welcome to inhabit. Places He loves to live. Places so pure and clean He brags about them to the angels. The price is high. The requirement intense. The cost is full surrender. So often we think we are there. As we skip through spiritual meadows of lush green grasses and beautiful flowers, we believe surely God’s will is easy and grand. As we grit our teeth through a steep and rocky incline, we think back to the meadow and force ourselves to believe God’s will is good and perfect. As we plod through the darkest valleys of our lives full of pitfalls and snares, temptations and terrors, when the evil around us is dark and suffocating, the battle to stay alive saps every ounce of our strength, and there doesn’t seem to be a light indicating an exit, speaking the words, “Thy will be done,” is the most difficult thing we’ll ever do. The words stick in our throats and clog our windpipes. Our stomachs clench. A sheen of sweat breaks out on our brow. Tears flow as we wrestle with the possible results. In our shortsighted vision, we can’t see how anything but our plans and wishes could possibly end in the results we so desperately desire. Yet the one who is truly indwelt by the kingdom of God will still summon the strength to surrender. Why? Because God’s kingdom is the place His will is done. Completely. Continually. Unreservedly. (Matthew 6:9-10, 33)
In a world of religious caveats steeped in selfishness and entitlement, Jesus is calling us to personally pray the words of His prayer and mean them. “Your kingdom. Your will. In me. Always.” He is calling us to full surrender no matter the cost. No matter if everyone else is doing it. No matter if anyone else is doing it. He is asking us to trust God with our lives. Our wants and wishes. Our dreams and plans. Our ambitions and anxieties. He wants it all. Every. Single. Part. Because the next time He comes, it won’t be as a scruffy little carpenter boy from Nazareth. It will be as the triumphant King of the universe. He will be resplendent in glory and power. His reign will be eternal. And the people inhabiting His infinite kingdom will be those who surrendered the keys of their finite kingdoms to the rule and reign of His will. Jesus taught us to pray those words, not because He’d never come back if we didn’t pray them, but so we would be ready when He does. (Matthew 16:24-25, 24:30, 44; Galatians 2:20; Mark 8:35; Revelation 5:9-14, 11:15)
May we pray Jesus’ words. May we mean them. May our hearts, though beleaguered with fear and anxiety, truly cast all our cares on Him in absolute surrender. May we willingly relinquish the keys to our kingdoms on earth that we may receive a key to His eternal kingdom of Heaven. Through jubilation or tribulation, in tears, toil or terror, may our hearts steadfastly cry, “Your kingdom. Your will. I surrender.” Amen. (I Peter 5:7-9; Matthew 11:28-30)