Every crisis leaves its marks.  Some marks appear as scars, testifying to pain, but also endurance.   While other marks take the shape of new or renewed resolve to do things differently.   While none of us welcomes a crisis, crises move us forward in many ways — technologically, relationally, and spiritually.   The early Church Father, Augustine, once noted that theology is developed most clearly in response to heresy than in the absence of it.  Paul points out the same thing in 1 Corinthians 11:18-19

For, in the first place, when you come together as a church, I hear that there are divisions among you. And I believe it in part, for there must be factions among you in order that those who are genuine among you may be recognized.

What marks will your crisis leave?  Only scars?  Or with the scars, new resolve – a new normal.  We have used that phrase “the new normal” a lot over the past few years.  We want to get back to the way things were before Wuhan and Covid.  But can we?  The pandemic cast a long shadow from government mandated vaccinations to the long-lasting effects of “long-Covid.”  Can we ever really go back?  Should we?  

The controversial mayor of Chicago, Rahm Emanuel, once quipped, “Never let a crisis go to waste.”  He was paraphrasing from Saul Alinsky, who recycled his own ideas on political activism from the likes of Marx and Machiavelli.   Yet, despite Alinsky’s dangerous perspectives, the truth of his sentiment regarding a crisis is important.  How will we respond?  Will the crisis only wound?  Or will it strengthen as well?  John Calvin taught that our spiritual response to crisis is not to ask “why” but “what for?”  

As we encounter the Lord’s disciples at the end of Luke, we find them facing a radically new normal.  Jesus, their master and teacher, has finished His redemptive work.   As He is preparing to return to the Father, He prepares them to pick up where He left off.  Following His resurrection, Jesus appeared to His disciples over forty days.  He spoke about the kingdom of God.  He opened their minds to understand the Scriptures. And charged them to evangelize and disciple all nations.  He prepares them for a new normal.

As Jesus meets the disciples on the first Easter night, he comforts their fears, calls them to take their part in the story of redemption, and promises them His ongoing presence in a radically new and powerful way.   The end of the gospel is only the end of the beginning.  As Luke continues the story in Acts, he writes 

In the first book, O Theophilus, I have dealt with all that Jesus began to do and teach, until the day when he was taken up, after he had given commands through the Holy Spirit to the apostles whom he had chosen. -Acts 1:1-2

This is the new normal.   But it is our new normal as well.  Just as Jesus comforted the fears of his disciples, called them to step up and step out, and promises His presence in a radically new and powerful way, so He does to us.  These things were written for our instruction and encouragement.   Their new normal is the best prescription for our own new normal – looking to Christ for comfort, following Christ’s call, and relying on Christ’s presence through the Holy Spirit.  

How will you move forward?  What will you abandon? And what will you recover?  What marks will the crisis leave?  Only scars?  Or with the scars, new resolve – a new normal.   Join us this Lord’s Day as we examine the “end of the beginning” from Luke 24 and consider the new normal for followers of Jesus Christ. 

We meet Sundays at 10:30 am on the square in Pottsville, Arkansas right next to historic Potts’ Inn for worship.  Get directions here or contact us for more info.  Or join our livestream on YouTube. 

The topography of grief is vast and varied.   Your grief may bear a resemblance to the grief of others, but it is only a resemblance.  Each grief is uniquely its owners.  It is intense and personal, never what you think it will be.   It takes turns you did not expect.  When it seems gone, it reemerges without warning.   Sights, sounds, and smells open its locked doors.  And like Frodo Baggins’ ancient wound, grief is inflamed by days of remembrance.  As Gandalf sagely observed, “Alas [Frodo]! there are some wounds that cannot be wholly cured.”  

We reach for the phone.  Or we enter a room with the forgetfulness that he is “not here.”    We see a beautiful vista or recall a shared moment and ache to share it.   But she is “not here.”   The one who has always been there is “not here.”   Death is surreal.  We think we know how we will respond, but it is nothing like the caricatured response of our stories.  

I remember well the wee hours of March 8, 1984.   The phone rang.  It was the hospital.  Without explanation, we were told to come.   We drove in silence.  What was happening?  At 18, I was not sure what was happening.   I had seen her just the day before.  She had had a good day.  She was alert and we talked.  She told me how much she loved me and how proud she was of me.  She seemed so much — better.   Why had they called so early to come?  

We entered silently into her silent room.  Everything was silent.  Nurses were gathered, but no one spoke.  Gone were the IVs, the oxygen.  There was no humming of medical machinery.   There was a radiant peace on her face.   She looked so peaceful.  Gone were the grimaces of pain.  Gone was the struggle to breathe.  I knew, but I did not know, what was happening.  My mind raced.  Was she better?  Had something remarkable happened?  Yet, she was “not here.”  The hole that had just opened in the fabric of my life seemed so vast as if it would swallow me.   She was gone.  She was not here.

Our reaction to grief is never what we anticipate.   Imagine for a moment those women who went to the tomb so early on the First Day of the Week.   They had stayed at the foot of the cross until the bitterest of bitter ends.   Their beloved teacher, master and friend, their Lord, was “not here.”   In one last act of love and devotion, they go in the wee hours, in the darkness before dawn to the tomb to care for the body of the one who had cared for them.   

