The Light Of His Eternal Glory

"Indeed, it is adversity on the outside that is often the catalyst for regained fellowship with God on the inside (Ps. 119:67). In 1745 Boston pastor Benjamin Colman's daughter died, following the death of another daughter, the debilitating illness of his wife, and the death of his associate pastor. [Jonathan] Edwards wrote a moving letter to Colman with a desire that 'when you are thus deprived of the company of your temporal friends, you may have sweet communion with the Lord Jesus Christ more abundantly, and that as God has gradually been darkening this world to you, putting out one of its lights after another, so he would cause the light of his eternal glory more and more to dawn within you.'" (Dane Ortlund, Edwards On The Christian Life [Wheaton, Illinois: Crossway, 2014], 118)

The Republic Of Heaven

"Let them read our commandments in the Prophets, Gospels, Acts of the Apostles or Epistles; let them peruse the large number of precepts against avarice and luxury which are everywhere read to the congregations that meet for this purpose, and which strike the ear, not with the uncertain sound of a philosophical discussion, but with the thunder of God's own oracle pealing from the clouds….If the kings of the earth and all their subjects, if all princes and judges of the earth, if young men and maidens, old and young, every age, and both sexes; if they whom the Baptist addressed, the publicans and the soldiers, were all together to hearken to and observe the precepts of the Christian religion regarding a just and virtuous life, then should the republic adorn the whole earth with its own felicity, and attain in life everlasting to the pinnacle of kingly glory. But because this man listens and that man scoffs, and most are enamored of the blandishments of vice rather than the wholesome severity of virtue, the people of Christ, whatever be their condition—whether they be kings, princes, judges, soldiers, or provincials, rich or poor, bond or free, male or female—are enjoined to endure this earthly republic, wicked and dissolute as it is, that so they may by this endurance win for themselves an eminent place in that most holy and august assembly of angels and republic of heaven, in which the will of God is the law." (Augustine, The City Of God, 2:19)

Chariots And Horses Of Fire

"Jesus Christ, our most true God, veiled in human form, bows his knee and prays [in John 17], and throws his divine energy into the prayer for the bringing home of his redeemed. This one irresistible, everlastingly almighty prayer carries everything before it. 'Father, I will that they also, whom thou hast given me, be with me where I am,' is the centripetal energy which is drawing all the family of God towards its one home. How shall the chosen get home to the Father? Chariots are provided. Here are the chariots of fire and horses of fire in this prayer. 'I will,' saith Jesus, 'that they be with me;' and with him they must be. There are difficulties in the way — long nights and darkness lie between, and hills of guilt, and forests of trouble, and bands of fierce temptations; yet the pilgrims shall surely reach their journey's end, for the Lord's 'I will' shall be a wall of fire round about them. In this petition I see both sword and shield for the church militant. Here I see the eagles' wings on which they shall be upborne till they enter within the golden gates. Jesus saith, 'I will;' and who is he that shall hinder the home-coming of the chosen? As well hope to arrest the marches of the stars of heaven." (Charles Spurgeon, The C.H. Spurgeon Collection [Albany, Oregon: AGES Software, 1998], Metropolitan Tabernacle Pulpit, Vol. 32, pp. 223-24)

Despairing hope

Suppose the only son of a widowed mother goes off to war. She no longer has his protection, assistance, or companionship. She doesn't know when or if she will see him again. She doesn't know when or if he will return. All she can do is wait and pray for his return. 

Maybe one day, years later, as she sits on the porch or looks through the kitchen window, she sees a familiar figure limping towards the house. All the prayer, suffering, loneliness, heartache, and waiting were worth it. Even if he's no long 100%, it's more than worth it to have him back, to be reunited. 

But suppose she waits and waits until the war is over, yet he never comes back. She presumes that he died. If he survived, he should have returned by now. Hope fades. It's too late to hold out hope. 

Yet even though she waited in vain, he was still worth waiting for. It's not as if she had anything better to wait for or pray for. If she never sees him again, holding out for him was the right thing to do–even in retrospect. It's not like she had a better life waiting for her if she gave up on him. It's not like she put a wonderful life on hold. If she says good-bye, what's facing her when she turns around? There's nothing to go back to. So even with the benefit of bitter hindsight, she'd do the same thing all over again. 

Suppose she knew that she'd never see him again. Was it still worth the wait? That seems irrational. But what's the alternative? It's not like she's passing on better offers. It's not like she's passing up better opportunities. It's him or nothing. There's a sense in which clinging to a vain hope is better than no hope at all. 

Even if, for the sake of argument, Christianity is false, it's better to hope in vain and wait and vain and pray in vain for the only thing that could be good, without which nothing else is good, than settle for what is worthless and amoral. If that's the dilemma, then even despairing hope is better than hopeless despair. 

And that's the worse case scenario. A limiting case. Sometimes it's useful to begin with the worst, then work back from that, since anything is better than that. If you can adjust to that, you have nothing left to lose and everything to gain. If it can't get any worse, it can only get better. Sometimes, when you have nothing more to lose, that's the turning-point. 

Light through the keyhole

At its best, atheist experience is like a man locked away in a pitch black room, daydreaming of summer. Subjective hope.

At its worst, Christian experience is like a man locked away in a windowless, unlit room with a sliver of light shining through the keyhole from the summery world beyond. Objective hope. 

Dark nights and days

Tom Schreiner has several fine posts on Christians and suffering as well as related matters over on Credo.

My pastor preaching a sermon on hope

Hope in hard times, Rev. Matt Koerber.