Every pastor has been touched and troubled when there have been those in the congregation who suddenly have faced unemployment. Like an ambush from two sides, unemployment attacks us with the fear of financial insecurity on the one side and the loss of self-esteem on the other. Job searching can deepen both. In just such a moment I encountered Brian. He is a competent and creative person whose skills and personality cannot be long overlooked. "It will work out, Brian," I said. "God does provide." "I hope so!" he replied. From the inflection of his voice, I knew he did not "expect" so.

One is reminded of Lucy's encouragement to Charlie Brown in one of the Peanuts cartoons. "Look at it this way, Charlie Brown," she consoles. "These are your bitter days. These are the days of your hardship and struggle ..." The next frame goes on: "... but if you just hold your head up high and keep on fighting, you'll triumph!" "Gee, do you really think so, Lucy?" Charlie asks. As she walks away Lucy says: "Frankly, no!"

Hope is like that. We speak of it more often than we believe in it. Hope is not a strong word for us. It has more to do with "wishing" than "expecting." It has the sound of resignation, an inability to bring about, influence, or even believe that a desired event or goal might ever come to be. "Well, I hope so" has in its whimsical sound the same negation of the words that we hear in the sarcastic "Sure it will!" or "Well, I guess!" Hope, as we understand it, is not a word of excitement and expectation. It speaks of resignation and helplessness. "Well, I hope so ..."

How then can we understand the New Testament's strong use of the word? Repeatedly Paul writes about hope. To the Thessalonians he writes of the armor of God, including the "hope of salvation" as a helmet. To the Colossians he writes of the "hope laid up in heaven," and of the "hope of glory." Peter writes in his first letter that "we have been born anew to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, and to an inheritance which is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, held in heaven for you."

Given our understanding of the word, shivers run up our spines as we think about it. "Is that all we have?" we want to shout. "Is 'hope' all we have after all? Just ... hope?"

1. A Hope That Does Not Disappoint Us

2. A Hope Deferred

3. A Parable Of Reassurance

"Look down and see the beggars at your feet. Look down and show some mercy if you can. Look down and see the sweepings of the street. Look down, look down upon your fellow man!" Thus reads the text of a song from the most popular work of musical theater in history: Les Miserables. In the musical version of the classic French novel by Victor Hugo this song shifts the scene to the squalid streets of Paris: 1832. It is sung by "the miserable ones," those from whom the novel and the musical takes its name.

The beggars, the poor, the dregs of society sing to the upper crust. "Look down," they cry. "See our misery." Theirs is a cry as old as human history and as fresh as today's headlines. The world has always been filled with "the miserable ones," "the wretched of the earth," crying out for mercy and justice.

Soon after this cry of the wretched ones in Les Miserables the student revolutionaries swing into action on their behalf. These young idealists are out to see that justice is done. They sing together these words: "Do you hear the people sing? Singing the songs of angry men? It is the music of a people who will not be slaves again!" The revolutionary youth go on to sing of "life about to start when tomorrow comes." A word of hope appears in the midst of human wretchedness. It is the word of hope that has been held tight by "the miserable ones" in every generation of human history. This theme of Les Miserables strikes a universal human chord. People in every age have cried out for a better life. It is no wonder that this story takes such a firm grip on our human heartstrings. Hope for "the wretched of the earth" lives deeply in the hearts of human beings in every generation. 19 As is so often the case, however, those who fight for the new world that tomorrow brings are slaughtered on the barricades. The women sing of their grief at seeing their young men dead on the battlefield. "They were schoolboys," the women sing, "never held a gun ... Fighting for a new world that would rise up with the sun. Where's that new world now the fighting's done? Nothing changes. Nothing ever will ... Same old story. What's the use of tears? What's the use of praying if there's nobody who hears?" Nothing changes. Nothing ever will. Despair grips "the miserable ones" once more. There seems to be no hope. No point of tears.

And yet the final chorus of the musical dares yet to proclaim hope for "the wretched of the earth." The last words sung by the chorus ask if we hear the distant drums. These drums pound out the hope for the future that will come with tomorrow. "Tomorrow comes!" These are the last bold words of "the wretched ones." These are the last bold words sung in Les Miserables. "Tomorrow comes!"

And such it has been and such it will ever be. The poor, the lowly, the hungry can only dare to face life each day if there be some such ray of hope. Tomorrow! That hope beats with mighty strength in the lives of all this world's wretched ones. It might be that tomorrow the whole world will be turned upside down and justice will reign at last. Tomorrow -- surely -- our tears will be heard!"

Exodus 12:45 - "No sojourner or hired servant may eat of it."

2 Kings 4:43 - "But his servant said, ‘How am I to set this before a hundred men?’ ..."

A servant is a person of either sex who is in the service of another person, and the term does not necessarily mean that this servant is a domestic, in the sense that we use it today. In our usage, a servant is one who works for pay and in so doing attends to the physical needs, in one way or another, of the person who has employed him.

But this was not necessarily the designation in the ancient world. Rather, that concept would be more akin to "slave," which implies a forced labor, but is more in keeping with the type of work done by today’s servants. Rather, the ancient servant means merely someone who was in service to another, and this type of service was often of a high order. In that sense, then, any person under the king was a servant. For example, we have Eliezer, whose position in the household of Abraham compared with that of the prime niinister, hardly a menial position!

However, the servant had certain obligations, whatever his status or rank - he was under obligation to obey and to work for the benefit of his master, which is still not too far away from the idea of the hired workman of today. In return for his obedience and care, he received protection and reciprocal care.

The servitor, on the other hand, may correspond more to our modern concept of servant, since he was the one who served, or ministered to, another. However, again, we must not necessarily equate this with a menial position, although, of course, it could well have been one, and often was. But the point is that it did not have to be so. It may merely mean "one in waiting," or the person who is available to serve in whatever capacity is required. And that, too, is still true today.

After the tomb was found empty and Jesus appeared to the early church on many occasions, doubt disappeared, and the early church had overwhelming confidence in the Lord. The church today must live and be about its ministry with the same Easter confidence. We say we rely on God’s mercy for our salvation; we need to give over all areas of our lives to God’s control. What aspects of ourselves are outside God’s control? Our temper? Our money? Our time? We need join the psalmist and say, "Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me." Our trust in the Lord must be complete. We are no longer defeated people but powerful Easter people. Little children in danger or in despair literally run and throw themselves into the arms of their mother. This is confident faith. When was the last time we ran and thrust ourselves onto the Lord? A cautious step in his direction is better than none at all, but believing with abandonment is called forth by an empty tomb. God wants us to fall head over heels in love with him so he can bring the greatest joy and purpose possible into our lives.

God also encourages us to hold fast to hope without wavering. Scripture says, "Where there is no hope, the people perish." Too many of us view too much of our lives and the world as hopeless. Without hope, no great strides will be made in the future; there is no venturesome faith without hope. Without hope we burrow into the ground and live the life of a mole instead of walking freely in God’s sunlight. In a difficult situation, a hopeful people find the challenge and opportunity to do something great with God.

Confident in our faith, with an unwavering hope, the Lord also encourages us to stir up one another to love and good works. We must do something. Faith and hope must move from the abstract to the particular.

Easter people are called upon to celebrate the Festival of the Resurrection each Sunday, for each Sunday is a little Easter. "... Not neglecting to meet together," is how it is written in Hebrews. To break fellowship with the worshiping community is to pursue a weakening faith. It is also a form of denial of all that Christ means. True faith, strong faith, is never faith in isolation but must always be faith shared and strengthened through regular worship. We must encourage one another to be regular in worship and strong in the faith.

The end is drawing near. The Lord will return soon to reclaim his fallen creation. When the Lord of the church comes again, how will he find us? Will we be acting like people who have been touched by the meaning of the cross and the empty tomb? Therefore, let us continue to draw near to the Lord with a true heart and a confident faith. We hold fast to the confession of our hope without wavering. We consider how to stir up one another to love and good works. We do not neglect to worship but encourage one another. In sum, we will all be Easter people.

Our being able to hang in there in the difficult times is determined by the nature of our hope. For Christians, it has to do with our holding to the promises of God, a holding that is determined by our confidence in the integrity of God. Here alone our hope rests, as do all of life's possibilities and probabilities. Only in this way can we talk of a hope that does not disappoint us, even if that hope's fulfillment is delayed.

The air terminal was a sea of people, hurrying and pushing. It's always that way. But on this night it was especially so. A snow storm snarled schedules in the air and on the ground. In the midst of the terminal, by herself, there sat a little girl who could not have been more than a first grader in school, six years old, maybe seven. She sat quietly. One might have expected tears, but her big eyes never closed. Wide-eyed she watched. Now and again she smiled. A security guard spoke to her softly, asking if he might be of help. "No," she answered, "I'm waiting for my daddy." She waited for more than an hour. Finally there was a huge smile as she recognized a snow-covered man coming toward her. "See," she said, "I told you he would come." There never had been a doubt. Never did her hope falter. She knew him in whom her hope was fixed. She believed in his love. She believed in his integrity. She knew no storm would keep him from meeting her. And she was not disappointed.

Our "hope that does not disappoint us" must rest always in God's love and his faithfulness.

