Most people know of Solomon, the wise king of Israel.  Not many are familiar with his son, Rehoboam, who inherited his throne; but his story, which is also the story of how and why Israel split into two kingdoms, has a valuable lesson to teach us.  It should be no surprise that Solomon was a tough act to follow.  Known for his wisdom and his wealth, he had inherited the kingdom from his father, David, and by God’s grace managed to multiply the power and glory of Israel and make its name recognized and respected throughout the known world.  Now that Solomon was being replaced by his inexperienced, half-Gentile son (cf. 1Ki 14.21), there was, naturally, some uncertainty about how this next phase would unfold.  Loyal servants of Solomon surely harbored doubts about Rehoboam, and many who had feared Solomon, but never loved him, saw their opening, now that the old king was out of the way.  This is the case in any royal succession, and was surely on Rehoboam’s mind, when one such man, Jeroboam, led a large group of Rehoboam’s new subjects in crashing his coronation party to make demands:

“Your father made our yoke heavy. Now therefore lighten the hard service of your father and his heavy yoke on us, and we will serve you.” He said to them, “Go away for three days, then come again to me.” So the people went away.

Then King Rehoboam took counsel with the old men, who had stood before Solomon his father while he was yet alive, saying, “How do you advise me to answer this people?” (1 Kings 12.4-6)

So far, Rehoboam is handling this crisis well!  He successfully defused the situation for the moment, and took the prudent step of seeking advice from trustworthy sources. 
And they said to him, “If you will be a servant to this people today and serve them, and speak good words to them when you answer them, then they will be your servants forever.” (1 Kings 12.7)

But Rehoboam was still seeking advice, and next he went to his younger courtiers, who gave exactly the opposite answer, telling him to reply thus: 

“My little finger is thicker than my father's thighs. And now, whereas my father laid on you a heavy yoke, I will add to your yoke. My father disciplined you with whips, but I will discipline you with scorpions.” (1 Kings 12.10-11)

Why were the young so harsh, and the old so soft?  It’s not really that simple.  Both groups were advising Rehoboam on how to cement his position at the head of the people, but they had very different methods of getting to that point, stemming from different views of the world and their place within it.  

It’s also not fair to attribute the entire difference to the wisdom of the old, and folly of the young.  That is a factor, but age does not necessarily equate to wisdom, nor youth to folly—as  Solomon observed, “Better was a poor and wise youth than an old and foolish king who no longer knew how to take advice” (Ec 4.13).  In this case, however, the older advisors had specific experience that equipped them to give a better answer.  They had lived through Solomon’s reign, and remembered what it was like before!  They honored him, but not because he was gentle and permissive!  He spent the majority of his 40-year reign working on massive construction projects, involving hundreds of thousands of his subjects, most of whom were not given a choice whether to participate in this difficult and dangerous work that often took them from their homes and families!  They’d tolerated this for decades, for the sake of building a glorious temple for the Lord, a similarly majestic palace for Solomon himself, and the infrastructure and fortifications for many other Israelite cities, turning their kingdom into the principal economic power in the region, in addition to the military dominance inherited from David.  This all required untold sacrifice on the part of the citizenry, and now it was time to let them go back to normal.

But an important fact of politics is that almost nothing ever goes “back to normal.”  Born just one year before Solomon became king, Rehoboam never knew what it was like before, and so was afraid to loosen his grip, lest he lose his throne.  He took the bad advice of his peers, and held on so tightly that it slipped from his grasp.
And when all Israel saw that the king did not listen to them, the people answered the king, “What portion do we have in David? We have no inheritance in the son of Jesse. To your tents, O Israel! Look now to your own house, David.” (1 Kings 12.16)

This shouldn’t have been a great surprise.  In his later years, Solomon turned away from God, who told him,
“Since…you have not kept my covenant and my statutes that I have commanded you, I will surely tear the kingdom…out of the hand of your son. However, I will not tear away all the kingdom, but I will give one tribe to your son, for the sake of David my servant and for the sake of Jerusalem that I have chosen.” (1 Kings 11.11-13)

We can’t blame Rehoboam for trying to avert this prediction; but we may notice that he didn’t go the route of dedicating himself and his reign to serving God, in the hope he would relent; instead, he only served himself, and fought against God, ultimately bringing about exactly what God had predicted—by means of his very attempt to avoid it!

