Hope: A Reflection on Sunrises, Martin Luther King, and Resurrection Power
It's Martin Luther King Day. I opened the blinds in our bedroom window, which I don't normally do because the window provides a direct view to our master bath toilet, which, if occupied, could bring potential for demoralizing eye contact. But today, the window was open, the sky a sort of velvety purple-blue with streaks of pink and yellow that made rooves and siding sparkle.
The morning looked uniquely hopeful. The all-too-common January grayness seemed to have evaporated, if only for the few moments surrounding that sunrise. Despite being 33 degrees with rain on the horizon, I could have been convinced that spring was right around the corner. The promised resurrection of life - flowers blooming, grass re-greening, birds returning with their song - brought a beautiful lessening of the winter doldrums. "We're going to make it," I thought, knowing it is the very promise of that spring that makes winter endurable. From the despair - the coldness, the grayness, the perpetual sunlessness that so often sinks spirits - comes a little glimmer of hope. Today, hope in the form of a sunrise which reminded me that spring will come.
Life has sort of been like that lately. Every news headline feels like an endless winter. Political strife, war in Ukraine, protests, violence, murder, debt, deceit. Covid, still. And my own journal is not all that different. There's tension in friendships, anger in my heart, financial stresses, family illness, besetting sins. Every day seems to bring another student battling suicidal thoughts, or broken families, or shattered friendships. The fallenness of the already-not-yet is sometimes consuming. And yet, from the despair - the sin, the sickness, the sadness - comes a glimmer of hope. Today, and every day, there's abundant hope in the resurrection of Jesus Christ. It's better than spring; it's the future renewal of all life, without weeds or thorns or heartache or decay. And we have that hope to look forward to!
This is why, in moments of hardship, Joe and I have stopped trying to comfort each other with words of "it's okay." Instead, we're opting for "Christ is risen!" and the hope of that reality is beyond comparison. We love to sing Shane & Shane's Hallelujah, Christ Will Come Again, because it changes everything. The chorus is simple: Christ has died, Christ is risen. Hallelujah, Christ will come again. The joyful promise of these lyrics makes traffic jams less infuriating. It makes financial stresses less fearsome. It makes the brokenness of this world less grim. Christ will come again.
And I have to think, today, that Dr. King was clinging to this very hope throughout every speech, march, and peaceful protest of his entire tenure in the Civil Rights Movement. We're familiar with the part of his "I Have a Dream" speech that sings of "little Black boys and Black girls [being] able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers." However, I know that I, personally, was far less aware of the stanza that follows:
I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.
It's taken right from Isaiah 40, and it has earmarks of the very song Joe and I sing in times of despair: Hallelujah, Christ will come again. Dr. King endured greater hardship that most of us can even begin to fathom, and yet his reason for hope crescendos in harmony with the saints of old and all who put their faith in Jesus: One day all that is broken, crooked, wicked and evil will be made right, and the Lord will return in glory, and every tribe, tongue, and nation will sing His praises. "This," says King, "is our hope. This is the faith that I go back to the south with. With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope."
Out of the doldrums of winter, a glimmer of sunlight.
Out of the brokenness of racial segregation, war-ridden lands, disease, and despair, the hope of Christ's return.
And this does not mean that we stop seeking reconciliation, loving all of our neighbors, confronting racism and racist systems, praying for justice, pursuing peace. But like the streaks of sunrise when all else seems grey, this hope gives us strength to endure and joy for the journey.