Advent: Hope

 

As we wait

for our time

to catch up

to your eternity,

we hope in you,

Ancient of Days.

See us here

in our distress

and give us a vision

beyond division.

Love, captivate our hearts

held captive by hate.

Faith, deliver us

from the fate of despair.

We pray for the day

when Joy will swell

in the wake of truth and justice.

Do not leave us here

cold and alone,

shivering in the night.

Awaken us to the light of grace

by the kiss of mercy

and the touch of compassion.

Speed the day

when earth shall be as heaven

for we have long suffered

these unfulfilled longings.

Come, Lord Jesus.

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Advent: Hope

by troy cady

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VIII. God's Pregnancy

VIII. God’s Pregnancy

by Troy Cady

“History is cosmic pregnancy.” -Peter Kreeft

“I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us…We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth…” -The apostle Paul

“Flesh gives birth to flesh, but the Spirit gives birth to spirit.” -Jesus of Nazareth

I believe authentic ministry is an exercise in hope—and the first principle of hope is that we hope because God hopes.

The Bible uses the image of pregnancy to describe God’s hope. It is one of the portions of Scripture that troubles some Christians because it portrays God in feminine terms: God has a womb.

I think it is a beautiful image.

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            The image of a pregnant God accounts for much of the human experience: joy in the midst of pain, patience in waiting, growth and nurture, immanence and transcendence.

            It accounts for the feeling of hearing God’s voice as if from the inside. It is both strange and wonderful that maybe God’s voice is hard for us to understand not because God is so far away but because God is very close. God speaks but we have little capacity to understand what she is saying. God sings and the song gladdens our hearts inexplicably but we have yet to learn the song. Our songs are only imperfect copies of God-song. Comparatively, our songs are just mute potentialities.

            We can be certain of this: God’s voice will be clearer when the new birth happens, when we grow till the life She is giving us is sustained in us. God is patient, confident in the expectation that, in time, we will develop sight, the ability to hear, to grasp, to move…till we have a heart that beats strongly, lungs that breath deeply, mouths that take nourishment and learn to savor, throats to swallow and a chest rising and falling in rhythm.

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            My calling involves reminding others of these truths, that pain may last for a night but joy comes in the morning. If we feel pain momentarily, it is a comfort that we do not suffer alone. It is a comfort to me that our pain is not equivalent to God’s. God may be able to endure the pain better than us because God knows what is happening, what will emerge—but God’s pain is greater than ours, not less. When we suffer, God suffers more.

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            My calling involves reminding others that whatever God makes is beautiful, bears the marks of God, resembles God.

            Each creation God brings forth is unique. I believe that a world of infinite variety could only be made by an infinite God, whose creativity can never be exhausted.

            I believe that God made our bodies and notices that the body is good. My calling involves reminding others to be good to the body, because the body is good.

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            My calling is to help others be aware that God is closer than we think. There is no place we can go that God is not present. We are like pre-born babies in God’s womb. The Person all around knows us better than we know ourselves, loves us like no other. God is for us, not against us. God delights in us, sings over us, is expectant.

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            The specific voice of my calling is a voice of joy, a voice that sounds like play. Whatever God makes, God makes freely because of joy. Whatever God makes is a work that is more like play than work; it is a restful work.

            God makes freely so we who are made in God’s image are free to be ourselves, free to create, free to attach and detach. It is a strange paradox that only by clinging to God closely do we find the deepest freedom.

            God’s pregnancy is no trial to God. God endures because of joy. God embraces and awaits embrace, anticipates deeper communion with us. She smiles when She thinks of all the play we shall enjoy with Her. I smile, too, and want everyone to know Her joy.  

            Ministry is an exercise in hope because God is pregnant. We don’t know precisely what God will bring to life, what grows inside, but we know what comes forth will be good, beautiful and destined for joy.

waiting

It’s time to shop wait.

Sunday marks the beginning of a season that calls us to practice something that is hard for most of us: waiting. It is the season of Advent. The word Advent means “coming” but I suppose we could also call the season “waiting” because that is what we do during Advent. We wait.

For what do we wait? For whom?

We wait for the coming of the Christ.

“But, didn’t he already come?”

Yes, that is what Christians believe. And, yet…we look around and see pain, hunger, corruption, and greed. If Christ, the redeemer, has come…why does the world still look unredeemed?

There are many answers to this question but one answer is: We are still waiting. The king who came...is still coming. This is a mystery in which it seems there are more questions than answers. Christians do not like that. We want answers.

