Right in Their Own Eyes

How y’all doing, Cedar Bay? It sure was good to see so many of you yesterday—coming together, wrapping your arms around Brother Elmer and the family, and celebrating that Ms. Sharon has gone home to be with Jesus. That’s what the church is, y’all. We walk through the valley together. We weep together, we rejoice together, and we cling to the hope that because Jesus walked out of that tomb, Ms. Sharon is more alive right now than she ever was here.

And that hope matters, because life on this side of heaven can get messy. It can feel dark. Yesterday was a reminder that death is real, and grief is heavy. But it was also a reminder that our King is alive, and that’s where our hope rests.

So today, as we close out our series in the book of Judges, we’re going to see what life looks like when there is no king.

When people reject His rule and just do what seems right in their own eyes, the result is despair and chaos. But when the true King takes His rightful place, even in our darkest chapters, there is still hope.

Grab your Bibles and meet me - I hope you brought one—and meet me in Judges 17 through 21. That’s right, five chapters. If you thought last week was long. Ha! Buckle up, buttercup because we are in for a doozy today.

Now, if you’ve got kids in the room, go ahead and check them into the children’s church. Judges is not exactly a children’s bedtime story. It’s raw. It’s gritty. And I’ve got to preach it like it is, so—parents, consider this your warning.

We’ve made it to the last week of our series in Judges called Cycle of Grace/ Cycle of Sin. And if you remember back to week one, we said the whole book really shows us this cycle. Israel keeps running the same play over and over—and it’s not a good one.

It starts with surrender. They’re walking with the Lord, things are good. But then they shift into self-reliance. “I got this.” Except, spoiler alert—they don’t got this. That always turns into self-deception. And deception leads to self-inflicted wounds. Before long, they’ve hit rock bottom. And what do they do? They cry out to the very God whose rules they broke to come bail them out.

Sound familiar? It’s kind of like being a teenager. We’d break curfew, get ourselves into a mess, and then call mom or dad to come rescue us from the exact thing they warned us about in the first place. Anybody else, or just me?

And then Israel does it again… and again… and again. Over and over. And if we’re honest, we read this and think, “What is wrong with you?” But then we look in the mirror and realize the same cycle is in us.

I wish I had a fancy theological phrase for it, but here’s what I call it: the cycle of cheap Christianity.

It’s like camp faith. You go all year filling your sin bucket, then you dump it at the altar at camp, cry a few tears, make a few promises, and then… nothing changes. Just another lap around the same cycle—remorse, resolution, repeat.

But here’s the good news: there’s a better way. A cross-centered life.

This is where it all changes. When you finally come to that place of surrender—real surrender—to the lordship of Jesus Christ.

For some of you, that happened right here at Cedar Bay. So be careful- it might happen to you and you might end up here one day too. HA

But as gospel-centered Christians, we’ve got to understand this: the gospel isn’t just your “get-out-of-hell” ticket. It doesn’t just justify us; it sanctifies us. The cross doesn’t just open the gates of heaven, it opens the way for us to actually live the Christian life.

And when the Spirit of God is at work in us, two things happen at the same time:

We see more clearly just how deep our sin really goes.

We see more clearly just how holy and majestic God really is.

That gap between our depravity and God’s holiness keeps widening. And there’s only one thing big enough to fill it: the cross of Jesus Christ.

And listen—I know this offends some people, but it’s just the truth. You’re not a snowflake. You’re not a Skittle. You’re not unicorns breathe. You’re not some special little rainbow. Your kindergarten teacher lied to you. You are a sinner. A wretched, black-hearted sinner. Me too.

We’re not bad people who need a little self-improvement. We’re dead people who need to be brought to life. And that’s exactly what the cross does.

Christ did for us what only Christ could do.

But if we are not careful we can slide into this cycle as well.

and the thing is- its not really a cycle—it’s a downward spiral.

After every judge that God raises up, things don’t get better. They actually get worse. By the time Samson shows up—the last judge—it’s already ugly. And once he dies, we drop into chapters 17–21, and it’s like falling off a cliff.

And here’s what frames those chapters. Judges 17:6 and the very last verse of the book say the exact same thing: “In those days there was no king in Israel. Everyone did what was right in his own eyes.”

Now, I don’t know about you, but when I read that, I’m not sure if it’s talking about ancient Israel… or about America in 2025.

