Suspicion
The Way to Begin Again | Scene 5, Day 1
As soon as they left the synagogue, they went with James and John to the home of Simon and Andrew.
Simon’s mother-in-law was in bed with a fever, and they immediately told Jesus about her. So he went to her, took her hand and helped her up. The fever left her and she began to wait on them.
That evening, after sunset, the people brought to Jesus all the sick and demon-possessed. The whole town gathered at the door, and Jesus healed many who had various diseases. He also drove out many demons, but he would not let the demons speak because they knew who he was.
Very early in the morning, while it was still dark, Jesus got up, left the house and went off to a solitary place, where he prayed. Simon and his companions went to look for him, and when they found him, they exclaimed: “Everyone is looking for you!”
Jesus replied, “Let us go somewhere else—to the nearby villages—so I can preach there also. That is why I have come.”
So he traveled throughout Galilee, preaching in their synagogues and driving out demons.
- Mark 1:29-39
Jesus and his newly-called disciples leave the bustling synagogue and walk the short distance to Simon and Andrew’s house. What happens next establishes the pattern of Jesus’ entire ministry: teaching with authority, then sealing that authority through healing.
It’s a typical Galilean home built around a courtyard, the kind where extended, multigenerational families live together. In Mediterranean culture of that time, caring for extended family was not just common but expected. A newly married couple often lived with the husband’s family, sometimes in a small addition built on the flat roof, until they saved enough to establish their own household.
Simon and Andrew have taken over their family home. Simon’s mother-in-law lives with them, her husband likely deceased.
She’s sick in bed, feverish. The brothers alert Jesus.
He goes to her, takes her hand and helps her up out of bed. As she stands, her strength returns. Relieved, she serves her guests.
Word spreads.
Outside, the sun is fading. As the Sabbath ends, people begin to show at the door. It seems the whole town descends on the house. They crowd the door, fill the courtyard, and spill into the street. Jesus heals many and drives out demons. The demand is overwhelming. Hours pass, and the evening stretches long. Finally, exhausted, they sleep.
Sometime in the night, while the disciples are deep asleep, Jesus gets up, dresses, and slips out.
Dawn breaks, and Simon Peter wakens to the sound of people at his door. They’re back, waiting for Jesus. He gets up to alert the rabbi and discovers he’s not there.
Peter excuses himself from the crowd and takes off running. When he finally finds Jesus, he is breathless with urgency. “Everyone is looking for you!”
Unalarmed, Jesus responds, “Let us go somewhere else.”
Peter is stunned.
Why would Jesus walk away from obvious need?
Isn’t there work to be done?
The answer to my rhetorical question is yes, always.
During my platform years, when the church growth movement was at its peak, I heard that a pastor friend of mine had a heart attack on an airplane. He was returning from a conference, trying to get home to preach, and writing his next book at 30,000 feet.
The lack of balance literally broke his heart.
The news broke my heart too—both compassion for him and fear for my own future. He is 10 years older than me, and in that moment, I saw my future. I was terrified.
Later that year I found myself in a parallel setting—returning from a conference, writing on a plane. I thought of him and knew a change needed to come.
In some ways, ministry is worse than the business world. In business, everyone admits it’s ultimately about money, a game with clear rules. But ministry imbues the work with eternal significance, which ratchets up the stakes impossibly high. If souls are on the line, how can you ever stop working? If God’s kingdom depends on your productivity, how can you ever rest?
That’s the lie in its rawest form: God needs you to be productive, or else. In the middle of the church growth movement, no one seemed to realize how arrogant and myopic it all was, as if God’s kingdom depended on us.
But watch what Jesus does.
The people are coming from the synagogue, but don’t picture a quiet sanctuary. Local synagogues were community gathering spaces, more like a coffee shop or town square, bustling with daily life, where people came and went, discussed Torah, and conducted business.
When Jesus teaches, people are stunned. Not necessarily because of volume or charisma, but because he speaks with authority—something qualitatively different. He doesn’t need to quote other rabbis. And when the impure spirit cries out, Jesus doesn’t negotiate or perform an elaborate ritual. He commands. The demon obeys.
The crowd recognizes they’re witnessing a special kind of power.
After the synagogue, Jesus continues to heal people the rest of the day, starting with Simon’s mother-in-law.
Fever in the ancient world was serious business—not just discomfort but potential death. Without modern medicine, infections killed regularly and epidemics were as regular as the seasons. A fever that kept you bedridden could easily be your last illness.
Yet Jesus doesn’t speak a word to heal her. He simply takes her hand and helps her up.
His direct touch is important. According to Levitical law, direct physical contact with sickness would make him ritually unclean. But Jesus doesn’t care about ceremonial contamination. He touches what others avoid. He enters the space of suffering and pulls people out through contact, not command.
