Hope

Hope
Romans 5:1–5
June 3, 2007
University Christian Church, Seattle, WA
Rev. Sandy Messick

The place to begin is where it’s not.

You see, there’s a problem with this passage. Or rather, there’s a problem with how this passage has been used.
“I rejoice in my suffering because suffering leads to endurance and endurance builds character and character leads to hope.” With the implicit, and sometimes explicit message that you should rejoice in your suffering.
And so this passage has been used to say to those in desperate circumstances: “Rejoice! Your suffering is good news because in the end, it will make you a better person.”
Can you imagine saying that to a person who really was suffering? You probably can, because some well-meaning person has probably said it to you when you were facing your darkest hour. But what is the image of God portrayed in such a statement:
I knew someone once dying from Lou Gehrig’s disease which has to be one of the worst diseases because the body wastes away while the mind remains intact. What would it say about God to say to such a person: “This really is a good thing, because it will strengthen your faith?”
What message does it send to the homeless person digging in the dumpster for her next meal: “Rejoice my friend! For God has put you in this situation to build your character.”
Imagine the impact on the family of one of our service men and women killed in Iraq, or upon the family of one of the thousands of Iraqi civilians killed if we were to say, “Congratulations! Here is your opportunity to build your endurance.”
Of course we wouldn’t say any of those things. First, because we’re not that callous, I hope. And second, because to say those things implies that God has done this to you in order to teach you a lesson. God has nailed you to the wall, and you should rejoice because it’s for your own good.
My friends, that image of God doesn’t fit with the God I know who desires the best for us and weeps and walks with us in our adversity. So that interpretation of this passage doesn’t work either.
This passage doesn’t say “give thanks for your suffering.” Instead, it proclaims the good news: “Even in your suffering, there is hope.”

Paul writes that even in the midst of our suffering we can boast. Other translations of this passage say “rejoice.” Perhaps even better, “we can sit tall, not be bowed over with the weight of the suffering, not be destroyed by the suffering.”

Paul writes that suffering leads to endurance and endurance builds character and character leads to hope. Now in this case, character can also mean being purified, being refined, like gold is refined in fire. And it is true that in our suffering, we can grow as people. We can learn, experience, understand, gain perspective. I say again, that’s not the same as saying that God caused us to suffer. But we can grow as a result of suffering.
And then there is the part about hope. And the hope is not based upon our suffering. It is not based upon a “look how great I am because I survived the suffering.” Our hope, is based in God.
“And hope does not disappoint us because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the holy spirit that has been given to us.”
Biblical scholar Walter Brueggemann writes that hope doesn’t disappoint us because our hope is not found in us, but in the memory of what God has done, and the trust that God will do.
So Paul’s message here, regardless of how it’s been used, isn’t a pat on the head and a chorus of Bobby McFerrin’s song, “Don’t worry, be happy.” No indeed. Instead it’s an affirmation of faith: that even in the worst of times we can hope. And that hope will not disappoint because God has done, and is doing, and will continue to do great things in us.

Now isn’t that a message we could stand hearing today?

I read the papers and it’s evident that the war in Iraq shows no signs of letting up: It’s gotten so bad that Ft. Lewis is struggling with how to honor the dead, and realizing that they may no longer be able to hold individual memorial service. They’ll just do a once-a-month all-inclusive service. There are just too many people dying. We could use a little hope.
Turn the page in the newspaper and you see more depressing news about Global Warming. It has been said that my generation feared for their future because of nuclear weapons, but my children’s generation fear for their future because of the harm we are doing the environment. They could use a little hope.
In the movie, Grand Canyon, Danny Glover played a tow-truck driver. He feared for his nephew growing up in the slums of LA. At one point, as the nephew seems increasingly drawn to being part of a gang, Glover’s character says to the boy, “Where do you want to be when you’re 25?” To which the boy answered stoically, but without doubt, “I’m not going to live to be 25.” He could use a little hope.
Now maybe our despair and anxiety isn’t on such a global scale, but it’s still very real. We worry about the future of our congregation, and for our place in it. We worry for our own futures outside of this congregation: those we love, our health, our relationships, will we be able to retire?
And we’ve got it easy compared to some who constantly face questions about where they might sleep, what they will eat for their next meal, how will they care for their children.
I think we could all use a message of hope.

And Paul stands ready to offer it.

In the midst of suffering: there is hope. And thankfully, it is a hope based not on our abilities to set things right, but based on God’s ability and promise to set things right. And that kind of hope does not disappoint.
I heard of a study years ago that looked at how prisoners and POWs responded to their captivity. Obviously, some survived, even thrived, through horrendous situations while others didn’t. Researchers wondered what made the difference. What was the key? Turns out it wasn’t the things you might think: It wasn’t that the healthiest survived, nor those that were strongest, nor those who had age on their side. No, instead, it was the person’s ability to see beyond the present; beyond what was to what could and would be. It was the individual’s ability to draw on images from the past yet not dwell in the past, but instead, to project those images into the future. In short, it was their ability to hope.
A story is told of a woman with a terminal illness who sat down with her pastor to plan the funeral. They went over the usual things, hymns, scriptures, what to serve at the reception afterwards. And then she said, “Oh yes, there is one more thing. I want to be buried with a fork in my hand.” The pastor was, of course, startled at this. But the woman explained. “You know how when you go to a potluck, and you’ve eaten a full meal, and they’re starting to clear up the plates, inevitably someone will yell, hold on to your forks. And then you know, the best is yet to come. It’s dessert. And it’s always worth waiting for. So I want to be buried with a fork in my hand so everyone will know I died with hope; hope that there’s something even better yet ahead.”
Hang onto your forks, my friends, and your hope. For hope is a gift from God, based in God’s actions not ours alone, and that kind of hope does not disappoint. Ever. Amen.