Most people recognize a crisis as a bad thing, but the word itself is actually defined by Google to mean “a time when a difficult or important decision must be made.” And indeed, the resurrection is one such time when a decision must be made. Let me explain.

In the gospels, we are presented with the notion that Jesus was hung on a cross until He was dead on Friday, but then on Sunday, when the women went to prepare the body, the tomb was empty. And over the course of the next six weeks, Jesus appeared, alive, on numerous occasions.

If I were to replace the name Jesus with any other name, we would all think it a ludicrous proposition. People don’t come back from the dead. Not after two days. But Jesus supposedly did.

History tells us that the disciples were radically changed after the alleged resurrection. Seven weeks later, they rushed out into the streets of Jerusalem, and their little sect exploded from 120 to over 3,000 followers in one day. From that moment, their lifestyles were radically changed. And from that place, this ragtag band of once fishermen, tax collectors, and political activists fanned out across the known world, telling everyone they met the otherwise ludicrous notion that Jesus was again alive. And for some reason, others believed them and actually started doing the same kinds of things!

That is certainly not to say that everyone believed. Indeed, there has been skepticism about the resurrection of Jesus since the very beginning. For example, some have held that Jesus either didn’t really die on the cross at all and was then somehow smuggled alive out of Palestine afterward, or that his body was merely possessed by the Holy Spirit which left him in the moments just prior to death and appeared later to the disciples as some sort of phantom.

But the gospel writers deliberately went to great lengths to disprove these theories. They record how the Romans were surprised that Jesus would be dead already, and so one of the guards impaled his body with a spear, piercing his side at an upward angle until it reached the heart and drew a mixture of blood and what they thought looked like water, which spilled out on the ground. People who aren’t dead don’t like to be impaled by spears. And in the accounts of the post-resurrection appearances, they also make a point of mentioning that Mary touched the risen Jesus; Jesus invited Thomas to touch his hands and feet and even place his hand in His side; and then He made for the disciples a fish breakfast and ate some of it Himself. Phantoms can’t be touched, and they certainly don’t eat.

So as ludicrous as it seems, we are left, ultimately, with the unmitigated assertion that Jesus was dead, but then He came back to life. That is the reality of the resurrection. And it is that reality which compels us to a crisis point: we must make a decision.

Is it true? Did Jesus really come back from the dead?

And that is the crisis: we must decide whether the resurrection is true or not. But that decision cannot be merely cognitive or theoretical. Because, if He did come back from the dead, then it would be both unprecedented and unmatched in all of history. (Yes, I know there are other cultures and religions that speak of people being resurrected, but none of those have anything even remotely close to the historical or circumstantial support of the New Testament claims.) And if it it’s true, does that not verify all the other claims Jesus made (e.g., being the exclusive route to salvation, eternal life, and heaven)? And if all the other claims are verified in the resurrection, then does He not have the authority to issue to us commands? And if He has the authority to issue to us commands, do we not have the obligation to obey? And if we have the obligation to obey, then how can our actions not be directly affected by the reality of the resurrection?

You see, crises are, in fact, decisions which inherently affect everything else. From the moment the decision is made, everything is changed. Nothing can ever be the same again.

And that’s exactly how it is with the resurrection.

If we discount the resurrection as a mere fantasy or fairy tale, then we may go on with life as usual. But if we choose to believe that Jesus really did come back to life, then every aspect of our lives must be impacted: everything we think, say, feel, and do must be brought into conformity with the character and command of Jesus Christ, the resurrected Son of God.

But make no mistake. We must decide. Because even if we say we don’t know, our actions betray our actual decision.

So, what will you decide about the resurrection today?

But do we always recognize them?

So this morning, I wanted to take a moment to jot down some of the ways in which the resurrection should impact the life of the believer. The problem is that, as I started thinking about these, I almost immediately realized that there are far too many of these ramifications to outline in a lifetime, let alone in a single blog post. So I thought that, over the next few days, I might explore some of the most important – or maybe just most overlooked – ramifications of the resurrection in a series of brief posts.

For the moment, I want to talk about optimism. Because Jesus is raised from the dead, the Christ-follower can – indeed, must – live with a sense of optimism regardless of circumstances.

The logic behind this is really rather simple. When Joseph and Nicodemus removed Jesus from the cross, He was dead. Since that day, some have suggested otherwise, but if there was one thing the Romans were good at, it was making people dead. And by the time Jesus went to the cross, they had been crucifying people by the hundreds – thousands, even – for centuries. They had killing people, particularly on a cross, down to a science, and there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that Jesus was dead.

Talk about the ultimate lose.

The Sadducees, Pharisees, Romans, Satan, and all of Jesus’ other enemies, temporal and eternal, had won. The Son of the Most High was dead. It doesn’t get much worse than that.

But then came Sunday, and with it the Resurrection.

When Mary and the other women approached the tomb early that first Easter morning and the angel appeared, rolling away the stone, history’s ultimate loss was abruptly, eternally, and irrevocably overturned, becoming instead the ultimate victory.

