Text: Romans 8:18-27
July 11, 2004, Dave Philips

            A group of senior citizens was drinking coffee at the First Street Café and discussing their ailments. “My arms are so weak I can hardly hold this cup of coffee,” said one. “Yes, I know,” replied another. “My cataracts are so bad I can’t even see my coffee!”  “It has gotten to where I can’t hear anything anymore,” shouted the loudest voice of the group. “I can’t turn my head because of the arthritis in my neck,” said the fourth, to which several nodded weakly in agreement. “My blood pressure pills make me so dizzy I think I’m going to pass out,” complained another. “I can’t even remember what I’m doing half the time,” yet another chimed in.  “If I don’t make myself a note, I forget what I am trying to do in the first place,”  “I guess that’s the price we pay for getting old,” mused one old fellow as he shook his head.

            Then there was a short moment of silence... “Well, it’s not that bad,” said one woman cheerfully. “Thank the Lord we can all still drive!”¹

            There is a genuinely hopeful group: lots of things have gone wrong in their lives, but they haven’t given up -- they can still drive!  We’re thinking again today about the nature of Christian hope.  My question for the day: is Christian hope a fragile thing, or is it tough?  Is it a figment of our overheated Christian imaginations, or is it something substantial?

            Our Christian hope is certainly not in synch with some of the cutting-edge thinkers of the secular world.  Listen to a few of them: Igor Stravinsky, composer: “We can neither put back the clock nor slow down our forward speed, and as we are already flying pilot-less, on instrument controls, it is even too late to ask where we are going.” 

            Kurt Vonnegut Jr., novelist: “It strikes me as gruesome and comical that in our culture we have an expectation that a man can always solve his problems.  This is so untrue that it makes me want to cry -- or laugh.” 

            Paul Dickson, writer:  “The odds are six to five that the light at the end of the tunnel is the headlight of an oncoming train.”  We can say pretty confidently that the thoughts these cutting edge thinkers are expressing do not spring from their Christian faith.

            On the other hand, sometimes we Christians are overly optimistic.  It’s possible to develop an attitude that we call Christian hope that relentlessly looks on the bright side no matter what the harsh realities are.  Recently I read a chapter in a book by a Christian writer.  The title of the chapter was, “How to Be Happy All of the Time.”  That chapter title rubbed me the wrong way.  I think it is misleading.  It gives the impression that Christian faith is something magical, a pill that we pop when we’re feeling blue that drugs us to the harsh realities of life.

            I remember as a young man getting into an argument with an agnostic who attended our college Bible study.  In the midst of his attacks on Christianity, one of the young women asked him, “Lenny, do you ever get depressed?”  

            “Yes,” Lenny admitted, “and then when I’ve been depressed for a while, I get over it, and I feel better.”  I thought it was time for me to score some points for the Lord, so I said: “But Lenny, when you’re a Christian, you never feel depressed again.”

            Friends, that was a damned lie.  I mean that in the proper and not the profane sense.  It was a lie that deserved the condemnation of God.  I knew that I was lying, Lenny knew that I was lying, and, worst of all, Lenny knew that I knew I was lying.

            We don’t need to lie!  The truth is much more gratifying -- and more exciting.  Life is tough, no question.  But we Christians have a hope in Jesus Christ that is tougher, a hope that can take the heat. 

 

LIFE IS TOUGH

 

            Trying to pretend that life is not tough is totally unrealistic.  Even if we call in God to contradict the reality of the toughness of life, even if we imply that a Christian can and should be happy all the time, the toughness of life, the tragic nature of life will not go away.  Paul says, “I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory about to be revealed to us.”  But he in no way implies that there is no suffering for us Christians.  On the contrary, suffering is promised to us by God, suffering is built in to our human experience.  Notice Paul’s language in verses 22-23 of chapter 8: “We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labor pains until now.” 

