Hope from Love (22)
Christopher B. Harbin
Lectionary, Year C, Trinity Sunday
Romans 5:1-11
Where does hope come from? They may say ‘‘Hope is the last to die,’’ but hope can be hard to locate amid chaos, destruction, loss, and uncertainty. Trauma makes hope difficult. With repeated loss, daring to hope can feel dangerous. Without a well of strength on which to draw, we hold hope at arm’s length, afraid our dreams will be crushed one more time, uncertain whether we would survive the turmoil of further trauma. We may not dare to hope when we expect our dreams will be dashed to pieces. Where do we turn to find hope that will not become disappointment? Is there a more secure way forward? Is there a path to hope that cannot fail?
I talked with Dad recently. As always, he was happy to hear from me. Every time we talk, he tells me he is proud of me. That makes me feel good. I get the sense, however, that whether or not he were proud of me, he would love me just the same. It’s as though his love for me is not conditioned on the quality of my abilities, my actions, the content of my character, my calling in life, nor how well I do or do not advance that calling. It’s not conditioned on how well I live up to his expectations of and for me. He simply loves me. The rest is just what we would call icing on the cake. It’s superfluous. My relationship with him and its security do not depend on those extra bits. Our relationship is built and firmly rooted in Dad’s love for me, come what may.
I mean, let’s be honest. Dad was proud of me when my greatest accomplishment was smiling. Dad was proud of me before I was capable of that. Dad was proud of and loved me when it was all I could do to stay upright on my bike for 3 seconds at a time. The hope I have in our relationship is not based on anything I can accomplish or become. My hope is secure in the love which binds us despite how many miles might separate us or whatever differences we might have in opinion. Dad was pro ...
Christopher B. Harbin
Lectionary, Year C, Trinity Sunday
Romans 5:1-11
Where does hope come from? They may say ‘‘Hope is the last to die,’’ but hope can be hard to locate amid chaos, destruction, loss, and uncertainty. Trauma makes hope difficult. With repeated loss, daring to hope can feel dangerous. Without a well of strength on which to draw, we hold hope at arm’s length, afraid our dreams will be crushed one more time, uncertain whether we would survive the turmoil of further trauma. We may not dare to hope when we expect our dreams will be dashed to pieces. Where do we turn to find hope that will not become disappointment? Is there a more secure way forward? Is there a path to hope that cannot fail?
I talked with Dad recently. As always, he was happy to hear from me. Every time we talk, he tells me he is proud of me. That makes me feel good. I get the sense, however, that whether or not he were proud of me, he would love me just the same. It’s as though his love for me is not conditioned on the quality of my abilities, my actions, the content of my character, my calling in life, nor how well I do or do not advance that calling. It’s not conditioned on how well I live up to his expectations of and for me. He simply loves me. The rest is just what we would call icing on the cake. It’s superfluous. My relationship with him and its security do not depend on those extra bits. Our relationship is built and firmly rooted in Dad’s love for me, come what may.
I mean, let’s be honest. Dad was proud of me when my greatest accomplishment was smiling. Dad was proud of me before I was capable of that. Dad was proud of and loved me when it was all I could do to stay upright on my bike for 3 seconds at a time. The hope I have in our relationship is not based on anything I can accomplish or become. My hope is secure in the love which binds us despite how many miles might separate us or whatever differences we might have in opinion. Dad was pro ...
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