It really shouldn’t surprise us that Jesus turns failure into success and loss into victory. God has, in fact, been doing similar things throughout history. He destroyed mankind for their wickedness but saved Noah to rebirth the race through a righteous man. Sarah was old and barren when God first promised a child, and many more years passed until she even gave up hope. But then Isaac was born. Joseph was sold into slavery by his brothers, but as a result, years later, he was able to save his entire family. Pharaoh’s heart was hardened so that he refused to release Israel, but God demonstrated His power for all to see. Joshua had no clue how to defeat the heavily fortified Jericho, but God did. The Israelites made a foolish alliance with the Gibeonites, but God used it to gather their enemies in one place so they could have victory. And the list goes on and on. Saul’s betrayal led to David’s dynasty. David’s sin with Bathsheba and the subsequent deaths of Uriah and the baby paved the way for Solomon. The Assyrian and Babylonian captivities turned the people back to God. Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. Daniel in the lion’s den. Jonah in the belly of the whale.

Producing victory out of loss is what God does. He seems to love the underdog Cinderella story.

And the fact that God has done this same sort of thing time and again throughout history should compel Christ-followers to expect Him to do it again. And again. And again.

Christians should be the most optimistic people on the planet. Not because everything is going great for us; indeed, things may be going very badly. Consider that ten of Jesus’ original twelve disciples were executed for their faith. (The exceptions: Judas committed suicide after betraying Jesus at Gethsemane, and John apparently died of natural causes in the mid-90′s AD.) Add in names like Stephen, James, Paul and countless others through the centuries. But then remember that, even as the stones fell, Stephen exulted, “Look! I see the heavens opened and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God!” (Acts 8:56), “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit!” (vs 59), and “Lord, do not charge them with this sin!” (vs 60). Jesus’ brother James noted in James 5:10-12, “Brothers, take the prophets who spoke in the Lord’s name as an example of suffering and patience. See, we count as blessed those who have endured. You have heard of Job’s endurance and have seen the outcome from the Lord. The Lord is very compassionate and merciful.” And Paul said, “Because of Him, I have suffered the loss of all things and consider them filth, so that I may gain Christ and be found in Him, not having a righteousness of my own from the law, but one that is through faith in Christ – the righteousness from God based on faith.”

Do you hear it? These men lost everything. But they still looked forward to the day when they would win. Despite their desperate circumstances, they retained a sense of optimism.

And because Jesus defeated death and the grave that first Easter Sunday, so can – so must – we.

So live today, regardless of what it brings, with optimism. Because today might be Friday (a proverbial reference to Good Friday; it’s actually Thursday as I’m writing this), but Sunday is coming!

Before I begin, though, I have to tell you that I have two children who are exactly the age of the kids who were killed in Connecticut. My daughter is in first grade. My son is in kindergarten. When news of the shooting in Newtown broke, I was volunteering on the playground of their elementary school, hanging out with nearly 500 kids their age in a setting eerily similar to that of Sandy Hook. And I have developed relationships with several of the people who work there, from the secretaries to the administrators to the teachers and more. I could not help but imagine how devastating it would have been if this had happened in my town, to my friends and kids.

As I wrestled with these thoughts, God reminded me that the Christmas account – the story of how God became man and dwelled among us – is just as real and relevant today as it was two thousand years ago. Indeed, in Matthew 1, the angel proclaimed to Joseph that Jesus would be called “Immanuel,” which means “God with us.” And in Matthew 28 (the passage we’ll be looking at this Sunday), Jesus announced, “I will be with you always, to the very end of the age.” So God is with us. He’s at our side, going through this whole mess called life right beside us. He was there with the victims of Sandy Hook and 9/11 and the Holocaust. And He’ll continue to be there until Jesus returns and sets all things right once again.

But that generic promise seems somehow inadequate in light of horrific tragedy, particularly when the victims are small children. So while we may affirm in our heads the notion that Jesus is God with us, our hearts continue to cry out, “Where were you, God?”

I suppose that this should really come as no surprise. In fact, as I have continued to contemplate the whole situation, I have been reminded that people – even godly people – have been asking the same question in tragic circumstances – and sometimes even in normal circumstances – since the beginning of time. Take, for instance, Moses. When God called him to deliver Israel from slavery in Egypt, Moses asked in Exodus 3:11, “Who am I, that I should go?” God responded in vs 12, “I will be with you.” And Moses came back not with a statement of faith, but by demanding to know God’s name and actual proof that God was indeed with him. Or consider Joshua. In Joshua 7:7, after the Israelites were defeated at Ai, Joshua threw himself down on the ground and demanded, “Ah, Sovereign Lord, why did you ever bring this people across the Jordan to deliver us into the hands of the Amorites to destroy us?” Translate that: “God, why weren’t you at Ai?” How many times did the various psalmists ask when God would finally show up? And who can forget Job? God allowed Satan to test this poor man because He was so proud of Job’s righteousness, and in Job 23:3, Job lamented, “If only I knew where to find [God]; if only I could go to his dwelling!”

