Prisoners Of Hope

At the start of the Advent Season, I came across a concept that has stuck with me over the past 25 days leading up to Christmas.  I was reading Scott Daniels Advent Devotional, "Let Earth Receive Her King," and on the first day he mentions civil rights advocate, Cornel West, declaring these words in regards to his work in race relations, "No. No.  No.  I'm not optimistic or pessimistic.  That's an attitude.  I'm a prisoner of Hope."  Daniels goes on to challenge us to do the same.  To live as people who have been so captured by the hope of Jesus that we can't escape it.  To believe that the God who called us, whose led us this far, will be faithful to finish the work he started.  To be people who simply can't despair.

To be honest, it's easier to lean into the despair.  Whether it's choosing to imprison ourselves in the disappointment or endlessly counting all the losses we've felt over and over again, despair is often the easier choice.

The past 12 months of my life have continued to give me the choice over and over again.  Hope or despair.  As I've experienced an unknown future at my job...hope or despair.  As we've been faced with the challenges that have come with a Global Pandemic...hope or despair.  As I've faced disappointment in circumstances and disappointment in people...hope or despair.  It's always a choice.  It's easier to choose despair.

Here's the thing though.  Despair is a terrible thing to be a prisoner of.  Despair traps us into believe that there is no way out.  It has a way of squelching joy.  It captures the thoughts in our minds and teaches us to believe change is not possible.  Despair gets us to believe our circumstances dictate everything and that can be a hopeless place to sit.  Despair has a way of getting us to forget who God is and all that God has made us to be.

The other day I was at my parents house, once again, reliving whatever despair had me captivated that week.  My Dad said this to me, "Ang, you've got to stop focusing on all that not happening and start to focus on all that is.  We are prisoners of hope and that should change everything."  I walked away thinking about that statement.

We are prisoners of hope and that should change everything.

Hope is more than optimism.  It's an expectation that God's going to show up, no matter the circumstance we find ourselves in.  He probably won't arrive the way we expect Him to, in some neatly wrapped package all ready to "fix" our situation.  Most likely, He will come in the unexpected.  After all, the world probably wasn't expecting Him to show up in a pint size baby form, ready to save the world. 

About a week after my Dad said those words to me, our church had a Town Hall Meeting to interview a potential Pastoral Candidate, one who could eventually become my boss if chosen.  I had decided to run a quick errand before it started and found myself with a whole lot of emotions.  Truth be told, my job is often a place where I find myself wrestling with hope and despair in the midst of challenging circumstances, and this past year had felt amplified.  Then these words came on my playlist

Children weep no more.

Hope is on the horizon.

Weary world rejoice

Your promised Messiah

Angels let your song begin

Here comes heaven

Christ is born in Bethlehem

Here comes heaven

I'm not sure why, but in that moment, something shifted in my soul and I began to weep.  I felt like God was saying to me, "I've got you Andrea.  I've had you this whole time."  I began to remember all the times that God had shown up over the past year, despite some really hard situations I had to go through.  I remembered the words from scripture that I had written in my journal after feeling like I had heard from him.  I remembered the conversations that I had with God at the beach during quarantine.  I remembered his still small voice when I needed it most.  I remembered the way he sat with me in my deep disappointment and the times he reminded me he had called me, and nothing could change that. Despite my circumstances...hope was always on the horizon.

In those moments I decided I couldn't afford to be a prisoner of despair, one who lives as though there is a total absence of hope.  That life is one that robs us of joy, goodness, and the bright spots God keeps punching in the darkness.  It's a life that imprisons us in a way that holds us back.  I wanted to chain myself to hope like my life depended on it, believing that God is in the middle of doing something epic, even when we can't see it.

As I was packing up my stuff after the meeting that day and was just about to walk out, I kid you not, that song came on the church playlist throughout the sanctuary (which by the way I had only heard once before that).  It was as though God was whispering again, "I've got you, Andrea."  Hope is on the horizon.  

That's the hope I'm imprisoned by.  That's the hope that changes everything.