In the traditional society in which the first disciples lived, it would have been extraordinary for grown men like Simon, Andrew, James, and John to desert their occupations and obligations to follow this man named Jesus. We are right to wonder what in the world would possess these fishermen to up and leave their nets and families in the lurch? May I suggest that this could only have been the work of the Holy Spirit – a burning hope in their hearts that God was up to something amazing in this man named Jesus, right then and there.
As Christians, we are a people of hope against all hope (cf., Romans 4:18). We believe in the inbreaking of God in the life, death, and resurrection of our Savior, and so we hope against all hope that God is alive and working in our world in and through Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit. We hope that the coming of God’s kingdom of mercy, compassion, and justice for all is not only possible, but that it is real, palpable, and near. Even as we look out upon a despairing world, we hope, do we not?
In the words of pastor, poet, and artist Jan Richardson, we hope nonetheless. We hope despite. We hope regardless. We hope still.[1]
I am not going to sugarcoat it. It has been one difficult year to actively hope. And so, we pray to hold on to hope. And we pick up our Bible, and amazingly, our Psalmist today speaks directly into this very moment. He sings: God alone is my rock and my salvation. O people, trust in God at all times; pour out your heart. For God alone I wait, for my hope is from God (from Psalm 62: 5-8).
I imagine the Pslamist’s steadfast hope to be the same hope the first disciples felt in their hearts as they leapt forward into unknown territory with Jesus to create something newk in the world. For God alone they must have been waiting. For God alone fueled their hope. For God, in that very moment, spoke directly to them through Jesus. The time was near. The time was now. Their hope was in motion.
Sometimes when we talk about hope it comes off as a comforting platitude or naive sense of optimism. This is not the hope I’m talking about. I’m talking about an active hope that believes that the kingdom of God is near and now, and looks and listens to move and turn and change with a God who breaks into the world.
Jan Richardson’s poetic voice calls it a hope that draws us past our limits; a hope that defies expectations; a hope that questions what we have known in the past; a hope that calls us into new life and blesses those to come.[2]
I call it a hope that gets up and leaves fishing nets behind and moves somewhere new. I call it a hope that says old ways of being—and old patterns of the heart—no longer suffice. As Jesus himself proclaimed, “the time is now, God is near” (Mark 1:15), it’s time to walk with me.
In my own life, I am reminded of the time when I knew it was time to move into a new vocation. I was a state budget official sitting in a tense meeting with political staff who were calling on me to help shape the dismantling a major social safety net program that served hundreds of thousands of marginalized people in the state. See, this was my job at the time: to provide objective analysis and information to support policymakers. All at once, in the middle of this awful meeting, I knew I was done with this job that frequently left me wanting to say more. I felt a hope rise within me to use my words to advocate on behalf of those on the margins. I had no idea where this hope would eventually lead me or my family, but the Spirit called. It was time to change my heart and my priorities, and yes, leave some things that had been important to me.
That’s the hard part about having an active hope in Christ: at times, you know the direction to take but seldom know exactly where you are going. Imagine Simon, Andrew, James, and John on their way to Capernaum with Jesus that day calling out to him, “Okay Jesus, we are with you, now…but where are you taking us?”
What might millions of healthcare workers in the world be saying right now? See, the Spirit called and said the time was near. They were needed. So many left concerns for their own safety, regular schedules, and even their own families behind to live in service to others. These “saints next door” – as Pope Francis has called them – have risked their lives and worked tirelessly for so many months, with no map and no end in sight, a tangible example to the rest of us of active hope in the heart of Christ.
We look for hope on the move in our churches, too. In the wake of the killing of George Floyd, the Spirit called upon congregations in Minneapolis and said the time is near. The dominion of God is upon us. Open your doors. Set up makeshift emergency centers and take care of wounded bodies. Feed the hungry and give rest to the weary. Wage peace. Remake yourself, church, in Christ’s image.
And now, as we look upon the inauguration and the early first days of a new president and administration, we know that our country remains as bitterly divided, angry, and beset by racism as it has ever been. We cannot unsee those images of rioting and violence at the US Capitol on January 6th, and we wonder where followers of Christ are called to be right now.
Where are you in all of this, dear Congregation? Do you hope, still? Where have you ceased to hope? How can we pray for one another better, that our hope would be fed, and that we would know when it is time to move with Jesus, as individuals and as a community of faith.
Brothers and sisters in Christ, may you be blessed with hope and may we walk together with courage in the name of the One who sustains us and comes to life within us.
Amen.
[1] An adaptation of a portion of Jan Richardson’s poem “Rough Translations”, from a collection of poems called Circle of Grace.
[2] An adaptation of another portion of Jan Richardson’s poem “Rough Translations”, from a collection of poems called Circle of Grace.