Legacy

Legacy

Josiah was eight years old when he became king, and he reigned in Jerusalem thirty-one years. He did what was right in the eyes of the Lord and followed the ways of his father David, not turning aside to the right or to the left.

(2 Chron. 34:1-2)

Janis can tell you about family trees. He makes his living from them. He inherited a Latvian forest that’s been in his family for several hundred years. The trees he harvests now were planted 180 years ago by his great-grandfather, and the trees he plants today won't be ready for market until his great-grandchildren are born; he's part of a chain.

"Every generation must make a choice," he told his cousin, a retired pastor of All Saints Lutheran church in Minnetonka, Minnesota. "They can either devastate or plant. They can rape the landscape and get rich, or they can care for the forest, harvest only what is mature, and leave an investment for their children." With the economic situation in such sad shape in Latvia, it would be very tempting for him to cut down more than he should. But he doesn’t.

He harvests seeds sown by others he never knew except in family photographs and stories, and he sows seeds to be harvested by descendants he'll never see. Dependent on the past and responsible for the future, he sees himself as part of a small family who depend upon each other, love each other, and carry a responsibility for leaving a lasting legacy. Just like us.

We’re all children of the past and parents of the future. We’re heirs; benefactors – recipients of the work done by others before us. Born, so to speak, into a forest we didn’t seed. So, how’s your forest? As you stand among the trees left by your ancestors, how does it look? Do you have pride in the legacy that’s been left? There are some who inherit good soil that nourishes deeply-rooted trees of conviction. Row after row of truth and heritage. So, it could be that you stand in the forest of your fathers with pride. And if you do, give thanks. Most don’t.

The truth is that many aren’t particularly proud of their family tree – a tree whose branches are weighted down with poverty, shame or abuse. The land was pillaged, the harvest was taken, and no seed was sown. Some have been reared in a home of bigotry whose result is intolerance for minorities. Others have been reared in a home of greed where the quest for possessions is never-ending. Maybe childhood memories bring more hurt than inspiration. Maybe the voices of your past curse you, belittle you, or even ignore you. And at the time, you thought that kind of treatment was typical, or maybe normal. Now you understand. It isn’t. And you find yourself trying to explain your past.

I came across a story of a man who must have had the same thoughts. His heritage was tragic: his grandfather was a murderer and a mystic who sacrificed his own children to false gods, and his dad was a punk who ravaged churches and made a mockery of believers. In fact, his dad was killed at the age of twenty-four ... by his friends. But these men were typical of their era. They lived during a time when the hooker’s favorite street corner was the local church, and wizards treated diseases with chants. People worshiped stars and followed horoscopes. In fact, more thought went into superstition and voodoo than into the education of their kids.

It was a very dark time in which to be born. I mean, what do you do when your grandpa followed black magic, your dad was a scoundrel, and your nation was thoroughly corrupt? Do you simply follow suit, as if your accepted lot in life is to follow your heritage because … well … that’s just what you do? Frankly, some assumed he would. They branded him as a delinquent before he was even born. You know, a chip off the old rotten block. You can almost hear the people whisper as he passes, “He’s gonna be just like his dad.”

But they were wrong. He wasn’t. He bucked the trend and defied the odds. He stood like a dam against the torrents of his day, and rerouted the river of destruction that was headed for his nation. In fact, his achievements were so remarkable that we still tell his story twenty-six hundred years later. The story is about King Josiah.

Granted, the world’s seen wiser kings, even wealthier kings. The world has certainly seen more powerful kings. But history has never seen a more courageous king than young Josiah. Born some six hundred years before Jesus, Josiah inherited a fragile throne and a very tarnished crown. The temple was in disarray, the Law had been lost (literally), and the people worshiped whatever god they chose. But by the end of Josiah’s thirty-one-year reign the temple had been rebuilt, the idols destroyed, and the law of God once again elevated to a place of prominence and power. In other words, the forest had been reclaimed.

Josiah’s grandfather, King Manasseh, was remembered as the king who filled “Jerusalem from one end to the other with [the people’s] blood.” (2 Kings 2 1:16) And his father, King Amon, died at the hands of his own officers. “He did what God said was wrong,” reads his epitaph. So, the citizens formed a posse and killed the assassins, leaving little eight-year-old Josiah to ascend to the throne. But early in his reign Josiah made a very brave choice. “He lived as his ancestor David had lived, and he did not stop doing what was right.” (2 Kings 22:2)

In other words, he flipped through the family scrapbook until he found an ancestor worth emulating. Josiah skipped his dad’s life and bypassed his grandpa’s altogether. He leapfrogged back in time until he found David and determined, “I’m gonna be like him.” The principle, here? We may not choose our parents, but we can choose our mentors.

