The peace of the Republic meant security for the Jedi. As an unchallenged part of the galactic government, they saw no cause for concern. No threats remained in the galaxy to menace them. Most Jedi could pass a lifetime without thinking of the Sith, the dark warriors who once opposed them. Those rare few who warned that the Sith may not be eradicated were dismissed. The Jedi were everywhere, and saw everything. No Sith could arise without the Jedi noticing. Even if one did, an ancient prophecy said the Chosen One would destroy the Sith and bring balance to the Force. They never imagined that the one spoken of by this prophecy would leave the Jedi Order a smoking ruin.

The Sith also knew of the prophecy. It was a nagging fear in the back of their minds, even as the Rule of Two slowly worked towards domination of the galaxy. What could the Sith do to avoid a downfall that had been preordained? Sith mystics sought a way to avoid the prophecy. Others dismissed it as a meaningless Jedi legend. The Sith condensed their power, hidden in the shadows, unobserved by the Jedi. In time, just as the Jedi had forgotten the Sith, the Sith forgot about the Chosen One.

It took a millennium of planning for the Sith's grand plan to reach its climax. Palpatine prepared to take the reins of the galactic senate, where he would manipulate his weak-willed colleagues into granting him ultimate power so he could finally exterminate the Jedi. Then a boy named Anakin Skywalker was found, and whispers began to spread: he was the Chosen One.

A weaker Sith might have been shaken. It seemed that the Jedi prophecy would disrupt his carefully laid strategy. Palpatine, however, was not weak. Patience and stealth had served his order well for a thousand years. Panicking now would undo it all. Rather than directly attacking the Chosen One, which would certainly end in disaster, Palpatine sought a way to break the prophecy.

Years passed while Palpatine paid close attention to Anakin's progress. His power was certainly remarkable, but he was frustrated with the Jedi's slow and methodical ways. Palpatine formulated a new strategy. The wording of the prophecy intimated that the Chosen One would destroy the Sith, but how could that happen if the Chosen One was himself a Sith? Even if Anakin eventually overthrew him and assumed the mantle of master, the Sith would continue. The prophecy would remain unfulfilled. He did not relish the thought of training his own replacement, but the survival of the Sith depended on it.

Seeds of discord were easy to sow. Anakin had let fame make him arrogant. Palpatine fed his ego, convincing him that he deserved more than the Jedi were willing to give. With the coming of the Clone Wars, Anakin's frustration with the Jedi Council could no longer be contained. He resented being sent to fight like a common soldier, enduring attacks and all manner of discomfort, when he should have been leading. He would not accept being a pawn in the galactic battle plan of the Jedi.

By the time the Clone Wars reached their conclusion, Palpatine's strategy was ready. The war had left the people hungry for his new Sith Empire, and the Jedi were weak. Palpatine moved to break the prophecy. He knew that Anakin, unbeknownst to the Jedi Council, had taken a wife. His first child was due soon, and he was conflicted and panicking. When his desperation peaked, Palpatine offered the Sith as the solution. Revealing his identity to the young Chosen One brought confrontation with the Jedi, but Palpatine did not fear their attack. Only the Chosen One could destroy the Sith, and he was safely tucked away in a prison of fear and confusion.

The Jedi fell, exactly as expected, and the Chosen One was sucked into the inescapable whirlpool known as the Dark Side. As Palpatine watched the smoke rising from the Jedi temple, he could finally feel at ease. The prophecy had been subverted. The Jedi were extinct. The Sith once again ruled the galaxy.

George Lucas's epic saga has entertained generations. Its sweeping story, amazing special …

I promised I'd let you know how my sanity is holding up under the strain of sharing my home. Truthfully, it hasn't been as bad as I had feared. There were certainly some initial challenges, especially since I have expectations about the way things are done. For example, I was taught that when you leave a room, you turn the lights out. I always lock the door, of my house and my car, when I leave them. I never start a new box of cereal while there's still some of the same cereal left. If I open something that says "refrigerate after opening", I put it in the refrigerator. If I wash the dishes, I don't leave any food on the plates at the end.

Some of these issues I've been able to sort out. Others, I've learned to mitigate or accept. A few are still eating at my sanity, so perhaps I'll have another report for you in the future.

Jesus was gone, but his enemies were not. The religious leaders were still in confusion over what had happened, but the disciples knew they would soon resume their effort to wipe out Jesus's ministry. The fear that had gripped them after Jesus's crucifixion threatened to return. They were alone again.