Their minds turned to questions.  How would they roll away the stone?  As they drew near, they were met with an unexpected scene.   Imagine how their minds raced.  Luke says they were “perplexed.” The stone was not just rolled away, but cast aside.  The tomb was empty.  He was gone – not just in the way of grief – but really gone!   Who would do such a thing?  Who would intrude on their grief like this?  Holy Messengers appear with a shocking explanation and mild rebuke.  

“Why do you seek the living among the dead? He is not here, but has risen. Remember how he told you, while he was still in Galilee, that the Son of Man must be delivered into the hands of sinful men and be crucified and on the third day rise.”

He is not here?  What does this mean?  How can this be?  His death had changed everything in their lives, but now He is “not here.”  From our vantage point, we may be surprised at the conflicted responses of the women and the disciples to the resurrection of Jesus.  The women flee from the tomb with fear and joy.  The disciples receive the reports of the women with skepticism, then meet to the risen Christ, himself, with worship but doubt.   As one commenter wryly noted, “the apostles were not men poised on the brink of belief… they were utterly skeptical.”   How could they have been so blind?  We might be tempted to say, “how foolish [they were] and slow to believe.”

But what about you?  What is your response to the Resurrection?  For the men and women who encountered an empty tomb and a Risen Christ, the Resurrection changed everything.   Has it changed everything for you?  Has it given hope in grief?  Joy in sorrow?  Faith in fear?  Have you met the Risen Christ, the Living One, who has defeated the last enemy, Death, and holds the keys to death and the grave?  

Is your life defined by the “not here” of death, or the “not here” of the Resurrection?  For believers the question is not, ‘is there evidence for you to believe the Resurrection,’ but ‘is there evidence of your belief in the Resurrection?’  This testimony is the only evidence for the Resurrection most will consider.  Join us this Lord’s Day as we examine Luke 24:1-12 and consider the significance the Resurrection of Jesus. 

We meet Sundays at 10:30 am on the square in Pottsville, Arkansas right next to historic Potts’ Inn for worship.  Get directions here or contact us for more info.  Or join our livestream on YouTube. 

How many times have you misjudged someone, thinking they were weak, incapable, or a push-over? Then, unexpectedly, they act out of unforeseen strength to save the day and make a mockery of your precipitous assessment.   King George VI of England was such a man.   Encumbered with a speech impediment, a man of great natural reserve and deference, he was considered by English society to be a royal embarrassment.  He had none of the eloquence, confidence or charm of his elder brother and heir to the throne, Edward VIII.  

But for all of the appearance of strength, Edward had none.  His great love was not a love of duty or country, but a love of self.   His sordid affair with Wallis Simpson led him to abdicate the throne on the eve of Great Britain’s entry into World War II.    In his stead, the timid and unpromising, George VI ascended to the throne.   George hardly looked the part of King.  But for all his apparent weakness and inability, he had a strength none guessed.  His love of country and of duty and his strength of conviction guided Britain through its “finest hour.”  The remarkable story of George’s reign is told in the 2010 movie, “The King’s Speech.”

Outward appearances never define a king.  Samuel learned this when he went to the house of Jesse to anoint a successor to King Saul.   Saul had possessed a kingly bearing.  A head taller than every other man in Israel, Saul had looked like a King.  So Samuel looked for such a man among Jesse’s sons.  But the Lord warned Samuel,

“Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature, because I have rejected him.  For the Lord sees not as a man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.” 1 Samuel 16:7

Samuel’s search led him to David, the smallest and least promising of Jesse’s sons, but the one who was a man after God’s own heart. (Acts 13:22)  Outward appearances never define a King.  

Luke’s account of the crucifixion is remarkable in many ways.  It gives scarcely any details about the crucifixion itself, but focuses attention on the reactions of those Jesus encountered as He traveled the way of suffering.   He was met with pity, mockery and bitter anger, but also remarkable and unexpected faith.   At every turn Luke declares the Kingship of Jesus.   Yet, Jesus hardly looks like a King.  To the eye he appears to be victim, not victor.  Luke uses the word ‘spectacle’ to describe the scene.   Those who looked upon this spectacle without faith saw Jesus as anything but a King.   But through faith others saw the King entering His kingdom.   Outward appearances never define a King. 

The “Daughters of Jerusalem” are warned by Jesus not to weep for Him, but for themselves.   They were looking at the cross and the Christ all wrong.   They did not understand what was unfolding before them.  They saw a victim suffering injustice, rather than a King bearing justice.  How do you look at the events of Good Friday?  What is your response to the cross?  Does it evoke pity, mockery, or despair?  Or does it call you to repentance, faith, and hope?

Join us this Lord’s Day as we examine Luke 23:26-56 and consider the Kingship of Christ, powerfully declared, brazenly rejected and savingly believed. We meet Sundays at 10:30 am on the square in Pottsville, Arkansas right next to historic Potts’ Inn for worship.  Get directions here or contact us for more info.  Or join our livestream on YouTube.