Let’s be honest: Israel and America feel a lot like the Johnny Manziel of nations. All the talent, all the potential, all the resources—you could be set for life if you just stayed the course.

But instead, you throw it away acting a fool. That’s Israel. That’s us. God’s hand of favor is on us, and yet everybody just keeps doing what’s right in their own eyes.

And you don’t have to look far to see it. Just turn on the news. In a matter of weeks, we’ve seen racially charged shootings, ambushes on police officers, terrorist attacks overseas, and so-called “honor killings” in the name of religion.

And then—another heartbreaking tragedy. Another trans-identifying shooter walks into a Catholic school, murders innocent children, and then takes his own life. Church, that is vile. That is evil. And it ought to make us weep.

And that’s just the headlines. Every week in this country, 25,000 babies are aborted. Nearly half the children in America wake up without a father in the home. Around the world, 25 million people are enslaved—twice the number from the entire transatlantic slave trade. And the majority are women and children trapped in the sex industry.

How do we get here? One step at a time. That’s how.

One compromise. One “it’s not that big of a deal.” One “I’ll be different.”

The Bible says it like this in Proverbs 22:3 (and repeats it again in 27:12, just so we don’t miss it): “The prudent sees danger and hides himself, but the simple keep going and pay the penalty.” You know what that means? Everybody in this room is on a path, and every path leads somewhere. The question is—are you going to end up somewhere on accident, or somewhere on purpose?

James, the half-brother of Jesus, same mom- different dad- unpacks it this way: “Each person is tempted when he is lured and enticed by his own desire. Then desire when it has conceived gives birth to sin, and sin when it is fully grown brings forth death.” (James 1:14–15).

That’s how it works. The enemy only has a few lures in his tackle box, but he knows how to use them. It starts with a desire. That turns into temptation. Temptation gives way to sin. And when sin grows up, it kills everything it touches.

And there’s no clearer picture of that than how Judges ends. No king. No order. No anchor. Just everybody doing whatever seemed right to them. And the result? Total collapse.

Let me start breaking it down for you or will be past over time and be here until the second coming.

Chapter 17 opens right after Samson—the last judge—has died. And instead of a mighty leader, the spotlight shifts to a random guy named Micah.

Here’s how it starts: this random guy Micah steals 1,100 pieces of silver from his mom. She doesn’t know it’s him, so she pronounces a curse on the thief.

Well, Micah believes in God enough to be spooked by the curse. So he confesses: “Uh… yeah, Mom. That was me. Here’s the money back. Please don’t curse me.”

Now, he believes in God enough to be scared of the curse, so he comes clean: “Uh… sorry, Mom. That was me. Here’s the money back. Can you please take back the curse?”

And Mom’s response? Instead of smacking him upside the head, she’s grateful.

Judges 17:4 ESV

So when he restored the money to his mother, his mother took 200 pieces of silver and gave it to the silversmith, who made it into a carved image and a metal image. And it was in the house of Micah.

Translation? “I just want to say thank you to God by making a statue of Him.”

Now notice—she’s not building an idol to Baal or some pagan god. She’s trying to make an image of Jehovah, Israel’s God. And then Micah takes it further—he makes a little shrine, and even ordains one of his own sons as priest.

And then the writer of Judges drops this commentary: “In those days Israel had no king; everyone did what was right in his own eyes.” No authority. No submission. Everybody just making their own rules.

This is Cheap Christianity.

Cheap Christianity doesn’t submit to God—it redefines Him on our own terms.

It looks religious. It sounds spiritual. It even sprinkles in the name of God. But in the end, it’s a way of redefining God on our own terms rather than surrendering to Him as He is.

And here’s the problem: what Micah’s mom did was a direct violation of the second commandment—not to make any image or likeness of God. A lot of us hear that and think, “Okay, I get not worshiping other gods, but what’s the big deal about trying to make a picture of the real one?”

Here’s why it matters:

Any image you try to make of God will always fall short. It can’t possibly capture His fullness.

So what happens? You end up highlighting the parts of God that you like, and conveniently hiding the parts you don’t.

You magnify His strength, but you obscure His compassion.

Or you celebrate His grace, but ignore His holiness and justice.

And at that point, you don’t really have the God of the Bible anymore. You’ve got a distortion. A cheap substitute. A god of your own making. Which is not worship—it’s idolatry.

That’s what cheap grace does: it keeps the parts of Jesus that comfort you, and throws out the parts that confront you. It’s not full surrender to the King—it’s just a dressed-up version of you.

