Acts 1:21-26; April 26, 2026; Fourth Week of Easter
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Valerie asked me to be on the shorter side today. And I was like, shorter than I am already? At this rate, soon I’ll just be getting up here saying, “Good is God. Amen.”
Let’s get started then.
Acts is written by the same author as Luke. Luke, the same gospel we heard from last week where Jesus ate some fish and equips the disciples with the Holy Spirit for ministry.
Here then, at the beginning of their Acts, we get a snapshot of the first days following that commissioning, and in particular, about what happened after Judas Isacariot’s death (about which there are a couple different accounts, but we’ll save that for another day – again, time).
The disciples cast lots to see who among their fellow believers (Luke mentions there being 120 at the time) would replace Judas, and the result is that a guy named Matthias is elected to carry the mantle (he’s the guy painted on our bulletin cover).
Casting lots… it’s a term we’ve heard before (the soldiers at Jesus’ death, for instance, cast lots for Jesus’ garments). It’s mentioned around 70 times in the Old Testament, and yet, this will be the last time we ever hear of it again in scripture, though not in history.
The Moravian church, for instance, has an interesting page on their website about its practice, and notes that it was still employed until recently.
In a funny exchange I stumbled upon on Reddit, one observer reports that the practice was phased out due to the simple fact that it often yielded “suboptimal results.” Bad pastors and elders being elected. The next comment says, “Wow – their webpage also says that one time, all Moravian marriages were arranged by lots. …wonder how that worked out.”
To which the next commenter responds: “Suboptimally would be my guess…”
In short, casting lots is like the original version of putting names in a hat and letting chance determine a winner. And in our case, Matthias and Justus had their names written on rocks, and after praying on it, they tumbled out the stone with Matthias’ name on it. Matthias wins the lottery while another guy known as Justus is passed over, never to be heard from again.
Why Matthias, and why not Justus? Is that how God wanted it, or is that just how the cookie crumbled and the rock tumbled?
Saint Clement of Alexandria writes in his Stromata that Matthias was once known as Zacchaeus. Zacchaeus, you might remember, being the short little tax-collector who once climbed a tree to see Jesus passing by the in a crowd. Zacchaeus, despised by the people, is yet invited to join Christ at dinner.
Well, Clement reports that it was this same Zacchaues, who following this event repented from his ways, returned all ill-gotten gains to the people, and believed in Christ up and to and through his resurrection, where he then became known as Matthias.
If this is accurate, then on the surface, Matthias’ selection seems to make a lot of sense as it’s a great story of redemption and fitting with the makeup of the rest of Jesus’ ragtag motley crew.
But what about Justus? The other guy? The guy who had a 50/50 chance. He must have been an amazing candidate himself to even be considered among the 120. And yet, we never hear his backstory, or anything about him again (while there are two other mentions of someone named Justus in the New Testament, they are likely not the same; names back then were incredibly common).
Like the Olympian who trains for four years and just misses the podium by a millisecond, Justus is reduced to a footnote in the dustbin of history, while his counterpart graces the bulletin of a church called Grace 2,000+ years later.
Ouch.
And it made me think… what happens to us when we are passed over; when we come in second or fourth place? When we have a case to be elected, promoted, befriended, and loved, and yet someone else takes our place? In the office, in the pulpit, in the friend group, in the bedroom?
And yet Justus’ move into obscurity is still a good word for us today, I think. Because even when we are not chosen first by men or women, lots or stones, we can be sure that we are yet elected first by Christ, who brings the second and last up with him, who gives us all our core purpose.
So, I imagine that Justus didn’t just waive the white flag because he didn’t win. That he didn’t just leave the 120 and like return to sea. No, I imagine he took his original place and kept living into and up to his name, which literally means: justice and righteousness.
And that I think is the lesson for us today: that in this screwed up world, where both are so often unseen and unelected, we must hope they are still at work in the background, in the long arc of cosmic light.
So, don’t stop believing (like that annoying song goes – ugh I hate it!). But keep working and trusting that one day justice and righteousness will indeed break through. That they will tumble out and come in first.
And with them, we will all win the lottery and live with Christ and the apostles in peace forever.
Amen.