Advent is a time to make friends with unanswered questions. It is a time to quiet the noise so we can hear the questions; it is a time to sit in the midst of the tension those questions create. The tension awakens a longing. The longing cries out, often without words, “Come, Lord.”

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In our time, Christians quote nativity narratives during this season—we cite the early chapters of Matthew and Luke, with a measure of Isaiah and pinches of the minor prophets thrown into the mix. We like the parts about fulfillment. We like the part where the angels make an announcement to the shepherds.

But what do they announce?

“Peace.”

Do we have peace?

No. When we have peace, we will not read about carjackings and the health care crisis; when we have the peace God intends there will be no such thing as death row and deception.

We are still waiting.

A better text to mark the season can be found in Romans 8:

“We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption…the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what they already have? But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.”   -Romans 8:22-25

This is not our typical “Christmas season” text but it is well-suited to reality. There is much here to embrace. Slowly savor these formative words and phrases. You have time; we are waiting.

“creation”

“groaning”

“childbirth”

“wait”

“hope”

“wait for it patiently”

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I understand that it is important to prepare for Christmas by making sure we have all our gifts purchased in good time, but as we hurry to shop maybe we can also find a way to be quick to wait.

Stillness and simplicity come to mind. This season of waiting is certainly counter-cultural. It is hard to wait, to be still, to pare down activity and shopping.

But it is good for us to do so.

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The word “redeem” carries with it the idea of “buying.” When Christians say that Jesus is our Redeemer, they mean that Jesus has “bought us back.” We belong to him now.

I think of that scene in Les Miserables where the kind, old priest refuses to charge Jean Valjean with theft. After the police leave, he tells Jean Valjean that he has just bought his life.

That is the picture of what Christ does for us. We are guilty but he buys our innocence.

What mercy! What grace! What freedom! With such a redemption, what more do we need? 

As we hunt for holiday bargains, I invite you to ask this question. It is an uncomfortable question—certainly counter-cultural—but I do believe it is a good question for us.

“With such a redemption, what more do we need?”

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Waiting does not preclude working. During this season of waiting, we consider those aspects of our world that are still “groaning as in the pains of childbirth.” And, we face the hard truth that just sitting and waiting for “the God who is coming” misses the point. In this in-between period we are given work to do.

At the end of the first Advent, Jesus commissioned us to do the work he modeled for us: heal the sick, feed the poor, “do unto others what you would have them do unto you.” He modeled forgiveness and grace, mercy and justice. He modeled humility and gentleness. He modeled truth, beauty and goodness—all categories that are up for debate in our departments of Philosophy. (We like to call them metaphysics, aesthetics and ethics to skirt the heart of the matter.)

The model of Jesus, however, is so wonderful because it does two things at once for us—and these two things seem to oppose one another.

On the one hand, the model of Jesus lays to rest the question, “How should we then live?” We have an example in the person of Christ. He shows us how to live. In Jesus, we have a crystal clear picture of truth, beauty and goodness.

On the other hand, the model of Jesus stirs a hornet’s nest in us because it begs the question, “How should we then live?” His model is one of freedom. He gives you the task of discovering how you will uniquely embody his character.

The model of Jesus also stirs us to a hoping kind of action because we see that our lives do not match up to his yet. We see that his will is not done “on earth as it is in heaven”—yet.

And, we see that that is precisely the work he has given us to do. When we say “Amen” at the end of speaking The Lord’s Prayer we are saying, “So be it—and empower us to make it so, to cooperate with God in making it so.” There is a tension implicit in calling out “Amen” because when we say it we are asking God to “make it so” while God’s “Amen” replies: “You make it so.” God’s will is that our will would cooperate with his will.

So, God forgives when we forgive. God feeds the hungry when we feed the hungry. We do not need to wait for God to do this because God has given that task to us.

What does this have to do with Advent?

If it seems like peace is a long time coming, work and wait—and you will see Jesus in the faces around you and—Lord willing—yours.

Advent is a good time for waiting and working…which is to say, hoping and redeeming.

I invite you to make friends with waiting these next four weeks.

a fool's hope

Yesterday I posted a thought to my friends that went like this: “I’d rather be hopeful and wrong than despairing and right. Anyone with me?”

A friend wisely responded: “They’re not necessarily mutually exclusive are they?”

Now, that’s the kind of hope I like! Peter, thank you for saying that. It is a good reminder.

That made me realize: hope never lives in a vacuum. There is a context.

In one instance, there is a hope in (and for) enduring qualities like grace, forgiveness, joy, and justice. When we hope in those things, we don’t have to wonder: “Is this hope right or wrong?” We know it’s right. And, whether those qualities win the day (they always do, in the end) we don’t have to wonder if it’s right to take a stand for them, to bank on the hope of them.

