Wilderness Survival

 

Wilderness Survival

Wilderness Survival - Audio/Visual 

Take a good look, friends, at who you were when you got called into this life. I don’t see many of “the best and brightest” among you, not many influential, not many from high-society families. Isn’t it obvious that God deliberately chose men and women that the culture overlooks and exploits and abuses, chose these “nobodies” to expose the hollow pretensions of the “somebodies”? That makes it quite clear that none of you can get by with tooting your own horn before God. Everything that we have — right thinking and right living, a clean slate and a fresh start — comes from God by way of Jesus Christ. (1 Cor. 1:26-30)

The Dead Sea is dying. Sounds like an oxymoron, but it’s true. Drop by drop, it’s losing three to five feet elevation every year. In other words, the Dead Sea is shrinking. Galilee sends fresh water through the Jordanian Canal, water worthy of Jesus’ baptism, but the Dead Sea poisons it. Darkening and acidizing, it’s a regular saline cemetery. There’s little life in its waters, and its surroundings are equally lifeless. Ominous cliffs rise to the west, flattening out at about two thousand feet. Erosion has scarred the land into a patchwork of caves and ruts and sparse canyons. It’s home for hyenas, lizards and buzzards. And it was home to David for ten (10) years. Not by choice, mind you. He didn’t want to swap the palace for the badlands. No one chooses the wilderness. It comes at you from all directions — heat and rain, sandstorms and hail – despite the fact that we prefer air-conditioned bedrooms and cul-de-sac safety. But sometimes we don’t have a vote. Calamity hits, the roof rips, the tornado lifts and drops us smack dab in the middle of the desert. Not the desert in Israel, but the desert of the soul – for a season of dryness.

More than anything else, isolation seems to mark these seasons, and Saul has effectively and systematically isolated David from every source of stability. His half-dozen assassination attempts ended David’s military career. His murderous pursuit drove a wedge in David’s marriage – after David’s wife, Michal, helped him escape, Saul demanded an explanation from her. “I had to,” she lied. “He threatened to kill me if I didn’t help him.” (1 Sam. 19:17) David never trusted his wife again; they stayed married, but slept in different beds. David races from Saul’s court to Samuel’s house. But no sooner does he arrive than someone tells Saul, “Take note, David is at Naioth in Ramah!” (1 Sam. 19:19) So, David flees to Jonathan, his best friend. Jonathan wants to help, but what can he do? Leave the court in the hands of a madman? No, Jonathan has to stay with Saul, and David can see the rope fraying on his lifeline. No place in the court. No position in the army. No wife, no priest, no friend. Nothing to do but run. And although the wilderness begins with disconnections, it continues with deceit.

We see David’s deceit in Nob, the city of the priests. The city was holy while David was anything but. He lied each time his lips moved. In fact, David gets worse before he gets better. He escapes to Gath, the hometown of Goliath, and tries to forge a friendship based upon a mutual adversary, i.e., If your enemy is Saul and my enemy is Saul, we become friends, right? Wrong. The Gittites weren’t feeling very hospitable. “Isn’t this David, the king of the land?” they asked. “Isn’t he the one the people honor with dances, singing, ‘Saul has killed his thousands, and David his ten thousands’?” (1 Sam. 21:11) David panics. He’s a lamb in a pack of wolves with piercing glares and spears. And right about now we’d like to hear a prayer to his Shepherd; we’d appreciate a pronouncement of God’s strength. But don’t hold your breath. David doesn’t see God. He sees trouble, instead. So he takes matters into his own hands.

