Between "hope" and "how long?"
Most of the time social media seems like a pit of despair. I've whittled mine down to Twitter, and only keep that one in order to keep up with authors and other inspirational and hard-thinking folks who prod me along.
Recently, however, I gained a treasure from Twitter: my friend, Steve Austin. Steve is a miracle - literally. He was a pastor who almost succeeded in committing suicide. Now he writes, blogs, speaks, and generally inspires through some of the most transparent dialogue you'll ever encounter. Check out his website here.
Photo by Faris Mohammed on Unsplash
In one of his recent newsletters, Steve teased his forthcoming new book on hope. Now there's a topic we all could explore more these days. That newsletter got me to thinking. . .
Hope is hard work.
For many, hope equals positive thinking. If an inkling of doubt or "negativity" creeps in, one is made to feel shame, as though hoping is something we as humans do on our own through our own efforts and energy. But, to live in hope is not necessarily to live in sublime happiness. I believe scripture demonstrates very much the opposite. A cursory foray into the Bible demonstrates over and over that we are able to hope because God enables us. Take for instance Psalm 130:5-6, and note what enables the psalmist to hope:
I wait for the LORD, my soul waits,
and in his word I hope;
my soul waits for the Lord
more than watchmen wait for the morning,
more than watchmen wait for the morning.
In this Psalm about guilt and forgiveness, the psalmist can hope because of what God has said, not because of what the psalmist has done. "In his word I hope."
Hope is an act of remembrance as much as it is an eschatological exercise. In order for hope to reach forward, it must also reach back.
Remember and imagine.
Remember and dream.
These must coexist for hope to exist.
One must wrestle and wrestle hard in order to hope - spiritually, mentally, emotionally. It's not easy work, and scripture never paints it as such.
Photo by Ricardo Gomez Angel on Unsplash
Hope requires a stage of dormancy.
I've been reading Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times by Katherine May. In her book, May defines "wintering" as a time of "dislocation" that can be lonely and unexpected, an "in-between" period of purposelessness, of fallowness. This, to me, is the perfect definition of hope.
Winter is quickly approaching here in the midwest where I live. The leaves are fallen, the flowers faded. I've stowed away all the pots from my deck and front porch, dumping the withered remains of annuals into the yard waste bin that is now parked on the curb. Nature begins to show us more shades of gray and brown than we ever thought imaginable. It has gone dormant, resting up before the great tumultuous bursting forth that will require all of its energy and magic next spring.
I believe hope requires a stage of dormancy, perhaps one that last weeks, months, years - or even a life time. As I stated above, hope is an eschatological exercise. Hope reaches. Waits. Longs.
In 1 Thessalonians 1, Paul speaks about "steadfastness of hope in our Lord Jesus Christ." When I read that, I'm drawn to the suffering of Christ, his endurance, the purpose in the suffering. This is not glitzy hope, friends. This is aching, unattractive, quiet hope. This is hope built in labors of love and steadfastness, as Paul states. This is waiting hope.
There is a vital tension between hope and "how long?"
In 1 Peter 1, we find the apostle writing to members of the first-century church who are enduring intense persecution - I'm talking "thrown to the lions" kind of persecution. These are not the "pin-prick" persecutions we Christians sometimes claim today. These were life and death scenarios.
In this opening chapter, Peter so beautifully captures this tension in verses 3-9, which I must quote at length:
Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! According to his great mercy, he has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus from the dead,
to an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in heaven for you,
who by God's power are being guarded through faith for a salvation ready to be revealed in the last time.
In this you rejoice, though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been grieved by various trials,
so that the tested genuineness of your faith - more precious than gold that perishes though it is tested by fire - may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ.
Though you have not seen him, you love him. Though you do not now see him, you believe in him and rejoice with joy that is inexpressible and filled with glory, obtaining the outcome of your faith, the salvation of your souls.
The tensions here are astonishing. And every one of them are bound up in hope:
Living hope - resurrection of Jesus from the dead (hope cannot come without death)
Inheritance kept in heaven (requires waiting - so hard!)
God's power is guarding us through faith . . . until the "last time" (again - waiting!)
Rejoice - though now . . . you have been grieved. (rejoicing and grieving at the same time)
"Faith" as gold that perishes, and yet results in glory (no resurrection without death)
You have not seen him, yet you love him. (seems impossible, and yet true)
The "outcome" of all these tensions? The "salvation of your souls."
Neither "hope" nor "how long?" can exist without the other being present. It is a vital and necessary tension. We don't hope unless we are absent something, as in, something is missing, something is broken, something is needed.
Hope. What a loaded word. What a vital and necessary exercise.
Hope is hard work. Hope requires dormancy, even death. Hope is inextricably bound up with the "how long?" found over and over again in the Psalms.
It is hard to know how to conclude a post about hope. I've no desire for trite or petty rhymes that smack of kitsch. My desire is that we all - myself included - take heart in the difficulty of hope, in the realization that if we are wrestling, we're probably on the right track.
I leave you with my favorite song about hope by Sara Groves:
Hope has a way of turning its face to you just when you least expect it.
You walk in a room, look out a window, and something there leaves your breathless.
You say to yourself, It's been a while since I've felt this, but it feels like it might be hope.