Another friend quoted Erasmus, reminding me that, if we face difficulty in taking a stand for what’s right and true, we should not relent. Yes, that is true and good. That is hope.

But hope sometimes resides in another context, and this is what makes the second kind of hope more risky. It is the instance when you are hoping for some kind of outcome, but you are unsure if it will come to pass. You really don’t know. Stepping out into this kind of hope takes faith and you might fail.

The choice to battle cancer is an example of this kind of hope. We don’t know what the outcome will be. We might choose “wrongly.” Cancer might kill us anyway after a grueling course of chemo. Why hope, then? Why subject oneself to such pain and agony? Well…

…what is the option? To resign oneself to death and despair? In some cases, that choice is accompanied by a kind of true peace and, yes, hope. But in those cases where the choice to die is simply a form of hopeless resignation (“I give up”)…well, that is just despair. The despair might be “right.” The person might be right: “I’m going to die anyway.” Well, yes, but…I’d rather be hopeful and wrong than despairing and right.

That is the kind of hope I had in mind. And here’s another instance where hope might “fail”:

We put our hope in other people and I believe this is a good thing. To be sure, some “Christians” out there will raise their eyebrows at such a statement. They will think, “We should only put our hope in Christ.”

But the same Christ who calls us to put our hope in him also asks us to, in a very concrete way, learn to extend hope towards one another. We cannot love one another without working towards trust. To work towards building trust is to work towards the horizon of hope. You can’t separate the call to love from the practice of hope.

And that’s risky, because…people might fail you. You might be proven wrong to put your hope in that person, to trust them, to give love to them. It might hurt you. So, here’s the deal: I’d rather go on hoping, with the risk of being hurt or let down (“wrong about them”), than live isolated from others, mired in despair and be “right” because…”people will hurt me.”

That is no kind of life for anyone.

These days, that is the kind of hope I’m practicing. I have been scrutinized and analyzed by others these past few weeks and, quite honestly, it hurts. A handful of naysayers have very little hope in the hopes God has given me. “He is on a fool’s errand,” they think. Holes have been poked in the idea that God might be a dancer. *Gasp*  Wouldn’t that be simply awful and wrong? “It’s not biblical. Prove it.”

Other friends who have known me for more than a decade begin to question whether I am walking away from “the Good News”, as Christians like to call it. “What does play have to do with that?” they wonder. Some are withdrawing the trust I’ve enjoyed over the years.

I’m the same me, only more so. The new adventure I’m on is because of hope and the God of hope. So, I have no choice but to go on hoping.

I might be wrong and they might be right. But that is no kind of life to live. What’s more: I know in my heart that what I am on is right and true and good. There is nothing bad about it.

But we might fail. We could fall flat on our face; our little experiment could go nowhere. So, yes: I could be “wrong.”  It’s a risky hope.

I love that scene in The Lord of the Rings where the good guys are about to be slaughtered by the bad guys. The question of hope comes up and Gandalf notes: “There never was much hope. A fool’s hope, perhaps.” In spite of that, what are they prepared to do?

Fight and die for that fool’s hope. Because it is right and true and good.

I would rather be hopeful and wrong than despairing and right. Right now, I know in my head that the two are not mutually exclusive, but in my heart it sure feels like they are. I trust to hope that, in the end, this fool’s hope is seen for what it is: right and true and good.

Thank you for understanding. And, I humbly ask, if you have a counter-argument, extend me some grace and keep it to yourself because I'd rather you not try to put out this fire in my gut--even if you're right.

hope

It’s hope Sunday, the first day of Advent. The prophets show us how to hope. They are much more than what we call seers. So, I’ll call them see-ers. They see, declare, and put their skin in the game.  The future compels their words and actions. They live now for what-is-not-now. They agonize for the right words to express what they see. They challenge us to reform our ways because they have reformed theirs in light of a new world. They make us uncomfortable.

The prophets show us how to hope.

Long-armed, hope clasps your hand and pulls you to her. You want to stay planted in the present, and that is good for its own reason, but doing so stretches you till you can no longer bear the tension. To go where hope calls, you must move with her. You must leave your present place. It is only when you resist hope that you feel restless. To move with her is to find that place of stillness-in-motion.  It is a mystery that someone so fully seated in the future can help you be more fully present.

The prophets show us how to hope.