And hand in hand with that comes a redefinition of morality. Look again at verse 6: “Because there was no king… everyone did what was right in their own eyes.”

First you redefine God, then you redefine right and wrong to fit your preferences.

That’s what cheap Christianity does. It’s not usually an outright rejection of Jesus—it’s just reshaping Him into something more comfortable. It sounds like this: “Well, my Jesus would never…” or, “I just can’t believe in a God who would say that…”

But here’s the problem: that’s not Christianity. That’s idolatry dressed up in church clothes. When you create a Jesus who always agrees with you, what you’ve really done is build a mirror and called it God. That’s not worship—it’s self-worship.

Let me put it this way. Imagine you go online to one of those “Build-Your-Own-Burger” places. You get to pick all the toppings. No onions, extra cheese, bacon, double sauce—because it’s your burger, right?

That’s exactly how a lot of people treat God. They take the parts of Him they like—love, mercy, forgiveness—and then they leave off the parts they don’t—holiness, justice, wrath against sin. They end up with a god that looks custom-built, but it’s not the real thing. It’s just a made-to-order version of themselves with a little bit of religion sprinkled on top.

And when you do that, you’re not worshiping the God of the Bible at all. You’re worshiping your preferences. That’s cheap Christianity.

You’re not submitting to Him at all—you’re just worshiping your preferences.

And listen—this isn’t just something the talking heads on cable news do. It happens in churches like ours all the time.

When couples decide they’re going to live together and sleep together even though God’s Word says sex is a covenant gift reserved for marriage—that’s cheap grace. And sometimes they’ll even baptize it in spiritual language: “Well, we prayed about it, and God gave us peace about moving in together.”

Y’all… that’s not peace from God. That’s just you doing what’s right in your own eyes and then slapping His name on it.

That’s exactly what cheap Christianity is: it sounds spiritual, but it refuses to surrender. It’s grace without repentance. It’s blessing without obedience.

It’s “Jesus as Savior” without “Jesus as Lord.”

And in verse 7, after Micah sets up this little statue in his house, he bumps into a Levite who’s passing through town. Now remember—Levites were the priestly tribe of Israel, the ones set apart to serve in God’s temple. And Micah thinks, “Perfect! A real priest. You can legitimize my little homemade religion.”

And the Levite? He knows it’s not right. But when Micah asks, “How much you paying?” suddenly the conviction fades. Micah offers a nice salary package, and the Levite’s like, “Let me pray about it… yep, God just confirmed. I feel called to say yes.”

By the end of the chapter, Micah says in verse 13: “Now I know the LORD will be good to me, since this Levite has become my priest.” In other words—“I’ve got God on the hook now! He owes me.”

This is our 2nd Truth.

Cheap Christianity doesn’t worship God—it tries to use Him.

It doesn’t actually worship God—it tries to use Him. It assumes two dangerous lies:

God exists to serve me.

If I do the right religious things, God is obligated to bless me.

That’s not faith—that’s bargaining. That’s manipulation with a Bible verse attached.

True faith flips the script:

Instead of saying, “God, You exist for me,” it says, “God, I exist for You.”

Instead of saying, “God, You owe me,” it says, “God, I owe You everything.”

Cheap grace asks questions like, “How can I get God to make my business succeed? How can I get Him to fix my plans?” And when it doesn’t work out, it whines, “God, I did all the right stuff! I gave money, I showed up at church, I tried to behave—so why didn’t You come through?”

But real faith says, “God, my life, my skills, my family—they’re Yours. What do You want with them?” And when hard times come, real faith doesn’t walk away. It says, “God, I still can’t believe I get to be saved. So how can I glorify You in this valley?”

Cheap Christianity seeks control of God. True faith surrenders to Him.

Religion is all about access—“How can I get close enough to God to get Him to do what I want?” But true faith flips it. True faith says, “God, You have access to me. You have access to my heart. Tell me what You want.”

So let me just ask you—which kind of God are you seeking?

Because In the very next chapter, another group of Israelites rolls up to Micah’s house. They’ve got deeper pockets and more influence, so they bribe Micah’s Levite to come with them—and on their way out, they steal Micah’s little statue too.

Micah chases after them, shouting, “Hey, you can’t take my priest and my god!” And they basically laugh in his face: “What’s the big deal? Why are you so worked up?”