In the 1500s, there lived a "prophet" named Nostradamus who upheld the Copernican theory that the world is round and circles the sun more than one hundred years before Galileo was prosecuted for the same belief. He was also widely known as a healer, a dabbler in the occult, and predictor of events far into the future. A present day book, The Prophecies of Nostradamus, purports to show that he predicted such specific events as the assassination of John F. Kennnedy, Hitler’s rise to power, the Blockade of Britain, the Common Market, and other far sweeping events. The writings of Nostradamus are, however, exceedingly ambiguous, requiring a great deal of imagination on the part of the reader to even remotely apply them to events claimed as "fulfillments." I personally place no stock in this ancient mystic’s poetic "prophecies." But there is no ambiguity in the prophecies of Isaiah: (1) "Behold my servant, whom I uphold, my chosen, in whom my soul delights; I have put my spirit upon him, he will bring forth justice to the nations" (42:1). Let us now turn to Matthew 3:16: "As soon as Jesus was baptized, he went up out of the water. At that moment heaven was opened, and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and lighting on him. And a voice from heaven said, ‘This is my son whom I love; with him I am well pleased.’ "

The servant described in Isaiah 53 was to be (2) a suffering servant; "Surely, he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows; yet we esteemed him stricken, smitten by God, and afflicted. But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that made us whole, and with his stripes we are healed" (vv. 4, 5). The entire New Testament is testimony to the "Song of the Servant," and in the remarkable economy of God, the wounds and bruises resulted in inclusive wholeness and healing. Unfortunately, there are those who have not embraced the vicarious suffering Christ as relevant for their own cases. Even on Christmas day, combat raged in eastern El Salvador between government troops and leftist rebels. A Roman Catholic priest claims that nearly 7,000 persons died in "blind violence" in the country during the past year. We will not dwell upon world violence and political unrest here, except to say that there are those who remain outside of the peace made possible by the redemptive work of Christ. But for those who have experienced the power of Christ in their lives personally, they have found it to be a strong potion, even in difficult times.

Slightly more than one hundred years ago, an especially gifted young man enrolled in Glasgow University. Anxious to begin academic studies and anticipating his forthcoming marriage, his spirits soared. But how rapidly the wheels of fortune turn. He was suddenly stricken by blindness, and his fiance, not wanting to be married to an invalid, rejected him. The tide had turned against him in a manner which would have devastated a lesser person. However, despite his adversities, he graduated from the university and went on to become one of the greatest preachers in the Church of Scotland. Not out of his despair, but out of his personal relationship with Christ, he wrote a hymn which we lift in praise until this day: "O Love That Wilt Not Let Me Go ..." Consequently, not only the New Testament, but individuals like George Matheson the hymnwriter and scores of others who have named the name of Christ, affirm that Isaiah’s prophecy has indeed come to pass.

There is more. The vicarious suffering of Christ was (3) once done, for all, and for all time. Such a sacrifice need never be repeated. I have read where each year, beginning on Ash Wednesday, thousands of Filipino Christians begin Lenten observances by flagellating themselves with whips and heavy branches. The whips have sharp stones and broken pieces of glass affixed to leathered ends. Certain others submit themselves to be actually crucified. Their devotion is admirable, but the gestures in which they engage are both barbaric and unnecessary. We continue to sin, yes, but the redemptive work of Christ at Calvary endures, once done for all time.

In the early 1960s, the German theologian Jurgen Moltmann wrote a incredible book called "Theology of Hope". This work takes as its assumption that true Christian faith can only have its transforming effect on the individual, on society and on the world when it is rooted in a vision of hope. "From first to last, and not merely in the epilogue," wrote Moltmann, "Christianity is hope, forward looking and forward moving, and therefore also revolutionizing and transforming the present." In Moltmann's view, to live in hope does not mean that one lives in a state of disconnectedness from the present because of some expectation of a greater although unrealized future; rather, to live with a vision of hope gives a person--and the church--the inspiration and the motivation never to settle for the status quo, but rather to challenge and perhaps even work towards the transformation of any dimension of life that is not in line with that envisioned hope.

Gracious God, how blessed we are to live and serve as a community of Your people. Gifted with the beauty of creation surrounding us, lead us into significant relationships that nurture and challenge us, as we experience the promise of life, and are grateful. 

Lead us now, O God, as we seek, in this season of Lent, to journey with our eyes fixed on Jesus. 

Lead us in righteousness, that our journey might be a journey in which we embrace Christ's ways of compassion and justice, grace and mercy, hope and right living. 

Lead us, God, in peace, as we seek to keep our eyes fixed on Jesus. 

Fill us with a peace that passes all human understanding, a peace the world cannot give to us, neither can it take away. 

But, holy God, let us never be satisfied with personal peace alone. Lead us into paths of peacemaking and reconciliation. And God, we pray that You might soften the hearts of those world leaders who are far more inclined to wage war than to seek peace.

God, where there is brokenness, form us into instruments of forgiveness.
Where there is despair, make of us channels of Your hope.
Where there is division, may we be empowered to bring healing and wholeness.
Where darkness abounds, grant us courage to walk in the light, our eyes fixed on Jesus, the light of the world.

God of healing and compassion,

We hold before You now those in special need of Your healing touch …

God, make us mindful of those among us this day who silently hold hurts and brokenness within them. Teach us to look into one another's eyes and hearts.

We pray for those experiencing pain in their significant relationships, those who are yearning for new beginnings in life. We pray, O God, for young people facing untold pressures and challenges, and for older persons seeking to come to terms with limitations and losses. Whatever our life situations, O God, lead us in paths of right living, our eyes fixed on Jesus Christ our Lord, through whom we pray. Amen.

Jewish rabbis tell a poignant story that drives home the point of Proverbs 18:21. As the story goes (and five versions of this appear in Greek literature), Rabbi Simeon ben Gamaliel one day asked his servant to go to buy some good food for him in the market. When the servant returned home, he presented the rabbi with a tongue.

The next day, the rabbi told the servant to go to the market to buy some bad food. Again, the servant returned with a tongue.

When the rabbi asked the servant why he returned with a tongue both times, the servant made this astute observation: "Good comes from it and bad comes from it. When the tongue is good, there is nothing better, and when it is bad, there is nothing worse."

The first scripture selection relates the healing of a man "who was deaf and had an impediment in his speech." Although nothing is mentioned regarding the faith of the man who was healed, faith was yet an active ingredient in the healing as exhibited by those who resolutely brought the man to Jesus. In verse 34, the phrase "looking up to heaven," underscores the intimate relationship with God that Jesus brought to that moment. Similarly, I have read that when Francis of Assisi preached, he never looked at his hearers, but instead fixed his eyes upon the sky as if expecting Christ to appear before he had completed the next sentence. Jesus, "looking up to heaven," apparently sought to acknowledge and intensify the power of God in his life for this moment of healing.

In our second passage, faith again is important to the healing, but this time it is the faith of the person to be healed, Bartimaeus. By faith, Bartimaeus cried out to Jesus even after being rebuked by those around him: "but he cried out all the more, Son of David, have mercy on me" (v. 48). Although blind, he threw off his cloak and ran to where Jesus was standing. Jesus said, "What do you want me to do for you?" and by faith Bartimaeus replied, "Master, let me receive my sight" (v. 51). Jesus’ reply underscores the point; "Go your way; your FAITH has made you well" (v. 52).

A congregation I once served included a young man who had been deaf from birth. He was a big, robust, handsome fellow whose sweet spirit enabled him to smile easily. During worship, he stood for the hymns and responsive readings, and participated as best he could in the entire service. During the sermon, his eyes were steadily fixed upon my lips, and in those few times when he was unable to lip-read what I was saying, he would turn to the young lady beside him and "sign" for clarification. I remember the day that he and the young lady came to my study to make plans for their wedding. She asked such questions as necessary and signed to him at intervals. As I spoke, she continued to interpret, even though he seemed already to understand. During the wedding ceremony, they held written copies of the vows and signed their pledges to each other. Before I left that congregation to acccept another appointment, the young man underwent an operation which enabled him to hear his first sounds. That was the first step. By God’s grace, one day, perhaps even now, he will be able to listen to all those things which you and I have grown accustomed to. Although different than the deaf man who was brought to Jesus, it will be a genuine miracle of healing, and it will have been done for one who has cried out from the silence in faith.

We are far removed in time and space from ancient Jericho where our Scriptures relate two of our Lord’s healings. However, as a society and as individuals, we yet stand in need of the healing touch.

Charles H. Scott’s familiar hymn says it well; "Open my eyes that I may see, glimpses of truth Thou hast for me ... Open my ears that I may hear voices of truth Thou sendest clear." And then the all-important third verse concludes, "Open my mouth and let me bear gladly the warm truth everywhere."

Shortly after the turn of the century, Japan invaded, conquered, and occupied Korea. Of all of their oppressors, Japan was the most ruthless. They overwhelmed the Koreans with a brutality that would sicken the strongest of stomachs. Their crimes against women and children were inhuman. Many Koreans live today with the physical and emotional scars from the Japanese occupation.

One group singled out for concentrated oppression was the Christians. When the Japanese army overpowered Korea one of the first things they did was board up the evangelical churches and eject most foreign missionaries. It has always fascinated me how people fail to learn from history. Conquering nations have consistently felt that shutting up churches would shut down Christianity. It didn't work in Rome when the church was established, and it hasn't worked since. Yet somehow the Japanese thought they would have a different success record.

The conquerors started by refusing to allow churches to meet and jailing many of the key Christian spokesmen. The oppression intensified as the Japanese military increased its profile in the South Pacific. The "Land of the Rising Sum" spread its influence through a reign of savage brutality. Anguish filled the hearts of the oppressed and kindled hatred deep in their souls.

One pastor persistently entreated his local Japanese police chief for permission to meet for services. His nagging was finally accommodated, and the police chief offered to unlock his church ... for one meeting. It didn't take long for word to travel. Committed Christians starving for an opportunity for unhindered worship quickly made their plans. Long before dawn on that promised Sunday, Korean families throughout a wide area made their way to the church. They passed the staring eyes of their Japanese captors, but nothing was going to steal their joy. As they closed the doors behind them they shut out the cares of oppression and shut in a burning spirit anxious to glorify their Lord.