Hope is measured in proportion to suffering. Hope is greater when we hold out hope in the midst of great suffering than when we suffer little and say we hope. When the poor refuse to give up, it means more than when the rich do so. The prophets are the poorest among us—if not in material possessions, certainly in spirit. They have little to cling to in the present so they stretch out with every fiber of their body to the future.

Hope comes from the future, but there is nothing more ancient than hope. Everything that exists now sprang from hope. Christians believe that long, long ago, before time, God hoped. He created the world because of hope and his hope endures. He never stops hoping. To say he lives is to say he hopes. That is why he infects us with hope. His life touches yours. He wants you to catch hope. That is why he has given us prophets, to show us how to hope, to touch our lives with hope.

God’s ancient hope lives on. He still hopes today because he can see there is a greater time coming, a better time, a time with no sadness or pain, a time when there will be no deceit, no bait-and-switch. We won’t have to be suspicious and untrusting. We won’t have to lock our doors. There will be no division between the haves and have-nots because there will be no have-nots. There will be no fear, no worry. In this world of hope, every word spoken will be true and beautiful and good. Every thought will be generous and kind. There will be no bullies. Every life will be celebrated by every other life. No one will be unwanted.

This is what God sees but the message seems distant from us (like it is coming from the other side of the world or from another world entirely). So, we instinctively know if we are to hear hope's call we must be quiet and still ourselves.

Hush, now.

Hear her? She’s whispering.

Follow her voice in good-faith and you will hear her voice becoming stronger, clearer. Keep on. Hope. She’ll strengthen you for the long haul. Her voice now stronger, clearer.

When you finally see her, you’ll meet her outside of time, more beautiful because she has endured the ages, more joyful for her leaping from the present to the future and back again, always leaping.

God himself is our peace because God himself is our hope. The prophets show us this. Join them. 

hope and children

This past Sunday, I had the opportunity to present to a group of kids at our church the first story in a series I'm writing called PlayFull Faith. To be sure, I hope the PlayFull Faith series will help people of all ages—adults and children—but one of the tests I have for it is the “child-friendly” test. I want the story to engage kids and help them interact meaningfully with the content.

Here’s why this matters to me: I believe in a God of hope. In fact, I believe that, though love is the greatest of the three cardinal virtues, it is impossible to love when one has no hope. Hope is a spring from which faith and love become possible.

To hope is to live now in what-is-to-come. It is a posture that relinquishes regret concerning the past and embraces courage in the present because “greater things have yet to come” in the future.

Hope is so foundational a whole theological system has arisen out of it. This “theology of hope” is one that truly embodies the “now-and-not-yet” aspect of the kingdom of God of which Jesus spoke. Faith in this Jesus-of-hope orients one in the present according to “what-will-be”—redemption, joy, beauty, shalom. A true theology of hope enables one to act in love today through a joy-filled vision of the future.

I agree with that much.

But here’s my problem with many of our so-called theologies. They fail to take children into account—not merely as objects of theology but as subjects—or rather, as authors. Yet, what better resource is there to develop a theology of hope than children?  Children have the best chance of living out hope since their future is greater than their past. “The future” is what they have. “The past” is what they will have, in time.

Because of this, PlayFull Faith is intended for all—both young and old—to discover what it means to live in hope. The stories in the series are derived from The Story, as told in the Bible. That Big Story reminds us we are destined for things that spring from Someone “who was and is and is to come.”  If these stories are not for children, they cannot be for any of us—because, before our Father, we are all children.

Be on the lookout—especially for this first story in the series. I expect it will be used in all kinds of settings to help folks dream about the future. Yes, the creation story is not just about something that happened in the past. It is a story about the future.

And thank you for all the encouragement so many of you have given thus far! You truly give the folks at PlayFull “hope to carry on.”

Smiles,

Troy

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This article was originally posted over at playfull.org. I invite you to visit PlayFull on Facebook and give us a like! 

a woman of hope

Let me tell you why it is appropriate for me to write about Heather as this advent week of hope comes to a close: she is a woman of hope, truly.

For as long as I have known her, she has been a woman of strength and endurance. She endured the passing of her mother at a young age. She waited and hoped longer than most to bear children. She waited years to realize the dream of overseas mission work—which is something she felt called to for as long as she could remember. In the midst of that mission work, she endured patiently and with hope the ups and downs of frontline pioneering.

Since we’ve moved back from Spain, she has done still more waiting and hoping. She works at a job now not because she feels particularly fulfilled in it, but rather because she knows her family needs her to work at it. At times, her work environment is…shall we say…less than ideal. But, she presses on unselfishly thinking of others before herself.

