Hope that is alive.
Yesterday I spoke about how hope has changed because God came to be with us as a human being who overcame the power of sin and death. This hope is now "in us" and "living" according to Peter (1 Peter 1). The writer of Hebrews is not at all bashful, declaring that it is a better hope than the hope the Jews had which had shrunk from that of an all-powerful God conquering all other gods to a domesticated God safely dwelling in their midst in the temple and being managed by their appeasing rituals. The church fathers--Clement, Barnabas, and Igantius all followed these lines of thought, and developing them to the point where hope and faith could be viewed as nearly synonymous. What didn't occur to me as I studied, that does hit me today, is that a living hope like this is a dangerous hope--or at least an exciting one. Everyday it holds the potential and power to charge ahead, to change direction, to seek new horizons. Hope is not static--set in stone and predicatable--but fluid and changing, completely unpredictable. The hope of the Jews was a hope of destination. The hope of Christians is a hope of journey and adventure. We wake to a new hope every morning.
What it's like when you speak on Sunday mornings.
Every Saturday night feels a lot like the night before Ayanna was going to be born by C-section. There's the anticipation of what's to come . . . the sense of inevitability . . . the desire to be prepared mentally and emotionally . . . and a profound weight of responsibility that just hangs over my head. I dread every Saturday night, but can't imagine not having Sunday happen.
This is the beginning of something I've wanted to do for quite awhile.
Why? Why not? I guess I just like what blogging can represents- an extended community of non-professionals writing with passion about anything (even one's inner life) with open transparency. So, I'm going to try it, and I'm hoping my wife Cami will give this a try too.