And then Micah says one of the saddest lines in all of Judges: “If you take my gods that I made… what have I left?”

Do you see the irony? When you shrink God down to something you can control, you’ll always live in fear of losing Him. But when you surrender to the true and living God, you don’t have to worry about losing Him—because you know He’ll never lose you.

That’s the difference:

Try to manage God, and you’ll live with constant anxiety.

Surrender to God, and you’ll live with peace.

So let me just ask you: what about you? Have you ever truly surrendered to Him—or are you still trying to manage and control Him?

Because here’s the truth: a god you can carry around and keep in your pocket is no god at all. But the God who carries you? He’ll never let you go.

The next story shows us exactly what happens when “everyone did what was right in his own eyes” (Judges 21:25, ESV).

Judges 19:1 says: In those days, when there was no king in Israel, a certain Levite was sojourning in the remote parts of the hill country of Ephraim, who took to himself a concubine from Bethlehem in Judah. 

That’s already a bad start. Instead of covenant love, he treats this woman like a commodity to own. And it doesn’t take long for things to fall apart. Verse 2 says: And his concubine was unfaithful to him, and she went away from him to her father's house at Bethlehem in Judah, and was there some four months.”

So the Levite goes after her—not out of love, but because he thinks she belongs to him. Eventually, he convinces her father to let her go back, and they begin the journey home.

Verse 14: “So they passed on and went their way. And the sun went down on them near Gibeah, which belongs to Benjamin.

And they turned aside there, to go in and spend the night at Gibeah.”

They sit in the town square, waiting for hospitality. At first, no one takes them in. Finally, an old man offers shelter.

Verse 20: “Peace be to you; I will care for all your wants. Only, do not spend the night in the square.”

But then the unthinkable happens.

Verse 22: “As they were making their hearts merry, behold, the men of the city, worthless fellows, surrounded the house, beating on the door. And they said to the old man, the master of the house, ‘Bring out the man who came into your house, that we may know him.’”

The old man panics.

Verse 23: “And the man, the master of the house, went out to them and said to them, “No, my brothers, do not act so wickedly; since this man has come into my house, do not do this vile thing.” But then, instead of protecting the weak, he offers up his own daughter and the Levite’s concubine.

Verse 24: “Behold, here are my virgin daughter and his concubine. Let me bring them out now. Violate them and do with them what seems good to you, but against this man do not do this outrageous thing.”

And if you know your Bible, this should sound hauntingly familiar. It’s almost word-for-word what happens in Sodom.

Back in Genesis 13, Lot—Abraham’s nephew—is traveling with him. God has blessed them both so much that their flocks and herds are too large to stay together.

So Abraham says, “You pick where you want to go, Lot. If you go east, I’ll go west. If you go north, I’ll go south.”

Lot looks out and sees the fertile Jordan Valley, with the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah.

Genesis 13:12–13 (ESV) says, “Abram settled in the land of Canaan, while Lot settled among the cities of the valley and moved his tent as far as Sodom. Now the men of Sodom were wicked, great sinners against the LORD.”

Notice—he didn’t move in Sodom yet. He just pitched his tent near it. That’s how it always starts. “I’m not gonna get involved in all that, I’m just gonna be close to it. I won’t be influenced. I can handle it.”

But one chapter later—Genesis 14:12—Lot isn’t just near Sodom anymore, he’s living in Sodom.

By Genesis 19:1, it says, “The two angels came to Sodom in the evening, and Lot was sitting in the gate of Sodom.” Sitting in the gate meant he wasn’t just a resident—he was part of the leadership.

Do you see the drift? Step by step. Compromise by compromise. What started with “I’ll just pitch my tent nearby” turned into living there, and then into leading there.

And when the angels come to visit Lot, the men of the city surround his house and demand: “Where are the men who came to you tonight? Bring them out to us, that we may know them” (Gen. 19:5, ESV). Again, “know” here is sexual. A mob intent on violence.

Lot, in fear, offers his own daughters instead (Gen. 19:7–8). That’s how far he’s drifted—protecting himself by sacrificing the weak.

The only difference between Genesis 19 and Judges 19 is that in Genesis, the angels blind the mob and then God rains down fire. But in Judges 19, there are no angels—just Israel acting like Sodom.

And James 1:14–15 (ESV) sums it up perfectly: “But each person is tempted when he is lured and enticed by his own desire. Then desire when it has conceived gives birth to sin, and sin when it is fully grown brings forth death.”