And since Josiah chose David (who had chosen God), things began to happen in Israel. The people tore down the altars built for the Baal gods as Josiah had directed. They cut down the incense altars, broke up the Asherah idols and beat them into powder. Josiah even burned the bones of the pagan priests and broke down their altars. He cut down all of the incense altars in all of Israel. (2 Chron. 34:4-5; 7) Not exactly a public relations tour.

But then again, Josiah wasn’t out to make friends and influence people. He was out to make a statement: “What my fathers taught, I don’t teach, and what they embraced, I reject.” And he wasn’t finished. Four years later, at the age of twenty-six, he turned his attention to the temple. It was a wreck. It was ghetto. But Josiah was determined. Something had happened that fueled his passion to restore the temple. A baton had been passed. A torch had been received.

You see, early in his reign he’d resolved to serve the God of his ancestors, David. Now he chose to serve the God of someone else. Look at 2 Chronicles 34:8: “In Josiah’s eighteenth year as king, he made Judah and the Temple pure again. He sent Shaphan. . . to repair the Temple of the Lord, the God of Josiah.” (Emphasis my own) See it? God was now his God. David’s faith was now Josiah’s faith. He’d found the God of David and made Him his own.

But as the temple was being rebuilt, one of the construction workers happened upon a scroll, and on the scroll were the words of God given to Moses nearly a thousand years earlier. When Josiah heard the words, he was shocked. He wept at the fact that his people had drifted so far from God, and that His Word was not a part of their lives. So, he sent word to a prophetess and asked her, “What will become of our people?” She told Josiah that since he had repented when he heard the words, his nation would be spared God’s anger. (2 Chron. 34:27) Incredible. An entire generation received grace because of the integrity of just one man.

Could it be that God put him on earth for that reason? Better yet, could it be that God has placed you on earth for the same? Maybe your past isn’t much to brag about. Maybe you’ve seen evil incarnate. And now you, like Josiah, have to make a choice: do you rise above the past and make a difference, or do you remain controlled by the past and make excuses? Many choose the latter.

Many choose the convalescent home of the heart: healthy bodies, sharp minds and retired dreams. Back and forth they rock in the chair of regret, repeating the terms of surrender. And if you lean in you can hear them say, “If only.” The white flag of the heart. “If only ….” “If only I’d been born somewhere else …,” or “If only I’d been treated fairly ….” “If only I’d had kinder parents, more money, greater opportunities .…” “If only I’d been potty-trained sooner, spanked less, or taught to eat without slurping my soup.”

And maybe you’ve used those words, too. Frankly, you may have every right to use them. Perhaps you, like Josiah, were hearing the ten count before you even got into the ring. And to find an ancestor worth imitating, you, like Josiah, have to flip way back in your family album. If that’s the case, put the scrapbook down and pick up your Bible. Go to John’s gospel and read Jesus’ words: “Human life comes from human parents, but spiritual life comes from the Spirit.” (John 3:6)

Think about that. Spiritual life comes from the Spirit. In other words, your parents may have given you genes, but God gives you grace. Your parents may be responsible for your body, but God has taken charge of your soul. You may get your looks from your mother, but you get eternity from your heavenly Father who, by the way, is not blind to your problems. In fact, God is willing to give you what maybe your family didn’t.

I’m very fortunate that I have a great dad, but maybe you don’t, or didn’t. But God will be your Father. Through God you are a son; and if you’re a son, then you’re an heir to God’s estate. (Gal. 4:7) Or, maybe you didn’t have a good role model. Try God. You are God’s child whom he loves, so try to be like him. (Eph. 5:1) Never had a parent who wiped away your tears? Think again. God has noted each one. “You have seen me tossing and turning through the night. You have collected all my tears in your bottle! You have recorded every one of them in your book.” (Ps. 56:8)

God has not left you adrift on a sea of heredity. Just like Josiah, you can’t control the way your forefathers responded to God, but you can control the way you respond to Him. The past doesn’t have to be your prison. You have a voice in your destiny. You have a say in your life. You have a choice in the path you take.

So, choose well and someday, perhaps even generations from now, your grandchildren and great-grandchildren will thank God for the seeds you sowed; seeds harvested by descendants you’ll never see but who nevertheless are part of an extended family who depend upon you, love you, and trust that you will leave a lasting legacy from which their generations will harvest a forest of pride.

Grace,

Randy