There is something about hope. It is always forward-looking,
anticipating that things will not stay the way they are, that life will get
easier, that there is more to our daily existence than what we see right
now. In hope we anticipate a day
when our hearts will be filled with joy; we expect to meet Jesus.
Paul writes in Romans 4 of Abraham: “Hoping against hope, he
believed that he would become ‘the father of many nations,’ according to what
was said, ‘So numerous shall your descendants be.’ He did not weaken in faith
when he considered his own body, which was already as good as dead... No
distrust made him waver concerning the promise of God” (v. 18-20).
Abraham was almost one hundred years old and his wife,
Sarah, was ninety and barren. And yet the promise of God filled him with hope –
he would be the father of many nations.
Where did Abraham find that hope? Paul points to Abraham’s
faith in the living God. The God of infinite possibility; the Father who raised
Jesus from the dead (!); the God whose love has been poured into our hearts
through the Holy Spirit; the Almighty One who promises that we have been
justified through faith, freely given the peace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and
obtained access to God’s abundant grace (see Romans 5:1-5).
There’s something about
hope. I saw it in the eyes of the children in Mexico. When we were in Huitzapula
we traveled to a remote village – a mission of the already remote town of Huitzapula.
When we got there we discovered that everyone had headed into town for the day,
except these three children. While they were too shy to come over to us, we had
brought fruit for the community.
We placed some in the grass for them to come get, and they received it
gratefully.
The church in this village had been destroyed in a storm,
the few houses were in disrepair, the children had been left alone. At first
glance the situation felt hopeless, but the people in these mountain villages
radiated hope. In the other villages around Huitzapula, the moment we arrived the
people left their work to stream to a common gathering place to praise God with
us through song and prayer and reading and proclaiming God’s word. It was
beautiful. Astonishing. So different from here.
Zimbabwe was no
different. Even the ZOE orphans who had just entered the program radiated hope.
The children in this picture are cousins who lost their parents to HIV/AIDS and
now live with their grandparents in a place that would have been inaccessible
by vehicle in the rainy season. Their grandfather is blind and their
grandmother has severe cataracts. Faith, the oldest of the cousins, is sixteen
and she is the primary caregiver. As we listened to a story that brought tears
to our eyes, and as we watched the weight of grief nearly overwhelm Faith and
her grandmother, there was still this sense of hope: “Things will get better.
We will have enough to eat one of these days. God will not abandon us. And at
least for right now we have a roof over our heads. At least we have each
other.”
Why is it that we so often get trapped in a sense of
hopelessness? Why do we look at
our situation and think, “Things will never get better”? Why do we have such a
hard time seeing God at work in our lives?
Jesus tells us: “It is easier for a camel to go through the
eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God” (Mark
10:25).
I wonder if, as people who live in the “land of plenty”, we
have misplaced our hope. We place our hope in wealth (however elusive it might
be); we seek security in our government or our jobs; we expect that we will
always have enough because even with the downturn in the economy and the many
jobs that have been lost we generally have enough (even if it isn’t as much as we
want). And we continue to place our trust in princes and mortals “in whom there is no help”
(Psalm 146:3) - in people who care about us and love us but cannot save us. In misplacing our hope, we too often consider ourselves to be self-reliant,
self-sufficient, and self-assured. If our hope is in the things of this world, then we
really do not understand what it means to completely rely on God.
No wonder the church in the United States is struggling to survive. No
wonder church often feels more like a social club or a place to feel good about ourselves
rather than a life-saving station or a place of forgiveness and grace. Our hope is built on
nothing less than – what? I don’t think it really is Jesus’ blood and
righteousness. Our hope is too often built on our success, our ability to help
others, our happiness. And if we are unhappy or unsuccessful or unable to help
others then we feel like we have failed – we are hopeless.
Hope does not come in looking back over the path we have
already taken. Hope does not come through wealth or security or education or
friends or family. Hope never comes from the things of this world. Hope comes
only from God in whom we place our trust.
Despair is often the antonym of hope. Despair is often tied
to depression, despondency, discouragement. Does despair come from misplaced
hope? Is it a symptom of a people who have lost sight of God? Do those who
despair fail to see God in the ordinary? Are they unable to fully rely on God?
Do they not believe that God has (awesome!) plans for them?
Abraham was as good as dead when he became the father of
Isaac. Lazarus was dead when Mary and Martha cried to Jesus, “If only you had
been here, my brother would not have died.” These are stories of hope. And the
women saw where Jesus’ body was laid on that day of Preparation so long ago –
they saw the stone rolled against the door of the tomb. And yet, on the third
day, when the Sabbath was over, against all hope they went to the tomb. Hope.
Hope is not of this world. And yet it is so very tangible.
Why is hope easier for me to see in Mexico or Zimbabwe? I wonder if it is because
there are less opportunities for misplaced hope in these places. I wonder if it is easier to
see God’s kingdom coming on earth when there are less expectations for success
and self-sufficiency. Whatever the reasons, it is my prayer that I will learn to
rely less and less on the things of this world and more and more on God.