So, it stands to reason, she’d be looking for a different job—one that’s more fulfilling and energizing. And that’s just what she’s been doing for more than a year and a half now.

In fact, before she found the job she’s working at now, she applied to a university that’s very close to our house. The proximity is just one small component of other factors that attract her to this place: it is the kind of university that aligns with our life’s values on many levels.  

But in spite of her attempts to get hired at this place, she has not been able to snag a job there. She has applied two different times and been turned down both times.

Now, she has been granted two more interviews. One is tomorrow at an office which is in the same denomination as the university and the other interview will be at the university in question.

She came home today, understandably, stressed. None of us like to get our hopes up only to have them dashed to the rocks. Yet, if she is going to do well in the interviews, she knows that is precisely what she must do—show some enthusiasm and confidence which naturally leads to getting one’s hopes up.

So…what to do? Go into the interview with a fatalistic mindset and resolve oneself to rejection or…go into it with hope? What to do, indeed.

Tonight, she needed some emotional and physical rest. A hug and a small cry.  A heartfelt prayer about light in the darkness uttered by her teenage daughter. Reclining by the Christmas tree shining gently in the evening. Some candles, a comfortable chair and a little soul-silence accompanied only by cello and piano. She has gone to bed now.  

And the God of hope watches over her. He will neither slumber nor sleep. He knows her coming and her going. He has numbered her every breath and named each tear she has shed.

I do not know if she will get one of these jobs. I do know she is intelligent and qualified enough to do them.

But more than that, I know and she knows that she is God’s child and in Him she lives and moves. She is beloved more than any of us can ever know.

That’s hope. So sleep well, my love.  The night will pass.

hope of hope

A friend of mine recently returned home from a tour of duty overseas with the Army. There are pictures of him reuniting with his family. Smiles abound, broader than typical. They are embracing one another, sharing kisses.

I find in this little scene a parable of hope. On the one hand, there is the hope that lives in the midst of separation and hardship. It is the waiting hope. It is expectancy, longing, prayer—hoping for something that is yet to come.

On the other hand, there is the hope of delivery. Think gestation and child-birth. Yes, the waiting time is pregnant and somehow strangely filled with joyful expectation, but nothing matches the joy of fulfillment. This represents the hope that comes with a new day, of promises delivered. It is sunrise hope and its power can be experienced only after the watching and waiting of a long, hard, sleepless night.

As great as that hope is, there is still a greater hope. I call it the hope of hope. We know there is this kind of hope because it is the only way to explain why we keep hoping when hopes are fulfilled. It means there is something still greater to come.

As I thought about my friend coming home, I found myself hoping for something even greater than the joyful reunion portrayed in the photographs. I found myself hoping for a day when no reunions will be needed because no separations will occur, a day when no peace treaties will be drafted because no wars will be waged. The Bible calls it shalom. It is the day when all will be well, and all will be well, and all will be well. This is the final hope of our hoping.  And this is what we wait for and long for.  It is why the season of Advent begins with hope and ends with peace.

Lord, I pray you will speed the day when we will know first-hand this hope of hope.

two kinds of hope

This week of Advent is Hope week.

There are two kinds of hope.

First, there is the hope that comes when promises are fulfilled.

Before that, however, there is the hope that endures while waiting for promises to be fulfilled.

We spend our lives hoping for the first kind of hope. It is the hope of deliverance delivered, freedom bestowed, forgiveness granted and joy claimed. We have all experienced slices of this kind of hope. That is what emboldens us to carry on hoping for greater things. No one lives without the experience of being graced.  

This side of eternity, however, we must grapple with the fact that fulfilled hope is only part of the story. Longing still breathes in the midst of redemption. We are not home yet. So, we need the second hope—which is really a hope of the first order. It is what I call “capital H Hope”.

The ancient question “How long, O Lord, how long?” forms the core of this second type of hope.

Our lifespan stretches and hope grows in proportion. It is a strange truth that we expect life to get easier but reality is stubborn. The longer we live the more we come to expect that our waiting should be over. So, hoping gets harder. We have to fight for it inside. It is likely I will die “groaning, as in the pains of childbirth, as I wait eagerly for my adoption as His child...” (Romans 8:22-23, adapted). 

The mystery of hope is that it resides in the middle of groaning.

My grandmother died before her prayers were answered. She prayed for about half a century, almost every day. She prayed for healed lives, new births. She saw some answered prayers and some she did not see. Yet, she still believed and she still praised her Father. She still hoped against hope, like the prophets of old.

May we follow her example. May we follow their example.Let us hope in the middle of groaning.