What strikes me is that the Bible and God never offer platitudes in response to this question. In Moses’ case, God revealed His name and then offered a series of wonders as proof. With Joshua, God responded bluntly, essentially, “Me? Oh no, this wasn’t my fault! It was yours!” With the psalmists, the questions are sometimes answered, but often allowed to simply hang forlornly in the air. And with Job, eventually, God responds in dramatic fashion from the storm to say, basically, that Job didn’t have the credentials to question Him or the perspective to grasp all that was going on.

To be honest, though, I think John 11 may contain the most poignant response to this question in all of Scripture. The chapter opens with a sick man from Bethany named Lazarus, the brother of Mary and Martha and a dear friend of Jesus. In fact, in vs 5, after Jesus received word that Lazarus was deathly ill, John revealed, “Now Jesus loved Martha, her sister, and Lazarus.” And yet, in vs 6, our Lord, knowing full well that Lazarus was on very ill, “stayed two more days in the place where He was” before suggesting to His disciples that they return to Judea and Bethany. When they arrived, Lazarus was dead. In fact, he had been in the tomb already for four days. (Not coincidentally, it would have taken the messenger a day to get to Jesus, He stayed where He was for two days, and it would have taken Him a day to get to Bethany. So Lazarus died while the messenger was en route to Jesus.) And we read in vs 20 that “as soon as Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went out to meet Him,” and in vs 21, she demanded, “Lord, if You had been here, my brother wouldn’t have died.”

In other words, “Jesus, where were you?”

The account of John 11, though, is not poignant just because of how Jesus responds to this situation. As I have contemplated it the last several days, I am convinced that there is a great deal going on here which sheds invaluable light on what Jesus is up to all through crises and tragedies.

The first thing which jumps out at me is that Jesus loved Martha and Mary – the survivors – as well as Lazarus. John was explicit about that, and if anyone should know, it would probably be the disciple who referred to himself consistently as “the disciple Jesus loved.” In moments of crisis and tragedy, it is imperative to remember that God’s love never falters or wanes, regardless of what’s going on around us.

The second thing that strikes me is that Jesus stayed two more days where He was after hearing that Lazarus was ill. What He was doing there, we don’t really know. John 10:40-42 simply say He was ministering on the far side of the Jordan River, where John the Baptist had been baptizing, and leading many to faith. But we receive no details about how that all happened other than that “He remained there” (10:40) and “He stayed two more days” (11:5). In other words, even when Jesus knew that Lazarus was on his deathbed, Jesus didn’t start toward Bethany. Now, we can speculate as to Jesus’ reasonings for doing this, but in the end, it is not particularly relevant. You see, in Matthew 8, Jesus healed the centurion’s servant without ever going to him. So Jesus did not go to Lazarus to heal him, but He could have effected the healing from afar. But He did not do that, either. In other words, Jesus allowed Lazarus’s illness to continue. In fact, Jesus allowed Lazarus to die.

Of course, the response to that is that Jesus could not have known how serious Lazarus’ condition really was. So maybe He did not really allow it after all: He just did not know. Except that the third thing that grabs my attention back in John 11 is verse 14. The messenger has come, told Jesus that Lazarus was ill, and left. In verse 11, Jesus tells His disciples that they are returning to Bethany despite the risk of the Jews because “our friend Lazarus has fallen asleep.” Knowing no better, the disciples say in vs 12, “Lord, if he has fallen asleep, he will get well.” The logic was sound: they knew their friend was ill, and sleep helped sick people get better. But in vs 14, without ever receiving a second messenger, Jesus declares, “Lazarus has died.” Jesus knew. And while it stings a bit to think that He knew how bad Lazarus’ situation was and still did not act to heal His friend, it is still a little comforting to know that He knows what we are going through.

And then comes vs 15. Immediately on the heels of declaring that Lazarus is, in fact, dead, Jesus declares, “I’m glad for you that I wasn’t there so that you may believe.” It was a hint that, even in the midst of this crisis, Jesus was up to something. He had His eye on the bigger picture and was about to do something amazing. What was that amazing thing? Well, some would skip straight to vs 38, where Jesus ordered the stone removed from the entrance of Lazarus’ tomb, and 43-44, where He called Lazarus to come out, and the dead man did. In fact, I had a professor in Bible college who explained that the main thrust of the account was to show that Jesus had power over death – even after three days – so that His disciples would believe Him when He predicted His own death and resurrection. Certainly, that is at least an ancillary objective here, but the fourth thing that jumps out at me is that there is a lot of stuff between verses 15 and 38.

As I told our congregation this past Sunday, John 1:14 reveals that the Word – God – became flesh – man – and tabernacled with us. The term, rendered in most modern translations as “dwelt,” “made his home,” or “took up residence,” could just as well be translated “roughed it.” “Roughing it” – the form of camping in which you sleep in a tent (if that) without any of the amenities or facilities of modern living – is a very messy proposition. Without the facility of running water or the amenity of a shower, you get dirty. In fact, you get all dirty.

In John 11:16-37, Jesus got dirty.

We find, first, that Thomas was not keen on the idea of going to Bethany to dare the Jews. I love Thomas. If I had been one of Jesus’ apostles, I would have been him. But that’s another story. Jesus got Thomas’ cynicism on His shoes.

