– Hebrews 6:19–20, CSB
This first week of Advent is dedicated to hope. And yet, have you ever felt that we’re more at risk of hopelessness than the generations before us? In many ways, it seems like there has been an “increase of evil” in the world recently . . . more shootings and sicknesses, more deaths and natural disasters. And while there is undoubtedly a lot of pain in our world, perhaps the most significant change from past generations is our access to it.
We can see it right there on our screens, right there in the palm of our hand—tragedy happening both in our own neighborhood and on the other side of the world. This level of access to the suffering of others has increased our empathy, yes, but often at the cost of our hope.
For when we see the suffering that is out there, how could we not wonder—is hope naive? Are we fools for hoping? We all know that feeling of getting our hopes up, only to have them struck down by reality. It’s embarrassing, disheartening, and can make you feel silly for hoping in the first place—and guarded about hoping again.
Perhaps this is how Jesus’s disciples and other followers felt after his death. They had put their hope in Jesus, left jobs to follow him, spent years learning from him, witnessed his many miracles—only to see him die a brutal death on a cross. In chapter 24 of the gospel of Luke, there’s a powerful scene in which two of his followers were walking along the road to Emmaus, discussing the events of the recent crucifixion. In a moment of honest reckoning, they declared this powerful statement: “But we had hoped that he was the one who was going to redeem Israel” (v. 21, NIV).
We had hoped.
How many times have we cried out those very same words? We had hoped we would get pregnant. We had hoped to beat the cancer. We had hoped our marriage would survive. We had hoped to get the job. We had hoped.
But you see, the crazy thing about this story in Luke is that these two followers of Jesus weren’t alone: A third person had come up to them on the road and was walking with them, talking with them. Jesus himself, their resurrected Savior, was right there with them, but they did not recognize him. They didn’t realize that the source of their hope was standing right in front of them.
Likewise, how often have our grief and our pain blinded us to the reality that hope is always within reach? We wonder how we can have hope in such a broken world when the reality is, we can’t. Rather, the only way to have hope in this world is to accept that our hope is not in this world. It is in Jesus, the hope of Heaven, alone.
The hope that Jesus offers us is so much deeper than optimism, than luck, than being a “glass-half-full” type of person. It’s a hope grounded in the miracle that Jesus came once and in the promise that he will come again. It’s a hope that sustains us in the midst of waiting, of suffering, of hardship. Simply put, it’s the hope of Advent.
Hope in Jesus is never naive, never foolish, never dangerous. Yes, it takes courage and vulnerability at times. But like an anchor in rough waters, it ultimately protects us. And while hope in Jesus may at times feel scary, it is always safe. It is always secure.
Later on, in that same passage in Luke, the two followers reflected on their encounter with the risen Jesus in this way: “‘Were not our hearts burning within us while he talked with us on the road and opened the Scriptures to us?’” (v. 32, NIV). Deep down, they had known that hope was indeed alive. They just needed the courage to believe it.
This Advent, may our hearts burn within us as well as we learn to recognize and realize the hope that is in our midst—and his name is Jesus.