            Listen to what Paul is saying: he’s telling us that because of the evil in the world due to human sin the whole creation is groaning, all of nature is sending out distress signals.  In the beautiful hymn that we use in worship from time to time, we say, “All nature sings, and round me rings the music of the spheres.”  And that’s true, as far as it goes.  But Paul is saying here in Romans 8, “All nature groans, and round me moans the anguish of the spheres.” 

            You can hear these distress signals from nature if you listen carefully: you can hear them in the fires crackling over in Arizona.  You can smell the pain of creation as you sniff the odor of a polluted water way.  Your heart aches when you hear that a species, like the Monarch butterfly, is in danger.

            Then Paul says, “Not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, [that is, we Christians] groan inwardly while we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies.”  We have a glorious future to look forward to, but we’ve got to go through some major pain en route to that future.

            Leslie Weatherhead describes a girl he knew named Betty.  “Betty lived in the slum of a great city.  She . . . has to be waited upon because she is a complete invalid.  In childhood she was physically fit enough, but something went wrong at an operation.  And Betty has been in bed ever since, and is very often in great pain. 

            “Nor must you imagine” says Dr. Weatherhead, “that Betty provides a splendid pulpit illustration of one who, though greatly handicapped, is a benediction to all who come near her because of her radiant faith in God.  No, poor Betty is not like that!  She curses God.  She swears at those who visit her.  If they expostulate with her about her temper and tantrums and tears and language, she tells them that they would talk a ‘damned sight different’ if they were where she is.  Adequate medical opinion has been consulted, of course, but no one holds out any hope for Betty.  As far as can be seen, she will stay in that slum bed until merciful death intervenes.”² 

            Life is not a bowl of cherries.  It’s tough.  We Christians groan by virtue of our humanity.  As we should!  Any Christian who does not agonize, from time to time, about the state of the world is in deep denial.  John Stott, one of our ablest Christian scholars, in commenting on our scripture lesson says, “Some Christians...who seem to have no place in their theology for pain grin too much and groan too little.”³ 

 

BUT CHRISTIAN HOPE IS TOUGHER

 

            Life is tough but Christian hope is tougher!  Sure, there are people like Betty who never connect with the good news nor acknowledge Christ as Lord and Savior.  But I’ve met enough Christians in my life who have gone through incredible disasters, who have experienced the depths of suffering, to know that Betty’s story is not the only one there is.

            Hope, like faith, is a choice.  You can choose to believe that there is nothing redemptive about suffering.  But the experience of every authentic church of Jesus Christ contradicts that notion.  To choose to hope in a world full of pain is to choose to be magnificently human.  To choose to hope in a world full of pain is to choose to be magnificently Christian.

            We humans are fascinated with hopeful people, as we should be!  Whenever a natural disaster takes place, of course there’s a television crew there five minutes after. But have you ever listened while ordinary people tell television reporters, “We lost everything in the tornado” (or the fire, or the flood), “but we’re tough people, and we’re going to rebuild our town.” 

            You know, our American response to such tragedies is not necessarily typical of the way the rest of the world reacts.  My anthropologist sister Jane was on a field trip in the Far East.  She visited a hospital in India and was startled by the attitude of the terminally ill patients.  “They didn’t seem to be inclined to fight their illnesses,” she observed.  “They were fatalistic about them and seemed to want to just die and go on to the next incarnation.”

            We Americans owe our Judeo-Christian heritage a lot for the never-say-die attitude that we see in the lives or our citizens.  We Americans have learned this attitude from the Bible.

            Contrast a fatalistic attitude with the attitude of Paul who tells his Philippian friends, “I’m not sure which would be right for me: life or death.  If I live, I get to be with you and do Christ’s work.  But, of course, if I die, I get to be with Christ forever.  And that would be fantastic!  But I think what Christ wants is for me is to continue my work with you and watch your progress in the faith. So, that’s what I’m planning to do.  Because for me, living is Christ, and dying means even more life  with Christ.”⁴ 

            Debbie Prey Nelson is a lovely young woman whom I had the privilege of marrying to her husband, Jim, several years ago.  The Nelsons were blessed with four beautiful kids.  Then they had a fifth child, B. J., and he was a blessing too, but not in the way they expected.  As Debbie expresses  it, “Right from the beginning I noticed odd little behaviors [with B. J.].... As I tried to cuddle with him at bedtime and nap time, all I ended up with were scratch marks on my face and an anxiety level that nearly went through the roof.  Trying to bring his body close to mine only brought an arched back, strange noises, and fingers in my eyes....  I would go to his room to check him before I went to bed.  Often I would find him lying perfectly still just staring at nothing.  He wouldn’t even know I was there.”

