Antoine de Saint-Exupéry said, “If you want to build a ship, don’t drum up the men to gather wood, divide the work, and give orders. Instead, teach them to yearn for the vast and endless sea.”
The hard work of reforming the present is fueled by a yearning for the future. But what happens when the shoreline of the vast and endless sea feels as distant as the horizon? What happens when the glory of eternity feels like an eternity away? When we feel like God’s promises are moving toward us at a snail's pace, how do we stave off the temptation to sit on our hands and just wait for the sweet by and by? These are questions of the haunting variety, but they are of critical importance nonetheless.
The reality is that none of us are insulated from the pain of loving. As Lewis famously said, “To love is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken.” The animating force of life is love, so if we want to come alive (to any degree) we must love. This means all of us will brush up against the arresting pain of loss. We will all suffer, but not all of us suffer in the same way. For instance, not all struggle daily under the boot of societal fractures, injustice and inequities. Many of us are privileged enough to be insulated from such suffering.
Many are not.
I wrote these words before Hurricane Helene ripped through the Southeast, leaving a wake of devastation and loss in its path. I was working on another writing project, but these words hold new meaning as I consider the loss and devastation surrounding my community in Greenville, and our neighbors in Western North Carolina (and now as I consider our friends affected by Hurricane Milton). My heart aches for those who have lost homes, businesses, family members…Most of us Greenvillians lost power for 5 - 7 days. Some for many days more than that. Many suffered the loss of a vehicle or damage to their home…I have truly never seen more trees uprooted in my life. But there is a familiar conversation that seems to be on repeat among my friends and neighbors in Greenville - we all just feel so incredibly fortunate. It could have been so much worse. Our hearts are broken for our neighbors in Asheville.
The questions that I wrote a few weeks ago have been reverberating in my head all week. So much of our world’s beauty has been uprooted by wind and flood. Glass rivers were turned to raging mud and sent bounding towards those we love. I can’t help but wonder, when mother nature rips everything out of your hands, how do you keep her from stealing your hope for the future as well? The New York Times covered the story of someone who risked everything on a dream. He took out a personal loan, a business loan, and a second mortgage on his house to open up a restaurant in Asheville. Daytrip was open for 32 days before it was drowned in 26 feet of water. That business owner’s name is Brandon. How does he begin to rebuild? Where does he start?
How do you keep the spark of hope alive when everything else is under water?
I’ve never experienced that kind of devastating loss, and I hope that I never do. But as I mentioned earlier… “None of us are insulated from the pain of living.” We will all experience suffering, loss, and devastation. The question is, in those seasons of suffering, how do we keep hope alive? I want to offer three resources that I believe help us rebuild, even when the future seems to be fractured beyond repair. I believe Jesus offers us Perspective, Provision, and Promise. (Three P’s because…well, I am still a pastor after all.)
Perspective. The scriptures remind us that the world has been subjected to frustration, and that it will continue to groan until Christ returns to set her free. The world is not as it should be, and it remains in deep need of liberation. Why? Because we humans gave up our birthright and failed to do the thing we were called to do - to steward the earth and cultivate its deep potential. We were given a high call, with high consequences. As a result, the earth groans. And we suffer under that ache. There’s good research to show that rising global temperatures are contributing to the increase in hurricane intensity, via warmer water temperatures. So, does that mean that if we fix global warming we’ll eliminate hurricanes and forest fires? No…that proverbial ship has sailed. People who follow Jesus should be deeply concerned with the well-being of this planet, not because we believe we can resolve every natural disaster, but as a return to our original call to tend to the garden. As we take seriously this call to care for the environment, we begin to bring healing to our world as a foreshadowing of the full restoration that awaits her. A Christian perspective recognizes both the significance of human work, as well as its inherent limitations. Christian faith refuses to sit idly by while storms ravage our world, and yet it protects our hearts from the inevitable futility of placing our hope entirely in man’s ability to heal the world.