David pretends to be insane, scratching on doors and drooling on his beard. Finally the king of Gath says to his men, “‘Must you bring me a madman? We already have enough of them around here! Why should I let someone like this be my guest?’ So David left Gath and escaped to the cave of Adullam.” (1 Sam. 21:14 – 22:1) You can just picture it. Staring with galvanized eyes. Quivering like jelly. He sticks out his tongue, rolls in the dirt, grunts and grins, spits, shakes and foams. David feigns something like epilepsy. The Philistines, however, believed that an epileptic was possessed by Dagon’s devil, and that he made husbands impotent, women barren, children die and animals vomit. Fearing that every drop of an epileptic’s blood created one more devil, the Philistines drove epileptics out of their towns and into the desert to die. And that’s what they did with David. They shoved him out the city gates and left him with nowhere to go.

So now what? He can’t go to the court of Saul, the house of Michal, the city of Samuel or the safety of Nob. So he goes to the only place he can — the place where no one goes because nothing survives. He goes to the desert; the wilderness. To the honeycombed canyons that overlook the Dead Sea. And there he finds a cave, the cave called Adullam. In it he finds shade, silence and safety. He stretches on the cool dirt and closes his eyes and begins his decade in the wilderness.

Can you relate to David’s story? Has your Saul cut you off from the position you had and the people you love? In an effort to land on your feet, have you stretched the truth? Distorted the facts? Are you seeking refuge in Gath? Under normal circumstances you’d never go there, but these aren’t normal circumstances so you loiter in the breeding ground of giants; the hometown of trouble. You walk shady streets and frequent shadier places. And while you’re there, you go crazy. So the crowd will accept you, so the stress won’t kill you, you go wild. You wake up in a Dead Sea cave, in the grottoes of Adullam, at the lowest point of your life, feeling as dumb as a roomful of anvils. You stare out at an arid, harsh, un-peopled future and ask, “What do I do now?” Well, let this same David be your teacher. Sure, he goes wacko for a few verses, but in the cave of Adullam he gathers himself. The faithful shepherd boy surfaces once again. The giant-killer rediscovers courage. Yes, he has a price on his head. Yes, he has no place to lay his head. But somehow he manages to keep his head; he returns his focus to God and finds refuge.

Refuge surfaces as a favorite word of David’s. Circle its appearances in the book of Psalms, and you’ll count as many as forty-plus appearances in some versions. But never did David use the word more poignantly than in Psalm 57. Even the introduction to the passage explains its background: “A song of David when he fled from Saul into the cave.” So, close your eyes and envision Jesse’s son in the dimness: on his knees, perhaps on his face, lost in shadows and thought. He has nowhere to turn. Go home, he endangers his family; go to the tabernacle, he imperils the priests. Saul will kill him; Gath won’t take him. He lied in church and went crazy with the Philistines and here he sits, all alone. But then he remembers: he’s not. He’s not alone. And from the recesses of the cave a sweet voice floats: “Be merciful to me, O God, be merciful to me! For my soul trusts in You; and in the shadow of Your wings I will make my refuge.” (Psalm 57:1)

Make God your refuge – not your job, your reputation or your retirement account. Make God your refuge. Let him, not Saul, encircle you. Let him be the ceiling that breaks the sunshine, the walls that stop the wind and the foundation upon which you stand. The truth is that most of us, like David, will never know that Jesus is all we need until Jesus is all we have. Wilderness survivors find refuge in God’s presence. They also discover community among God’s people. “Soon [David’s] brothers and other relatives joined him there. Then others began coming — men who were in trouble or in debt or who were just discontented — until David was the leader of about four hundred men.” (1 Sam. 22:1–2)

Not exactly a corps of West Point cadets. In trouble, in debt or discontent. Quite a crew. Misfits, yes. Dregs from the bottom of the barrel, no doubt. Rejects. Losers. Dropouts. Just like the church. (No, that’s not a typo) Because if we’re honest with ourselves, aren’t most of us the distressed, the debtors and the discontent? Strong congregations are populated with current and former cave dwellers, people who know the terrain of Adullam. They’ve told a few lies in Nob. They’ve gone loopy in Gath. And they haven’t forgotten it. And because they haven’t, they imitate David: they make room for people like you and me. And who’s David to turn these men away? He’s no candidate for archbishop, that’s for sure. He’s a magnet for marginal people. So David creates a community of God-seeking misfits, and God forges a mighty group out of them: “(t)hey came to David day by day to help him, until it was a great army, like the army of God.” (1 Chron. 12:22) Gath. Wilderness. Adullam. Folly. Loneliness. Restoration. David found them all. So did Whit Criswell.