Even if they had known what to do, their orders were clear: wait. ((Acts 1:4)) Nearly all of the disciples were from Galilee ((Acts 1:11)). They had houses, family, and friends there, but Jesus had told them to wait in Jerusalem, the city where he had been tried and killed. The city where the enemies of Jesus were the thickest.

There was only one place in Jerusalem where one hundred and twenty ((Acts 1:15)) men and women ((Acts 1:14)) of limited means could meet: the Temple ((Luke 24:52)). Every day they watched from their upper room ((Acts 1:13)) as the men who had accused Jesus of treason before Pilate ((Luke 23:2)) came and went. They hid in the massive crowds, but they knew it couldn't last forever. Eventually someone would recognize them and report them to the priests. It was no wonder that they spent most of their time together in prayer ((Acts 1:14)).

The walk back to Jerusalem (( Acts 1:12)) was surreal. On the one hand, they had witnessed Jesus enter heaven, where they knew he was going to be with his father. They praised God for what they had seen. ((Luke 24:52)) On the other hand, they were confused. Jesus had not done what they expected from a triumph Messiah. Why choose such an unusual method to establish his kingdom? What king had ever been victorious by retreating? It seemed to them a very strange way to restore the kingdom to Israel.

Alone, without either Jesus or the holy spirit, their minds grappled with what they had just witnessed. Though Jesus had tried to prepare them for this moment, it was beyond what they could imagine. It would take some time before they realized it was a lesson about what it meant to be the kingdom of God.

If Jesus had marched into Rome and taken control, like countless dictators before and after, it would have satisfied the disciples, but it would not have fulfilled God's purpose. A leader like that, no matter how good and just, would always find opposition from others who wanted supremacy. Even if he could defeat every insurrection and coup, the war would be endless and the body count staggering.

If Jesus had set himself up as the supreme overlord of earth, it would have met the expectations of his followers, but destroyed their unity. Already prone to jockey for position, each one would have been at the others's throats, constantly scheming to secure his own promotion and stop the rise of those below. The seat at Jesus's right hand would always be contested, and the hierarchy of those struggling to reach it would crush those at the bottom.

If Jesus had remained as a earthly teacher, dispensing wisdom and settling disputes, it would have pleased his followers, but it would have made them useless. Given the choice between listening carefully to the holy spirit or asking Jesus what to do,  the easy way would win every time. Why experiment with something new when you have the perfect teacher who can give you all the answers? The kingdom could never grow beyond the area that one man could govern.

Instead, he gave his followers the chance to discover his kingdom for themselves. Without him they would struggle, and sometimes fail, but they would grow. The men in white had said Jesus would be back, but they hadn't said when. All the disciples knew was that they were to wait in Jerusalem. ((Acts 1:4))

This last weekend saw the opening of yet another end times thriller, this one staring Nicholas Cage. With the topic once again entering popular culture, our small group discussed various Christian theories about the future. What became apparent was that we all had a deep reluctance to consider specifics. People would only say "no one knows" or "why does it matter?"

After a few personal stories about our experiences with eschatology, themes began to emerge. Many in our group had watched the "official" position on the end times fluctuate wildly. Some of us had been alive for the speculation of 1988. Others recalled the Y2K hysteria, the prophecies of doom after the September 11th attacks,  and Harold Camping's much-publicized announcement of the impending end. We had grown up while the Left Behind books were published, witnessed the excitement over them, and watched the backlash. In short, we were trained to believe nothing we heard on the subject.

Most of us who had grown up submerged in Christian culture also had stories about premillenialists bashing amillenialists, or post-tribulationists attacking pre-tribulationist. We had watched congregations split and seen people get angry or break down crying over the subject. Experience taught us that the cost of having an informed opinion was too great. If forced to choose between studying the topic or being part of a community, our decision was obvious. Better to say "I believe whatever you believe" and avoid causing offense.

Our generation is often labeled "post-modern", meaning that we don't believe in anything. On subjects like this, though, why would we? Everything we have seen suggests that the topic brings only pain, confusion, and ridicule. Would Christianity, and the world, be better off if we dropped Revelation and other parts of the Bible that we don't understand? If our choice is between morbid fascination and ignorance, what are we to do?