This is a reminder that we can’t outsmart or outmaneuver God.  He’s just better at this than we are, and will win every time, regardless of what we may think is a clever plan to avoid it.  What falls to us is not to win or lose, but rather to choose whether to join the winning side and submit ourselves to its commander-in-chief.

Jeremy Nettles

“Five times I received at the hands of the Jews the forty lashes less one” (2Co 11.24).  Paul includes this in his list of sufferings, and then moves on without explanation.  In front of “forty lashes less one,” which is an unnecessarily verbose way to say thirty-nine, he places a definite article: the forty lashes less one—you know, the ones we’re all familiar with.  That’s the idea, at least, but we’re not so familiar, anymore.  So what does he mean? 

“…if the guilty man deserves to be beaten, the judge shall cause him to lie down and be beaten in his presence with a number of stripes in proportion to his offense. Forty stripes may be given him, but not more, lest, if one should go on to beat him with more stripes than these, your brother be degraded in your sight.” (Deuteronomy 25.2-3)

God limited floggings to forty strokes, and by Paul’s time tradition further limited it to thirty-nine, to avoid transgressing the law by accidentally miscounting.  This became so ingrained, that Paul could say, “the forty lashes less one,” and his audience knew exactly what he meant.

English has an expression, a baker’s dozen, with a strikingly similar origin.  In 13^th-century England, there was concern over vendors shorting their customers, by making their products smaller, without decreasing the price.  This happens today, by the way, and is sometimes called, “shrinkflation.”  It helps to explain your ever-increasing grocery bills, and God had covered this in the Law of Moses as well, saying later in the same chapter,

“You shall not have in your bag two kinds of weights, a large and a small. You shall not have in your house two kinds of measures, a large and a small. A full and fair weight you shall have, a full and fair measure you shall have, that your days may be long in the land that the Lord your God is giving you. For all who do such things, all who act dishonestly, are an abomination to the Lord your God.” (Deuteronomy 25.13-16)

In 13^th-century England, the Law of Moses wasn’t in force, but English law established price and weight controls for things like bread.  The penalty for shorting a customer was often, coincidentally, a flogging.  When a customer ordered a dozen loaves, an easy way for the baker to make sure he didn’t inadvertently skimp on the total weight, was to include an extra—hence, a baker’s dozen. 

We have another expression, that grew out of the same problem: one for good measure.  There’s no specific backstory this time, but we’ve all encountered situations in which we’re not sure what is enough, but would rather err on the side of too much, than to come up short.  “One for good measure,” then, means an extra thrown in, to make sure the total is at least what it ought to be.  And here, we come back to the Apostles, although before Paul was included in their number.  In the early days of the church in Jerusalem, the Jewish council took exception to the gospel of Christ, and told the Apostles to stop preaching it.  They went right back to preaching, and were hauled back before the council, most of whose members

were enraged and wanted to kill them. But a Pharisee in the council named Gamaliel, a teacher of the law held in honor by all the people, stood up and gave orders to put the men outside for a little while. (Acts 5.33-34)

Gamaliel served as the voice of reason, and while he was far from convinced Peter and the rest were right about Jesus, he advised leaving them alone and letting this Christianity thing fizzle out like other Messiah cults that had arisen around that time.

