The Problem and Answer to Hope
At the core of my faith lies a love for liturgy.
I'm not sure when it happened, but sometime between the years of celebrating communion weekly and the spring when I was twelve and first began practicing Lent (I fasted soda and promptly failed at my commitment when I went on a cruise and my aunt bought me an all-you-can-drink beverage pass), I cultivated a deep set love of tradition. Much of my year is marked by the seasons of the church calendar. It simultaneously reminds me of the unchanging nature of God in the midst of my ever changing life, and makes me feel connected to the thousands of believers with and before me who engage with Jesus through these cycles of light, life, and love.
Last Sunday, November 29th, marked the beginning of the Christian year (Happy New Year!) and ushered in the season of Advent. It's a season of waiting, one where we anticipate the coming of Christ represented in His virgin birth, the coming of Christ in our present lives, and His future coming to bring forth a new heaven and new earth.
Traditionally speaking, the first week of Advent is representative of hope. I've been dwelling on that theme all week, and I must confess: Lately, hope and I have not gotten along.
This advent feels differently than most. Rather than being in a stage of waiting, my life is very much at a point of fulfillment. My time at MSU concludes on Friday, this culmination that I have been waiting for practically since they began mentioning college in first grade. And while that is exciting and nerve-wracking and unfathomable all wrapped up into one, I finally realized that a lot of what I'm feeling right now could truly be summed up best as disappointment.
I had a lot of hopes about my college experience. I walked on to the MSU campus scared, but with abundant hope for what would happen in my relationships, my spiritual life, my ministry, and my academics. While I did have tremendous joys here (and I promise a blog post on that is coming this week), this season has also been one of the hardest of my life. So many of my hopes and dreams and childish fantasies about who I would be and what I would feel like as I walked away from college did not get fulfilled. It's discouraging.
My journal this semester is riddled with mournful posts about my frustrations with hope. It is full of pleas to God, asking Him to keep my hopes small. I get heavily invested in things, whether they be movies or the fantasies I have dreamt up in my head. I keep thinking that if I don't hope for as much, there won't be as many places to be disappointed.
The problem with hope is how painful it can be when it's not realized.
I must admit, I have a great degree of sympathy for the Israelites and those Pharisees this Christmas season. They were hoping and waiting for this strong Messiah, this powerful king, the one who would overthrow the government and free them all... And they got Jesus. A tiny baby, in a tiny little town that once made Nathanael ask, "Nazareth! Can anything good come from there?" I'm starting to understand even just a smidgen of what that must have been like: To hope and wait for something for years, only to not have your prayers answered the way you wanted.
And yet, while Christ was not what they were looking for, He was ever so much more than what the Jews could have asked or imagined. He was the answer to their hope, even if so many of the people looking didn't recognize Him.
Maybe that's the response. Maybe instead of hoping for such specific things, many of which are pretty trivial, I should hope for God to show up. I should keep my eyes open to the ways that He already has fulfilled my wishes and desires, the longings of my heart-- even if those responses are not picture perfect replications of my daydreams. Just as Jesus was so different and so much better than what the Israelites were hoping for, I faithfully believe that the ways God fulfills my hopes are much more beneficial and good than what my earthly heart had envisioned, if only I am pliant enough to acknowledge and embrace it.
I know that there are good hopes that we have that we never see an answer to. I know that there are times that God responds and we still feel disappointed. Even so, I still think Jesus is the answer to the problematic pain hope can bring. When I put my hope in Jesus, I am putting my hope in the fact that one day, He will come again. I am putting my hope in the words of Revelation, when the author states, "And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, 'Look! God's dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.'"
Throughout this season of Advent, I've been coaxing my heart into whispering to God the words of Matt Maher's "O Come O Come Emmanuel," that instead of being disappointed, I would "Rejoice, again I say rejoice / For unto us is born the Savior of the world / Take heart, oh weary soul, take heart / For help is on its way / And holy is His name."
Whatever our relationship is with hope this Advent, whether it is a happy anticipation of things to come or a painful acknowledgement of hope unfulfilled, could we still rejoice in this season? Could we remember that hope placed fully in Jesus will never go unsatisfied? That one day in history He came, making our lives infinitely better, and that one day He will come again to fully redeem this broken reality?
Oh God, would you help us to not lose hope this Christmas. Would we be open to seeing the places you have fulfilled our desires, and would we expectantly await and hope for the day that you make everything new.
Like the people of Israel, we wait for you this Christmas, God. The Spirit and the bride say come.
