“In those days Israel had no king. Each man did what he considered to be right.” (Judges 21:25)

The book of Judges is a jarring sequel to Joshua. In Joshua an obedient people conquer the land, as they trust God enough to follow Joshua’s leadership. By contrast, in Judges, an untrusting and disobedient people turn to idols. God disciplines them and delivers them again and again. The epitaph on the book of Judges exposes the root of the problem, “Each man did what he considered to be right” (21:25).

When Joshua died, God did not appoint a new national leader. Instead, God directed each tribe to conquer its allotted portion of the land. In the same way God had raised up Moses and Joshua, and as He would later raise up David (1 Samuel 16:13), God also raised up judges. The judges were different than today’s concept of judges. The Hebrew word “Judges” (Shophetim) means “bringer of justice.” The office of judge wasn’t new to Israel. Moses had ordered the people to appoint judges of every tribe during the years of wandering in Moab (Deuteronomy 19:17).

In seven distinct cycles of sin-discipline-repentance-deliverance, Judges demonstrates how Israel so quickly declined as it refused to learn to trust God. The judges were more local than national and their stories cover a period of about 350 years. From time to time God would appoint a judge to rescue His hurting people from corruption from within or oppression from without. The book was probably written by Samuel, a critical link between the period of the judges and the kings, after the ark was removed from Shiloh (18:31; 20:27; cf. 1 Samuel 4:3-11).

The theme of Judges is God’s faithfulness to His disobedient people demands discipline. In His patient love, God forgave His people every single time they repented. Israel repeatedly acted in foolishness, ingratitude, stubbornness, and rebellion. But God never stopped loving them and leading them. The lesson for God’s people of every generation is clear: God never stops loving His people, but count on it—sin always leads to suffering, and repentance always leads to deliverance.

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A family member passed a note along to me after having given her neighbor a copy of When God Breaks Your Heart.

You’ve all heard the rest of that sentence: “…the tough get going!”

Really?

I’d be the last person to advocate some passive approach to life. But if you evaluate that sentence biblically, it’s all wrong.

Is that what happened in the life of any great person of the Bible?

Is that the experience of Israel?

Is that the explanation of the early church?

If you don’t know the answer to those questions, let me answer them for you: No!

Tough Faith!

Tough faith isn’t a bootstrap faith, it’s a lean-on-God faith.

I’ve had a tough week, how about you?

This isn’t the time to “toughen up,” but the time to lean on Jesus even more.

The only thing that makes me truly tough is my faith in a tough God.

If you don’t believe Jesus is tough, google “crucifixion.”

Question: Why do you think our first reaction to tough times is too often to try to toughen up rather than “faith it up”?

A very real dynamic in writing a book on suffering is that my heart hurts for so many who write me about their hopeless situations and deep pain. One recent comment is signed simply, Anonymous:

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Not Tonight!

It was the last thing I wanted to do—be around a group of people.

I was bone-tired and emotionally spent. A desperate phone call the night before had left Judy and me sleepless. Two of our very best friends had been killed in a car accident in Oregon. Not only did this news break my heart, it also drained me as it pressurized my insane schedule. Somehow I had to find time to fly to Portland, do a wrenching memorial service, fly home, and get back to everything else I had to do. (On that list was taking my teenage daughter to the DMV for her driving exam.)

“I’m not going to small group tonight,” I reported to Judy. “This is nuts!”

“You don’t have a choice. We’re baptizing Brian and Lori (two new believers) in the pool. Everyone’s expecting us,” my bride protested.

“You go if you want,” I replied. “I’m not going; I have too much to do.” (Though I didn’t say it, I was also thinking that the last thing I wanted to do at that moment was be around a group of people . . . even if it was our church small group.)

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Main Street of  the small town in Iowa was lined with spectators. The grand procession of luxury cars and limousines followed the hearse toward the cemetery. Men removed their hats and mothers gathered children to their side. The richest and most influential man in the county had died and if you were anybody in the hierarchy of the little farming community, you were in the “pageant.”

Dick, a friend of mine recalled the big event from his perspective as a little boy standing next to his father outside the local barbershop. Nobody said a word as he watched wide-eyed, trying to be as somber as his wiggly body would allow.

It was 70 years later when Dick told me the story. He told it in a way that I could picture it in my mind and even feel his little-boy wonder. Dick continued:

“There was this goofy guy that hung around the barbershop. He was one of those guys that you knew would probably be sitting in the same barbershop when he grew old telling the same stories to his captive audience waiting for a haircut. I looked up at this guy. I remember him taking off his hat solemnly. And Ed, you know what he said as we watched the taillights of the last Cadillac turn down the road to the cemetery? ‘Man, that’s really living!’”

“Man, that’s really living,” Dick repeated. “Can you believe that? Even as a little boy I was thinking, ‘No, that’s really dying!’”

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Sleepless in LA

I’m really good at going to sleep. What I’m not good at is staying asleep.

Like you, I have a lot of responsibility, love a lot of people, but have very little control over any of the circumstances of my life concerning those responsibilities and those people I love. Really, when I think about it, I have zero control.

Nevertheless, I live my daylight hours as if I really did have some control. I make leadership decisions after weighing options, form careful sentences to put in sermons, articles, and books, and try to do as much as I can to make the world a better place for the people I love.

And then, I fall into bed exhausted but satisfied with all my illusions of control.

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When I hear that someone has just received devastating news like a bad diagnosis, a runaway child, a wayward spouse, or the death of a loved one, this is the letter I send them. This specific letter is the one I sent to our friend, Joni Burchett. The same lady you read about in When God Breaks Your Hear, who lost the little girl,  was later diagnosed with breast cancer.

Dear Joni,

I don’t know if I told you, but they took me off the cancer meds after six years! Our prayer has been, “Please let Ed live and serve.” Now it has changed, “Please let Ed live and serve without the meds.”

I say this to encourage you. The dailyness of this makes it so hard to see past the weakness and the disappointment. Here is a sentence the Lord gave me when I was dying and fighting for one more day of life: I am as alive today as anyone. He helped me realize that until I take my last breath, He still has plans for me (Ephesians 2:10) and I could not conclude that this was it. So, I got up, and asked Him for strength for the next minute, sometimes for every minute for a couple of days. Then for the next hour, the next day, the next week…

I’m Still Here!

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After I finished my book, When God Breaks Your Heart, detailing my journey of faith living with a deadly disease, I thought I had said it all.

Four days before Christmas, 2001. I should be talking with my son and his wife about their life, their dreams, and the joy of the holidays. That’s what we usually do when they fly home from their military duty station from somewhere in the world. Any other year our conversation this morning would revolve around the soon arrival of his sister’s family from Oregon and how great it’s going to be to spend Christmas just being together with the extended family

But not this year.