The Korean church has always had a reputation as a singing church. Their voices of praise could not be concealed inside the little wooden frame sanctuary. Song after song rang through the open windows into the bright Sunday morning. For a handful of peasants listening nearby, the last two songs this congregation sang seemed suspended in time. It was during a stanza of "Nearer My God to Thee" that the Japanese police chief waiting outside gave the orders. The people toward the back of the church could hear them when they barricaded the doors, but no one realized that they had doused the church with kerosene until they smelled the smoke. The dried wooden skin of the small church quickly ignited. Fumes filled the structure as tongues of flame began to lick the baseboard on the interior walls. There was an immediate rush for the windows. But momentary hope recoiled in horror as the men climbing out the windows came crashing back in their bodies ripped by a hail of bullets.

The good pastor knew it was the end. With a calm that comes from confidence, he led his congregation in a hymn whose words served as a fitting farewell to earth and a loving salutation to heaven. The first few words were all the prompting the terrified worshipers needed. With smoke burning their eyes, they instantly joined as one to sing their hope and leave their legacy. Their song became a serenade to the horrified and helpless witnesses outside. Their words also tugged at the hearts of the cruel men who oversaw this flaming execution of the innocent.

Alas! and did my Savior bleed?
and did my Sovereign die?
Would he devote that sacred head
for such a worm as I?
Just before the roof collapsed they sang the last verse,
their words an eternal testimony to their faith.
But drops of grief can ne'er repay
the debt of love I owe:
Here, Lord, I give myself away
'Tis all that I can do!
At the cross, at the cross
Where I first saw the light,
And the burden of my heart rolled away
It was there by faith I received my sight,
And now I am happy all the day.

The strains of music and wails of children were lost in a roar of flames. The elements that once formed bone and flesh mixed with the smoke and dissipated into the air. The bodies that once housed life fused with the charred rubble of a building that once housed a church. But the souls who left singing finished their chorus in the throne room of God. Clearing the incinerated remains was the easy part. Erasing the hate would take decades. For some of the relatives of the victims, this carnage was too much. Evil had stooped to a new low, and there seemed to be no way to curb their bitter loathing of the Japanese.

In the decades that followed, that bitterness was passed on to a new generation. The Japanese, although conquered, remained a hated enemy. The monument the Koreans built at the location of the fire not only memorialized the people who died, but stood as a mute reminder of their pain.

Inner rest? How could rest coexist with a bitterness deep as marrow in the bones? Suffering, of course, is a part of life. People hurt people. Almost all of us have experienced it at some time. Maybe you felt it when you came home to find that your spouse had abandoned you, or when your integrity was destroyed by a series of well-timed lies, or when your company was bled dry by a partner. It kills you inside. Bitterness clamps down on your soul like iron shackles.

The Korean people who found it too hard to forgive could not enjoy the "peace that passes all understanding." Hatred choked their joy.

It wasn't until 1972 that any hope came. A group of Japanese pastors traveling through Korea came upon the memorial. When they read the details of the tragedy and the names of the spiritual brothers and sisters who had perished, they were overcome with shame. Their country had sinned, and even though none of them were personally involved (some were not even born at the time of the tragedy), they still felt a national guilt that could not be excused. They returned to Japan committed to right a wrong. There was an immediate outpouring of love from their fellow believers. They raised ten million yen ($25,000). The money was transferred through proper channels and a beautiful white church building was erected on the sight of the tragedy. When the dedication service for the new building was held, a delegation from Japan joined the relatives and special guests.

Although their generosity was acknowledged and their attempts at making peace appreciated, the memories were still there. Hatred preserves pain. It keeps the wounds open and the hurts fresh. The Koreans' bitterness had festered for decades. Christian brothers or not, these Japanese were descendants of a ruthless enemy. The speeches were made, the details of the tragedy recalled, and the names of the dead honored. It was time to bring the service to a close. Someone in charge of the agenda thought it would be appropriate to conclude with the same two songs that were sung the day the church was burned.  The song leader began the words to "Nearer My God to Thee."

But something remarkable happened as the voices mingled on the familiar melody. As the memories of the past mixed with the truth of the song, resistance started to melt. The inspiration that gave hope to a doomed collection of churchgoers in a past generation gave hope once more. The song leader closed the service with the hymn "At the Cross." The normally stoic Japanese could not contain themselves. The tears that began to fill their eyes during the song suddenly gushed from deep inside. They turned to their Korean spiritual relatives and begged them to forgive. The guarded, calloused hearts of the Koreans were not quick to surrender. But the love of the Japanese believers not intimidated by decades of hatred tore at the Koreans' emotions.

At the cross, at the cross
Where I first saw the light,
And the burden of my heart rolled away ...

One Korean turned toward a Japanese brother. Then another. And then the floodgates holding back a wave of emotion let go. The Koreans met their new Japanese friends in the middle. They clung to each other and wept. Japanese tears of repentance and Korean tears of forgiveness intermingled to bathe the site of an old nightmare. Heaven had sent the gift of reconciliation to a little white church in Korea.

There was a fascinating conversation on Rush Limbaugh’s talk show a while back. Having just completed Tom Brokaw’s wonderful book The Greatest Generation, a book filled with inspiring stories of the WWII generation, Rush had taken the position that the current generation of young adults, those in their 20’s, are, for the most part, a bunch of whiners. He said that while they are constantly whining and moaning about the difficulty of their lives in fact, when compared to the hardships faced by their grandparents’ generation, they’ve actually got it easy. Their grandparents had endured truly devastating events like The Great Depression and WWII. The current crop of young adults, he concluded, doesn’t even have a clue about real hardship.

Once Rush had finished his monologue a self-professed member of this younger generation of adults called in to offer a different perspective. Bright and extremely articulate, the 23 year-old caller said that, while The Great Depression and WWII certainly created terrible hardships for the people who faced them that he, nonetheless, believed his generation faced an even greater hardship.

Limbaugh asked, “And what exactly would that be?”

The caller said, “The loss of hope.” He said that his experience indicated that many of today’s young adults had simply stopped believing that things were going to get better. They didn’t expect to live as well as their parents had lived. They weren’t expecting a brighter future. They have simply given up hope.

He said, The Great Depression, as terrible as it was, in many cases brought families together as they worked side by side in the hope of saving their families. Most of his friends, he said, grew up in families in complete disarray and have given up the hope of ever having a real family experience of their own.

He said, WWII was a terrible event that obviously cost thousands of Americas’ young men their lives. Then he said, and even though they knew the risks they still enlisted voluntarily by the millions because they saw it as a cause worth dying for. Most of those in his generation, he said, can’t imagine anything worth dying for and they’re committing suicide in record numbers because many can’t imagine anything worth living for.

He said, and I paraphrase, “Mr. Limbaugh, The Great Depression and WWII created terrible hardships. But I submit to you that the greatest hardship of all is living without hope.” I agree. It's harder to develop character in affluence than it is hardship. All the more reason why young people need to see what Simeon saw:

My eyes have seen your salvation,
Which you have prepared in the sight of all people,
A light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel.

I believe it was the Mills Brothers who made popular the song, "You Always Hurt the One You Love." Fighting is one of the realities of married life. Unfortunately, most of us do not handle it well. Fighting is a negative way of communicating some very strong feelings. If we accept the premise that the point of all communication is to get closer to each other, then we might seek more constructive and positive ways of communicating our strong feelings rather than destructive fighting. Although space doesn’t permit us to consider all the suggestions for what I call "good fighting," let me mention just a few. Discover what you are really fighting about. What’s really underneath it all, then stick to the subject, don’t bring up past history. No name calling. Remember you are fighting with the one you love - hurt her and you are hurting yourself and your marriage.

Back to the Mills Brothers ... if we are able to hurt the one we love more than anyone else, then we, as a spouse, have the greatest ability to bring healing to our relationship. If we really want to heal the other person, we can. Healing not only after fights but throughout life. Healing comes through a gentle touch or by saying "I’m sorry" and really meaning it. Healing also comes through forgiving one another and accepting each other’s limitations.

Jesus Christ is the greatest facilitator of healing in marriage. He gives us the power to forgive our spouse - not because he/she deserves it but because he/she needs it. We forgive not only for his sake but for our sake and for our marriage’s sake. For marriage is something that we are in together, and when one or the other is hurting, both of us are hurting, and our marriage is hurting.

Those who are wise, work hard at their marriages. Those who are wiser work hard too, but they also invite God’s help in loving each other. If God wants your marriage to work, and he certainly does, then he is anxious to give you whatever you need to make it work. Both of you must keep strong in the Lord. There is a little Christian saying that goes, "When I try, I fail. When I trust, He succeeds." The best thing we can do in our marriage is not try so hard but to trust even harder.

As people, there will be those moments when we cannot help but express negative feelings to our spouse. Be careful not to try to hurt the person, but rather attempt to express how his/her actions are hurting you. Tell it like it is. Don’t hold back. But let the Lord help you share your strong communication in a loving manner. When you have a fight, have a good one.

Some years ago a military airplane crashed at Sonderstrom Air Force Base in Greenland. Twenty-two people were killed. The runway and the nearby fields were strewn with bodies. It was a tragic and horrible moment. There was only one chaplain on the base at the time… and the entire burden was laid on him to bring comfort and the Word of Christ to a shocked community staggered by the horrendous accident. But there was little time to mourn that day. The grisly task of gathering up and identifying the bodies needed to be done.

And so, the chaplain, along with a young lieutenant who had been assigned the duties of a mortuary officer and a group of volunteers went about the awful business of picking up the mutilated bodies and trying to identify the dead, so that their families and loved ones back home could be notified. It was a heart-breaking and exhausting task, but it had to be done. The people worked in shocked silence well into the night until they almost dropped from fatigue. When every last remnant of death had been picked up, they each went silently to their individual rooms.

