04/03/2015 in: Inspirationon
Guest Blogger: Melissa Joy
But when I hoped for good, evil came,
and when I waited for light, darkness came.
Hope is a double edged sword. Walking through Holy Week, we think along the lines of so many events… It’s so busy! Jesus Christ rode into Jerusalem while His people worshipped and called hosanna, He cleansed the temple and taught His people, He is betrayed by one who is unfaithful, He is perfumed by one who is faithful, He gives thanks even in the presence of His betrayer, He hands out bread and wine to His followers, He prays in solitude, He is captured and taken away, He is scrutinized and condemned, He is taken before leaders and stood before multitudes, He is burdened in every imaginable way, He is stripped and scourged, He is hung and nailed through, He cries out, He is forsaken, He bleeds, He dies, He is taken away, He is buried in the dark tomb…
The time between death and resurrection feels so dark, so empty, so long. What is happening in this day between Friday and Sunday? What are we to do as we sit outside the tomb? And what is our Lord doing in the darkness, the cold grips of death?
I have experienced waiting—longing, yearning, begging—for something, feeling like darkness and grief and death and hopelessness reigns around me. Hope is illusive.
Hope is defined as a longing and a desire, anticipating something good to come, a trust, to desire expectation. But Scripture adds a nuance of entwining hope with faith. A quick search of the word hope shows 164 places in the ESV Bible where the word is directly mentioned—and even more frequently alluded to. Adding faith to hope limits the results to just 13. We who are schooled in the Church are very familiar with the idea in Hebrews 11:1 that faith is the assurance of things hoped for—assurance. Faith is the guarantee of the hope.
Where is our hope? In the Lord. And what is the assurance of Him? Our faith. And who gave us this faith? Paul plainly tells us that faith is a gift of the Lord (Ephesians 2:8). But—He died. He is in the tomb!
On Saturday the busyness slows, seems to stop. What is the Lord doing? What are His people doing? The tomb is closed. Hope feels lost. The Guarantor of my hope, the One in whom I have faith, is lying lifeless in a dark cave, covered in perfumes and herbs, wrapped in burial cloths. I can not see my Lord, I only see thick rock through my eyelashes dripping with tears.
What do we do with our faith and our hope when we seem to be stuck in the long, dark Saturday between death and resurrection? When we can not see what the Lord is doing, do not grasp what His people are up to, and ultimately feel like we must simply wait because the darkness is so heavy and the grief so thick that there is nothing to do but sit. Wait. Groan. Wonder. Weep.
Where then is my hope?
Who will see my hope?
© Melissa Joy, 2015
Melissa Joy seeks to grow in grace and wisdom alongside her husband Steven (Olive Tree’s VP of Operations), while pursuing joyful domesticity by nurturing her home and family. The joy she finds in her family, homemaking, music, writing, ministering to those in grief, and seeking to be a pillar of loving strength in her home can be seen unveiled at Joyful Domesticity.