Whit was raised in a Christian home. As a young man, he served as an officer in a Christian church. But he fell into gambling, daily risking his income on baseball games. Over the course of time, he lost $200,000.00, and found himself in very deep debt to his bookie. So, Whit decided to embezzle funds from the bank where he worked. Welcome to Gath. Of course, it was only a matter of time until the auditors detected a problem and called him in for an appointment. Criswell knew he’d been caught. The night before the meeting he couldn’t sleep, so he resolved to take the Judas path. Leaving his wife a suicide note, he drove outside of Lexington, parked the car and put a gun to his head. But he couldn’t pull the trigger. So he took a practice shot out the car window and then pressed the nose of the barrel back on his forehead and mumbled, “Go ahead and pull the trigger. This is what you deserve.” But he couldn’t do it. The fear that he might go to hell kept him from taking his life. Finally, at dawn, he went home, a broken man.

Meanwhile, his wife had found the note and called the police. She embraced him, the officers hand-cuffed him and then led him away. He was, at once, humiliated and liberated: humiliated to be arrested in front of family and neighbors, but liberated from the chains of mistruth. He didn’t have to lie anymore. Whit Criswell’s Adullam was a prison cell. In it, he came to his senses; he turned back to his faith and upon his release he plunged into the work of a local church doing whatever needed to be done. Over a period of years, he was added to the staff of the congregation. He’s now the Senior Pastor at Cornerstone Christian Church in Winchester, Kentucky. Another David restored.

Are you in the wilderness? Crawl into God the way a fugitive would a cave. Find refuge in God’s presence. Find comfort in his people. Cast your hat in a congregation of folks who are one gift of grace removed from tragedy, addiction and disaster. Seek community in the church of Adullam. Refuge in God’s presence. Comfort in God’s people. Your keys for wilderness survival. Do this and who knows? In the midst of the desert you may write your sweetest psalm.

Grace,

Randy

Friend for Life

 

Friend for Life

Friend for Life - Audio/Visual 

After David had finished talking with Saul, he met Jonathan, the king’s son. There was an immediate bond between them, for Jonathan loved David. From that day on Saul kept David with him and wouldn’t let him return home. And Jonathan made a solemn pact with David, because he loved him as he loved himself. Jonathan sealed the pact by taking off his robe and giving it to David, together with his tunic, sword, bow and belt. (1 Samuel 18:1-4)

Sharon checks her rearview mirror . . . again. She studies the many faces of the other drivers . . .  again. She keeps an eye out, because she knows he’ll come after her . . . again. “Nothing will keep me from you,” was the message Tony had left on her voicemail. “I’m your husband.” Her ex-husband’s fits of anger and flying fists and her black eyes had led to their divorce. Still, he neglected warnings, ignored restraining orders and scoffed at the law. So Sharon checks the rearview mirror . . . again. Down the road, around the corner, an attorney named Adam does some checking of his own. He peeks in the door of his boss’ office, sees the empty chair and sighs with relief. With any luck, he’ll have an hour, maybe two, before the managing partner appears in his doorway, likely hung over, angry and disoriented. Mouthpiece, Jr. inherited the firm from Mouthpiece, Sr. But managing the firm frustrates Junior. So, he reroutes his stress toward the employees he needs the most. Like Adam. Junior rants and raves, gives tongue-lashings daily, and compliments with the frequency of Halley ’s Comet.

