Hope for a Broken World

Stumble

Sometimes – well most of the time – I write bubbly. I know this. People who meet me for the first time tell me “I knew you’d be a hugger.” And I am!

Most of the time, I’m filled with joy and gratefulness that I’m unconditionally loved by God and that He’s saved me from my own brokenness and so many times, walked me through the “side effects” of the brokenness of others. Even when I’m walking through really hard things, I try hard to do it with a smile, because the truth of my hope, in what God’s done and is doing and what He promises to do, is so much greater than the difficulty of the dark places. It’s only those closest to me, who’ve shared trust for years, who hear me really grieve and complain about things. (Unless I get to a point where I just need to let it out. Which happens. You, too?)

But. Sometimes, friend, we have to say the hard things. Sometimes the broken places around us are so visible and so deeply affecting those around us that we can’t put on a smile – we have to be somber and grieve and mourn and call out that people are dying (quite literally) without hope. In particular, our nation is battling countless issues of violence, hate, confusion, deviant behavior and division. It’s affecting every age, from unborn to old, and it’s rising to panic level in many circles. In others, it’s quietly destroying lives, unspoken in polite society, largely ignored until some issue or other breaks through on the news, ruffles our placid world, and demands public outcry. Sometimes we forget that we may actually hold the hope for a broken world.

I write about living a life of welcome.

Sometimes, creating welcome means first recognizing that there’s both a darkness to run from, and a haven to run to… and becoming that haven of hope. We have to speak about the darkness so we can offer others haven. And we have to be sure the “haven” we offer isn’t some pretty substitute, some lovely artificial version of the real thing.

The answer for our broken world, our broken places, the broken relationships of broken people, is not essential oils or natural remedies or yoga or Whole 30 or Christian bloggers or hospitality or gun control or tolerance or racial equity or workplace equality or women’s empowerment or any other “fix.”

The answer for our broken places, the hole in our hearts and the darkness we battle individually that sometimes, un-bidden, creeps out to cause harm to us that’s tangible to us and affects others around, is Jesus. That’s it. He, alone ultimately, is the answer.

Those other helps may be good ones (although sometimes they’re terribly wrong or inadequate), but they’re not THE answer. They might cause short-term relief for our deepest needs, or frankly, they might cause more damage than good if not addressed with truth in love, but alone, not one of these solutions will bring us life, or hope, or goodness that will last.

It’s scary to type these words, because sometimes, I like to offer up more “friendly,” less intimidating ideas that might lead to the ultimate answer found in that one name. Other ideas are more polite, more fun, more lighthearted. And those other ideas, I hope, will inspire action and bring joy and yes, point to Him. But if they don’t, they’re pointless. At my core, if I’m speaking or remaining silent, if I’m making a delicious treat or setting a table or just having a cup of tea with a friend, I always long to share Him more than anything else. (I shared a few more of my thoughts on this on Facebook this week.)

This week as yet another potential tragedy touched our local town and was avoided, and I heard the quietly uttered details, my heart broke. It broke because legal action and disciplinary intervention and policy and procedure may alleviate short-term problems, but behind every act of violence committed in either the mind or the public square, there is a desperate person, confused about life and starving to know truth and be loved. And my heart broke because I wonder how many times those who know God’s love personally, through Jesus, remain silent, because it’s scary to do otherwise. How many times are we content to be “good people,” religious people, or even call ourselves Christian? How many times do we let our focus become selling a vitamin or a book, putting on a pretty program, performing a rockin’ music show, or appearing to be the perfect person? How many times do we fail to offer in words, the hope of what that means to those who desperately need to hear it? If we are to truly offer hope to a world that needs it, we have to step back and see what we’ve done wrong, where we’ve left actions undone or words unsaid. We have to decide we’re going to move forward differently. The Bible says it this way:

If my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and will heal their land.

(2 Chronicles 7:14)

If you’re reading and you are a Christian, open your Bible and read the entire chapter of 2 Chronicles 7. It takes place as Solomon is building the temple for God, and this particular verse offers such hope in context. We can, I believe, rightly apply its truth to our own situation, as followers of God in a nation that no one can deny, needs healing. But keep reading. You will see that because His nature is good, and because He truly does love us, He will also not stand for our silence. In order to be sure His message won’t be diluted, that no one can mistake the hope only He offers for some false substitute, He will not allow His people to wander long from His heart and from living as He calls them to. He will discipline them, because He loves them. He will call them to account when they are silent to praise Him, unfaithful to obey Him, and put their hearts and souls toward other objects of worship. If you know Him personally, ask Him how He’s calling you to deeper obedience in speaking the truth, in love.

If you don’t claim to know God (or maybe even believe in Him at all), don’t stop reading. If there’s anything here that is sweet to you, keep going. Put it to use, take what you can, and keep coming back. Because oh, friend – I hope my writing lightens your heart, inspires you to make something beautiful, gives you tools to create a delicious meal, and helps you craft a welcoming home. But my deepest prayer is that it does something more – that it calls you to long for, to run to, the God who made you and is at the heart of all beautiful things. He is the hope for a broken world.