So they took his advice, and when they had called in the apostles, they beat them and charged them not to speak in the name of Jesus, and let them go. (Acts 5.39b-40)

This seems like a strange way to take Gamaliel’s advice, which was to “let them alone” (v38).  It only makes sense in light of the fact that most of them were ready to kill the Apostles, probably in the same fashion as they did, in fact, kill Stephen a short time later—as an out-of-control mob, dressed up in a thin veneer of legal proceedings.  They were convinced to back away from this approach, for the moment, but that wouldn’t entirely stop them from lashing out—with literal lashes, in this case.  This unnecessary measure could be rationalized—we’re just trying to dissuade them from spreading false prophecy!—but while Gamaliel explicitly entertained the possibility the Apostles’ teaching came from God (v39a), the others obviously weren’t on board with that part, and they weren’t about to let them walk away unscathed, after ignoring the council’s previous warning (Ac 4.18).  The punishment was for the gratification of the council, not for the good of the community, and certainly not for the good of the Apostles.  It was thrown in, as we say, for good measure. 

When we see Satan at work in these men, we’re left with a warning against this kind of bitter and selfish motivation, particularly when it’s covered up in self-righteousness.  We begin to see more clearly why God imposed a strict limit on this type of punishment, because it’s so easy to abuse, and none of us is immune to that temptation!  Better, instead, to follow the example provided by the Apostles, who suffered this punishment unjustly, and nevertheless “left the presence of the council, rejoicing that they were counted worthy to suffer dishonor for the name” (v41).  That kind of thing isn’t an unfortunate cost of being a Christian—it’s a stated goal!  Jesus said,

“they will deliver you over to councils, and you will be beaten in synagogues, and you will stand before governors and kings for my sake, to bear witness before them.”(Mark 13.9)

Jeremy Nettles

As the book of Acts begins, the Apostle Peter, whose mouth got him into trouble so many times during Jesus’ ministry, has redeemed that talent for use in God’s service.  As a result, the first several chapters of Acts follow Peter closely, and record several of his sermons, as the church was being established and growing in and around Jerusalem.  In a broad sense, these sermons all have the same goal: convince the hearers that Jesus is the Christ, that he died and rose again, and that they need to repent and enter into a new, eternal covenant with him.  Yet, while there are many points that keep coming up in each sermon, Peter doesn’t just repeat the whole thing verbatim.  Instead, he suits his words to each situation, taking into account the different audiences, with different attitudes, different goals, and different likelihoods of success.  Consider an example:

“Men of Judea and all who dwell in Jerusalem, let this be known to you, and give ear to my words. For these people are not drunk, as you suppose, since it is only the third hour of the day. But this is what was uttered through the prophet Joel…” (Acts 2.14-16)

Peter and the rest have been speaking in tongues at the behest of the Holy Spirit, for the benefit of people from many nations, visiting Jerusalem for the feast.  Some of the native Jews, not understanding these foreign languages, think they’re hearing drunken babble, and so hurl a mocking accusation at the Apostles, to dismiss what they had to say.  How does Peter handle it?  With a gentle, logical counterpoint, followed by the real explanation.  Now, let’s consider his approach, in the next sermon.

“Men of Israel, why do you wonder at this, or why do you stare at us, as though by our own power or piety we have made him walk?” (Acts 3.12)

This time around, he’s defending himself against unwarranted praise!  Just like last time, he dismisses the idea quickly, and afterward moves on to talking about Jesus, who’s really the one who healed the cripple.  What about his next opportunity to speak?

“Rulers of the people and elders, if we are being examined today concerning a good deed done to a crippled man, by what means this man has been healed, let it be known to all of you and to all the people of Israel that by the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, whom you crucified, whom God raised from the dead—by him this man is standing before you well.” (Acts 4.8-10)

This time, Peter savors his defense, and uses it to go on offense at the same time!  Note that the entire clause beginning with “if we are being examined” and ending with “has been healed,” could be removed from this long sentence without causing any trouble for what remains.  It’s totally unnecessary, and yet he includes it.  Why?  Well, he could have skipped the editorializing and simply answered the question posed to him in v7, “By what power or by what name did you do this?”  But that would have missed the opportunity to point out the absurdity of the situation, and thereby to shatter the illusion of his accusers’ sincerity.  Really?  You arrested and jailed us for the night, and are now putting us on trial for—let me check my notes—helping a crippled man?  Don’t we have, like, laws telling us to do that sort of thing?