Then came Martha. In vs 20, we read, “As soon as Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went to meet Him.” And in vs 21, the first words out of her mouth are, “Lord, if You had been here, my brother wouldn’t have died.” Now, the text does not say this, but I imagine that Jesus placed His hands on Martha’s shoulder even as He pressed on toward their home. Jesus got Martha’s hurt all over His hands.

And then came Mary. Mary had a special place in Jesus’ life. No, I am not a proponent of the theory that she was His wife, but I must observe that she plays a recurring role in His earthly ministry and becomes the first person to see Him after His resurrection. And so, in vs 32, it must have especially stung when she finally emerged from the house with a face contorted. John says “she fell at His feet and told Him,” but I imagine what she really was doing was crying. In hurt and pain, yes. But I sense rage in her voice, too. She accused, “Lord, if You had been here, my brother would not have died!” Jesus got Mary’s rage all over His feet.

And He reacted. In verse 33, we read, “When Jesus saw [Mary] crying, and the Jews who had come with her crying, He was angry in His spirit and deeply moved.”

You see, Jesus was no happier about this situation than Mary or Martha. And to punctuate that revelation, moments later, we have the single shortest verse in the Bible: “Jesus wept” (35).

You know, it is fascinating, the difference punctuation makes. It is the difference between eating, Grandpa, and eating Grandpa. And it is the difference between Jesus merely being in proximity to tragedy and Jesus being with us in tragedy.

In the wake of His friend Lazarus’ death, Jesus wept. In the light of Martha’s pain, Jesus wept. In the mess of Mary’s wrath, Jesus wept.

And in that seemingly simple statement, we have a profound revelation. Yes, Jesus may have bigger fish to fry, some grander purpose in mind as He allows us to endure crisis and tragedy and loss and pain.

But He still weeps with us.

In the days and weeks, months and years to come, the news media will eventually tire of covering and endlessly analyzing the events at Sandy Hook Elementary School. Life in Newtown, CT, will return to some semblance of normalcy (in fact, as I write this, kids in Newtown have returned to school today). Of course, we will learn (and hopefully apply) lessons. Some of the questions which have been asked – the how’s and why’s of the investigation – will be finally answered. Bodies will be laid to rest. And life will go on. Until, that is, the next tragedy compels us to ask, again, “Jesus, where are you?”

And it will be in that moment, when that question lingers once again in the air, that Jesus will be right here, with us, weeping.

Did you get that? The apostle calls me to rejoice because the marriage of the Lamb has come, and His bride, the Church, is ready. He goes on to say that, by “ready,” he means that she has donned righteousness and is therefore the holy and blameless bride Paul knew Jesus was anticipating in Ephesians 5.

At first glance, that seems ridiculous. As I told someone the other day, in my position of ministry within the church, I am uniquely positioned to realize that no one this side of heaven – and most certainly not the Church as a whole – is finally perfected. Yet. (Before the Wesleyans out there go ballistic, that is consistent with John Wesley’s understanding of holiness!) But I think there are a few things here that make this statement that John overheard not only true, but also the second greatest proclamation of all time.

First, I think John is using what one commentator called “prophetic perfect” tense. In essence, this is when a prophet, in faith, refers to things which are not yet done as though they are. So John and this voice are not saying that the Church is actually perfect today. It’s proclaiming, in faith, that it will be. John took this declaration of what was yet to come as so firm, so real, that he recorded it as though it had already happened. The Church will be purified. It’s only a matter of time.

Second, it’s important to take all of these three verses together to realize something: the church is putting on this righteousness or perfection as a garment. In other words, like a pair of coveralls we would wear to protect us from the cold or mess, the Church “was given fine linen to wear.” So this holiness is not just something that is down the road. It is something which we should be putting on even now. Sure, it’s ill-fitting. But that just means we’ve got work to do to fit into it before that Last Day.

And third, this is an entirely different perspective of the Church than that held by a good number of people, both inside and outside the Church. The truth is, the world doesn’t think too highly of the Church. That comes as no surprise to anyone. The Bible says that, to them, we are the stench of death. But what is perhaps surprising is that there is a large chorus of voices which sound similarly disparaging notes of the Church from within her walls! I suppose it is partially due to the perennial tension between the declining generation, the generation currently in its prime, and the generation which is desperately trying to make its way into the spotlight. To be honest, though, I think it has gone beyond that.

In many corners of the Church, particularly in North America, we have surrendered to the lie that the Church is inherently ineffective because it is fundamentally dysfunctional. In other words, we think the Church is broken beyond repair and must therefore be scrapped, re-engineered, and re-built from the ground up.

John’s declaration here in Revelation 19 stands in stark contrast to that notion. In one swoop of the pen, he declares that (a) reports of the Church’s demise have been exaggerated, (b) the Church remains the singular bride of Christ, and (c) as unhealthy (or even dead) as she may look right now, she is not beyond recovery and will, in fact, be one day restored and even perfected.