You see, if your frame holds space merely for a materialist worldview, there is little hope in times like these. The world is indeed in deep trouble. And sometimes the suffocating smoke of forest fires feels like creation’s retribution. Creation can be violent and sometimes she seems downright vindictive. The truth is, if your hope is found in humanity's ability to put the natural world back together, the river of your hope will run dry. We can’t fix this. We have broken the world beyond our ability to repair it. This isn’t to say that we should give up on the earth - quite the contrary - we are called to tend to the earth with care, as a return to our original vocational call. But we can’t forget that the world will continue to groan with labor pains as it awaits new life… This perspective serves as a reminder to not place our ultimate hope in the material world, for while it is good, and is to be enjoyed, it is fractured and fading, awaiting renewal.
Provision. So, is that it? Do we just wait and suffer until things are set right? Fortunately, Christ has offered us daily provision as we wait. While we await the new heavens and new earth (the renewal of all things), we are able to experience aspects of God’s world, even now. Jesus said that the Kingdom of God was in the midst of us. Okay…what the heck does that mean? (Fair question, by the way.) Maybe I can put it this way: We are waiting for God to transform our world and heal it completely. While we are waiting, God’s Spirit is working, invading our world and beginning the work of transforming the hearts and minds of people. God may not have brought an end to natural disasters, but he is changing the way we think and see and love. We are waiting for the material realities of heaven to invade our world, and yet the culture of heaven has already begun to break through.
Here’s what that means for us: Every (un)natural disaster can be overcome by love. (I know, I know, that sounds insufferable.) But I truly mean it. Love can win the day. When river banks are flooded and overflow with destruction, the rivers of God’s love begin to swell as well, overflowing with healing. The love and generosity of heaven invade earth through the hands of ordinary people. And here’s the deal… God works redemptively, which means that God often uses the darkest of circumstances to pour out the deepest forms of love and comfort. If that’s true, then every disaster serves as a doorway for God’s love to invade our communities, and our neighborhoods. How many meals did you take to your neighbors when you weren’t rummaging through the wreckage of a hurricane? How many times did you take your chainsaw to your elderly neighbors house this year? Is it normal for you to invite your neighbors over for a hot shower? (I hope not…)
While disaster can provoke fear and scarcity, they can also produce radical love and generosity. I think we’ve seen much of that in these past few weeks. The love of heaven can hold us together, even when the earth feels like it’s giving way underneath our feet.
It’s important to note however that the love and generosity of heaven will not put back together all that is broken, and it cannot give back all that was taken. Life will take things from us that are precious, and it will break us in ways that leave us permanently scarred. I don’t want to minimize the pain that many are experiencing, or the grief that many will carry for the rest of their lives. My heart has been truly broken as I’ve read the stories of loss.
The love of God’s people does not heal all things, or repair all things, or replace all things.
But it welcomes all people. It gives every grieving person a place to weep, and it promises a community who will join them in their weeping. We are not promised a God who will insulate us from pain, but we are promised a God who joins us in our pain. We are promised a Spirit who joins us in our heartache and agonizes with us (with groans too deep for words). Perhaps, right now, the Kingdom of God is more about solidarity than anything else. Maybe it’s about being known. Loved. Held together when you feel shattered. God offers provision, not perfection.
Promise. But thankfully, it doesn’t end there. We have been promised that God will ultimately bring full and complete healing to everything that has been created.
As the Psalmist says, Therefore we will not fear, though the earth gives way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging. There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God, the holy place where the Most High dwells.
This city is coming to earth. The dwelling place of God will be with man. Hallelujah. The new heavens and new earth are moving toward us. But, what keeps this from being mere wishful thinking? Well…this promise from God is anchored in the faithfulness of God, in time and space. God came into the world and lived, died, was raised, and ascended into the heavens. This is not platonic, spiritual talk…these are historical claims. While, Christian faith isn’t merely a cerebral practice, it is not anchored in mythology or storytelling either. Our hope as Christians is anchored in a God who can be known, and experienced, whose activity has been documented, whose words have been recorded, and whose presence continues to invade our world today. It’s a mixed bag of historically viable claims, existentially satisfying notions, and inexplicable experiences with a personal God.
And this God offers us an everlasting hope - a hope that holds us together in life’s most painful moments, through the tangible gift of community in a spiritual family. If you have never been welcomed into that family, consider yourself invited. Send me an email, and I would love to get you connected.
Cam
Facts! Speak the truth, brother!