It always happens one step at a time. Pitch your tent near sin, and before long, you’re living in it. Compromise always comes with a cost.

But Back in Judges and in cowardice and sin, instead of protecting the vulnerable, the Levite sends out the concubine. Verse 25: “But the men would not listen to him. So the man seized his concubine and made her go out to them. And they knew her and abused her all night until the morning. And as the dawn began to break, they let her go..”

At daybreak, she drags herself back to the house. Verse 26: “And as morning appeared, the woman came and fell down at the door of the man’s house where her master was, until it was light.”

The Levite gets up in the morning—cold, heartless, ready to leave—and finds her there. Verse 27: “And her master rose up in the morning, and when he opened the doors of the house and went out to go on his way, behold, there was his concubine lying at the door of the house, with her hands on the threshold.”

And verse 28 records the horror: “He said to her, ‘Get up, let us be going.’ But there was no answer. Then he put her on the donkey. And the man rose up and went away to his home.”

Finally, verse 29: “And when he entered his house, he took a knife, and taking hold of his concubine he divided her, limb by limb, into twelve pieces, and sent her throughout all the territory of Israel.”

This is one of the darkest chapters in all of Scripture. And it shows us exactly where life without God leads. When people treat others as objects, when fear replaces faith, when everyone does what is right in their own eyes—the result is vile, evil, heartbreaking.

Chapter 20 opens with all of Israel finally united about something. Verse 1 says, “Then all the people of Israel came out, from Dan to Beersheba, including the land of Gilead, and the congregation assembled as one man to the LORD at Mizpah.”

And they turn to the Levite: “Tell us how this awful thing happened.” So he tells the story… but leaves out the part where he was the one who shoved his concubine out the door to save his own skin. (Funny how our version of the story usually makes us look a little better than the truth.)

The people are outraged. Verse 11 says, “So all the men of Israel gathered against the city, united as one man.”

They raise an army of 400,000 soldiers and demand the tribe of Benjamin hand over the guilty men. But Benjamin refuses.

And so a massive civil war breaks out. At first, the Benjamites are winning. Israel gets pushed back hard. But then verse 26 says, “Then all the people of Israel, the whole army, went up and came to Bethel and wept. They sat there before the LORD and fasted that day until evening.”

And this time, the LORD answers in verse 28: “Go up, for tomorrow I will give them into your hand.” And sure enough—He does. Israel routs Benjamin.

Verse 48 says, “And the men of Israel turned back against the people of Benjamin and struck them with the edge of the sword, the city, men and beasts and all that they found. And all the towns that they found they set on fire.”

Only 600 Benjamite men survive. They flee into the wilderness and hide out in the caves. That’s all that’s left of an entire tribe.

This is how far God’s people have fallen. It starts with idolatry in one house, turns into violence in one city, and ends in a civil war that nearly wipes out a whole tribe of Israel. All because “there was no king in Israel, and everyone did what was right in his own eyes.”

Chapter 21 opens with Israel making yet another rash vow. Verse 1: “Now the men of Israel had sworn at Mizpah, ‘No one of us shall give his daughter in marriage to any of the tribe of Benjamin.’”

But a few months later, those 600 Benjamites crawl out of the caves. And now there’s a problem—they don’t have any wives. No wives, no kids. And no kids means the whole tribe of Benjamin is going extinct.

And suddenly the Israelites, who had been so zealous before, start second-guessing themselves. Verse 2 says, “And the people came to Bethel and sat there till evening before God, and they lifted up their voices and wept bitterly.” And then they cry out in verse 3: “O LORD, the God of Israel, why has this happened in Israel, that today there should be one tribe lacking in Israel?”

And I can almost hear God say: “What do you mean why has this happened? Israel happened to Israel. You did this.”

They’re acting shocked, but they shouldn’t be. And honestly, isn’t that us?

I can’t tell you how many times people are confiding in me- seeking counsel and they’ll say: “How could God let this happen to me?” And I want to say, “Brother, you let this happen to you.” The devil didn’t have to lift a finger. He just pulled up a lawn chair, watched you, and thought, “You’re doing my work just fine on your own. Congratulations.”

Let’s be honest- I know thats a crazy concept in church— but nobody and I mean nobody has lied to you more than you. Nobody has let you down more than you. Nobody has broken more promises to you than you. You’ve even broken your own commandments. And if anybody else treated you the way you treat you, I’d tell you not to be their friend.