So I should not be disparaging of the Church or discouraged by her present condition. Rather, I must continue to work in and for her, looking forward to that day when she is finally made ready for her groom and rejoicing in that that day is certainly coming and that, until it comes, she is a work in progress.

So there we have it. One final thought on joy before I move into a new study. I’ve had a number of ideas on my mind to study next, but I think I’m being drawn toward Jesus’ method of discipleship. It means an in-depth study of the gospels for keys into how Jesus understood and implemented the concepts of rabbi/teacher and disciple. But that’s another blog post entirely!

So I get what the apostle John was talking about when he said, in 1 John 1:4, “We are writing these things so that our joy may be complete.”

Writing, particularly when you’re writing to teach someone something, is an enjoyable thing. Most of the time.

But as I contemplate John’s words today, I wonder how many of us actually grab onto the apostle’s sentiment. I mean, sure, he enjoyed writing, but that doesn’t mean I have to. And he enjoyed teaching (that is, after all, why he was writing), but that doesn’t mean that I will. John gets joy out of it, but I don’t. So I won’t.

I mean, I really can’t tell you how many people plainly refuse to write or teach people about Jesus. In our churches today, it is a perpetual struggle to find, train, and retain people who will do well at teaching, at all levels of the organization. Our society has sold us this bill of goods which tells us that faith is supposed to be a private thing, and so we don’t think it’s our place to tell people what to think or believe. Or perhaps worse, our Enemy tells us that we’re not good enough, not smart enough, and we believe him. So we wouldn’t dare step up to teach for fear that we won’t know it all and may be embarrassed at some point down the road.

Exactly when or where this may happen, we’re not sure, exactly. But we are sure it will happen.

So we do nothing.

John says that he is writing a letter to teach others about the faith to make his joy complete.

But John wasn’t the only one writing. And he wasn’t the only one whose joy would be made complete.

Indeed, he says, “We are writing these things so that our joy may be complete.” The distinction there is subtle, but it is real: John isn’t alone. With him is a group of people, each with their own gifts, talents, preferences, and fears. And each of them is having some part in the writing of this letter to teach.

What if teaching people about our faith isn’t just a responsibility or obligation. In fact, what if we can’t possibly know the full measure of God’s joy – our joy can’t be complete – without writing and/or teaching?

As I read these words by John, I am seriously thinking that this may indeed be the case.

And other Biblical writers would seem to agree. Jeremiah, for instance, lamented that he didn’t want to preach, but couldn’t keep it in. Paul cried out, “Woe to me if I don’t preach!” and challenged older believers to teach the younger. In fact, Jesus’ call to his disciples was to come, follow Him. We get that means to follow Him around and do what He does (although it could be argued that a huge number of us don’t, really), but do we not realize that the entire time He was going around, He was teaching? His disciples. The crowds. Samaritan women at wells. And the list goes on and on.

If I’m going to be like Jesus, I’ve got to be a teacher.

If I’m going to have complete joy, I’ve got to be a teacher.

I’ve got to be a teacher.

So basically, Micah is trying to do everything in his power to make God like him, except for the stuff God wanted him to do. Brilliant plan here.

And then the Danites come along. At the beginning of Judges 18, we learn that (a) there was no king in Israel (i.e., there was no one in charge, no central government), (b) the tribe of Dan still didn’t have a territory (i.e., they forgot where they were supposed to settle or simply failed to do what they needed to do to drive the previous inhabitants out), and (c) the Danites were in the market for some new real estate (i.e., they were looking for somewhere new that they could capture easily and call their own). And so the people of Dan dispatch five men to find this new home.

When the Danite spies came across Micah’s house, they ask Micah’s personal priest-for-hire to ask if they will be successful. Of course, the guy tells them what they want to hear: “Go in peace. The Lord is watching over the journey you are going on.” It was a diplomatic answer. On the one hand, if the Danites went, found a new home and conquered it, the priest could say, “See, God was watching over your journey like a black ops sniper: ready to take out the bad guy for you.” On the other, if the Danites went out, didn’t find a new home or worse were smacked around in the process, the priest would say, “I told you! God was watching over your journey like Santa watching over the naughty kids!”

But it worked. The Danites were convinced that this guy knew what he was talking about, and when they found a place they thought they could capture and came back with the army to do so, they returned to Micah’s house to invite the priest to join them. Their offer to him in Judges 18:19 is compelling: “Come with us and be a father and a priest to us. Is it better for you to be a priest for the house of one person or for you to be a priest for a tribe and family in Israel?” Translate that: Hey, come with us, and you’ll be bigger, more popular, and more prominent than ever.

It’s a flattering offer. Compelling, even. And as I read it, I found myself asking how many modern pastors have succumbed to the same. But the more I look at it, the more I realize just how wrong the whole situation is. You see, Micah wasn’t the only one trying to do everything except the stuff God wanted him to do.

This personal priest shouldn’t have been a priest at all. He was a Levite. He should have been ministering in the tabernacle, not wandering aimlessly through the countryside. And the Danites shouldn’t have been looking for new territory. They should have been working to conquer the territory they were already allotted.