Peter’s not about to miss his chance to preach Christ to the rulers of his people—but he also takes a moment to highlight the horrible motivations of this audience.  Just as they accused Jesus of sinning when he healed on the Sabbath, so now they find fault with the obviously good deed done by Jesus’ Apostles, despite knowing that only God could enable such a miracle!  There’s nothing Peter can do to prevent them doing this; but he can point it out in embarrassing fashion!

We face a similar climate today, in which the prevailing winds are opposed to Christ, in many ways and for many reasons.  On many topics, including marriage, reproduction, the role of each sex, and especially the lordship of Christ and the coming judgment, there is pressure to go along with the spirit of the age, and reject Christ’s commandments.  Many who profess to be Christians succumb to this pressure.  Others content themselves with remaining silent, for fear of the world’s response.  Still others, of a more combative nature, are tempted to overreact, as if it were the job of Christians to hatefully force the world into compliance with God’s rules, by any means necessary.  Satan is just as pleased with this, as with silence or participation in the sin, because it’s simply the exchange of one idol for another, and he’s not picky about exactly which idol-worship he’ll accept. 

We can see, in Peter’s three sermons, that he recognizes what the civil authorities want him to do, and that he will not only refuse to go along with the spirit of the age, but will refuse to keep silent about the truth.  In preaching Jesus, he will expose these men for what they are: self-serving hypocrites, dressing themselves up in a pretense of righteousness, in order to please themselves, not God.

Isn’t he worried that pointing out their hypocrisy will push them even farther away from Christ?  Well, no.  If they ignored the miracle, and the Scriptures, and the Apostles’ testimony, then they’ve already made their decision, and it’s not Peter’s fault they reject Jesus.  So, he’ll confess Jesus before men, but will not waste his time and effort on a vain attempt to be winsome toward those who have so clearly chosen the world.  Learn from Peter, and apply what Jesus said:

“Do not give dogs what is holy, and do not throw your pearls before pigs, lest they trample them underfoot and turn to attack you.” (Matthew 7.6)

Jeremy Nettles

In the second year of Pekah the son of Remaliah, king of Israel, Jotham the son of Uzziah, king of Judah, began to reign. He was twenty-five years old when he began to reign, and he reigned sixteen years in Jerusalem. His mother's name was Jerusha the daughter of Zadok. And he did what was right in the eyes of the Lord, according to all that his father Uzziah had done. Nevertheless, the high places were not removed. The people still sacrificed and made offerings on the high places. He built the upper gate of the house of the Lord. Now the rest of the acts of Jotham and all that he did, are they not written in the Book of the Chronicles of the Kings of Judah? In those days the Lord began to send Rezin the king of Syria and Pekah the son of Remaliah against Judah. Jotham slept with his fathers and was buried with his fathers in the city of David his father, and Ahaz his son reigned in his place. (2 Kings 15.32-38)

Not enough attention is given to the record of rulers among the Israelites after David and Solomon.  Those represent what we might call the “glory days” of the kingdom, when Israel could most easily see that God had fulfilled his promises to them.  It’s not that they lacked for troubles, of course—David withstood numerous scandals and rebellions, including more than one occasion when it looked quite likely he would lose his throne, if not his life.  But in terms of national cohesion, military strength, and influence abroad, Israel hit its peak during the reigns of David and Solomon, spanning the better part of a century.  Afterward, David remained the touchstone for comparison, both in fleshly and spiritual terms.  For example, the greatest praise given to a later king concerns Josiah, who

did what was right in the eyes of the Lord and walked in all the way of David his father, and he did not turn aside to the right or to the left.  (2 Kings 22.2)

As for Solomon, his reign is summarized thus:

All King Solomon's drinking vessels were of gold, and all the vessels of the House of the Forest of Lebanon were of pure gold. None were of silver; silver was not considered as anything in the days of Solomon. For the king had a fleet of ships of Tarshish at sea with the fleet of Hiram. Once every three years the fleet of ships of Tarshish used to come bringing gold, silver, ivory, apes, and peacocks.