I'm not sure when it happened, but sometime between the years of celebrating communion weekly and the spring when I was twelve and first began practicing Lent (I fasted soda and promptly failed at my commitment when I went on a cruise and my aunt bought me an all-you-can-drink beverage pass), I cultivated a deep set love of tradition. Much of my year is marked by the seasons of the church calendar. It simultaneously reminds me of the unchanging nature of God in the midst of my ever changing life, and makes me feel connected to the thousands of believers with and before me who engage with Jesus through these cycles of light, life, and love.
Last Sunday, November 29th, marked the beginning of the Christian year (Happy New Year!) and ushered in the season of Advent. It's a season of waiting, one where we anticipate the coming of Christ represented in His virgin birth, the coming of Christ in our present lives, and His future coming to bring forth a new heaven and new earth.
Traditionally speaking, the first week of Advent is representative of hope. I've been dwelling on that theme all week, and I must confess: Lately, hope and I have not gotten along.
This advent feels differently than most. Rather than being in a stage of waiting, my life is very much at a point of fulfillment. My time at MSU concludes on Friday, this culmination that I have been waiting for practically since they began mentioning college in first grade. And while that is exciting and nerve-wracking and unfathomable all wrapped up into one, I finally realized that a lot of what I'm feeling right now could truly be summed up best as disappointment.
I had a lot of hopes about my college experience. I walked on to the MSU campus scared, but with abundant hope for what would happen in my relationships, my spiritual life, my ministry, and my academics. While I did have tremendous joys here (and I promise a blog post on that is coming this week), this season has also been one of the hardest of my life. So many of my hopes and dreams and childish fantasies about who I would be and what I would feel like as I walked away from college did not get fulfilled. It's discouraging.
My journal this semester is riddled with mournful posts about my frustrations with hope. It is full of pleas to God, asking Him to keep my hopes small. I get heavily invested in things, whether they be movies or the fantasies I have dreamt up in my head. I keep thinking that if I don't hope for as much, there won't be as many places to be disappointed.
The problem with hope is how painful it can be when it's not realized.
I must admit, I have a great degree of sympathy for the Israelites and those Pharisees this Christmas season. They were hoping and waiting for this strong Messiah, this powerful king, the one who would overthrow the government and free them all... And they got Jesus. A tiny baby, in a tiny little town that once made Nathanael ask, "Nazareth! Can anything good come from there?" I'm starting to understand even just a smidgen of what that must have been like: To hope and wait for something for years, only to not have your prayers answered the way you wanted.
And yet, while Christ was not what they were looking for, He was ever so much more than what the Jews could have asked or imagined. He was the answer to their hope, even if so many of the people looking didn't recognize Him.
Maybe that's the response. Maybe instead of hoping for such specific things, many of which are pretty trivial, I should hope for God to show up. I should keep my eyes open to the ways that He already has fulfilled my wishes and desires, the longings of my heart-- even if those responses are not picture perfect replications of my daydreams. Just as Jesus was so different and so much better than what the Israelites were hoping for, I faithfully believe that the ways God fulfills my hopes are much more beneficial and good than what my earthly heart had envisioned, if only I am pliant enough to acknowledge and embrace it.
I know that there are good hopes that we have that we never see an answer to. I know that there are times that God responds and we still feel disappointed. Even so, I still think Jesus is the answer to the problematic pain hope can bring. When I put my hope in Jesus, I am putting my hope in the fact that one day, He will come again. I am putting my hope in the words of Revelation, when the author states, "And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, 'Look! God's dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.'"
Throughout this season of Advent, I've been coaxing my heart into whispering to God the words of Matt Maher's "O Come O Come Emmanuel," that instead of being disappointed, I would "Rejoice, again I say rejoice / For unto us is born the Savior of the world / Take heart, oh weary soul, take heart / For help is on its way / And holy is His name."
Whatever our relationship is with hope this Advent, whether it is a happy anticipation of things to come or a painful acknowledgement of hope unfulfilled, could we still rejoice in this season? Could we remember that hope placed fully in Jesus will never go unsatisfied? That one day in history He came, making our lives infinitely better, and that one day He will come again to fully redeem this broken reality?
Oh God, would you help us to not lose hope this Christmas. Would we be open to seeing the places you have fulfilled our desires, and would we expectantly await and hope for the day that you make everything new.
Like the people of Israel, we wait for you this Christmas, God. The Spirit and the bride say come.
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