Sharon ducks her ex, Adam avoids his boss, and you? What ogres roam your world? Coaches from the school of Stalin? The pit-bull math teacher? The self-appointed cubicle commandant? The king who resolves to spear the shepherd boy to the wall? That last one – the one about the king and the murder weapon – comes after David. Poor David. The Valley of Elah proved to be his boot camp for the king’s court. When Goliath lost his head, the Hebrews made David their hero. People threw him a ticker-tape parade and sang, “Saul has slain his thousands, and David his ten thousands.” (1 Sam. 18:7) The result? Saul explodes like the Vesuvius that he is, and Saul eyes David “from that day forward.” (18:9) The king is already a troubled soul, prone to angry eruptions and crazy enough to eat bees. So, David’s popularity splashes gasoline on Saul’s temper and Saul fumes, “I will pin David to the wall!” (18:11)

Saul tries to kill Bethlehem’s golden boy on six different occasions. First, he invites David to marry his daughter Michal. Seems like a nice gesture, until you read the crude dowry that Saul required. One hundred Philistine foreskins. “Surely one of the Philistines will kill David,” Saul hopes. They don’t. David doubles the demand and returns with the proof. (18:25–27) But Saul doesn’t give up. He orders his servants and his son, Jonathan, to kill David, but they refuse. (19:1) He tries on his own with the spear another time but misses. (19:10) Saul then sends messengers to David’s house to kill him, but his wife, Michal (Saul’s own daughter), lowers him through a window. David the Roadrunner stays one step ahead of Saul the Coyote. Saul’s anger puzzles David. What has he done? He’s brought musical healing to Saul’s tortured spirit, and hope to an enfeebled nation. He’s the Abraham Lincoln of the Hebrew calamity, saving the republic and doing it with modesty and honesty. He behaves “wisely in all his ways.” (18:14) “All Israel and Judah loved David.” (18:16) David behaves “more wisely than all the servants of Saul, so that his name became highly esteemed.” (18:30)

Yet Mount Saul keeps erupting, rewarding David’s deeds with flying spears and murderous plots. So it’s not hard to understand David’s question to Jonathan: “What have I done? What is my crime? How have I offended your father that he is so determined to kill me?” (1 Sam. 20:1) But Jonathan doesn’t have an answer. No answer exists. Who can justify the rage of a Saul? And who knows why a father torments a child, a husband abuses his wife, or a boss pits employees against each other? But they do. Sauls still rage on our planet. Dictators torture, employers seduce, ministers abuse, priests molest, the strong and mighty control and cajole the vulnerable and the innocent. Sauls still stalk Davids in this world. So how does God respond in these cases? Nuke the nemesis? We’d like him to since he’s been known to extract a few Herods and Pharaohs from the world. But how will he treat yours? I don’t know. But how he will treat you, I can. He will send you a Jonathan.

God counters Saul’s cruelty with Jonathan’s loyalty. Jonathan could have been as jealous as Saul. As Saul’s son, he stood to inherit the throne. A noble soldier himself, he was fighting Philistines while David was still feeding sheep. Jonathan had every reason to despise David, but he didn’t. He was gracious. Gracious because the hand of the Master Weaver took Jonathan’s and David’s hearts and stitched a seam between them. “The soul of Jonathan was knit to the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul.” (1 Sam. 18:1) It’s as if the two hearts were two fabrics that God needle-and-threaded together. So interwoven were they that when one moved, the other felt it. When one was stretched, the other knew it.

On the very day David defeats Goliath, Jonathan pledges his loyalty to David. Then Jonathan and David made a covenant, because Jonathan loved David as his own soul. So, as part of the pledge, Jonathan took off the robe that was on him and gave it to David, including his armor, even his sword and his bow and his belt. (18:3–4) Jonathan replaces David’s rancher’s overalls with his own purple robe: the robe of a prince. He presents his own sword to David. He effectively crowns young David. The heir to the throne surrenders his throne. And then he protects David. When Jonathan hears the plots of Saul, he informs his new friend. When Saul comes after David, Jonathan hides him. He commonly issues warnings like, “My father Saul seeks to kill you. Therefore please be on your guard until morning, and stay in a secret place and hide.” (19:2) Jonathan gives David a promise, a wardrobe and protection. Perhaps that’s why David’s son, Solomon, writes much later, “There is a friend who sticks closer than a brother.” (Prov. 18:24) David had found such a friend in the son of Saul.