The power of the Galactic Empire was never in question while Emperor Palpatine ruled. Every aspect of its public face inspired awe and fear: the bone-white armor of the ever-present Stormtroopers; the crimson-robed Imperial Guard; the massive Star Destroyers; the heavily armored AT-ATs; the severe gray dress, and faces, of the Moffs; the terrifying Death Star; the towering and ruthless Darth Vader; and the hideous cowled face of Emperor Palpatine. Yet despite all these symbols of power, the real might of the Empire came entirely from the quadrillions of oppressed beings who allowed the Emperor and his minions to take away their freedom.

The initial proposal for the Empire had captivated the galaxy. Instead of the frustrating debates and politics of the Republic, a single great man would quickly decide each issue. Changes could be carried out with military efficiency. Threats would be eliminated instantly. Progress would not be delayed by rules and procedures. The lax oversight that had allowed civil war would be replaced with constant vigilance. It would, Palpatine announced, create a safe and secure society. Only an Empire could end the constant chaos of war. Only an Empire could prevent the corrupt practices the Republic had fostered. Only an Empire could restore order after the Jedi's failed coup. The thunderous applause at the establishment of the New Order echoed from planet to planet. Finally, they were promised, security and normalcy would return.

In mere months the Empire had blotted out the symbols of democracy. Every vestige of the Republic was replaced, or at least renamed. Finally safe from the dangers democracy had allowed, the people were only too willing to forget that there had ever been a time before the Empire. The Republic passed from their minds, and the Empire solidified its power.

True to its promise, the Empire moved with lightning speed to remove all persons, groups, and races that threatened stability. Enemies, both internal and external, were destroyed with crushing force. Yet when one foe fell, new threats were identified. The military and intelligence sector grew to enforce the Empire's new direction. No longer could individual planets be depended upon to govern themselves. Imperial Moffs were set over each sector, allowing the Emperor to ensure that his will was swiftly executed, along with any opposition.

As the Empire expanded, more and more citizens, almost exclusively humans, were hired to meet the demands of the overwhelming bureaucracy. The hierarchy ballooned as more levels and procedures were added to galactic life. Grand Moffs were appointed to oversee the thousands of Moffs. Workers were employed to build the the Empire's millions of starships. Trillions of men were recruited to augment the ever-growing military. Soon, even the exorbitant taxes of the Empire could not cover the cost, but threats continued to appear.

Therefore, a new policy, designed by Grand Moff Tarkin, was adopted in the Empire. Under the Tarkin Doctrine, the Empire would no longer respond to every threat. Instead, selected public threats would be met with devastating force, punishing the perpetrators and everyone around them. Not only would troublemakers be deterred from acting against the Empire, but others would be encouraged to betray their plots to avoid the fierce reprisals. Under the Tarkin Doctrine, it was no longer necessary for common citizens to believe in the Empire. Fear kept everyone in line.

Seated comfortably at the top was Emperor Palpatine. The benefactor of a thousand years of Sith manipulation, and a master strategist in his own right, he ruled with unchallenged authority. He used the apathy and corruption of the Republic to his own advantage, counting on the citizens to keep silent as long as he appeared to be protecting their comfort. The constant power struggles among the ranks of the Empire ensured that no threat could arise undetected. If, by some miracle, an attack did come, his faithful servant Darth Vader was ready to crush it without hesitation. From his black throne in the Imperial Palace, the Emperor's vision of order was carried to the farthest reaches of the galaxy.

The first attacks on Palpatine were predictable. Imperial officers were not always content with the strategies of Palpatine, and believed they could do better. Multiple attempted insurrections …

The disciples listened intently as Jesus told them their mission. ((Acts 1:8)) They weren't clear on all the details, but that didn't dull their anticipation. It was hard to say exactly when they noticed the cloud, but they knew it symbolized something important: the smoke around Mount Sinai when God met with Moses ((Exodus 19:18)); the pillar of cloud that guided the Israelites through the desert ((Exodus 13:21)); the cloud that had descended on the temple when it was dedicated ((1 Kings 8:10-11)). Peter, James, and John remembered the cloud they had seen on the mountain, when Jesus had met with Elijah and Moses, shining as brightly as the sun ((Luke 9:29-30)). They knew something amazing was going to happen.