So here’s Israel’s “great idea” to fix it all. Let’s recap: a man throws his concubine to a mob; she’s raped to death; he chops her into twelve pieces and mails them out; the whole nation plunges into civil war; and then Benjamin is almost wiped out. Now they’re down to 600 men hiding in caves, and the Israelites feel bad about it.

As if this was God’s fault! It wasn’t God who plunged them into this. It was their sin, their stubbornness, their vows, their violence.

So what do they do? Instead of repenting, they come up with a plan. They ask, “Didn’t some city refuse to show up for the war?” Sure enough—Jabesh-gilead.

So verse 10: “So the congregation sent 12,000 of their bravest men there and commanded them, ‘Go and strike the inhabitants of Jabesh-gilead with the edge of the sword; also the women and the little ones.’” And they slaughtered the whole town, sparing only 400 virgins to give as wives to the Benjamites.

But that’s still 200 short. So they come up with an even darker plan. Verse 20: “And they commanded the people of Benjamin, saying, ‘Go and lie in ambush in the vineyards and watch. When the daughters of Shiloh come out to dance in the dances, then come out of the vineyards and snatch each man his wife from the daughters of Shiloh, and go to the land of Benjamin.’”

And that’s exactly what they do—kidnap young women from Shiloh, drag them home, and call it a solution.

And then—just like that—the book of Judges ends. No resolution. No repentance. No neat bow on the story. Just this line:

“In those days there was no king in Israel. Everyone did what was right in his own eyes” (Judges 21:25, ESV).

That’s the period at the end of the sentence.

It’s meant to leave you aching, unsettled, longing for a true King who will not abandon His people to the chaos of their own desires.

How did we get here? How do the people of God, chosen and favored, go from worshiping the one true King to offering up concubines to be raped to death, and then deciding the solution is human trafficking?

It’s not as complicated as we’d like to think. Whatever you set your eyes on, that’s the direction your life drifts. And when the eyes of God’s people drift from Him, the destination is always destruction. You don’t even have to guess where it ends up—it always lands in the same place: shame, brokenness, despair.

That’s the fruit of cheap Christianity. and one of the obvious fruits is that

Cheap Christianity leaves the weak unprotected—because self always comes first.

The inevitable result of casting off the rule of God is that the strong start redefining morality to serve themselves. And who pays the price? Always the weak. That’s what you see running through the final chapters of Judges—a shocking callousness toward those who can’t fight back.

Israel becomes mercilessly oppressive toward the weaker tribes and, tragically, toward their own women.

One scholar put it this way: you can track Israel’s relationship with God in Judges by how they treat women. At the start, it was pagan enemies like Sisera who abused and oppressed them. By the end, Israel is the one doing it. And the worst part? They don’t even seem to notice. They talk like they’re right with God, like they’re just trying to “do the right thing.”

Where’s the rebuke for the Levite who not only kept a concubine but threw her to the mob as a peace offering? Where’s the concern for the women kidnapped and forced into marriage? Where’s the outrage over the innocent lives slaughtered in the name of justice? When you take God off the throne, the strong will always exploit the weak.

That’s why our own founders, for all their flaws, understood something critical: rights don’t come from governments or majorities; they come from God Himself. “We are endowed by our Creator with certain inalienable rights.” Ben Franklin put it bluntly: “Democracy is two wolves and a lamb voting on what to have for lunch. Liberty is the lamb having grounds, before God, on which to contest the vote.”

Without God, all you get is wolves. But with God, the lamb has a Shepherd.

And His kingdom flips the script—the strong don’t exploit the weak, they lay down their strength for them.

But If there is no God, then let’s be honest—why should we care about anyone’s pain but our own? Life would boil down to survival of the fittest.

But if there is a God—and there is—then every single human being, stamped with His image, carries immeasurable worth, dignity, and is worthy of love.

So, church—this means we don’t get to stay silent when the weak are being crushed.

For you in the workplace, that may mean speaking up when someone is being unfairly treated, even if it costs you influence.

In your neighborhood, it may mean stepping in to help the single mom who’s drowning. In our city, it means caring about those society pushes to the margins—the poor, the elderly, the unborn.

There are few times you reflect the heart of God more than when you use your strength to defend the weak. And there are few times you grieve Him more than when you exploit them—or when you stay silent while someone else does.