Wouldn’t you like to have a friend like Jonathan? A soul mate who protects you, who seeks nothing but your interests, wants nothing but your happiness. An ally who lets you be you. You feel safe with that person. No need to weigh thoughts or measure words. You know his or her faithful hand will sift the chaff from the grain – keep what matters, and with a breath of kindness blow the rest away. God gave David such a friend. And he gave you one, too. David found a companion in a prince of Israel, but you can find a friend in the King of Israel, Jesus Christ. And hasn’t he made a promise to you? Among his final words were these: “I am with you always, even to the end of the age.” (Matt. 28:20) And, like Jonathan, hasn’t he clothed you as well? He offers you “white garments, that you may be clothed, that the shame of your nakedness may not be revealed.” (Rev. 3:18) Christ fits you with clothing suitable for heaven.

In fact, he outdoes Jonathan. He not only gives you his robe; he puts on your rags. “God made him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.” (2 Cor. 5:21) Jesus dresses you. And, like Jonathan, he equips you. You are invited to “put on all of God’s armor so that you will be able to stand firm against all strategies and tricks of the Devil.” (Eph. 6:11) From his armory he hands you the belt of truth, the body armor of righteousness, the shield of faith and the sword of the Spirit, which is the Word of God (vv. 13– 17). And just as Jonathan protected David, Jesus vows to protect you. “I give them eternal life, and they will never perish. No one will snatch them away from me.” ( John 10:28) Do you long for one true friend? You have one. And because you do, you have a choice. You can focus on your Saul, or you can focus on your Jonathan; you can ponder the malice of your monster, or the kindness of your Christ.

“Beverly” chose the latter, but it wasn’t easy. How can you shift your focus away from the man who raped you? He entered Beverly’s home under the guise of official business. She had every reason to trust him because he was a personal acquaintance and professional associate. He worked for the state and asked to meet with Beverly. But when he arrived, he took more than her time. But when confronted, he denied and successfully covered up the deed. And as he continued to move up the political ladder, Beverly would spot him on the evening news. And while he feigned innocence, she churned inside. But not like she used to because two years after the rape she met her Jonathan. A friend told her about Christ — his protection, his provision and his invitation. She accepted it. And although memories of the rape are unavoidable, they don’t control her. She isn’t left alone with her Saul anymore. She seeks Christ rather than revenge; she measures choices against his mercy, not her violator’s cruelty. Beverly ponders and praises the living presence of Jesus. And doing so heals her soul.

So major in your evil emperor, if you wish. Paint horns on his picture. Throw darts at her portrait. Make and memorize a list of everything the Spam-brain took: your childhood, career, marriage, health. Live a Saul-saturated life. Wallow in the sludge of pain. You’ll feel better, won’t you? Or will you? Because if you linger too long in the stench of your hurt, you’ll smell like the toxin you despise. The better option? Hang out with your Jonathan. Bemoan your Sauls less, and worship Christ more. Join with David as he announces: “The Lord lives! Blessed be my Rock! . . . It is God who avenges me, and subdues the peoples under me; He delivers me from my enemies. . . . You have delivered me from the violent man. Therefore I will give thanks to You, O Lord, . . . and sing praises to Your name. (Ps. 18:46–49)

Wander freely and daily through the gallery of God’s goodness. Catalog his kindnesses. Everything from sunsets to salvation — look at what you have. Your Saul took a lot, but Christ gave you more. Let Jesus be the friend you need. Talk to him. Spare no detail. Disclose your fears and describe your dread. Will your Saul disappear? I don’t know. But, in a sense, does it really matter? You just found a friend for life. What could be better than that?