That night, after midnight, there was a knock on the chaplain's door. Outside stood the young lieutenant, the Mortuary Officer. He said nothing. He just stood there and wept. After some moments, the young lieutenant spoke through his tears and he said to the chaplain, "As we were picking up the bodies today, I realized something. I realized that the only other people out there with us were the people who go to church here. I have always been an unbeliever, and I used to ridicule these same people who were out there with us. Yet they are the only persons who would, or perhaps could, do what we had to do today. It must have been their Christian spirit that could help them see beyond the horror to the hope."

That tragic day turned around the life of that young lieutenant. As he had admitted, he had never been religious, had seldom gone to church except for weddings and funerals, but from that time on he was a new man. Christ was born in his heart. From that time forward, he took an active part in the Christian ministry of that base. Then he did an unheard thing – he extended his tour of duty in Greenland for an extra year. He was the first person in the history of that base to do that. He did it because he wanted to be able to tell others the story of how the power of the Christian Hope had changed his life.

If you want to give your loved ones a great Christmas present this year, give them the gift of Christian Hope. On page after page of the New Testament we find it: the Good News that God will win, that nothing can defeat Him; that ultimately God and goodness will have the victory and that when we put our hope in Him, nothing, not even death, can separate us from His watchful care and His love and His triumph. Once each year, Christmas comes along to renew our hope and to remind us that the darkness of this world cannot overcome the light of the world.

In one of German writer Herman Hesse's books, Journey to the East, the central figure is man named Leo. Leo accompanies a party of travelers as their servant doing menial chores, but he also sustains them with his spirit and his song. He is a person of extraordinary presence. All goes well for the travelers until Leo disappears. Then the group falls into disarray; they abandon their journey.  Without Leo they cannot make it.

The story's narrator, who is one of the travelers, wanders for years until he is taken into the order that had sponsored the journey. There he is surprised to discover that Leo, whom he had known as a servant, was in fact the head of the order, its guiding spirit, a great leader.

Christianity tells a similar story. Its central figure appears first as a poor child, then a man without worldly power. He moves among the poor, the marginalized, and the sick. He heals, teaches, encourages, and points to the kingdom of heaven. He is a person of extraordinary presence, a servant helping a world in need.

Throughout this story, the leadership of this remarkable figure becomes increasingly apparent. He sets food before the hungry, washes his followers' feet, accepts death on a cross, and is raised up in power and glory.  He is manifest as both servant and leader to all who dare recognize him.

Can you imagine a four-year-old boy falling to his death from the 53rd floor of a New York City apartment building? Unimaginable as it seems, that is precisely what happened to the son of British rock star, Eric Clapton. Clapton's life was filled with tears of grief as the result of this shocking event. His son's death haunted him so much that he finally wrote a song about it. He called it, "Tears in Heaven." In February of 1993 this song of Clapton's won the Grammy as the "Song of the Year." Mr. Clapton himself won the Grammy as Male Vocalist of the Year. Eric Clapton, however, would have given up all the success of these Grammys in an instant if he could just have had his son back. Clapton's song begins with these words: "Would you know my name, if I saw you in heaven? Would it be the same, if I saw you in heaven?" Mr. Clapton's separation from his son is real. His son is gone forever. As with others who grieve the loss of loved ones, however, Clapton desperately wants to communicate with him again. Clapton's song continues. He envisions heaven for a moment. He knows that heaven is a place that he does not belong. That means that he must somehow find the strength to carry on when he knows, "I don't belong here in heaven." The singer gets a glimpse of heaven, a glimpse of hope. But in heaven he does not belong.

Verse two of "Tears in Heaven" returns to the same theme. He wonders if his son would hold his hand if he saw him in heaven? He wonders, further, whether his son would help him stand if he saw him in heaven? Clapton does not know the answers to his questions. He just believes that if he could get a glimpse of his son again his grief might be lightened. In his grief he cries out for some kind of contact with his son. But it is not to be. So, he sings, "I will have to find my own way, because I just can't stay, here in heaven." The burden of grief rests squarely on his shoulders. Heaven is of no help. Heaven is beyond his grasp. His son is beyond his grasp. He'll just have to make do as best he can. He'll have to "find his own way through night and day." Clapton's song is a very sad song! The grief is so real and the hope so illusory. Clapton knows he doesn't belong in heaven for whatever reason. Therefore, he will have to carry his own grief and his grief is a terribly heavy load.

Clapton sings of this heavy load in the next verse of his song. "Time can bring you down," he sings. Time can be devastating when you are locked in grief. Time can bend your knees; it has you "beggin' please." Such is Clapton's plight. He is reduced to begging. Surely he has begged God to give him a reason for his son's death. Why, God, Why? Surely he has begged God to bring his son back again. Surely he has begged God to lighten his load in life. There is a lot of begging going on in the midst of human tears of grief. Clapton sees one bright ray of hope in the midst of his grief. He is sure that in heaven there are no tears. That's the source of the song's title: "Tears in Heaven." Tears are for the earth. Tears are grief's constant companion. Tears are grief's way of showing us the pit of emptiness that tugs so heavily upon us in our time of loss. Tears are vital to the healing process. Through the ears, however, Clapton sees a vision of a place where tears shall be no more. "There will be no more tears in heaven," he sings. "There will be no more tears in heaven." "

There is a theologian named Victor Havel who defined hope in this way. "Hope," he said, "Is not the conviction that something will turn out well, but the certainty that something makes sense regardless of how it turns out." 

I believe that part of what that means is that hope looks to the intrinsic value of people and of whatever we do. Hope determines the worthwhile-ness of someone or something at the very beginning, so that outcomes become secondary to that person, or that project's very existence.

In the novel and movie The Shawshank Redemption, a lifelong convict nicknamed Red, keeps telling his fellow prisoner, Andy, to stop talking about hope since in prison, hope is a dangerous thing. It's better to live without hope than to have a hope that will torment you by virtue of it's not being fulfilled. But then at one point in the story Andy barricades himself in the warden's office, flips on the Shawshank prison P.A. system, and plays a portion of a Mozart opera, bringing the entire prison to a standstill as each prisoner listens to the aria. And even Red, the one who resisted all talk of hopes or dreams, could not resist this spot of beauty. And so Red muses, "I have no idea to this day what those two Italian ladies were singin' about. I like to think they were singin' about something so beautiful it can't be expressed in words, and it makes your heart ache because of it. I tell you, those voices soared, higher and farther than anybody in a gray place dares to dream. It was like some beautiful bird flapped into our drab little cage and made those walls dissolve away. For the briefest of moments, every last man at Shawshank was free."

The late Senator John McCain spent 5 and a half years as a prisoner of war in Vietnam in the 1960s. During that time, he was frequently tortured or held in solitary confinement. He reported that his lowest point came on Christmas Eve 1969. McCain was giving up hope of ever getting out of Vietnam alive. To compound his homesickness, the captors played the song "I'll Be Home for Christmas" over the PA system.

Just then, McCain heard tapping on his cell wall. This was the communication code the POWs used to communicate with one another. On the other side of the wall was Ernie Bruce, a Marine who had been imprisoned for four years already. In spite of his dire situation, Bruce was tapping out, "We'll all be home for Christmas. God bless America." These simple words of comfort restored John McCain's hope. The message of Christmas is always one of hope. This world needs saving, but God began that process of salvation two thousand years ago with the birth of a babe in Bethlehem. There's something about Christmas that elevates us. Christmas is about hope of a better world to come.

In the early part of World War II, a Navy submarine was stuck on the bottom of the harbor in New York City. It seemed that all was lost. There was no electricity and the oxygen was quickly running out. In one last attempt to rescue the sailors from the steel coffin, the U.S. Navy sent a ship equipped with Navy divers to the spot on the surface, directly above the wounded submarine. A Navy diver went over the side of the ship to the dangerous depths in one last rescue attempt. The trapped sailors heard the metal boots of the diver land on the exterior surface, and they moved to where they thought the rescuer would be. In the darkness they tapped in Morse code, "Is there any hope?" The diver on the outside, recognizing the message, signaled by tapping on the exterior of the sub, "Yes, there is hope."

This is the picture of our dilemma as we worship this glad Easter Day. Humankind is trapped in a dreadful situation. All around we are running low on hope, and we look for a word from beyond offering it to us. This world in which we live is plagued with war and famine, mounting debt and continual destruction. The more we try to rescue ourselves the more we seem to fall behind. We wonder: Is there any hope?

In his novel The Great Gatsby F. Scott Fitzgerald penned a sentence that begged serious reflection: “Reserving judgment is a matter of infinite hope.”

One of the most common and destructive ways we judge is to put people in boxes by pinning them with labels.

As a young preacher in Mississippi in the early ‘60s, I was labeled a liberal because of my stand on civil rights.  When I left Mississippi and moved to southern California, I was soon labeled a conservative because I was evangelistic in my preaching and had a southern accent.

In both instances the labels were limiting.  People heard me out of their own preconceptions of who I was and what I stood for.

When we reserve judgment, we’re saying, “There’s more to you than I now perceive.  I will wait and be patient.  I will seek to see clearly.  I will not limit you with a label.”

Fitzgerald is right.  “Reserving judgment is a matter of infinite hope.”

Dante's Inscription above the Gate of Hell:

I am the way into the city of woe.
I am the way to a forsaken people.
I am the way to eternal sorrow.

Sacred justice moved my architect.
I was raised here by divine omnipotence,
Primordial love and ultimate intelligence.

