The Truth is… We Want Hope in a Wrapper

False hope is ubiquitous and alluring.  Disappointment, loss, betrayal and assaults have persuaded many of us that trust can only, must only be placed in ourselves because vulnerability to others equals more of the same pain.  Cynicism, bitterness and resentment eat away at our hope like a powerful acid.  As if that weren’t enough, the evil one attacks by amplifying shame which suffuses our thinking, convincing many to remain seated in the chair of resignation until even hope itself feels like cruelty.  For some who do manage to reach one last time for help at a church, the unspoken discomfort often found there can feel like the final dead end because of foolishly promoted moralism.  The people there are just like them, fighting hidden sin with their own will and losing; their chair of resignation just happens to be located at church.  All of this is the deep, tangible, frighteningly real nature of evil and sin, and without real hope, it’s where every one of us will remain.

So what is real hope?  I believe every human being knows the answer, has perceived the truth in some part of their hearts.  Many could even articulate it quite well if asked.  Real hope is trustworthy and pure.  Real hope rescues and always comes through.  Real hope knows what to do, targets the real problem – the cause of the pain, not the effects.  Real hope doesn’t shrug and say, “I tried,” but stays and continues to grow in strength.  And real hope requires real power; not necessarily impressive or shocking or even satisfying power, but power that is somehow beyond the daily wounds and thorns of human life and yet thoroughly intimate with them.

The Bible mentions hope a great deal; 180 times give or take, depending on the translation.  That alone doesn’t make it real, but it does demonstrate that hope is important to God.  We all know that already, right?  So then, why is real hope so hard to find?  And why are so many of us failing to grasp it?  See the first paragraph – each of us is cut by some of these broken shards of life every day.  We don’t miss real hope because it doesn’t exist or because it’s hiding, but because we have an enemy who doesn’t want us to find it, and because our flesh falls for shiny packages and grand marketing.  The truth is, many of us want hope in a wrapper, something we can grab onto whenever we feel down, a handy pick-me-up.  And that’s usually what we settle for.  Quick carbs, quick rush, no power, no lasting help.  In the end, dances with these false, weak hope-posers only deepen and intensify our grief and bitterness, and we sit back down in the chair, even more ashamed.

Jesus does not call us to be ashamed of ourselves, but rather to take on his perspective of us:  his exquisite creations, unique and intricate.  Picture his passionate heart crafting one original masterpiece after another with love, his laughter and joy as he works in infinite colors and textures, blending and shading them into complex works never before seen and impossible to replicate.  In our current state, deceived and distorted, immersed in foolishness and evil, yes; but never without worth or value to him.  What were his first words to his disciples – those lost men, living day to day, just as confused and heartbroken as many of us, striving for peace, for hope – whom he had long before chosen?  Follow me.  Those are his words to each of us as well, penetrating the grimy layers of disillusionment and hopelessness.  He calls us to follow him out into the light and take our place with him, dying to sin and mistrust of God, to arrogance and pride, to the world of endless medication and fantasy and to Satan and his kingdom, and entering a new life alive to God and filled with his life and spirit.  Are the problems still going to be there?  Of course.  So then why bother?  Because the problems are still there.  No matter who we are or what choices we make, we still have to deal with them.  Each day for each person on this earth is filled with blessings and beauty, if we can see them, but will also involve grappling with confusion, suffering and loss and struggling with difficult situations and relationships, whether we walk in the cloudy, polluted and slippery muck of self-sufficiency or the daylight, oxygen and dry ground of grace and trust in Jesus.  Honestly, which one sounds better?

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The Truth Is… Gripping the Present Harms the Future

Good times can be hard to release.

 

When crisis is absent, relationships are in sync, my health is good and finances are balanced, I can unconsciously decide to try to preserve that moment, that state.  Knowing God is a given, no maintenance required, but those pleasures must be protected.  So, even as I move away from the Lord, ironically I still expect, even feel entitled to, the pleasure and peace I enjoyed while with him.  While the possibility of stress and fear of discordant outcomes doesn’t seem significant in his presence, once I make my move, that perspective is quickly dispersed and the pressure begins building.

 

The truth is, beyond being futile, gripping my present so tightly harms my future.  If I resist God’s good work to grow me up in favor of staying put, I’ve again wrenched back control from his perfect will and begun managing the elements of my life to form my vision of a good future.  From his endless affection, Father still gives wonderful gifts to me, but I tend toward dismissing their power; enjoying the benefit but ignoring the source.  I suppose that could be a decent seven-word summary of idolatry.  I’d love to say I recognize what’s happening right away and quickly turn back, but it is only when I have traveled a few miles and been sufficiently disturbed by hazards that I realize the error – the repeated error – I’ve committed.  Somewhere along the way, those gifts became my reason and purpose.  With my smiling approval, they became my gods.

 

As my eyes shed their fog, shame and embarrassment pang; my foolishness is distressingly familiar, and I stare, incredulous that I could again voluntarily choose blindness.  Yet even this he redeems!  As I return to him much like the wayward son in Luke 15:17-20, understanding sprouts through the soil of my repentance.  I rediscover his heart and his character as he hugs me tightly, and after a terrible, lost moment, I hug him back.  He suffocates my fear with his love.  The healing from the new wounds will take longer, I know, but I feel no doubt it will come.

 

After several trips through this craggy trail of godless striving I’ve begun to see his intent.  God will always allow our brash interpretations and headstrong wills to take us away from his heart into struggle and suffering and pain – not to punish us, but rather to bring repentance, restoration and peace through letting reality burn away the dross of our foolishness.  And despite apprehension of the experience, I am grateful.  And I’m awed by the agonizing, deliberate restraint of a father who can remove the suffering, but for our sake does not, because he knows it will not last forever, that we will emerge more alive than ever before.  So he suffers with his children through the inevitable shock, accusations and desperate pleading until we collapse into his arms, finally surrendered.  He never takes offense or throws up his hands in exasperation.  His grace, the beautiful, pure grace of the only complete father for his children, never runs out.

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