And let’s not miss this: it’s not just about everyday injustice. It’s about eternity.

There are millions of people around us who don’t know Jesus. Millions heading toward the worst kind of suffering—eternal suffering. How can we stay silent? We can’t reduce them to statistics. Stalin once said, “One death is a tragedy; a million is a statistic.” That’s not how God sees people. Every single one is an individual soul—someone’s son, someone’s daughter, someone’s eternity.

So what do we do? We go. We speak. We love. We point them to the One who laid down His life for the weak. Because in Christ, the strong don’t dominate the weak—the strong lay down their strength to save them.

Last fruit of Cheap Christianity.

Cheap Christianity doesn’t lead to joy—it always ends in despair.

When God is absent, we live with despair. That’s how Judges ends. It just sort of trails off in desperation: “In those days Israel had no king; everyone did what was right in his own eyes.” At the beginning, that sounds appealing, doesn’t it? “I get to call the shots. I get to define God however I want. He’s like my lucky rabbit’s foot I carry in my pocket.” But where does it end? It ends with hell on earth.

But listen—the Bible doesn’t leave us there. Judges doesn’t stand alone.

Because the book of Judges doesn’t just sit there in isolation—it’s got a companion right next to it. Running in parallel with all this darkness is the book of Ruth.

And get this—Ruth isn’t even an Israelite. She’s a Moabite widow. On the Israelite social ladder, that put her about as low as you could possibly go. And yet, while the covenant people are spiraling out of control, Ruth—the outsider—trusts God against impossible odds.

Judges crashes to an ending filled with despair: no king, no light, just chaos. But Ruth closes with hope: “Boaz fathered Obed, Obed fathered Jesse, and Jesse fathered David.” And from David’s line would come a greater King—a son of a son of a son… whose name is Jesus.

See the contrast? Where Israel’s so-called strength collapsed, God brought salvation through weakness. Through someone considered an outcast. The king Israel didn’t have—and desperately needed—wouldn’t show up like Samson, flexing his might and forcing obedience.

Like Ruth, He would be poor. Like Ruth, He would be an outcast. And instead of bending people’s will from the outside, He would change their hearts from the inside so that they wanted to obey.

And here’s where it all points: the darkest chapters of Judges aren’t the darkest chapters in the Bible.

The darkest scene is the cross. Crucifixion wasn’t just execution—it was spectacle. Cicero said it was designed to be so horrifying that no one would dare rebel against Rome again. Victims were beaten until their bones flew off their frame, disemboweled, left unrecognizable. Isaiah said the Messiah would be marred beyond human likeness. The cross was public—like the town square, like the mall. Men wept, vomited, even lost control of their bodies as they hung there. And all the while, religious leaders patted themselves on the back, thinking they were doing the work of God.

Why? Because at the cross, Jesus was enduring the full weight of our sin. He was stepping into the chaos and darkness of Judges 17–21 for us. Why was the cross so bloody? Because our sin is that horrific. The price had to match the offense.

But here’s the good news: instead of sending His bride out to be abused and torn apart, Jesus became the bridegroom who gave Himself to be torn apart for us. His body broken, His blood spilled—so that He could redeem us, wash us clean, and present us to Himself as a spotless bride.

That’s the gospel. Out of the despair of Judges comes the hope of Ruth, and ultimately, the victory of Jesus.

So the question is simple—who’s on the throne of your life? Are you still doing what’s right in your own eyes? Or have you surrendered to the King who gave His life for you?

Today, you don’t need a new cycle. You need a new heart. You don’t need to try harder. You need to surrender. And that surrender looks like this: “Jesus, You are Lord. My life is Yours.”

And maybe for some of you, that moment is right now. In just a minute, we’re going to sing. I’ll be standing down front, our deacons and others will be here too. If God is calling you to surrender your life to the Lordship of Jesus, don’t wait. Don’t negotiate. Step out and come.

And maybe you’ve already surrendered to Him, but you’ve never taken that next step of obedience—to go public in baptism. Next Sunday, we’re celebrating baptism together, and I want to invite you to be a part of it. If you belong to Jesus, it’s time to declare it.

Whatever the Lord is calling you to do, don’t hesitate. Don’t harden your heart. Don’t say, “Maybe later.” There may not be a later. There is a King, and His name is Jesus. And today He’s calling you to come.

So as we stand and sing, you come.