Grace,

Randy

E.A.S.T.E.R

 

E.A.S.T.E.R.

E.A.S.T.E.R. - Audio/Visual 

So Peter and the other follower started going to the tomb. They were both running, but the other follower ran faster than Peter and reached the tomb first. He bent down and looked in. He saw the pieces of linen cloth lying there, but he did not go in. Then Simon Peter finally reached the tomb and went in. He saw the pieces of linen lying there. He also saw the cloth that had been around Jesus’ head. It was folded up and laid in a different place from the pieces of linen. Then the other follower went in—the one who had reached the tomb first. He saw what had happened and believed. (These followers did not yet understand from the Scriptures that Jesus must rise from death.) (John 20:4-9)

Easter. A celebration of the resurrection of Jesus Christ, and an opportunity to give praise to God who moved the stone that day. And God still does. But what does Easter stand for? In a universe of possible answers, let me share six (6) of my favorites.

First, Easter is the empty tomb that provides hope to a hopeless world. A father and his teenage son were living in Mexico City. They had had an argument one day and the teenage son, Paco, cursed his father, stormed out of the house and didn’t return. Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months and Paco had not returned. The father desperately searched the city over and finally, in desperation, went down to the local newspaper office and took out an advertisement. It said, "Paco, if you read this, I want you to know that all is forgiven. I love you, and I will be waiting for you this Sunday at the entrance to the city park. I hope you show up. Love, Dad." That Sunday morning, 200 Paco’s showed up at the park, all looking for forgiveness.

There are so many people who are searching in this world: searching for forgiveness, for hope and for meaning. And the good news of Easter is that the empty tomb provides that hope to a hopeless world. Matthew 12:20-21 says, “A bruised reed he will not break, and a smoldering wick he will not snuff out, till he leads justice to victory. In his name the nations will put their hope.” A bruised reed. A smoldering wick. Does that describe you? Bruised by the trials of life; bruised by harsh words, or a friend’s anger, or a spouse’s betrayal, or by your own failure, or the failures of those around you. Or maybe you feel more like a smoldering wick. At one time your passion for God and for life itself was flaming high, but the Santa Ana winds of life have blown in and now you feel like you’re one step away from flaming out.

If it’s any consolation, there are a lot of bruised reeds and smoldering wicks in the Bible: a woman standing before an angry crowd wanting to murder her for her sins; a leper – an outcast – shunned by society; a blind man on the side of the road; a paralytic lying on a stretcher; a woman with a 12 year illness. Bruised reeds and smoldering wicks. The world is quick to break reeds and snuff out wicks. But what did Jesus say? He said, “A bruised reed I will not break, and a smoldering wick I will not snuff out until I lead justice to victory. In my name you will put your hope.” (Id.)

And the great message of Easter is that if Jesus Christ was powerful enough to move the stone and overcome the grave, then he’s powerful enough to move the stones in our lives. The resurrection gives us hope in the face of the world’s unfairness. It gives us strength and courage in every situation. Gary Reading, in his musings on the Civil War, recounts a story about a Union soldier from Ohio who had been shot in the arm during the battle of Shiloh. His captain saw that he was wounded and barked out, "Gimme’ your gun, Private, and get to the rear!" The private handed over his rifle and ran toward the rear, seeking safety. But after going about two or three hundred yards, he came upon another battle. So he ran to the left, and found himself in another part of the battle. He then turned to his right, but encountered more fighting there as well. Finally, he ran back to the front lines shouting, "Gimme back my rifle, Cap’n. There ain’t no rear to this battle nowhere!"

