The Thrill of Hope
I'm sitting in my home today, a bleak grey sky outside the windows. The wind is whipping around the house, violent and almost angry in its force. I have to be honest. The weather mirrors life in so many ways. This has been a dark season--for myself, for my children, for my family, and for so many people I know. We've often felt buffeted and battered, whipped by winds that seemed stronger than we are. We sit under a grey sky, weary, exhausted, afraid.
Maybe that's why the song that played on the radio as I sat there gripped me so much. I feel as though I've heard every Christmas song a hundred times, but as the lyrics of "O Holy Night" played today, I felt tears streaming down my cheeks.
Having grown up in the church, I count it a privilege that I've always known the Christmas story. It's a gift to have sat with this beautiful account year after year. And yet, familiarity often makes me numb to the details. I read the story from the end backward, knowing the hope that's in store for the characters. But they didn't have that benefit. Like all of us in our own seasons of darkness, they sat in the unknown, buffeted and battered, weary, exhausted, afraid.
How desperate they were for hope. For change. For a savior. For centuries they'd cried out, straining to see him yet not knowing what to look for. I forget, sometimes, how desperate they were for hope.
As I listened to the lyrics, I could hear the desperation.
Long lay the world
In sin and error pining
The weary world
Oh, how I resonate with the words!
I sit so long, waiting for answers. I sit in the darkness, in the weight, in the unknown, in the grief, in the fear. I'm not alone. We sit in our mess, don't we, for so long just pining for something better. We're weary.
Sometimes we sit for so long that we begin to lose our confidence. Maybe we think we're not worth answers. That the mess we're sitting in has come to define us. That we're not worth the hope we so desperately crave. Oh, the lies we believe in our dark places.
Til he appeared
and the soul felt its worth
The soul felt its worth. Oh, how often I've forgotten. How often I've let the brokenness define me. How often I've truly believed I wasn't worth the fight, worth the hope, worth the saving.
But he appears. He came. He did it. Can you feel the thrill yet? The thrill of hope?
He came. The creator of everything, the God of the universe, the Almighty, All Powerful, All Knowing, All Loving. He doesn't just love, he is love. And I know because of this line.
He gave it all up. All of it. He appeared, he stepped into the darkness with us. A baby--helpless, humble, powerless--so he could grow up among us. Walk with us. Live with us. Save us. How is this love? He did it for us. Not because we were capable, competent, or had it all together. But because he loved us. Because in his eyes our soul had worth--so much worth, that he was willing to give it all to show us.
The soul felt its worth.
Oh, how often I've forgotten mine.
And there's more.
A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn
This darkness we're sitting in, this is not the end of the story. This is not all there is. There's a thrill of hope, a beacon, a reason for those of us who are weary and worn down to rejoice. This is not the end. Do you see it? That first light on the horizon, that "new and glorious morn?" The darkness doesn't win! The darkness doesn't consume us. There's more to this story than the present darkness, and what comes next is so beautiful, so bright, so full of hope.
As Christmas approaches, I pray the full weight of its beauty and radical promise of hope rests on you. I pray you'll see through the cracks of familiarity to resonate with the broken and the unknown so that you might feel the same thrill of hope as all those who lived so many years ago. I pray you'll see past the traditions and get-togethers to find a God more beautiful and loving than anything you've known--a God who deemed your soul so worthy, so valuable that he was willing to give it all for you. I pray for each of us who sit in the dark, in the unknown, in the broken that the hope of Christmas will be real and life-changing. Because this darkness--like the darkness on that Holy Night--is not the end of the story.
Maybe that's why the song that played on the radio as I sat there gripped me so much. I feel as though I've heard every Christmas song a hundred times, but as the lyrics of "O Holy Night" played today, I felt tears streaming down my cheeks.
Having grown up in the church, I count it a privilege that I've always known the Christmas story. It's a gift to have sat with this beautiful account year after year. And yet, familiarity often makes me numb to the details. I read the story from the end backward, knowing the hope that's in store for the characters. But they didn't have that benefit. Like all of us in our own seasons of darkness, they sat in the unknown, buffeted and battered, weary, exhausted, afraid.
How desperate they were for hope. For change. For a savior. For centuries they'd cried out, straining to see him yet not knowing what to look for. I forget, sometimes, how desperate they were for hope.
As I listened to the lyrics, I could hear the desperation.
Long lay the world
In sin and error pining
The weary world
Oh, how I resonate with the words!
I sit so long, waiting for answers. I sit in the darkness, in the weight, in the unknown, in the grief, in the fear. I'm not alone. We sit in our mess, don't we, for so long just pining for something better. We're weary.
Sometimes we sit for so long that we begin to lose our confidence. Maybe we think we're not worth answers. That the mess we're sitting in has come to define us. That we're not worth the hope we so desperately crave. Oh, the lies we believe in our dark places.
Til he appeared
and the soul felt its worth
The soul felt its worth. Oh, how often I've forgotten. How often I've let the brokenness define me. How often I've truly believed I wasn't worth the fight, worth the hope, worth the saving.
But he appears. He came. He did it. Can you feel the thrill yet? The thrill of hope?
He came. The creator of everything, the God of the universe, the Almighty, All Powerful, All Knowing, All Loving. He doesn't just love, he is love. And I know because of this line.
He gave it all up. All of it. He appeared, he stepped into the darkness with us. A baby--helpless, humble, powerless--so he could grow up among us. Walk with us. Live with us. Save us. How is this love? He did it for us. Not because we were capable, competent, or had it all together. But because he loved us. Because in his eyes our soul had worth--so much worth, that he was willing to give it all to show us.
The soul felt its worth.
Oh, how often I've forgotten mine.
And there's more.
A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn
This darkness we're sitting in, this is not the end of the story. This is not all there is. There's a thrill of hope, a beacon, a reason for those of us who are weary and worn down to rejoice. This is not the end. Do you see it? That first light on the horizon, that "new and glorious morn?" The darkness doesn't win! The darkness doesn't consume us. There's more to this story than the present darkness, and what comes next is so beautiful, so bright, so full of hope.
As Christmas approaches, I pray the full weight of its beauty and radical promise of hope rests on you. I pray you'll see through the cracks of familiarity to resonate with the broken and the unknown so that you might feel the same thrill of hope as all those who lived so many years ago. I pray you'll see past the traditions and get-togethers to find a God more beautiful and loving than anything you've known--a God who deemed your soul so worthy, so valuable that he was willing to give it all for you. I pray for each of us who sit in the dark, in the unknown, in the broken that the hope of Christmas will be real and life-changing. Because this darkness--like the darkness on that Holy Night--is not the end of the story.
