Hope for Today
We can’t take anymore. Jesus, we just can’t take anymore.
As I observe tragedy after tragedy happening in the North Knox community, these are the words I have come up with, the words that I have been saying to God. The past 8 months feel like they have come straight from hell. So much pain, so much loss, so many tears. Viewing after viewing, funeral after funeral. I just keep wondering when it’s going to stop.
While it has been amazing to see all the people promising to pray, all the love that has surrounded our community, from within and without, I just want to take a second here to give everyone affected by these tragedies the freedom to say this:
It is not okay.
A moment of holy anger to say that this is NOT how life was meant to be. This is not how God created this world. He created this world without death, without pain, without loss. But sin has royally screwed it up. Because of sin, the world is full of brokenness. This is blunt, I know, but we’re all feeling it, the deep aching hurt that loss brings. Maybe it’s okay to come together and admit it; not cover up our pain with the things we know we should say (“It will all be okay.” “Everything will work out for good.” “We’re fine.”) Maybe this is the first step to finding hope, real hope, in the middle of all this.
Because that has been my question lately, “Where is the hope for today?” Yes, I believe that one day, in heaven, we will be reunited with those we have lost. I can have hope in that. But am I supposed to just survive until then? Miserable every day of my life, waiting for the day when I am finally in heaven. Because, I don’t know about all of you, but that day seems a long way away. I refuse to believe that the man who said that He came to bring life to the fullest wants me to live that way. But how can we live any other way, when life is this desperately grim?
I think what we try to do is slap some cliché words on our pain (that sound good but don’t even come close to touching our grief) and move on with life as “normal.” Or, at least, normal looking. Because the face we put on looks normal, until the mask slips and our completely wrecked inside shows through. We become angry at the drop of a hat, have days where we don’t want to talk to a single soul; flounder in conversation because we have no clue what to say. The truth is, inside our hearts, we are about as far from normal as we could get, if normal means the way that life was in our community 8 months ago. We say all the right things: we say we will pray, we say we are doing okay, but really, we are grasping, gasping for hope, real hope, for today.
I don’t have answers; I don’t think any of us do. I can’t explain why it happened or how exactly we are going to get through this. I wish I could. I really wish I could. And I know you all do too. But I realized tonight, as I collapsed on the floor of my bedroom after hearing about two more deaths in our community, we do have hope for today.
“Brothers and sisters, we do not want you to be uninformed about those who sleep in death, so that you do not grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope…For God did not appoint us to suffer wrath but to receive salvation through our Lord Jesus Christ. He died for us so that, whether we are awake or asleep, we may live together with Him.”
(1 Thessalonians 4:13; 5:9-10)
The resurrection of Christ, that’s what gives us hope, real hope, for today. Because He is alive, death, sin’s greatest win and weapon, is gone! When speaking with Martha, His friend grieving the loss of her brother, Jesus said, “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die.” (John 11:25-26). This is his promise to those of us who believe and live in Him: those who have died, they are actually alive, and those of us who are still alive, we will never actually die. Death, gone, because He lives. We can keep getting up in the morning because we have something that nothing in this world, not even death can touch. Eternal life residing inside of us because of the resurrection power of Jesus Christ. Awake, asleep, all of us together, one with Him.
This is our hope. Not that everything will return to normal, because it won’t. Not that all the pain will disappear tomorrow, because it will still be here, trust me. No, our hope is in one thing: life in Christ. Because He lives, we have a hope and a purpose that is not rooted in anything in this world. With our eyes on eternity, we keep walking in pace with the Lord, one step at a time.
Hope and hurt, both existing at the same time here on earth. The hope is just as real as the hurt, even though we don’t always feel like it. And one day, oh that glorious day, hope will win out over the hurt. And until that day, hope grows as hurt fades. On earth, the hurt will always be there in some way. But the hurt fluctuates, our hope is constant and eternal. Constant hope enables perseverance and purpose through pain.
As a community, I invite us to do two things.
One: be honest together. Let’s be real with each other. We are all hurting, nothing is normal, none of us are really fine. So let’s quit covering it up with fake strength. Real strength comes from admitting our weakness and letting God be strong in us. Let’s be vulnerable with each other, admit our struggles and doubts, and give each other the freedom to grieve.
Two: be hopeful together. Paul goes on in 1 Thessalonians 5:11 to say, “Therefore, encourage one another and build one another up, just as you are doing.” Remind each other of the hope we have in Christ, the real hope for today, hope in His resurrection. And if you know people who are not living in Christ, tell them about Him. About this hope. Because they need it too. We all do.