And when the priest decides to go with them, the whole situation only goes downhill from there. He and the Danites steal Micah’s wrong idol, go to the wrong town in the wrong territory, slaughter the wrong people, call it all by the wrong name, and then proceed to set up for themselves their own wrong religion.

Three things get me about this. First, Micah’s mom, Micah himself, the Levite priest, and even the Danites all wrapped their wrong ways in good stuff. Micah’s mom wanted to use the silver to secure blessing for her son and make an idol. So she “consecrated” it to the Lord. Micah wanted to make sure he was blessed rather than cursed. So he hired himself a Levite “priest.” The Levite just wanted more. So he went where he could “minister” to more people. And the Danites wanted a home. So they “inquired” of the Lord.

Their token piety was worthless in God’s eyes.

The second thing is the Levite himself. He starts out doing illegitimate ministry. He ends up doing illegitimate ministry. And he is, all along the way, nothing but a climber. You know the type. They’re the ones who will step on anyone and anything to secure for themselves the next best thing. And all the while, they’re not really interested in doing anything real.

God has no honor for climbers.

And the third thing that stands out to me is how the Danites cover their tracks when it’s all said and done. At the end of Judges 18, after the Danites had secured their new territory, they settle in the town of Laish and rename it Dan. It was a testament to themselves, their own greatness, etc. But it was also them stamping their names on the place, as though that made it truly theirs. And as though that wasn’t enough, they set up Micah’s carved images for themselves and set up Micah’s priest as their own. Because building their own temple somehow made the idol theirs.

God sees right through our covers.

No matter how good they seem to us, God has no use for token piety, no interest in people who are only interested in ascending the ladder, and no time for fraudulent victories.

I do not want to be in those camps!

Did you catch that? In verse thirteen, the word “rejoice” appears twice, and it’s coupled with the word “joy.” In the Bible, whenever I see something repeated, I have to pay attention; generally, it’s important. And here, I have the same thing show up three times in rapid succession. Peter thought it was important for me to have joy even as I “share in the sufferings of the Messiah.”

To be clear here, it’s important that I grasp how serious these sufferings were. You see, the images of Christ’s sufferings were indelibly seared in Peter’s mind. He had been there. And so the language that he used in these two verses to describe the suffering to which we may be called to share is incredibly visual. Consider, for instance, the phrase rendered by the HCSB as “fiery ordeal” in verse 12. The image which this word would have immediately painted on Peter’s reader’s brains was that of a blast furnace or kiln used to refine metals. These things were used to remove impurities from the ore, to create alloys which were far stronger than the raw element, and to forge and temper the metal so that it was far stronger than it would have been otherwise. But in order to do all of these good things, that metal had to be exposed to extremely intense heat.

So this wasn’t just a little difficulty. This was intense difficulty. Intense.

And then, as though that wasn’t enough, he added that we’re to rejoice as we “share in the sufferings of the Messiah.” This wasn’t necessarily an image in and of itself, but it certainly reminded the reader of what Peter had written at the end of chapter 2. There, he described the sufferings of Christ in vivid detail, using words that we see rendered merely as “wounds,” but which his readers would have seen as a man whose face and body were literally beaten to a bloody, quivering pulp before He was ultimately nailed to the cross. Simply put, Peter reminded them that crucifixion was the single most gruesome method of torture and execution ever devised. And now, in chapter four, that imagery flashed again past his readers’ minds.

So we’re talking intense suffering, even to the point of excruciating death. And yet, rejoice, rejoice, joy. And not just joy, but great joy!

Obviously, Peter’s not talking about throwing a party in the midst of this suffering. This is certainly me looking forward to the day that I receive my reward in heaven. But still, the question that I have is HOW????

Fortunately, Peter presents what I think is a pretty simple answer to that question. The key is in verse 12: “Don’t be surprised.” The word at the heart of this phrase is not the kind of surprise you get when someone jumps out from behind a bush and shouts, “Boo!” It’s more like a scoffing, offended, “Oh, no you didn’t!” The key to having joy in the midst of even extreme suffering is not expecting that I should be exempt from suffering and crying “foul!” when it comes.

See, if I expect that I can – and probably will – suffer, then when it comes, and if I’m humble enough to not worry about whether or not it’s fair, I’ll have been steeled against it so that it won’t rob my joy.

As if that wasn’t enough, Peter goes on in verse 14 to remind his readers of what he had heard Jesus say in the sermon on the mount: “If you are ridiculed for the name of Christ, you are blessed.” And he encouraged us in verse 16, “If anyone suffers as a ‘Christian’” – which was originally an insult – “he should not be ashamed but should glorify God.” In other words, remember that suffering for your faith is no reason to be embarrassed or ashamed. And lastly, Peter reminded his readers of the alternative in vs 18: “If a righteous person is saved with difficulty, what will become of the ungodly and the sinner?” Hint: Bad things, man. Bad things.

So the key to keeping my joy, even in the no matter whats of life, is to stop worrying about whether it’s fair or not and keep my eye on the ball, which is God and the eternal life I’m getting from Him.