Frankly, when it comes to the troubles of the world and daily life, "there ain’t no rear to this battle nowhere!" And that’s why the Easter story is such good news. The resurrection, which validates every promise Jesus ever made, is the good news that gives hope and light and encouragement when everything else looks bleak.

Easter is also about an angel who invited Jesus’ followers to look. Matthew records that when the women came to the tomb, the first thing the angel did was to invite them inside. He said, “Come and see the place where he lay.” (Matt. 28:8) In other words, “Take a look at the evidence.” And God invites us to do the same. The evidence is there if you investigate: an empty tomb, undisturbed grave cloths, a stone the weight of a mid-sized car that’s been rolled away (up a slope, no less), and over 500 eye witnesses to the resurrected Jesus, most of whom were alive between 53 to 57 A.D. when most scholars believe that Paul wrote his first letter to the Corinthian Christians.  (See, 1 Cor. 15:3-6)

Consider, too, that the disciples did not go to Rome or Athens to preach of the resurrected Christ. Rather, they went right back to the city of Jerusalem where, if what they were teaching was false, the falsity would have been evident. Paul Althaus states that the resurrection "could have not been maintained in Jerusalem for a single day, for a single hour, if the emptiness of the tomb had not been established as a fact for all concerned." Do you know that if we had each person that witnessed the resurrected Lord talk for just 15 minutes apiece, giving testimony as to what they saw, it would take over 125 hours to hear each of them – for just 15 minutes. That’s a little over 5 days. The evidence shows that he rose again, that the tomb was empty and that the soldiers had no story. In 2 Timothy 1:12, the apostle Paul wrote, "I know WHOM I have believed and am persuaded that he is able to keep that which I have committed unto him for that day." Note that Paul did not say, "I know WHAT I have believed." Instead, Paul said, "I know WHOM I have believed...."

Easter is also about an empty grave. A little boy, about four years old, was sent one Sunday to his Sunday school class with his offering in hand – the class that Sunday was about “giving.” After class, his dad noticed that he still had his two quarters clenched tightly in his fist and asked, “Why didn’t you give your offering to Jesus in your class?” With all the seriousness a four year old could muster, he said, "Dad, Jesus hardly ever shows up down there." Not many people expected Jesus to show up on that Sunday morning either, and what a surprise his resurrection caused.

Everyone involved was surprised at how Easter turned out. The Soldiers didn’t have an answer, and the Pharisee’s were caught trying to come up with a backup plan. The religious leaders, who thought they had buried the man who had challenged their way of life, were shocked when Sunday morning rolled around and they found the stone was rolled away and Jesus Christ risen – victorious over sin and death. That’s the greatest surprise this world has ever known.

Easter also commands us to tell his story. After the angel invited the surprised women into the tomb, they were told to go and tell the good news to others. The command was given, and yet this is the one that so many of us choose to ignore. Those of us that have searched and satisfied the Jesus question in our own lives are now commanded to go and tell others. And yet we sit quietly by as opportunity after opportunity passes us by. Do you know how most people come to know Jesus? 90 to 95% of all decisions for Christ come after a person has accepted an invitation to attend church – just like the woman at the well that went back to her town and said, “Come and see a man who knows all that I’ve done and yet still loves me.” (John 4:29)

We are all in this mission together. We all play a part. What did the Apostle Paul say? “I planted the seed, Apollos watered it, but God made it grow.” (1 Cor. 3:6) We do it together. And people come to know Jesus because grandparents sow, Christians pray, friends invite, people talk, and greeters greet. And while we’re doing that, God is working in the midst of it all. The Holy Spirit is convicting men and women as circumstances soften their hearts. So, go and invite someone to hear the good news. Better yet, tell them yourself.