Only those elements time cannot wear
Were made before me, and beyond time I stand.
Abandon all hope ye who enter here.

Note: "Sacred justice moved my architect." means: He who built me was motivated by a love of justice.

According to Greek mythology, Sisyphus was once a cruel King of Corinth. And when he died, he was eternally condemned to push a giant boulder to the top of a steep hill. The closer he got to the top, the steeper the hill became, and the harder it was to push the boulder. Every time he had almost gotten the boulder to the top of the hill, he would lose control of it. It would roll over him and down to the bottom of the hill, where he would have to start all over again.

On this Labor Day weekend I hope that none of you are feeling like Sisyphus. I hope that you don't wake up every morning feeling like you have to push a giant boulder up a hill. Some people do.

Like the teacher who was complaining about her job. She told about her principal who was lecturing the faculty quite unmercifully. One by one, he presented them with a painful list of all their failures, flaws and shortcomings. He chided them for over an hour for all the mistakes they had made over the year. Then he announced that the science club was sponsoring a blood drive and that he would donate the first pint of blood. An anxious voice piped up from the rear of the room and asked, "But whose blood?" I hope your work environment is a little better than that. At least I hope your boss is a little more sympathetic.

G. Ray Jordon, Methodist preacher from North Carolina and teacher of preachers at Emory University, wrote years ago, "The hope of civilization is that we shall be able to produce enough Christlike men to save it."

That is the world's only hope. It was when Jesus first walked along the Sea of Galilee. It still is today.

 

In 1965, naval aviator James B. Stockdale became one of the first American pilots to be shot down during the Vietnam War. As a prisoner of the Vietcong, he spent seven years as a P.O.W., during which he was frequently tortured in an attempt to break him and get him to denounce the U.S. involvement in the war. He was chained for days at a time with his hands above his head so that he could not even swat the mosquitoes. For the rest of his life, he could not bend his left knee and walked with a severe limp from having his leg broken by his captors and never reset. One of the worst things done to him was that he was held in isolation away from the other American P.O.W.s and allowed to see only his guards and interrogators.

How could anyone survive seven years of such treatment? As he looked back on that time, Stockdale said that it was his hope that kept him alive. Hope of one day going home, that each day could be the day of his release. Without hope, he knew that he would die in hopelessness, as others had done.

Such is the power of hope that it can keep one alive when nothing else can.

A number of years ago, in a mental institution outside Boston, a young girl known as "Little Annie" was locked in the dungeon. The dungeon was the only place, said the doctors, for those who were hopelessly insane. In Little Annie’s case, they saw no hope for her, so she was consigned to a living death in that small cage which received little light and even less hope. About that time, an elderly nurse was nearing retirement. She felt there was hope for all of God's children, so she started taking her lunch into the dungeon and eating outside Little Annie's cage. She felt perhaps she should communicate some love and hope to the little girl.

In many ways, Little Annie was like an animal. On occasions, she would violently attack the person who came into her cage. At other times, she would completely ignore them. When the elderly nurse started visiting her, Little Annie gave no indication that she was even aware of her presence. One day, the elderly nurse brought some brownies to the dungeon and left them outside the cage. Little Annie gave no hint she knew they were there, but when the nurse returned the next day, the brownies were gone. From that time on, the nurse would bring brownies when she made her Thursday visit. Soon after, the doctors in the institution noticed a change was taking place. After a period of time they decided to move Little Annie upstairs. Finally, the day came when the "hopeless case" was told she could return home. But Little Annie did not wish to leave. She chose to stay, to help others. It was she who cared for, taught, and nurtured Helen Keller, for Little Annie’s name was Anne Sullivan.

For Jesus, God had a plan for the recovery and renewal of all people on earth, and his mission was - he believed and staked his life on this - to initiate that plan to bring in the fullness of the kingdom of God.

If Alvin Toffler, author of The Third Wave, is right, we need that kind of hope more than ever. In the face of chaos all over the world, Toffler insists that we are going through something more drastic than temporary hardship. He believes that we are suffering the "birth pains of a new civilization." Arthur Coxe's verse sounds so contemporary:

We are living, we are dwelling, in a grand and awful time,
In an age on ages telling to be living is sublime.
Hark! the waking up of nations; God and Magog to the fray.
Hark! what soundeth? ‘Tis creation groaning for its latter day.

Hope in God helps us to make sense out of the senseless turn of events in our time, in all time, because hope enables us to endure and to press on in the face of present and impending tragedies, doesn't it? When life confuses us and confounds us, when it seems to make no sense at all, the God who started it all and created all living things, lets us get a glimpse of his glory and power and hope is born in us again.

In the Lutheran parochial school I attended as a child I was taught to fear God, and that I risked punishment for sin. When I was 17 years old, my younger sister died of a brain tumor, and I began to question everything that I had been taught. I could not understand how God could allow this. Her death left me confused and angry. I became more of a doubter than a believer. I came to the conclusion that I could only believe in myself. I pushed myself, I worked hard; I became an over-achiever and eventually a workaholic. This program propelled me to financial success, but it was accompanied by personal failure. I learned that the love of money can bring financial gains that are accompanied by personal loss.

I became an empty person. I couldn't stand success and began to self-destruct. I lost everything, my friends, those who had pretended to be my friends and my family. It was all like an unbelievable soap opera -- and before it was over I learned quite a bit about the judicial system, the Mafia, extortion and revenge. There were times when I feared for my life and for the lives of the members of my family. It was the kind of situation that causes one to think about taking his own life.

But I wasn't ready for that option. The love I had for my children gave me courage and made me determined to try again. I wanted to be a believer in something bigger than myself, but it was difficult. It would take a miracle. I carefully planned a comeback. I wanted to be successful again and not make some of the same mistakes. The task seemed monumental.

In the process I met an independent preacher named Andy. He worked for me on a part-time basis and we soon became friends. He wasn't pushy with his religion, so I decided to go to one of his church services on a Wednesday night. It was quite unusual to say the least. Wednesday night was testimony night. The opening song service was quite an experience. The songs had beautiful melodies and were easy to sing. When they sang songs like "He Touched Me" and "O, How I Love Jesus," I noticed that many had tears in their eyes as they sang with great feeling. I felt touched by this, and quite uncomfortable. The testimonies that followed were as impressive to me as the song service. People spoke about what God had done for them, how God answered prayer and healed them. Was this real? Do they know a different God than I do, I wondered? It was all so confusing.

I didn't know if I could believe it, but I went back to observe more. I knew these people had something I didn't have. I guess it was a simple faith in God. It seemed like a good way to live, but I still wondered if it was real. If there was no God, I think we would have to invent one to keep our sanity. I tried to keep an open mind on the subject. I found myself reading the Bible because I was hungry for truth.

One Saturday night my mother called to tell me that my grandmother was gravely ill. I needed strength to face this so I went to church the next morning before going to the hospital to see her. That morning Andy spoke of the healing power of Jesus. I cornered him after church and said, "Andy, are you sure he heals today?" He was sure. I marked several of the healing promises in my Bible and then I went to the hospital. As I entered the waiting room, I saw that many of my relatives were there to pay their last visit to Grandma. The pastor of her church was about to get on the elevator after praying with her. I stopped him for a brief talk. I said, "Don't you believe God has the ability to heal people?" He assured me he believed that God does have the power to heal, but he added that we all have a time to die. I knew he was right, but a voice in the back of my mind said, "Prove me and know that I am God."

I followed my cousin and his wife into Grandma's room in the intensive care unit. When I spoke to Grandma she regained consciousness, and her smile told me that she was pleased to see her oldest grandson. I got right to the point. "Grandma, do you want me to pray that God will heal you?" She agreed. The four of us held hands and I prayed for her healing. It was a special moment. The nurses and other members of the hospital staff who were present stood with tears in their eyes. When I finished I had a feeling that Grandma was healed. My cousin's wife knew it, also. Grandma fell into a deep sleep. When we went out to the waiting room, my relatives were talking about Grandma being ready to pass away. The doctor had told them that she would not live through the day. I said, "Grandma is not going to die today. She is healed." I went home and then back to the church for the Sunday evening service.

On Monday morning my mother called to tell me that Grandma had made a complete recovery. I said, "What did the doctor have to say about this recovery?" She answered, "He said it was a miracle." I believe God knew just what I needed. I had the audacity to take God at his word, and God cared enough not to let me make a fool of myself.

Author's Note: Gerald Wagner shared this story of his grandmother's healing with a new member class in our church in the Spring of 1990. It is printed here in his own words. Mr. Wagner, an independent semi-truck driver, lives in Kenissha, Wisconsin.

As we come to the Lord's Table, we're all sinners in need of salvation, beggars needing bread. We are "the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind" in that third story. Maybe not literally poor, crippled, lame, and blind, but spiritually poor, crippled, lame, and blind. Yet God graciously includes us as guests at God's Table. Good communion table manners include coming to the table without thinking too much of ourselves.

And, finally, good communion table manners include coming without looking down on any other guest, for all of us are God's equally beloved guests. King George IV desired Communion and sent a servant to bring the Bishop of Winchester. When the servant arrived with the Bishop, the King was angry. He felt his servant had taken too long. The King upbraided the man and fired him on the spot.

Having done that, he turned to the Bishop for Communion. But the Bishop refused to proceed. He saw that the King was still angry. Realizing the Bishop was right, the King called for his servant, apologized, and restored the man's job. Only then could Communion proceed. Part of good table manners is extending graciousness to the other guests. As we have been forgiven and welcomed by God, let us forgive and welcome each other.

