By: Chad Hyatt
Reflection—v.19, ‘treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart’
The strange thing about authentic hope is that it begins to take root in our hearts out of circumstances that we might dismiss as hopeless. What keeps me going when I want to give up is our little community. For me, Mercy has become a tiny reflection of the light that all our churches could be in beleaguered times like these. No, no I’m not saying it’s because we’ve somehow got it all together—far from it. We’re messy and broken and sinful. But though we are beset by a lack of shelter and the poverty of the most basic resources, and our best attempts to care for one another are never enough—and on the coldest, wettest nights they are not even close to enough—still it is in our community that I find hope. I find it in the tenderness we express for one another, in our listening ears and hearts. I find it in our hearty laughter and silly dancing, the easy smiles that come from knowing one another and having been through joys and sorrows together. I even find it in our deepest wounds and most hurtful conflicts, as we confess our sins to one another. In all of this, I see and feel and know love—a love divine and eternal. And it’s because of that love, even in our poverty and brokenness, that I find hope. I imagine it wasn’t so different in a Bethlehem barn all those years ago.
Prayer: God of little communities and great love, you give us hope in hopelessness.