The cloud was a symbol of God's presence, the cloak that protected human eyes from gazing on his true glory. That Jesus was now inside that cloud ((Acts 1:9)) filled their hearts with awe. At any moment he would reappear, surrounded by the armies of heaven. They pictured the army of angels riding through the streets, overrunning their armies and seating Jesus on the throne. A minute passed, and the cloud started to thin. They looked intently, but Jesus was nowhere to be seen. ((Acts 1:10))

That he was gone dawned on some sooner than others, but they could not tear their eyes away from the spot where he had been standing. What had just happened? They had already lost Jesus once. Had Jesus finally outgrown his motley band of followers? What now?

Then an unknown voice broke the silence. "Hey, Galileans! Why are you just standing there? Jesus has been taken from this world into heaven."

Two men, dressed in white, were standing on the hill with them. They had not been with the group minutes earlier, and no one had heard their approach. Some of the disciples remembered that men in white had also been outside Jesus's tomb, and had delivered the message that he was no longer there.

The men in white continued: "He is coming back." ((Acts 1:11))

Most of you have no reason to know this, but I don't like being around people I don't know. Perhaps it's the amount of time I spend with computers. Perhaps it's some natural introversion. Maybe a doctor could diagnose it and prescribe a medicinal remedy, but I'd rather not find out. It's not that I get nervous in front of crowds. Rather, the nuances of person-to-person communication escape me. I know most people don't think that way. They don't pay attention to social interactions, or even seem to care too much about the words that escape their lips. To me, though, holding a conversation with someone I don't know is an unending string of paralyzing decisions.

Partially it's because I have so few shared interests with others in my culture. The things that I spend most of my time thinking about are boring, obtuse, or weird. My wife does not share my social awkwardness. She is blunt and open, and sees no reason to change. She is the reason for my current social experiment.

Several times in the past, when women we know had been going through rough times in their marriages, Kelly offered them a place to stay. No one accepted her offer... until today. A friend of Kelly's is going through a divorce and had to sell her house. Now she is moved into our guest room: the guest room we said would be used to help people in need. I realize now just how dear my privacy was. I have to be on guard all the time. I'll try to post a follow-up to let you know just how badly my sanity has been damaged.

The disciples gathered at the Mount of Olives ((Acts 1:12)) with growing expectation. They could tell that Jesus was leading up to a big moment. The triumphant Messiah was untouchable. Death itself could not stop him. He could now travel anywhere in the world in an instant, and they had already known he was a miracle worker. Their imaginations ran wild with scenarios: He could appear inside the Holy of Holies and announce himself to the startled high priests as their new king. For that matter, he could show up in Tiberius' bedroom, strike down that false "son of a god", and declare himself the world's rightful Caesar.

The world had no power over him now, and the disciples knew that victory lay ahead. They could be forgiven a moment's thought to their own impending reward, as those who had chosen to follow when he had been a little-known Galilean construction worker turned rabbi. They were ready to see the dreams of their ancestors fulfilled. Today could be the day when Israel returned to its rightful place as a world power. Was it? They had to know, and so they asked him. ((Acts 1:6))

For Jesus, this question posed three problems:

In some sense, the answer was "no", and would always be "no". Their culture's view of what the Messiah was meant to be had muddied the waters so much that having the kingdom restored was unimaginable to them without wars and conquests, but that had never been the real plan.

In another sense, the answer was "yes", and actually "that has already happened". He, as Israel's one righteous representative, had battled and defeated death. The announcement of his rule had already gone out to all of creation. If they could not see it, it was only because of the deep-rooted rebelliousness of mankind.

In the most important sense, it simply wasn't helpful. Jesus knew many people who were so obsessed with foretelling the Messiah, and finding every shred of scripture pertaining to him, that they had missed him when he was standing right in front of them. "That's God's concern, not yours", he told them. ((Acts 1:7)) "I have a different mission for you, but you can't do it without the holy spirit's power. I need you to announce my kingdom to the entire world." ((Acts 1:8))

In his introduction to "Mere Christianity", C. S. Lewis shared his concern that the word "Christian" was losing its meaning. Instead of describing a person who held a certain set of beliefs, he feared that it would soon be reduced to a general term for a nice person, much like "gentleman" had ceased to describe someone of noble birth and become a generic term for anyone who was well-mannered. He would no doubt be delighted to hear that, in the half century since his death, those within the church have worked tirelessly to ensure that no one these days thinks that "Christian" means "a good person".