Legend says that it happened in the streets of Damascus. A merchant sent his servant to the market. When the servant returned, trembling and agitated, he said, "While I was at the market, I was jostled by someone in the crowd. I turned to look and saw that Death had jostled me. She looked at me and made a threatening gesture. Master, please lend me your horse so I can escape. I want to ride to Samarra. There I will hide so that Death cannot find me."

Later that same day the merchant himself was in the marketplace, and he also saw Death in the crowd. He said to her, "Why did you startle my servant this morning by making a threatening gesture?"

Death replied, "That was no threatening gesture; it was simply a start of surprise. I was startled to see your servant in Damascus, for we have an appointment tonight in Samarra."

After trying everything else, Shelly was present for her first Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. Skeptical and listening half-heartedly at first, the words of Martha caught her attention. Martha told the group, "I just knew that I could handle alcohol and my other problems on my own, but I couldn't. Seven years ago I came to my first A.A. meeting and since that time I have grown as a person beyond anything I could have ever imagined."

Martha exuded confidence and depth. She spoke of a power "higher than I," the God of Jesus Christ, and the way in which God now lived at the center of her life. Her words oozed with sincere encouragement and concern. Most of all, Martha exhibited a thankfulness which words could not express. Shelly, who came to the meeting doubtful that anything she would hear would change the way she felt or thought, made her way to Martha when the meeting was over. "I want what you have," Shelly told Martha, "I want what you have."

Shelly wanted the compassion and depth and hope which Martha knew, but she may not have realized fully how Martha came to know those things. Martha learned compassion from a time of deep personal suffering. She acquired spiritual depth from hours of praying when there was nowhere else to turn. She discovered hope by taking one step at a time because "one day at a time" was too much to be expected.

Shelly said, "I want what you have. Where do I get it?" And Martha told her, "It comes from being right where you are and doing just what you are doing." Martha went on to tell Shelly the oddest story about learning compassion when we are hurting, and learning love when we are excluded, and learning hope when we are helpless. In short Martha said that it is out of Egypt that we are called.

The Hebrew people knew that Moses was on Mount Sinai, but it seemed to them that he had been gone much longer than necessary. All manner of mummerings arose within the ranks. Had he deserted them? Had something happened to him? Finally, it was decided that they would raise up Aaron as their new leader. Moreover, an idol fashioned in the form of a golden bull was set in their midst as the new object of worship. Unexpectedly, Moses returned. The scene which followed included at least three emphases:

1. Pronouncement. God utters a blistering assessment of the Hebrew people: "I have seen this people, and behold, it is a stiff-necked people" (32:9). Then follows an expression of his intention; "Now therefore let me alone, that my wrath may burn hot against them and I may consume them" (32:10). As the Revelator was to put it centuries later, Israel had "forgotten its first love." Even as Moses was on the mountain top receiving the Ten Commandments, the people were fawning around the golden idol which had been fashioned from their own jewelry. It had been remarked that the people were just out of slavery ... they were tired of waiting on Moses to return to them ... they wanted to celebrate somehow and thank somebody. Not yet understanding the character of Moses’ God, they manufactured their own god to enable them to focus their celebration upon something. I believe the observation is correct inasmuch as we see latter-day versions of similar behavior, i.e., persons who want to celebrate life but are unable to understand the God of Christianity take unto themselves golden calves in some form or another. There are different causes of a stiff neck. Some are caused by sleeping in a draft, some are congenital, others due to injury or disease, and still others by arrogance and stubbornness. It is the latter malady to which God is referring in 32:9, the neck so stiff that it cannot bow to God. At the time of God’s pronouncement to Moses, the Hebrew people were in fact, in the words of Jonathan Edwards, "sinners in the hands of an angry God."

2. Intercession. Moses did not attempt to excuse his people, but instead undertook to intercede for them. He went to God in their behalf. I remember the story of the frail little country boy whose parents were so poor that they could not feed their family properly. The little boy , always undernourished, was sluggish and scarcely felt up to completing his assignments at school. One day the teacher announced the assignment and warned that anyone not completing it would be punished. Sure enough, the pale little youth failed to turn his work in when it was due. The teacher called him forward to the desk and told him to bend over. His hollow eyes looked helplessly at her as his bony body braced itself for a whipping. As he bent over, the bones in his back made little ridges in his shirt and his baggy pants were evidence of skinny legs and a tiny waist. The teacher raised the paddle. Suddenly, a little boy raised his hand and said, "Teacher, can I take his whipping for him?" That is a secular case of intercession. A theological case is "and while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us," and as the letter to the Hebrews suggests, Christ is "eternally interceding in our behalf."

3. Mercy. Certainly God was angry with the Hebrew people, just as he is vexed and saddened by those of us who become so stiff-necked that we cannot bow in an attitude of gratefulness for his leadership in our lives and the grace which always goes before us. It is often remarked, "When I stand before God in the judgment, I won’t ask for justice, I will ask for mercy." To be sure, none of us could survive the justice, but because of God’s promise to Moses, and the intercession of Christ, we do believe that there is hope for the sinner because a part of God’s character is mercy.

Our Father, each day is a little life, each night a tiny death; help us to live with faith and hope and love. Lift our duty above drudgery; let not our strength fail, or the vision fade, in the heat and burden of the day. O God, make us patient and pitiful one with another in the fret and jar of life, remembering that each fights a hard fight and walks a lonely way. Forgive us, Lord, if we hurt our fellow souls; teach us a gentler tone, a sweeter charity of words, and a more healing touch. Sustain us, O God, when we must face sorrow; give us courage for the day and hope for the morrow. Day unto day may we lay hold of thy hand and look up into thy face, whatever befall, until our work is finished and the day is done. Amen.

The nature of men and of organized society dictates the maintenance in every field of action of the highest and purest standards of justice and of right dealing.... By justice the lawyer generally means the prompt, fair, and open application of impartial rules; but we call ours a Christian civilization, and a Christian conception of justice must be much higher. It must include sympathy and helpfulness and a willingness to forego self-interest in order to promote the welfare, happiness, and contentment of others and of the community as a whole.

Donald Grey Barnhouse told the story (supposedly true) about Chief Justice Charles Evans Hughes. When he moved to Washington, D.C., to take up his duties as chief justice, he transferred his membership letter to a Baptist church in the area. His father had been a Baptist minister and he also made a profession of faith in Christ. It was the custom for all new members to come to the front of the sanctuary at the close of the worship service. The first to be called that morning was Ah Sing, a Chinese laundryman who had moved to the capital from the West coast. He took his place at the far side of the church. As the dozen or so other people were called forward they stood at the opposite side of the church, leaving Ah Sing standing alone. But when Chief Justice Hughes was called, he took his place beside the laundryman.

When the minister had welcomed the group into the church fellowship he turned to the congregation and said, "I do not want this congregation to miss this remarkable illustration of the fact that at the cross of Jesus Christ the ground is level." Barnhouse commented: "Mr. Hughes behaved like a true Christian. He took his place beside the laundryman, and by his act he prevented embarrassment to the humble Chinese; he showed, too, the love of Christ—he had this gift of standing by."

In Alexander Solzhenitsyn's book, Gulag Archipelago, he described life in a Siberian prison. At one point he was so physically weak and discouraged that all he could hope for was death. The hard labor, terrible conditions, and inhumane treatment had taken its toll.

He knew the guards would beat him severely and probably kill him if he stopped working. So, he planned to help them by simply stopping his work and leaning on his shovel. But when he stopped, a fellow Christian reached over with his shovel and quickly drew a sign of the cross at the feet of Solzhenitsyn then erased it before a guard could see it.

Solzhenitsyn later wrote that his entire being was energized by that little reminder of the hope and courage we find in Christ through the cross. It was a turning point. Through the cross and a fellow believer, he found the strength and the hope to continue. 

In today's scripture we see a turning point in the life and ministry of Jesus. From this point on, Jesus' focus changes. From this point on, Jesus' mind and heart and mission are pointed to Jerusalem and the cross that awaits him. He has one purpose: the cross.

Silhouetted figures made their way to the tomb as the first sliver of light graced the darkened earth. Jesus was dead. They still couldn’t believe it. It was like a bad dream of grand proportions. The ring of hammer upon nail still echoed in their ears; the horrendous sight of crucified bodies was burned indelibly into their brains. With him had died the hopes of eleven broken men. The sun had set on their lives, plunging them into forever darkness. Men and women who loved him, who believed in him, had their hopes raised to heaven only to then have them dashed to the depths.

A day of surprises was now dawning; the day of all days was commencing; a spirit of caring propelled the three women forward, not knowing how they would even be able to enter the grave. But God had opened the tomb. A rock, however big, would not block the Christ who spoke of faith great enough to move mountains. Entering the tomb, black Friday becomes Good Friday, hope returns to the hopeless, death is replaced by life.

Each of us has had our bad Fridays when someone has crucified our hopes, when someone close to us has scorned our love, when our hearts have worn the black band of betrayal, when we have sold our integrity for thirty pieces of silver, when the shadows of life outdistance the rays of sunlight. There is not one person who does not need healing in some aspect of his or her life. No one can stand before the cross and say, "Jesus, like you, I have no sin."

All of us know the Easter story, but what God really desires is that we all encounter the living Christ. I have seen the living Christ. I have been an eyewitness who has seen purpose enter into aimless lives. I have seen calmness overcome chaos. I have seen him strengthen the weak, bring healing to the sick, and comfort to the bereaved. I have seen him bestow joy and confidence to lives shattered by an angry and cruel world. I have experienced his presence in my life and in the lives of others.

I know that my Redeemer lives. I even know your Redeemer lives. If you know it too, praise God with your lives. Without the resurrection, death and taxes are the sum of life’s certainties. With Jesus Christ, our lives cease being daily soap operas and become divine certainties to be lived to the fullest with the final chapter to be played before the throne of Almighty God.

