Losing Well

 

Hey, Cobblestone,

     I posed a probing question to a couple of friends lately, and begged their brutally honest responses. The question was: What do you do when it looks like you’re losing?

     Think on it for a minute, Church, and jot down a few answers of your own. When your plan is falling apart, shot full of holes; when you’re caught in the crush of money and power; when the universe, nor any particle thereof, will turn your direction – what are your go-to tactics?

     For my friends and me (no, I did not stand aloof from the question), I opened it up to pre-salvation days, before we were Christians. I’ll make you the same offer because, even though as Christians we do have regenerated souls and the mind of Christ, we will, at times, revert to some oh-so-not-Christian methods. At times. You know, those times when the sovereignty of our King is in question, and trust is just out of reach, and doubt wins the day. Yeah, those times. Have I opened up the range of responses for you yet? As you ponder and wrestle with your conscience, brace yourself for some of what my friends and I tossed onto the whiteboard.

     “What do you do when it looks like you’re losing?” And of course, we got:

    Pray.

    Trust God.

    Lean on faith.

     But just when it appeared we were only going in that direction, we also got:

    Fight dirty.

    Change the rules.

    Run away.

     From that point onward, we could respond freely and openly:

    Give up.

    Get help.

    Blame somebody else.

    Work harder.

    Get violent.

    Get drunk and/or buzzed.

     Of all the responses we came up with, I’ll nominate this one as the most helpful:

    Read the end of the story.

     There’s a word I’d like you to consider, Church, along with its many connotations. The word is “remnant.” From the Merriam-Webster Dictionary, the definition reads “a usually small part, member, or trace remaining.” An alternative definition goes “a small surviving group – often used in plural.” For the quilters and sewers among us, the following definition has a special intrigue: “an unsold or unused end of piece goods.”

     Has it ever occurred to you that all of humanity was once pared down to eight persons on Noah’s ark? Or that the entire race of the Israelites once consisted of only six dozen blood relatives coming out of Canaan? Or that, of the whole generation of Hebrews who left out of Egypt, only Joshua and Caleb entered the Promised Land? In the history of God’s people, the remnant is a thing.

     In the English Standard Version of the Bible, “remnant” occurs 84 times across both Testaments. In the Old, the remnant were those who stuck with Joseph or Joshua or Jehoshaphat, for example. In the New, the remnant were those who stuck with Jesus, even after his mind-blowing discourse in the synagogue at Capernaum. Whichever Testament you check, the remnant shared this distinction: It looked, for all the world, like they were losing.

     In this present time, here’s the trouble for Christians: the remnant don’t weigh heavily in the so-called balance of power. The remnant don’t win elections with votes. Remnant and democracy are not on happy terms. When I look around – and I look around a lot, and God helping me, with clear eyes – I can’t see a single social issue in which morality is winning. Whatever God has described as good and just and pure, throughout all ages, is currently losing in the polls. The really big money is on immorality. Of every flavor. And money talks.

     That’s why it’s essential for us to keep the end of the story in view.

     For the Hebrews in the wilderness, the end of the story was getting to the Promised Land. In this present age, the end of the story is called out in the Gospels and Epistles, and most clearly in the Revelation. Here’s a sampling:

    For this we declare to you by a word from the Lord, that we who are alive, who are left until the coming of the Lord, will not precede those who have fallen asleep. For the Lord himself will descend from heaven with a cry of command, with the voice of an archangel, and with the sound of the trumpet of God. And the dead in Christ will rise first. Then we who are alive, who are left, will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air, and so we will always be with the Lord. Therefore encourage one another with these words (1Thessalonians 4:15-18).

    Encourage one another, also, with these words:

    Then I saw heaven opened, and behold, a white horse! The one sitting on it is called Faithful and True, and in righteousness he judges and makes war. His eyes are like a flame of fire, and on his head are many diadems, and he has a name written that no one knows but himself. He is clothed in a robe dipped in blood, and the name by which he is called is The Word of God. And the armies of heaven, arrayed in fine linen, white and pure, were following him on white horses. From his mouth comes a sharp sword with which to strike down the nations, and he will rule them with a rod of iron. He will tread the winepress of the fury of the wrath of God the Almighty. On his robe and on his thigh he has a name written, King of kings and Lord of lords (Revelation 19:11-16).

     When, as a newly minted Christian, I first came across those two Bible passages, I thought they were too good to be true. I expected, once I became better-versed in Scripture, to find other passages that cancelled them out, or some technicality that left me, at least, outside of their promises. But forty years in, no such passage has appeared. Without abandoning humility entirely, I can claim to be fairly well versed in Scripture, and I’ve quit expecting to find any such technicality. The end of the story, in all its glorious detail, is thoroughly true – and believable. Will we believe? Jesus, help our unbelief, and compel us to act on truth.

     Anything that doesn’t work toward the end of the true story is wasted blood, wasted sweat, wasted tears, wasted time and money. There’s a commission on us, we who are the remnant right now, to pull for what is right and just and pure, as declared by our true King – to use every ounce of righteous energy to slam the door on immorality. Even when it looks like we’re losing. Jesus, help us again, to use righteous energy, and not the other.

     As pilgrims in this walk-around world, when we’re faced with a decision, the question on our minds must be: “Is there a moral issue in view here?” If so, and the world’s system provides a moral option, go with it. If there’s no moral option, work to change the system. But by no means are we cornered into choosing from nothing but immoral options just because the system has hijacked moral issues. We are free to choose only what works toward the true end.   

     The crucifixion of Jesus looked like utter defeat. Remember how the apostles, all but one, refused to make an appearance on that awful hill. And for the next several weeks, they huddled and hid behind locked doors. No, the remnant don’t win every battle. But we win some. And we certainly win the war. And as the sons and daughters-in-law of Noah repopulated the earth, we also are called to repopulate the number of those who believe the end of the story – until we become, as John the apostle saw, a great multitude that no one could number, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, clothed in white robes, with palm branches in their hands, and crying out with a loud voice, “Salvation belongs to our God who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb!”   

  

Grace and Peace (as we wait for you, Lord Jesus),

 

John