The fever leaves immediately. No lingering weakness, no convalescence needed. One moment she’s sick enough to be bedridden. The next, she’s happily hosting.
This change of state is bigger than a modern reader realizes. An instant healing from a fever is a hint at Jesus’ coming power over death—strength replacing weakness and health expelling sickness, all at a touch.
It also tells us something: God’s kingdom comes through contact, not distance. God doesn’t heal from arm’s length or detached directive. He gets his hands dirty with our sickness.
Which makes his decision the next morning all the more confusing. He walks away from obvious need, something the typical modern, busy pastor would never allow.
Why?
Because Jesus understood something we often miss: Mission flows from intimacy, not obligation. He withdrew to pray—not to recharge his batteries for more productivity, but to abide in the Father’s presence. That communion with God gave him clarity about what to do and, just as importantly, what not to do.
Jesus doesn’t run himself ragged trying to meet every need. He doesn’t measure success by how many people show up. He abides in the Father’s presence, listens for direction, and moves accordingly.
His behavior as the disciples begin their relationship with him sets the stage for what is to come. The first message?
Jesus is not out to use other people.
Sometimes, it seems like everyone has an angle. It’s easy to believe even God has an angle, like God wants employees who can fulfill his agenda, or, conversely, that we want to employ God to accomplish our agenda.
This lie appeals both to self-help Christianity (we employ God to fix our problems) and to deism (God is distant and indifferent). Either way, the message we absorb is that God doesn’t truly care; He merely uses or allows Himself to be used. This misconception leads us into a constant state of suspicion, where we seek hidden motives and attempt to manipulate God or others for our ends.
One word interpersonal experts use for this kind of relationship is “transactional.” I didn’t understand what this meant when I was younger—it sounded like business jargon. But then I realized: a transaction is an exchange. I give you X, you give me Y. No X? No Y. Simple math.
A covenant is different. A covenant says: I’m committed to you regardless of what you produce. It’s not based on performance but on identity. You’re mine. I’m yours. Period.
Transactional: God loves me because I serve him well.
Covenantal: God loves me without a because—which frees me from fear of rejection.
One is exhausting. The other is rest.
When relationships become transactional, everyone—including God—is reduced to a tool. We may feel we have to capture God’s attention, or else He’ll overlook us. But nobody wants to be used.
Jesus offers a radical alternative: a life of abiding. To “abide” is a difficult concept for a culture obsessed with speed, efficiency, manipulation, and outcomes. Abiding means to remain, dwell, or simply be present in a genuine relationship, without agendas or suspicion. It is living with God, not just working for God. The more we experience God’s relational presence, the less we feel the need to turn relationships into transactions.
The lie says God may exist, but he doesn’t really care about you. He’s distant, indifferent, or worse—he’s just using you for his agenda.
But Jesus shatters that assumption. He touches the sick. He withdraws to pray. He moves from intimacy with the Father, not obligation to the crowd.
God doesn’t want an employee. God wants a relationship.
What would change if you stopped proving your worth through productivity and started abiding in God’s presence? What if rest wasn’t weakness but the very source of mission? What if God’s love for you isn’t based on what you produce but on who you are?
Jesus didn’t come to use you. He came to restore you. Not as a tool. As a beloved child.
The Lie: God may exist, but he doesn’t care.
The Wound: “Does God only care about His own agenda—or mine?”
The Real Issue: I feel like I’m being used, like a tool.
The Truth: God doesn’t want an employee; God wants a relationship.
Pray
Lord, teach me to rest in your presence. Help me see that you delight in me, not just in what I produce. Free me from the lie that I have to earn your love through productivity. Teach me to abide. Amen.
Live It
Used: Have you ever felt used or exploited in a relationship—treated like a tool rather than a person? What happened? How did it affect your ability to rest in that relationship?
Exhaustion: Where do you feel burned out from trying to meet every need? What would it look like to withdraw, like Jesus did, even when everyone is looking for you?
Transaction check: In what areas of your life are you relating to God transactionally (I give X, God gives Y) rather than covenantally (loved regardless of performance)?
Abiding practice:When was the last time you withdrew to simply be with God—not to get something, not to produce something, but just to abide? What would it take to do that this week?
Where We Are: Season 1 | Scene 5 of 6 | Day 1 of 6
Next: Day Two posts Thursday, March 5, 2026
Coming Soon: After this scene, we’ll move to Scene Six: The Lie That I’m on My Own
Such RICH stuff for this type A! I'm still haunted by the season when I hit the wall and everything within me screamed, “NO MORE!” My motto was “I'd rather burn out than rust out!” A wise friend shared, “What difference does it make? They both end with OUT.”