The unanimous Declaration of Independence of the Thirteen Colonies in Congress, July 4, 1776

When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness. That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed. That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to affect their Safety and Happiness.

Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed.

But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security.

Such has been the patient sufferance of these Colonies; and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former Systems of Government. The history of the present King of Great Britain [George III] is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny over these States. To prove this, let Facts be submitted to a candid world.

He has refused his Assent to Laws, the most wholesome and necessary for the public good.

He has forbidden his Governors to pass Laws of immediate and pressing importance, unless suspended in their operation till his Assent should be obtained, and when so suspended, he has utterly neglected to attend to them.

He has refused to pass other Laws for the accommodation of large districts of people, unless those people would relinquish the right of Representation in the Legislature, a right inestimable to them and formidable to tyrants only.

He has called together legislative bodies at places unusual, uncomfortable, and distant from the depository of their public Records, for the sole purpose of fatiguing them into compliance with his measures.

He has dissolved Representative Houses repeatedly, for opposing with manly firmness his invasions on the rights of the people.

He has refused for a long time, after such dissolutions, to cause others to be elected; whereby the Legislative powers, incapable of Annihilation, have returned to the People at large for their exercise; the State remaining in the meantime exposed to all the dangers of invasion from without, and convulsions within.

He has endeavored to prevent the population of these States; for that purpose obstructing the Laws for Naturalization of Foreigners; refusing to pass others to encourage their migrations hither, and raising the conditions of new Appropriations of Lands.

He has obstructed the Administration of Justice, by refusing his Assent to Laws for establishing Judiciary powers.

He has made Judges dependent on his Will alone, for the tenure of their offices, and the amount and payment of their salaries.

He has erected a multitude of New Offices, and sent hither swarms of Officers to harass our people, and eat out their substance.

He has kept among us, in times of peace, Standing Armies, without the consent of our legislatures.

He has affected to render the Military independent of and superior to the Civil power.

He has combined with others to subject us to a jurisdiction foreign to our constitution and unacknowledged by our laws; giving his Assent to their Acts of pretended Legislation:

• For quartering large bodies of armed troops among us:
• For protecting them by a mock Trial from punishment for any Murders which they should commit on the Inhabitants of these States:
• For cutting off our Trade with all parts of the world:
• For imposing Taxes on us without our Consent:
• For depriving us in many cases of the benefits of Trial by Jury:
• For transporting us beyond Seas to be tried for pretended offences:
• For abolishing the free System of English Laws in a neighboring Province, establishing therein an Arbitrary government, and enlarging its Boundaries so as to render it at once an example and fit instrument for introducing the same absolute rule into these Colonies:
• For taking away our Charters, abolishing our most valuable Laws and altering fundamentally the Forms of our Governments:
• For suspending our own Legislatures, and declaring themselves invested with power to legislate for us in all cases whatsoever.

He has abdicated Government here by declaring us out of his Protection and waging War against us.

He has plundered our seas, ravaged our Coasts, burnt our towns, and destroyed the lives of our people.

He is at this time transporting large Armies of foreign Mercenaries to complete the works of death, desolation and tyranny, already begun with circumstances of cruelty and perfidy scarcely paralleled in the most barbarous ages, and totally unworthy the Head of a civilized nation.

He has constrained our fellow Citizens taken Captive on the high Seas to bear Arms against their Country, to become the executioners of their friends and Brethren, or to fall themselves by their Hands.

He has excited domestic insurrections amongst us, and has endeavored to bring on the inhabitants of our frontiers, the merciless Indian Savages, whose known rule of warfare is an undistinguished destruction of all ages, sexes and conditions.

In every stage of these Oppressions We have Petitioned for Redress in the most humble terms. Our repeated Petitions have been answered only by repeated injury. A Prince, whose character is thus marked by every act which may define a Tyrant, is unfit to be the ruler of a free people.

Nor have We been wanting in attentions to our British brethren.

• We have warned them from time to time of attempts by their legislature to extend an unwarrantable jurisdiction over us.
• We have reminded them of the circumstances of our emigration and settlement here.
• We have appealed to their native justice and magnanimity, and we have conjured them by the ties of our common kindred to disavow these usurpations, which would inevitably interrupt our connections and correspondence.

They too have been deaf to the voice of justice and of consanguinity. We must, therefore, acquiesce in the necessity, which denounces our Separation, and hold them, as we hold the rest of mankind, Enemies in War, in Peace Friends.

We, therefore, the Representatives of the United States of America, in General Congress, Assembled, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions, do, in the Name, and by the authority of the good People of these Colonies, solemnly publish and declare.

That these United Colonies are, and of Right ought to be Free and Independent States; that they are Absolved from all Allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political connection between them and the State of Great Britain is and ought to be totally dissolved; and that as Free and Independent States, they have full Power to levy War, conclude Peace, contract Alliances, establish Commerce, and to do all other Acts and Things which Independent States may of right do.

And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes, and our sacred Honor.

The signers of the Declaration represented the new states as follows:

• New Hampshire: Josiah Bartlett, William Whipple, Matthew Thornton
• Massachusetts: John Hancock, Samual Adams, John Adams, Robert Treat Paine, Elbridge Gerry
• Rhode Island: Stephen Hopkins, William Ellery
• Connecticut: Roger Sherman, Samuel Huntington, William Williams, Oliver Wolcott
• New York: William Floyd, Philip Livingston, Francis Lewis, Lewis Morris
• New Jersey: Richard Stockton, John Witherspoon, Francis Hopkinson, John Hart, Abraham Clark
• Pennsylvania: Robert Morris, Benjamin Rush, Benjamin Franklin, John Morton, George Clymer, James Smith, George Taylor, James Wilson, George Ross
• Delaware: Caesar Rodney, George Read, Thomas McKean
• Maryland: Samuel Chase, William Paca, Thomas Stone, Charles Carroll of Carrollton
• Virginia: George Wythe, Richard Henry Lee, Thomas Jefferson, Benjamin Harrison, Thomas Nelson, Jr., Francis Lightfoot Lee, Carter Braxton
• North Carolina: William Hooper, Joseph Hewes, John Penn
• South Carolina: Edward Rutledge, Thomas Heyward, Jr., Thomas Lynch, Jr., Arthur Middleton
• Georgia: Button Gwinnett, Lyman Hall, George Walton

Background

On July 4, 1776, the Second Continental Congress, meeting in Philadelphia in the Pennsylvania State House (now Independence Hall), approved the Declaration of Independence. Its purpose was to set forth the principles upon which the Congress had acted two days earlier when it voted in favor of Richard Henry Lee's motion to declare the freedom and independence of the 13 American colonies from England. The Declaration was designed to influence public opinion and gain support both among the new states and abroad especially in France, from which the new "United States" sought military assistance.

Although Benjamin Franklin, John Adams, Thomas Jefferson, Roger Sherman and Robert R. Livingston comprised the committee charged with drafting the Declaration, the task fell to Jefferson, regarded as the strongest and most eloquent writer. The document is mainly his work, although the committee and Congress as a whole made a total of 86 changes to Jefferson's draft.

As a scholar well-versed in the ideas and ideals of the French and English Enlightenments, Jefferson found his greatest inspiration in the language and arguments of English philosopher John Locke, who had justified England's "Glorious Revolution" of 1688 on the basis of man's "natural rights." Locke's theory held that government was a contract between the governed and those governing, who derived their power solely from the consent of the governed and whose purpose it was to protect every man's inherent right to property, life and liberty. Jefferson's theory of "natural law" differed in that it substituted the inalienable right of "the pursuit of happiness" for "property," emphasizing that happiness is the product of civic virtue and public duty. The concept of the "pursuit of happiness" originated in the Common Sense School of Scottish philosophy, of which Lord Kames was the best-known proponent.

Jefferson emphasized the contractual justification for independence, arguing that when the tyrannical government of King George III of England repeatedly violated "natural law, " the colonists had not only the right but the duty to revolt.

The assembled Continental Congress deleted a few passages of the draft, and amended others, but outright rejected only two sections: 1) a derogatory reference to the English people; 2) a passionate denunciation of the slave trade. The latter section was left out, as Jefferson reported, to accede to the wishes of South Carolina and Georgia, who wanted to continue the importation of slaves. The rest of the draft was accepted on July 4, and 56 members of Congress began their formal signing of the document on August 2, 1776.

Today I want to read to you a poem that is based on a rather famous poem about Christmas called ‘Twas the Beginning of Advent'. It is by a friend of mine - Todd Jenkins.  It will tell you a little bit about this season we celebrate.

'Twas the beginning of Advent and all through the Church
Our hope was all dying we'd given up on the search.
It wasn't so much that Christ wasn't invited,
But after 2,000 plus years we were no longer excited.

Oh, we knew what was coming no doubt about that.
And that was the trouble it was all "old hat."
November brought the first of an unending series of pains
With carefully orchestrated advertising campaigns.

There were gadgets and dolls and all sorts of toys.
Enough to seduce even the most devout girls and boys.
Unfortunately, it seemed, no one was completely exempt
From this seasonal virus that did all of us tempt.

The priests and prophets and certainly the kings
Were all so consumed with the desire for "things!"
It was rare, if at all, that you'd hear of the reason
For the origin of this whole holy-day season.

A baby, it seems, once had been born
In the mid-east somewhere on that first holy-day morn.
But what does that mean for folks like us,
Who've lost ourselves in the hoopla and fuss?

Can we re-learn the art of wondering and waiting,
Of hoping and praying, and anticipating?
Can we let go of all the things and the stuff?
Can we open our hands and our hearts long enough?

Can we open our eyes and open our ears?
Can we find him again after all of these years?
Will this year be different from all the rest?
Will we be able to offer him all of our best?