Easter is also about excitement. In an old Good Friday Family Circus cartoon, Little Billy and his brother are walking through a store looking at all the Easter eggs and candy on the shelves. Billy says, "This may be Good Friday, but Sunday’s gonna be even gooder!" That may not be the best English, but it’s profound. Early that first Easter morning, the disciples and the women who were the first to find the tomb empty didn’t realize just how much "gooder" Sunday was going to be. And we don’t always see, at least right away, how things are going to turn out. That’s how it was for the disciples on Friday and Saturday. But what a difference a day makes. There are many of us that live in day one: a time of trial and conviction. We’re hit on all sides. It’s here and it’s now. Life is pouring in on us and if you’re there, if you are in the midst of day one, don’t lose hope because what a difference a day makes.

There are probably even more of us living in day two, like the disciples on Saturday. The heat of trial may be over, but now is a time of confusion, frustration and discouragement. Maybe your faith is weak; perhaps the future seems cloudy and the outcome uncertain. If that’s where you are, keep your faith because, again, what a difference a day makes. And all of us are facing day three: a day of victory; a day of good news; a day of renewed hope. And, if you aren’t there now, be sure that it’s coming, because Jesus Christ has won the victory and day three means hope. Day three means a change of fortune. Day three means victory, now or in heaven. Since one day can make a difference, maintain your hope; maintain your faith. Be encouraged and excited about day three. Maybe we’ll see the victory in this life, and that’s all well and good. But all of us as believers in Jesus Christ have a day three coming: a day when we will go to be with him – a great day of victory. We ought to be excited about that.

Easter is also about a resurrected Lord who is living today. Mohammad, Buddha, Confucius and Joseph Smith are still in the grave. Only in Christianity do we find a resurrected Lord. Only faith in Christ is valid, because only Jesus rose from the dead. No other religious leader defeated death, so none other can make those claims. A Sunday school teacher had just finished telling her third graders about how Jesus was crucified and placed in a tomb with a great stone sealing the opening. Then, wanting to share the excitement of the resurrection, the teacher asked, "And what do you think were Jesus’ first words when he came bursting out of that tomb alive?" A hand shot up into the air from the rear of the classroom. Leaping out of her chair, the little girl shouted out excitedly "I know, I know, teacher!" "Terrific," said the teacher, "Tell us, what were Jesus’ first words?" Jumping up into the air while extending her arms, she shouted, "TA-DA!"

The resurrected Lord is the central event of our faith. It’s the "TA-DA!" of Christianity. And because of Easter, we know that God, through Christ Jesus, is more powerful than anything in life, even death. The resurrection is not just another thing we believe as Christians; it is the very center of our faith. Everything hinges on the resurrection. In our deepest, darkest moments, when we don’t think it can ever get better, the resurrection gives us hope that it can. When we are in the midst of day one or day two, the resurrection gives us hope that there is a day three, and that victory is coming.

Kay Arthur is a writer and lecturer, and thousands of people have been impacted by the numerous Bible studies put out by Kay. She is now a committed Christian woman, but she wasn’t always that way. Many years ago, when Kay was in her twenties, she was as far away from God as a person could possibly be. She was living with her husband who was a manic depressive. In a word, she got tired of living with him and had an affair with a married man. Her husband eventually found out and became so depressed that he threatened to commit suicide. Upon hearing her husband’s threats, Kay was so crass, so uncaring, that she said, “Go ahead, kill yourself. I can use the life insurance money.” And so, he did. He hung himself.

Kay said that as she drove away from the cemetery after the conclusion of her husband’s funeral, she felt like such a failure as a wife, as a mother and as a person. She felt anger, frustration and pain. And as she drove away that day, she shook her fist at the sky and screamed, "To hell with you God." Kay recounts, "(w)hat I didn’t know until later was that was exactly what he did for me. He gave his life, he went to the very gates of hell. And he did it for me." And you know what? He did it for you and me, too. The title of Kay’s book is, Lord, I Need Grace to Make it Today. And maybe you’re feeling the same way: you need grace and forgiveness and hope. The good news is that you’ll find it in a risen Lord and Savior.

His name is Jesus.

Grace,

Randy