I am tired. I’m tired of the politics. I’m tired of the endless campaign. I’m tired of the mud slinging. I’m tired of the endless bickering and finger-pointing. I’m tired of the smug politician smiles. I’m tired of unkept promises. I’m tired of meaningless soundbites. I’m tired of advertisements. I’m tired of surveys and robocalls. I’m tired of yard signs. I’m tired.

And truth be told, I have been tired since even before the Iowa caucus.

This has been a messy, messy election season, but to tell you the truth, I’m not sure it’s been long enough. You see, as I write this, there are now 17 hours before the polls open here in Iowa. And I still don’t like any of the choices for president. I’m not sure I like any of the choices for any of the other offices, either. I mean, I know people who voted (early) for one candidate or another. I even know people who have campaigned – and continue to campaign – for their champion. They are following their consciences, and I guess I applaud them for that.

But I cannot in good conscience vote for any of the options which will be on the ballot for tomorrow’s presidential election.

Why, you ask? Well, there are a number of reasons, but the biggest one, I suppose, boils down to trust. On the one hand, I have an incumbent who promised everything to everyone and then failed to deliver on most of it. Even when his own party controlled the Congress for the first two years of his administration. And on the other hand, I have a man who campaigned during the primary season on a platform of pro-life and pro-family, but was governor of the state which led the nation in legalizing gay marriage and has been, in recent days, running ads specifically designed to temper his opposition to abortion.

How can I trust either of these men?

Now, I understand that there are many people out there who will agree with me and then suggest that I vote for the lesser of two evils. (Of course, everyone has their own idea of who that would be.) But how has that worked out for us in the past? Since I’ve been old enough to vote, there have been two instances where the president and Congress were both controlled by the same house. In the first, a bunch of people who ran on the pro-life/pro-family platform did nothing to end abortion or gay marriage. And in the second, a bunch of people who were supposedly all about fiscal responsibility and education and healthcare reforms sat around and bickered amongst themselves until they came up with a budget that has averaged more than $1 trillion in deficit spending per year, my wife (the teacher) wants to pull her hair out because of the so-called education reform, and we have a healthcare package that was so convoluted even the people that voted for it had no clue what it would actually do.

It must stop.

But it won’t stop as long as I continue voting for “the lesser of two evils.” You see, as long as I vote for one of these major party candidates or another, they continue in power. And they get the message that it doesn’t really matter what they say or do; I’ll continue to vote for them so that they can stay in power. So why should they actually advance a candidate with integrity or values. Because such candidates can’t promise everything to everyone. Such candidates won’t win. But I’ll tolerate the lesser of two evils, so they’ll continue to bring forth candidates who are merely not them.

The answer, some have suggested, is to not vote. I know several people who I respect greatly who will not vote tomorrow because they can’t bring themselves to support one candidate or another. But this course is perhaps even more fundamentally flawed than voting for the lesser of two evils. To do so is the equivalent of doing nothing, and as the famous quote by German pastor and intellectual Martin Niemöller reminds us, if we do nothing now, when we have the chance, someday, we will say to ourselves, “Then they came for me, and there was no one left to speak for me.” The truth is that neither party cares about people who don’t vote. They are interested only in the people who will vote and so determine whether they gain or lose power. These people win or lose elections. People who don’t vote, cry as they might, are invisible to the parties. So not voting in protest is a non-answer which may have disastrous consequences down the road.

So what shall I do?

Recently, I spent time pouring through the websites of every presidential candidate on the ballot where I live. There are eight candidates and their running mates. As I worked through each of their sites, though, reading what they thought were the issues and how they stood on all of them, I realized that none of them lined up with my values or ideas. Some lined up with several points but then failed on others. Some sounded great until the very bottom of the page, when they fell of the rail with some hair-brained idea. But the bottom line remains: I can’t in good conscience vote for any of the options with which I will be presented on tomorrow’s ballot.

Therefore, I will be voting for a write-in candidate. I have given thought to who this might be. Some options I have considered include Dr. JoAnne Lyon, the general superintendent of The Wesleyan Church; Rev. Tim Purcell, our district superintendent; Rev. Al Goracke, a pastor I greatly respect (who apparently has nothing else to do); and my dad. I haven’t decided just yet.

Rest assured, though, that whoever I pick will line up with the principles set forth in Deuteronomy 16:18-20; 17:14-20; 1 Timothy 3; and other Biblical texts.

But my working theory at this time is this: if enough of us vote for candidates other than the lesser of two evils – even if we all vote for different candidates and none of them win anything – the major parties will be compelled to recognize that we’re done tolerating their mediocre candidates and their shenanigans. We want leaders who will be men and women of integrity, committed to doing the right thing. Not just saying what people want to hear so they can get into power and stay there.

I’m tired. And I don’t think I’m alone. So tomorrow, I will be going to the poll to write in someone I think will do a better job than any of the options I’ve seen so far. And I guess I hope you will too.

You see, if I’m going to have joy even in the midst of the trials of life, this is a good place to start. Don’t believe me? Check out Peter’s words: “You rejoice in this, though now for a short time you have had to struggle in various trails” (1:6).