So many questions, unanswered thus far,
As wise men seeking the home of the star.
Where do we begin how do we start
To make for the child a place in our heart?

Perhaps we begin by letting go
Of our limits on hope, and of the stuff that we know.
Let go of the shopping, of the chaos and fuss,
Let go of the searching, let Christmas find us.

We open our hearts, our hands and our eyes,
To see the king coming in our own neighbours' cries.
We look without seeking what we think we've earned,
But rather we're looking for relationships spurned.

With him he brings wholeness and newness of life
For brother and sister, for husband and wife.
The Christ-child comes not by our skill,
But rather he comes by his own Father's will.

We can't make him come with parties and bright trees,
But only by getting down on our knees.
He'll come if we wait amidst our affliction,
Coming in spite of, not by our restriction.

His coming will happen of this there's no doubt.
The question is whether we'll be in or out.
"Behold, I stand at the door and knock."
Do you have the courage to peer through the lock?

A basket on your porch, a child in your reach.
A baby to love, to feed and to teach.
He'll grow in wisdom as God's only Son.
How far will we follow this radical one?

He'll lead us to challenge the way that things are.
He'll lead us to follow a single bright star.
But that will come later if we're still around.
The question for now: Is the child to be found?

Can we block out commercials, the hype and the malls? 
Can we find solitude in our holy halls?
Can we keep alert, keep hope, stay awake?
Can we receive the child for ours and God's sake?

From on high with the caroling host as he sees us,
He yearns to read on our lips the prayer: Come Lord Jesus!
As Advent begins all these questions make plea.
The only true answer: We will see, we will see.

All of us have seen those signs, "Keep Christ in Christmas." I hope you did that this year. There are many people who celebrate Christmas who have no idea at all that Christ is the hope of the world.

It's like one family I read about. They were gathered to celebrate the holiday without much thought to its significance. Little Charlotte, gulping her milk, heaved a white mustached sigh. Then she pointed her fork toward her grandfather like a microphone and asked, "Grandpa, why is today called Christmas?" The child's question came like a peal of thunder. "Out of the blue it fell crashing into the dining room just as though, indeed, the roof might be collapsing." Did the little girl have any idea what she was asking? After what seemed like an eternity her grandfather said, "Perhaps your mother could give you a better answer than I could."

It had been a trying day for Rita, her mother. It was the first time she was able to sit with her father in many years. She answered her daughter, "Today is called Christmas, Charlotte, because it is the birthday of Jesus Christ." She then gave a brief explanation. Grandpa looked in disbelief at his daughter. "A note of astonishment, of genuine, of radiant humility, something so unexpected that it even caught Rita off guard. Indeed she spoke almost as though she had just discovered the origins of Christmas herself, as if that very moment such knowledge had been revealed to her."

Laughter broke out again, Charlotte's face glowed like a little angel's. There was no more talk of Jesus that evening. "And yet " it was as if the Lord Himself, like a master goldsmith, had devised exactly the right setting in which the mere mention of His name might shine forth like a spectacular jewel, like a diamond against a black velvet cloth." Before we leave Christmas entirely, we need to be reminded of the reason for the season. The child that was carried into Egypt by his fleeing parents is the hope of the world.

Earlier this week, an old couple received a phone call from their son who lives far away. The son said he was sorry, but he wouldn't be able to come for a visit over the holidays after all. "The grandkids say hello." They assured him that they understood, but when they hung up the phone they didn't dare look at each other.

Earlier this week, a woman was called into her supervisor's office to hear that times are hard for the company and they had to let her go. "So sorry." She cleaned out her desk, packed away her hopes for getting ahead, and wondered what she would tell her kids.

Earlier this week, someone received terrible news from a physician. Someone else heard the words, "I don't love you any more." Earlier this week, someone's hope was crucified. And the darkness is overwhelming.

No one is ever ready to encounter Easter until he or she has spent time in the dark place where hope cannot be seen. Easter is the last thing we are expecting. And that is why it terrifies us. This day is not about bunnies, springtime and girls in cute new dresses. It's about more hope than we can handle.

As with so many of the stories of Jesus, the parable of the debtors arose out of a question that was posed to Jesus. Simon Peter said to him: "Master, if my brother sins against me, how many times should I forgive him? Seven times? Even as he asks that question my mind cannot help but think about children and how they will sometimes confess something they do wrong expecting to get praise from a teacher or a parent because they were so honest.

In the same sense, Simon Peter by asking this question is not expecting rebuke but praise. He is expecting Jesus to say: ?Excellent Peter. You go to the head of the class. You get A+.? According to Jewish law, Peter had the right to think that he had done something good. Scribal law clearly read:

'If a man transgresses one time, forgive him. If a man transgresses two times, forgive him. If a man transgresses three times, forgive him. If a man transgresses four times, do not forgive him.' What Peter has done is to take this law of limited forgiveness, multiply it by two and add one, and then sit back with a smile on his face and say: Now how is that for being a great guy? And he surely must have been taken aback when Jesus said you must forgive seventy times seven.

Then Jesus proceeded to tell a story. There was a certain king who had a day of reckoning for his servants. He found one who owed him 10,000 talents and, because he could not pay, he was about to have him thrown into jail and his wife and children sold into slavery. In response to the man's pathetic pleadings, however, he forgave him the entire debt.

Whereupon that forgiven servant went to a fellow servant who owed him 100 denarii, a very small sum of money, and demanded payment. He pleaded for extra time, an extension, but the man would not hear of it and he had him thrown into jail. This story got back to the king who went into a rage. He called in the forgiven servant and said that because of his conduct, he was now to be thrown into jail. His original debt was reinstated.

Now the question is, what was Jesus attempting to say to Simon Peter?

1. First, forgiveness carries a heavy price.
2. Second, a forgiven soul should be a forgiving soul.

Freidrich Nietzsche drew the distinction between a servant morality and a master morality with disturbing clarity. A servant morality adopts values and follows a morality which is imposed upon us by others. It negates the self. A master morality, on the other hand, sees the self as the creator of both values and morality. It, therefore, affirms the self. Nietzsche saw religion as the great espouser of servant morality because it portrayed values and morals as absolutes given by God. He contended that to be fully human is to realize that morality is something we create. Values are not hung "out there" like stars in the sky. We are the ones who do the valuing. The clues to ethical behavior come from within ourselves and are not prescribed for us by some external authority. Values are neither objective nor carved in stone despite the claims of the church. Instead, they come from an internal gyroscope that guides the course of our lives.

But the question always arises: How do we then live with thousands of people creating their own morality?

An artist, seeking to depict on canvas the meaning of evangelism, painted a storm at sea. Black clouds filled the sky. Illuminated by a flash of lightning, a little boat could be seen disintegrating under the pounding of the ocean. People were struggling in the swirling waters, their anguished faces crying out for help. The only glimmer of hope appeared in the foreground of the painting, where a large rock protruded out of the water. There, clutching desperately with both hands, was one lone seaman.

It was a moving scene. Looking at the painting, one could see in the tempest a symbol of humankind's hopeless condition. And, true to the Gospel, the only hope of salvation was "the Rock of Ages", a shelter in the time of storm.

But as the artist reflected upon his work, he realized that the painting did not accurately portray his subject. So he discarded the canvas, and painted another. It was very similar to the first: the black clouds, the flashing lightning, the angry waters, the little boat crushed by the pounding waves, and the crew vainly struggling in the water. In the foreground the seaman was clutching the large rock for salvation. But the artist made one change: the survivor was holding on with only one hand, and with the other hand he was reaching down to pull up a drowning friend.

That is the New Testament picture of witnessing - that hand reaching down to rescue the perishing. Until that hand is extended, there is no Gospel - and there is no hope for the world.

A number of years ago researchers performed an experiment to see the effect hope has on those undergoing hardship. Two sets of laboratory rats were placed in separate tubs of water. The researchers left one set in the water and found that within an hour they had all drowned. The other rats were periodically lifted out of the water and then returned. When that happened, the second set of rats swam for over 24 hours. Why? Not because they were given a rest, but because they suddenly had hope!

Those animals somehow hoped that if they could stay afloat just a little longer, someone would reach down and rescue them. If hope holds such power for unthinking rodents, how much greater should is effect be on our lives.

The late scientist and author Carl Sagan was optimistic that there is life elsewhere in the universe. In a moment of wit he said, “It’s nice to think that there is someone out there that can help us.”

A funny statement, but Sagan was secondarily implying that there is no God. He knew that a hope of help from other beings was unlikely. It assumes first that other beings exist and second that their race will not be affected with the same depravity that is so evident in all human endeavor. It also assumes that they would be interested in helping us. It assumes a few other things, but what it is, in a final analysis is a desire for Salvation. An admission that we are lost. It is a hope but it is a blind hope. 

Not long ago I visited a woman who fought a raging battle with cancer.  I'd seen her gritted-teeth stubbornness, had watched her refuse to be emotionally beaten down by this energy-sucking attack on her body, had witnessed a beautiful woman refusing to be humiliated by this force that ravaged her physical appearance.

Today there was something different about her.  Subtle, but distinctly different.

"How are you?" I asked.

Immediately she responded, "I'm praying, and I want you to pray that Jesus will come soon and deliver me."  We did that together.

It wasn't a surrender to despair; it was a yielding to certain hope.  It was her ultimate commitment.  For more than a year she had fought a courageous battle and lived in the strength of her faith.  Now she had moved to another level of commitment.  She prayed confidently and in hope.

I think often of Libby and ponder how i would face my own death.  I'm cultivating the kind of faith she witnessed to, believing it will give me the same courage and triumphant hope.  I invite you to do the same.