A Glimmer of Hope


One year ago this week I was called to be pastor of National Heights Baptist Church.  One year ago this week was my first sermon and service with them.  And guess what . . . I have no clue what I talked about or said.  I don’t even have it saved.  

But don’t laugh too quickly!  Do you remember what you did a year ago this week?  Unless it was a traumatic experience the answer is probably like mine . . . a little hazy.  How about three years ago?  Five years ago?  What made you happy, anxious, or confident this week in those years?  What did you dream about or wish so desperately for yourself and for others?  What did you love and cherish?  How did you embrace romance or seek intimacy?  What were your hopes and fears?  For most of us, what preoccupied our minds then, are a faint fuzz in our conscious memory. 

Events that shackled us to the  newsreel seem like flashes from the past.  Some once-current edition of some magazine somewhere on some day captured our attention . . . but not anymore.  We can’t quote headlines, storylines, recall movies, or replay unforgettable memories.  We may not even associate with the same people as we did back then. 

And when you start going down this rabbit hole of lost memory you start to realize how fleeting your existence really is, how like water you can’t even it hold in your hands. 

Recognizing this can fill us with sadness . . . we begin to see Jesus’ words in Mark 13 as complete truth:
‘But in those days, after that suffering, the sun will be darkened,   and the moon will not give its light, and the stars will be falling from heaven, and the powers in the heavens will be shaken and earth will be destroyed. (Mark 13.24-25)
This language just reminds us that something is dying (around us, in us, beside us) all the time.  The world is ending, our lives are fading, and the darkness is capturing the light. 

So we conclude that maybe we should just never expect much.  Why would we?  We’re just going to die anyway.  We’d be better to forget that new possibilities are waiting for us around the corner. The only real thing around the corner is darkness, disappointment and death.  The darkness that can shake heaven and destroys earth.  The disappointment that reminds us we aren’t worthy to be loved, and the death that takes our loved ones or pushes us into a further illness.

It’s just better if we hope for nothing . . . because it keeps us from feeling frustrated when we realize we foolishly hoped for something we thought we could almost have and never dreamed we couldn't.

But Henri Nouwen couldn't disagree more.  He says, “But while presidents and popes come and go, while wars explode and come to an end, while some lose their jobs and others later have their talents recognized, while children grow up sickly and later become sports heroes, while all this and more transpire, something is being formed that neither death nor illness can destroy.”[1] 

For those who have eyes to see and ears to hear, much in our fleeting world and lives is not passing away . . . but lasting!  We’re not dying but rather coming to life . . . not temporarily – eternally! Amid the fragility of our lives, we have wonderful reasons to hope. 

Keep reading Mark 13 – it’s not gloomy – it’s uplifting.  After the darkness this is what happens:  "The Son of Man coming in clouds” with great power and glory.  Then he will send out the angels, riding the four winds [from the four corners] and we will see a glimpse of heaven." (Mark 13.26-27)

Some call this hidden reality “grace” or “Armageddon” while others call it “the kingdom of God” or better yet, “Advent.”  Whatever you call it, once you focus your eyes on the precious center you start to realize that all the torrents of time and circumstance that roll over it serve only to polish it into a precious, imperishable gift. (Nouwen)

That’s the enormous revolution - that in this fleeting world Jesus comes to plant the seed of eternal life.  It’s amid the temporal we see the eternal.  It’s amid the mundane we embrace the sacred. 

We must be a people who become aware of this mysterious presence in our lives -- especially this Advent.  We must be a people who begin to sense a hope while others nurse complaints; we must be a people who experience peace while the air around us seems pervaded by hatred. (Nouwen)

We must hold on to a glimmer of hope that in the midst of the crazy, in the midst of the mundane, in the midst of the illness – God is working and redeeming and making all things new!  This the story of Jesus.  This the message of Advent.  We pray to God, “Come, Lord Jesus!” and God sends Emmanuel – which means “God with us.”  We want Jesus and God gives us Jesus.  We want protection and love and God gives us Jesus.  We want to feel beloved so God gives us Jesus.

Hold on to this hope.  It's enough to change your life.  
[1] Taken and adapted from Henri Nouwen, “Turn your Mourning into dancing” page 45.

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