So I’m supposed to be able to rejoice even in the midst of trouble and turmoil. The question is, what is the “this” that I’m rejoicing in? To answer that question, I have to back up to verse 5, where I read that, regardless of the trials I may be enduring, “You are being protected by God’s power through faith for a salvation that is ready to be revealed in the last time.” In other words, while it may be tough and costly – perhaps even deadly – now, God is providing me the ultimate protection: He’s protecting me to eternity. In other words, while I may hurt a little bit right now, in the long run, He’s still protecting me unto heaven. It will end well for me. I can rejoice in that.

And the second way that I can rejoice God, as revealed by Peter, is found in verses 8 and 9: “You love Him, though you have not seen Him. And though not seeing Him now, you believe in Him and rejoice with inexpressible and glorious joy” – that’s what I’m talking about! – “because you are receiving the goal of your faith, the salvation of your souls.” Wait a second. I’m am receiving? As in, right now?

The Bible certainly talks a lot of eternal life, but something which has been striking me on a fairly regular basis over the last several years is that eternal life, to Jesus, was not something abstract or even future tense. It wasn’t something I was going to get, someday. It was always something I could – should – have right now. For instance, in John 10:10, Jesus reveals, “I have come so that they may have life and have it in abundance.” The eternal life Jesus designed for us is a here-and-now sort of thing! In fact, it wasn’t even really a flesh-and-blood sort of life at all! It was something more, something greater. Something better.

And Peter just announced that one major reason that I can and should rejoice is that I’m receiving that eternal life even now!

I should rejoice because I will someday be saved to heaven. That is not a mere possibility, but a divinely appointed certainty. And I should rejoice with inexpressible and glorious joy because I can receive – indeed, am receiving – my salvation even now, and my salvation should be taking the form of a God-tuned, God-empowered, God-centered, God-enabled existence which, to be blunt, others simply can’t understand, much less obtain, on their own.

So I should take joy, even in the tough times, from the perspective that this is just temporary, and I’m already being saved!

Perhaps it is God’s timing that I’ve reached this verse right ahead of what many are calling the most important election in the history of our nation. Frankly, I don’t know if that’s true. But I do know that our nation is dangerously polarized, and if this verse impacts how I am to relate to civil leaders, then there is a great number of us who need to repent.

To augment the confusion, the Amplified version and New Living Translation render the first bit of the verse as “Obey your spiritual leaders.” The Message renders it, “Be responsive to your pastoral leaders.” But while the text does say these people “watch over your souls,” a significant number of other translations don’t qualify “leaders” as “pastoral” or “spiritual.” And Strong’s explains the participle that these are all translating to mean, essentially, one who leads or rules or influences in general. Indeed, isn’t the point of any leader, spiritual or otherwise, to show people the right way to go?

So I guess I have to go with the broader definition. The leaders of whom the writer was speaking includes everyone who has any form of authority over me.

And my job is two-fold. First, the author calls me to “obey” (HCSB) these leaders. But there is a great deal more to this than simply obeying. The NIV2011 suggests that this same word be translated as “Have confidence in your leaders,” and Strong’s indicates that this is a valid rendering. In fact, the word carries the idea of relying on, agreeing with, having confidence in, making friends with, trusting, and obeying.

Boy, I wish I could say that I could do all of those things with all of the leaders over me. But maybe that’s the point: I need to at least try.

And then there is the second job here: “submit.” Perhaps the New International Reader’s Version makes this one the clearest: “Put yourselves under their authority.” As though obey wasn’t clear enough, the author of Hebrews very nearly reiterates the exact same point, indicating that the leaders over me shouldn’t have to compel me. Rather, I should just do what they ask or command.

Why should I do this? Well, again, the author provides two reasons. The first is that these leaders will be held accountable for my soul. As a follower, that’s a pretty humbling response. And as a leader, it’s pretty sobering. But it is what it is. Indeed, this notion is not unique to Hebrews. Elsewhere in the Bible, the idea that leaders will be held accountable for those under them is also introduced and reinforced. So if I step out of line, the leader will be held responsible. At least in some way. I guess I will have to trust God to figure out exactly how to do that because I don’t know that I could.

And then there is this: “so that they can [keep watch over your souls] with joy and not with grief” (HCSB). In other words, I need to obey and submit – trust and surrender – so that the leaders over me can do their jobs with joy. I shouldn’t make the leaders’ lives more painful, stressful, frustrating, etc., than it needs to be. Because, as I can say from personal experience, they already have enough of that stuff as it is!

So once again, we see that the Christian life is not all about me getting joy. It’s also about me bringing joy to someone else. Particularly leaders. And that, regardless of whether I like them personally, agree with their politics, fully subscribe to their vision, and on and on.

And if that’s the case, then why do I speak badly of them? Why do I criticize them, often without knowing all that they’re going through. Why do I resent them?

I mean, sure, in our republic we need to objectively assess the leader’s performance and all that stuff. But that doesn’t negate what the author to the Hebrews – who had no such luxury – said. I need to live and speak in such a way as to bring joy to those who have been placed over me.