I drink a lot of coffee. I am sure you know some people who drink more than me. But I still drink a lot.
Most mornings I start myself off by pulling a double shot of espresso into a demitasse that I slowly savor. Then, I pull another double that I drink quickly before heading out to drop my boys at school. Not a morning goes by at Christ Church when I do not brew myself a cup or two with our office Keurig. Then another cup (at least) in the afternoon, plus some additional espresso—perhaps an Americano—if I am meeting someone for a coffee at The Foundry, our local haunt.
The first reason I drink coffee, indeed the reason I started drinking coffee in the first place, is because I love it. I love the way it smells, and I love the delicious roasty taste, which is somehow both savory and sweet and always welcomed. I love the subtle flavors that peek out from carefully roasted coffee, ranging from the bright citrusy zing of Ethiopian coffee to the rich, smoky flavors of a French roast.
Heck, I even love the taste of bad coffee, including the copper-penny flavored swill that drains out of metal percolators whose natural habitat is the basement parish hall. I love the feeling of a warm mug in my hands. Plus, I find sipping a cup eases conversation and makes my thoughts flow a little freer when I am writing a sermon.
There is another reason I drink coffee, however, one that I am less keen to share, and that is simply to help me stay focused and alert when I am tired. Coffee is a necessity after a bad night’s sleep, one interrupted by, say, a whimpering child, or an overfull bladder. But even after a solid eight-hour slumber, I find myself reaching for cup after cup to keep my mind from losing focus. In fact, I finished a cup of Starbucks coffee shortly before writing this reflection, and I am already making plans to brew another cup—the last this afternoon—before I finish writing.
The truth is that I feel sheepish about being tired as often as I am. Coffee helps me to hide it. If someone points out that I look tired, I (in good Canadian fashion) apologize for it. And it is not unusual for me to be more or less useless after our kids, having been fed and watered, their teeth brushed, prayers prayed, are lying in their beds. By 8:30 o’clock most nights, I am not good for much save light reading or watching funny television shows (I just finished Nathan Fielder’s The Rehearsal). On these evenings I make excuses and apologize for being tired.
There is some guilt attached to my weariness is what I am saying. I wish I had more energy to stay productive later in the evening. There is some house-painting I’ve been meaning to do, some books I’ve been wanting to read, but to do either after the sun goes down takes a heroic level of effort. Thinking about it even now makes me yawn.
So, when I was reading one of the appointed lessons in the Gospel of John this week, I was arrested that Jesus seemed weary too. In chapter four, John tells the story of Jesus meeting the woman at the well. John 4:6 reads, “Jacob’s well was there, and Jesus, tired out by his journey, was sitting by the well” (NRSV, emphasis mine).
I am not a biblical scholar, and any proficiency I once had in Greek has long faded, so I thought I’d compare with another couple of translations just to make sure I had the right idea. here’s the old-timey language of King James:
Now Jacob’s well was there. Jesus therefore, being wearied with his journey, sat thus on the well: and it was about the sixth hour (emphasis mine).
Or the popular New International Version:
Jacob’s well was there, and Jesus, tired as he was from the journey, sat down by the well. It was about noon (emphasis mine).
Both additional translations seem to confirm that Jesus was indeed tired, wearied. He didn’t have the benefit of coffee either.
I confess the Nicene Creed with gusto each Sunday and the Apostles’ Creed daily. I believe with all of my heart that Jesus “for us and for our salvation… came down from heaven” and “by the power the Holy Spirit … became incarnate from the Virgin Mary and was made man.” Sometimes, my imagination lags behind the doctrine I affirm, and I forget that the man Jesus experienced all of the limitations that I experience as a man.
Jesus got thirsty and hungry. He felt sad. He felt pain. And, especially after a long journey, he got tired.
Note this as well: When Jesus was tired, he reckoned with this weariness by sitting down.
In the providence of God, the Holy Spirit has indicated to us in Holy Scripture that the God-man dealt with his growing tired by having a rest. He didn’t apologize for feeling weary, he didn’t psyche himself up for his next evangelistic encounter, nor did he pray that the Father send him a jolt of energy. He just sat down.
This short passage has been a balm to my weary soul.
For one, it is a reminder of a truth that I know but have failed to fully appreciate: That God in Christ does indeed “sympathize with our weakness” (Heb. 4:15). He too faced the pressures of living in a human body; he knows what it is like to have limits.
And there is more. Jesus responded to these limits by giving in to them. When he was hungry, save when fasting, he ate. When he was thirsty, he had a drink. And when he was tired, he rested. In these few words, I was reminded that Jesus hallows the act of taking a break, going for a rest. I would argue there is even scriptural evidence that he sanctified the afternoon nap (see Matt. 8:23-7). If Jesus can rest, so can I.
Maybe I can forgo a cup or coffee or two and turn in a little early without apology. Or, after a long day, knock off a few minutes before I need to. Jesus was caught sitting down in the afternoon, and it led to a wonderful conversation. I ought to make time for the same.
The Rev. Dr. Cole Hartin is an associate rector of Christ Church in Tyler, Texas, where he lives with his wife and four sons.
