Hope
This sermon is part of a midweek Advent series on faith, hope, and love.
Text: Isa. 7:3-17, Rom. 5:1-5, 1 John 3:1-3
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
If you’re familiar with Greek mythology, you know the myth of Pandora’s box. Pandora was the first woman crafted by the gods and goddesses, given gifts from each of them. She was charming and beautiful, with a very sharp mind. As the first woman, she was given the responsibility of safeguarding a box that contained every kind of evil and monster. For a short while she was able to do this job. But then, curiosity got the better of her and she opened the box, releasing all the evils and monsters out into the world. Once they had scattered, Pandora looked into the box again and saw there was only one thing left in there: hope. This makes us wonder: What was it doing in the box in the first place? Is hope a monster? Is it evil, or at the very least, misleading? Or is it something else entirely?
That indeed was the dilemma of hope for the pagans. Some philosophers understood it as the most significant thing for understanding human existence. But they also recognized that hope was easily deceived and can become dangerous. Only someone with perfect divine knowledge of everything can possibly carry hope with no mistakes in his expectations. Hope is good, but think of the gambling addict who keeps hoping to strike it rich with just one more bet, one more pull on the slot machine, one more hand of cards, but who ends up even more broke than before. Without knowing for certain what the outcome will be, hope can become dangerous and even harmful.
This kind of necessary godlike knowledge is indeed what makes hope a different thing for those who trust in an all-knowing, all-powerful Lord. In the Scriptures—and thus in our understanding of hope drawn from them—there’s no such thing as a neutral expectation for the future. It’s either good, and thus labeled “hope”; or it’s negative, and thus labeled “fear”. What makes these expectations good or bad, hope or fear, depends entirely on what that expectation is built upon. The good expectation, hope, clings to a good and gracious—and also all-knowing and almighty—Lord. Those expectations that are tied to any other source or strength, be it mortal might or strength or numbers, or man’s own righteousness, politicians, kings, glory, or idols—all these collapse into fear. This is fear like that expressed by Israel and King Ahaz in our Isaiah reading, as they put their trust in the power of alliances, militaries, and kings, rather than the God who had saved them countless times before.
But those who trust in the Lord have hope. This is not an uncertain kind of hope, as the pagans have. It’s not the kind of hope that we’ll have good weather for this or that event, or hope that the Bears will win, or hope that Christmas dinner turns out good. That kind of hope isn’t what the Scriptures talk about when they say that hope does not disappoint or put us to shame. That’s more of a nervous sort of hope, an expectation that can go either way. No, when the Scriptures speak of hope, they’re talking about something that’s grounded in the Lord, who is unchanging, who is good and knows the outcome of everything, and so hope in that sense is certain. So St. Paul can boldly say, “We rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.” This makes hope a sign of life, an indication that things are well in someone’s soul and their walk with God. Hope is the opposite of nervous, ungodly fear.
Because of this, hope can wait with patience and calmness. This is different from the world, which can want something but never be certain it will happen. This makes the world—and it makes our sinful natures—impatient, demanding that what it wants be given to it now. Any waiting in this uncertain “hope” is filled with fear—fear that what’s wanted won’t come, that it won’t be as good as expected, that it will be taken away. But godly hope, the kind the Scriptures speak of, is a quiet and patient waiting for God. Hope holds hands with faith as it waits for God to deliver. Hope is the steady companion of trust.
We see this clearly in the hopes of those who are waiting for the coming of the Messiah in Scripture. We hear of Simeon and Anna, those faithful old saints in the temple when the infant Jesus was presented to the Lord. They were “waiting for the consolation of Israel.” They’re waiting in hope, even when old age creeps up on them and they haven’t seen the Messiah with their eyes yet. Simeon knows that he will see what the Lord has promised, even if he has to wait to the end. So hope keeps him in the temple, where God’s promises are proclaimed. It keeps him patiently waiting even as he advances in years. And he does see hope fulfilled in the Christchild.
Outside of this fulfilment in Jesus, St. Paul’s declaration that hope does not disappoint makes very little sense. Our hopes we’ve placed in other things have certainly failed and turned into disappointment, fears, and shame. But Christian hope, properly speaking, rests on God’s action of salvation accomplished in Jesus. This is what Advent, the season of hope, is all about. It’s about letting hope kindle and glow brighter as we draw closer to the light of Christmas. That hope is fulfilled when our Messiah comes in flesh and blood as an infant. So Simeon, the magi, the shepherds of Bethlehem, see all the hopes and fears of all the years reach their conclusion in Bethlehem—the hope of those waiting for redemption and the end of those fears that looked to other saviors as the true Messiah appears for all to see. That hope is still fulfilled when your Messiah comes to you, showing you all He’s giving you, His body and blood for the forgiveness of your sins and strengthening of your faith; the forgiveness of His absolution, spoken to cleanse you from your sins; the hope of new life and resurrection in the waters of Holy Baptism.
Because of those promises fulfilled then and now, we can wait patiently, through crosses, even though the waiting goes long, but in the quiet and sure confidence that Jesus will deliver what He has said He will. And so we wait for Him to come, even waiting for the end, when He returns. Hope sits on one side of us, encouraging us, calming us and giving us patience, while faith sits on the other side, reminding us of all the good that’s coming, everything that our Lord has said He will bring. With faith, hope gives shape and meaning to our existence. With hope, we sit along with the faithful, watching for the dawn, when the light of resurrection breaks upon us. In the name of Jesus, who gives us hope. Amen.
