Rev. Ellie at Main Post Chapel
July 17, 2011
Romans 8:12-25
Patient Hope
Listen to these last two verses from Romans once more. “For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what they already have? But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.”
A couple weeks ago, a friend sent me a book entitled While There’re at War. The book’s author, Kristin Henderson, is the wife of a Navy chaplain. She gives an account of her own experience, waiting for her husband while he was deployed to Afghanistan and Iraq during the initial invasions early on in the wars. In addition to some of her own reflections as a military spouse, she follows the experiences of a group of women in Fayetteville who call themselves “the Hooah Wives.” Throughout their husband’s deployments, the Hooah Wives stick together, helping each other survive the months and months of loneliness and fear. The stories that she tells may sound familiar to many of us. From the good-bye scene on the Green Ramp, to nerve wracking hours of waiting for green suiters to knock on the door with earth shattering news, sleepless nights, anxious days, and always this distant hope that one day, their loved one will come home alive and well.
Preparing for this sermon and reading Paul’s letter to the Romans about creation suffering as it waits for restoration, my mind kept wandering back to that time period of waiting which many face when a loved one is deployed. Those who are left at home to wait approach this difficult season in a variety of ways, some healthy and some destructive. We have heard and seen and even experienced the ways that people cope with the stress of deployment. Working longer hours in order to stay busy or joining a faith community in order to find support and care during this vulnerable time are some of the more healthy coping mechanisms some spouses choose. On the opposite end of the spectrum, others may fall into addictions to alcohol or drugs or even extra-marital affairs. The book takes time to discuss each of these, not from a place of judgement but instead from a position of compassion. Waiting is one of the most difficult tasks we are ever called to do. It is not surprising that in the process of waiting, many of us stumble and sometimes even fall.
Unfortunately, seasons of waiting are not something that we can avoid, even when we try to run away from their clutches. How we wait, our posture while waiting, this might be worth exploring. I entitled my sermon “Patient Hope.” I did this much earlier in the week, and honestly, it was just the first thing that popped in my head when I read the scripture. I wasn’t even sure what I meant when I wrote it. But throughout the week, as I considered Patient Hope, an idea started to emerge. We all have to wait in one season or another, but it is how we wait that reveals our faithfulness. We can wait in hope or we can wait in dread. Both are among our available choices, yet how we wait determines the quality of our relationship with God and with one another.
For years, instead of living with Patient Hope, I lived with a kind of patient dread. That’s not to say that I wasn’t a seemingly happy person who enjoyed life and friends, but secretly, I was constantly waiting with dread. Much of my posture in waiting had to do with my brother who was diagnosed with mental illness and drug addiction while I was away at college. Four states were a great buffer between the reality of my brother’s illness and me. Yet, I lived daily with dread that as matters deteriorated more and more at home, I would one day get the call that someone had died, either my brother from overdose or tragic accident or one of my parents caught in the cross-fire of his rage and violence. The days between calls from home were spent in patient dread as I prepared myself for the worst. And, with my patient dread, came a kind of closing in. I folded my arms around my heart, putting up invisible walls which might protect me from any more heartbreak.
Living with patient dread makes sense sometimes. The reality of our situations may lend to this kind of protective posture. Replacing our dread with hope may seem nearly impossible. Most of us have known the sting of disappointment. We know the pain which accompanies all the kinds of hurt which we might face in our lives: the death of a spouse, breaches of trust because of infidelity or dishonest behavior, the tragic news of an illness, wanting to be a parent, but not being able to have children or having a child who faces sickness and even death. The list could go on. With all these possibilities, waiting with dread is not a surprising response to life’s events. After all, the whole creation has been groaning. How and when will we be set free from this bondage to decay? How and when will we obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God?
The problem with dread is that it is a silent killer. It turns us in on ourselves. As we groan inwardly, as we protect ourselves from the pain, we also become insulated to the gifts of life which keep us healthy. The good gifts of love and friendship and joy and blessing, they have no way to penetrate our walls. Before we are aware, dread, and all that comes with it, become our expectation. We become stuck in this posture, and we don’t believe that there is any other way to live.
It’s easy for me to say that Patient Hope is the answer but it’s harder put it into practice when we are in the midst of life’s storms. But, when we read the good news, and we look at the cross, we see what waiting in hope really looks like. Jesus’ life and ministry was all about Patient Hope. As he waited to see and experience what the world would do with him, he did so with a posture of hope, arms always opened wide, welcoming the stranger, the little one, the sinner, even when arms wide open would risk his reputation, his family and friends and eventually his life. On my desk at home, I have a hand carved crucifix. A friend brought it to me when I was living in Cape Town. I must admit, it was a little off putting at first. The crown of thorns, the nails in his hands, the ravaged face and body hanging by mere threads of life. I didn’t know where to put it because I didn’t want to scare people who came over to visit me with this almost two foot depiction of Christ dying on the cross prominently displayed in my living room. We Protestants don’t spend a lot of our time in the presence of the crucifixion. Our crosses leave much to the imagination. This week, though, looking at Jesus on the cross, I couldn’t help but think that this was the ultimate statement of Patient Hope. No walls of protection, no attempt to avoid the pain or disappointment. Just arms wide open, waiting with hope that death would not have the final say.
Paul writes to the Romans, “But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what they already have? But, if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.” It feels like Paul is saying this... If it has come to easily. If it’s not a big deal. If you feel that you already have it, already understand it fully, then you have missed the boat altogether. For Paul, hope, resurrection hope, doesn’t come haphazardly. It is not something to throw around or put on display. Resurrection hope is so powerful that on some days, it brings us to our knees with tears that spring to our eyes as much from our pain as from our joy and gratitude. Resurrection hope is what I like to call a painful gift. It is something so wonderful that we have no choice but to accept and embrace it. But, with saying yes to the gift, we also say yes to the risks and the heartache which cannot be avoided when we have our arms wide open.
Living in Patient Hope transforms us from our inward groaning as we wait for God to restore us. Each day, each moment that we wait in hope, rather than wait in dread, we open our arms just a little more, moving toward the posture which Jesus has shown us in his life and death, which Jesus shows us even now. When we live in Patient hope, we witness that resurrection is not just something that happened thousands of years ago, but it is something that happens every day. From the dust and ashes of our broken lives, God breathes life anew. Even the oldest bones, the greatest chasm, the deepest hurt, the darkest night are not beyond God’s restoration. Just because we can’t see or conceive of it, doesn’t mean that it isn’t possible through God’s grace and love.
It’s hard to wait in hope for something that we can’t see. It’s hard, on this journey of life, to hope when we don’t know all the dangers we may meet upon the road... will we hurt or feel alone, will we live life to its fullest, or will we have regrets? Even when we don’t know all the details, we do know the end of the story. We know what we have been promised.. restoration and fullness.. and we also know that God has promised to be there with us.
We follow a savior who has his arms wide open. All we need to do to remember this is look at the cross. Jesus lived with patient hope, arms ready to embrace the muck and mess instead of push it all away. It cost him his life, yet that was not his end. Nor is it ours. Through Christ, with Christ, and in Christ, we wait with Patient Hope. May it be so, today, tomorrow, and always. Amen.
*Posted with permisson from Ellie. I have not edited or changed her sermon in any way other than changing her name.
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