            After two and a half years and a long series of evaluations by neurologists, it was determined that B. J. was autistic.  Debbie and Jim were heartbroken.  Again, listen to Debbie’s words: “I wish I could say that through these past several years I have been faithful to meet with God on a daily basis and draw from his divine grace....I can’t.  But what I can say is that in my weakness, God has been there every step of the way. 

            “How do I know that?  I know because every time I lose hope, God gives me more, along with a peace and encouragement that we’re going to be okay.  I know because when I would run out of prayers and just didn’t know how to pray about this any more, I would hear a new prayer in an all new direction coming out of my mouth.”

            Let me stop for a moment with Debbie’s story.  Did you hear what she said?  “I would hear a new prayer in an all new direction coming out of my mouth.”  Remember what we just read in Romans 8?  “The Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not how to pray as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express.” 

            The whole creation groans, we Christians groan, and God, the Holy Spirit, groans prayers of intercession for us.  Wow!  God knows what we go through!  In Christ God has been there and done that!  If we must go through suffering, and the word of God tells us clearly that we must, I can’t think of anything more comforting than believing that when I can’t pray, the Holy Spirit prays for me with groans that words can’t express.

            Back to Debbie’s story: the Nelsons had to move from their familiar home town to a new one.  They began to look for a new church.  It was very discouraging!  Time after time they encountered less than friendly reactions to B. J.’s behavior in the churches they visited.  After several weeks, Debbie was very discouraged.  “I voiced a wish to myself,” she said, “but evidently God heard it too!  I wished I could take B. J. into a church nursery and simply hear someone say to me, ‘That’s okay, I have one too.”

            The Nelsons tried a new church.  Debbie took B. J. into the Sunday school classroom for his age group. The teacher was a woman named Sandy Townsend.  Debbie started to explain how it was with B. J., when, as she said, “Sandy looked at me with the kindest eyes I had seen all summer and said, ‘That’s okay, I have one too.’”

            Debbie was stunned!  Out of Sandy’s mouth came the exact words she had been hoping for.  She went to Jim, her husband, and said, “We’re home!”

            Debbie and Jim have a tough life with an autistic child.  But their hope as Christians is tougher.

            So, what are you going to do with all this good stuff about hope?  You can file it mentally, and maybe that’s your best choice for today -- maybe you need to think it over before you decide what you think about Christian hope.  I’m not going to twist your arm.  That’s God’s job.  But as you’re thinking about the hope described in Romans 8, ask yourself: is there anything better on the market?  Do Paul Dickson, or Kurt Vonnegut, Jr., or Igor Stravinsky really know more about the way things are than St. Paul?  Or Debbie Nelson, for that matter?

            On the other hand, maybe you’ve thought enough about this, and you’re just delaying a decision that you should have made long ago.  Remember, hope, like faith, is a choice.  It’s a choice that nobody but you can make.  And it’s a choice that you can make right now, today.  You can choose to believe, as the secularists do, that the light at the end of the tunnel is the headlight of an oncoming train.

            But you can also choose to believe this incredibly ancient, and also incredibly relevant and modern bit of good news: even though the whole creation groans with anguish, even though we Christians groan because of the pain of our lives, nevertheless God, the Holy Spirit, groans as he intercedes for us at the throne of grace.  And whatever we have to endure in our human existence: whether tribulation or distress or persecution or famine or nakedness or peril or sword -- nothing will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

            Can you believe that?  Will you choose that as your hope?  Will you make that choice today?