Thus King Solomon excelled all the kings of the earth in riches and in wisdom. And the whole earth sought the presence of Solomon to hear his wisdom, which God had put into his mind. (1 Kings 10.21-24)

Certainly, both of these men were far from perfect, but it is equally certain that they set a very high bar for the kings who would come after them!

So, how did their successors measure up?  We’ve already seen the annalist’s judgments of Jotham and Josiah, but they were just two of more than forty kings who would eventually reign over Israel or Judah, before the monarchy was abolished by their respective downfalls to Assyria and Babylon.  Whether because of the unfavorable comparison to the glory days, or the confusion introduced by the books of Kings and Chronicles narrating many of the same events, or the difficulty and tedium of reading all the unfamiliar names, or simple disinterest, these are among the least trafficked pages in most bibles; but even a surface level glance at these records can teach us an important lesson.

Following Solomon’s death, his son Rehoboam’s accession to the throne, and the consequent fracturing of the kingdom, there were a total of twenty kings over the northern kingdom of Israel, spanning a period of just over two centuries, from about 931 BC to about 723 BC.  The very first, Jeroboam, was appointed by God to take ten tribes away from Rehoboam (1Ki 11.29-38); how did he receive this great blessing and responsibility? He

made two calves of gold. And he said to the people, “You have gone up to Jerusalem long enough. Behold your gods, O Israel, who brought you up out of the land of Egypt.” And he set one in Bethel, and the other he put in Dan. (1 Kings 12.28-29)

Every king that followed him—both of his own short-lived dynasty, and those that came afterward—continued in this same sin, and generally got much worse.  There was a brief ray of hope under Jehu, who eradicated the worship of other gods in his kingdom; but even he “did not turn from the sins of Jeroboam” (2Ki 12.31).

How about the southern kingdom of Judah?  Things were a little better there—but only a little.  Over a period stretching well over three centuries down to 586 BC, there were nineteen kings—not including a stretch when the queen mother Athaliah, a truly horrible person, usurped the throne for six years.  Clearly, the average length of a king’s reign was much longer in Judah, but while that reflects a bit of welcome stability for the nation, we’re more concerned with the kings’ moral character, at the moment.  So, what’s the verdict?  Of the nineteen, only eight—Asa, Jehoshaphat, Joash, Amaziah, Uzziah, Jotham, Hezekiah, and Josiah—were judged to have done “what was right in the eyes of the Lord” (2Ki 22.2).  Of these, all but Josiah were like Jotham in the passage where we started, judged to be good kings, but still blamed for serious flaws or failures.  These were the people of God!  And even among them, God-fearing rulers were distressingly rare!  How much worse should we expect it to be, for the nations of the world, today? 

It is better to take refuge in the Lord

        than to trust in man.

It is better to take refuge in the Lord

        than to trust in princes. (Psalm 118.8-9)

Jeremy Nettles

In the game of baseball, the umpire faces a frustrating problem.  He is tasked with calling each pitch a ball or a strike, and his calls will have an enormous impact on the outcome of the game.  Now, most of these calls are obvious and take very little effort to label correctly; and there is a clearly defined border to the strike zone: in order to be called a strike, the pitch must pass over home plate, and when it does, some portion of the ball most be between one horizontal line just below the batter’s kneecaps when he takes his batting stance, and another horizontal line midway between the batter’s shoulders and the top of his uniform pants.  As that definition wore on into its seventh or eighth clause, you may have noticed that it’s a bit complicated.  And that’s just the start!  Despite what TV viewers may assume, an automatically self-adjusting box is not actually suspended in midair over home plate to aid the umpire in clearly establishing the lines for each new batter.  On top of that, we could consider how trajectory matters,  the catcher’s efforts to fool the umpire by giving the pitch a favorable framing, and the small matter of the incredibly high speed of many of these pitches.  With the benefit of 4k resolution broadcasts and giant screens, overlays, and instant replay, every slob at home on his couch thinks he has a better eye than the umpire, but in fact it’s a very difficult job just to decide whether each pitch was a ball or a strike!

What do we do, when we are faced with tough calls that affect more than just the outcome of a game, but potentially the eternal outcome of our souls?  Continuing the baseball analogy, forget about the umpire for a minute—what about the batter?  He has an even smaller fraction of a second to decide whether, when, where, and how to swing at each pitch—and let’s not even get into the base running decisions that immediately arise, in the unlikely event he makes contact!  Most of us don’t face this exact set of fast-paced decisions, but other choices present themselves to us daily.  Should you take that job?  Should you buy that house?  Which brand of toilet paper should you select?  Which meal will you pick from the breakfast menu?  Even those can matter an awful lot, but of course we also face decisions whether to sin—or, even more difficult, whether a particular course of action is sin, or not. 

As with the umpire’s task, for the most part it’s easy to make that call—God’s commandments are clear, and they are “not burdensome” (1 Jn 5.3).  “Flee from sexual immorality” (1Co 6.18)—there’s no ambiguity there.  “Let the thief no longer steal” (Ep 4.28)—we all know what this means.  “Forgive, and you will be forgiven” (Lk 6.37)—this is much simpler to implement than the umpire’s mumbo-jumbo rule about the ever-changing lines governing the strike zone!  However there are also times the correct call is not so clear.  At exactly what point does an innocent conversation about a mutual friend become gossip?  How many cookies can you eat before it becomes gluttony?  Where’s the line between frugality and love of money?  Is your reaction to an awful news story righteous anger, or malicious wrath?  Or, is your choice to shrug off the same news story and do nothing, the same as the priest and Levite in the parable of the good Samaritan, who sinned in that they “[knew] the right thing to do and [failed] to do it” (Ja 4.17)?

How do we make these decisions?  How should we make these decisions?  Peter and the rest of the Apostles give us an excellent example in the first chapter of Acts.  Jesus has ascended back to his father and told them to wait for the promised Holy Spirit to be poured out on them.  He has also told them their job, for the rest of their lives: “you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the end of the earth” (Ac 1.8).  As they wait, Peter notices a problem.  Jesus chose twelve Apostles, but now they are only eleven.  What should they do?  Anything?  Should they presume to replace Judas?  What does Jesus want them to do about this?  He didn’t tell them anything.  But they consult the Scriptures and find that Judas’ betrayal was foretold, as was his subsequent death:

“For it is written in the Book of Psalms,

        ‘May his camp become desolate,

                       and let there be no one to

                       dwell in it…’” (Acts 1.20a)

In another psalm they find a Messianic appeal about the “wicked man” and “accuser” who returned “evil for good, and hatred for my love” (Ps 109.5-6).  Christ, speaking through David, had said, “Let another take his office” (Ac 1.20b).  This still leaves the question of exactly how to choose a replacement.  Peter exercises wisdom and prudence, and puts forth his best judgment regarding the criteria upon which to base their selection.  The others agree, but find two excellent candidates, with no reason to choose one over the other.  The Apostles pray for guidance, and resort to casting lots to choose between the two.  Did the roll of the dice, so to speak, reflect God’s specific will in this matter?  We’re not told.  Either way, the Apostles had made their first difficult decision, and they made it well.

Some people don’t have this problem.  They never second-guess their own decisions.  They should start!  God will hold us accountable for the decisions we make, and the manner in which we make them.  Others are crippled by indecision through fear of choosing wrong.  This approach is no better.  Consider your options; consult God—in his word, and by prayer; exercise wisdom and prudence to best of your ability; then make your choice.

Jeremy Nettles