The Sermon at The Sanctuary for 3/20/22 “Living an Easter Hope” Romans 5:1-6

A reminder that as we set our sights on Easter over the next several weeks, we’ll be at and around the cross to prepare our hearts in anticipation of resurrection promise through our Lord. This morning I want to remind you that because of this promise—we can live an Easter hope every day.
Therefore, since we have been made right in God’s sight by faith, we have peace with God because of what Jesus Christ our Lord has done for us. 2 Because of our faith, Christ has brought us into this place of undeserved privilege where we now stand, and we confidently and joyfully look forward to sharing God’s glory.
3 We can rejoice, too, when we run into problems and trials, for we know that they help us develop endurance. 4 And endurance develops strength of character, and character strengthens our confident hope of salvation. 5 And this hope will not lead to disappointment. For we know how dearly God loves us, because he has given us the Holy Spirit to fill our hearts with his love.
6 When we were utterly helpless, Christ came at just the right time and died for us sinners.
Some of you know that I have a spiritual practice of warning people that I will disappoint them. For a few years at our annual business meeting as new faces were coming to The Sanctuary, we would go around the room sharing what drew us to this faith community or what keeps us here, and it’s probably something we should get back to. Most would usually say it’s a comfortable place where they can just be who they are, or they love the music, events or the people were warm and friendly. And the sermons were inspiring too. Which no one said, ever. Hmmmph.
One time someone said that their mom was Baptist and their dad was agnostic and that this church kinda felt like a combo of the two. And while I wasn’t entirely sure I knew what that meant, I said, “Cool.” Yet during that time there were people who weren’t happy at all, and the exodus was on. Let my people go. Which reminds me of this. I once had a conversation with a mother and daughter who came to check out the church and social hall to possibly rent out as a wedding venue. As the mom asked questions about the church and its history, she revealed that her family attended a church locally here for several years and after going through some intense turmoil, a family member passed away. After the funeral, though, she said her family fell through the cracks. No one seemed to care and that really hurt. She felt the church let her family down and they hadn’t been back since. I remember replying that there’s no perfect church and though intentions are well, people fail as expectations aren’t met. I told her that I’ve been here long enough to fail people not once, but again and even again. And here’s a not so guarded secret. Eventually this church will disappoint you. Or I will fail to meet your expectations, or I’ll say something stupid and hurt your feelings. It’s not a matter of if, it’s just when. Maybe we should have a disclaimer on the marquee, “Abandon hope, all ye who enter here.” Welcome to The Sanctuary. Come as you are, we will disappoint you. It could be the worse invitation ever.
I mention this because in our reading from Romans, Paul speaks of hope and he says hope does not disappoint. Which I honestly have a hard time relating to since I, like many of you, have had hopes which have ended in disappointment. And sometimes it’s easier to not hope at all rather than to risk starting with hope and ending up with disappointment. Can I get a witness?
It all reminds me of that story at the end of Luke’s gospel when a few days after Jesus’ death a couple of his disciples were walking the road to Emmaus trying to make sense of what had just happened in Jerusalem, remember? The triumphal entry on Palm Sunday, the shared meal, the betrayal, the arrest and trial and crucifixion. And as they discussed all of this, a stranger walked up (spoiler alert – it was Jesus) and he was like, “Hey, what are you guys talking about?” They didn’t recognize him and so they told the story of Jesus’ life, ministry and death at which point they then speak what are maybe the 3 saddest words in scripture:
We Had Hoped.
We had hoped Jesus was the one to redeem us. Instead, Jesus is dead, and it is we who are defeated. Those two disciples started with hope and ended with disappointment.
We had hoped. We had hoped that the time and money spent on a graduate degree would mean we’d be in a better financial place by now. We had hoped that our parents would love us unconditionally. We had hoped that by this time in life we would be married, or we would have a meaningful career, or we would be able to retire, or we would feel like we at least knew what the heck we were doing in life. And well, that didn’t happen.
Because hope as a starting point looks like Palm Sunday. Right? It looks like the crowds entering triumphantly into Jerusalem shouting Hosanna. But we know Palm Sunday always turns into Good Friday eventually.
Which is maybe why not only does Paul speak of a hope that does not disappoint, but he connects it to suffering of all things. Which feels a little sketchy to me—connecting hope and suffering. I for one, would have a hard time liking anyone who if during my own suffering cheerfully reminded me that suffering produces endurance and endurance, character and character hope and hope doesn’t disappoint us.
I’ve said it before but whenever I’m in a mess of hurt, when a relationship has soured or I’m in some kind of circumstantial distress and some well-meaning person says, “Remember, Art, you know that when God closes a door, he opens a window.” Yeah, well then, I immediately start looking around for that open window so I can shove their butt right through it. Which is to say, I don’t find ignoring the difficult reality of our lives in favor of cheerful optimism to be hopeful. I find it to be a deterrent.
Here’s a thought. Maybe if hope isn’t a very reliable starting point, then hope isn’t something we strive to muster up for ourselves. Maybe real hope is always something we are surprised by. Last week I started to think of Hope as that which is left after all else has failed us. And that is an Easter hope, a resurrection hope.
When it comes down to it, we all want hope. We want a hope that doesn’t disappoint. Don’t we want possibility that comes from Someone other than our own limitations or the limitations of others? I want a hope in life that isn’t just gullible optimism. I want a hope that finds us living for something that is all at once preposterous and impossible and yet the most real and honest thing we know.
That is to say, I want God. Because God never disappoints. I know that I have and will again, but he never does.
Because a hope that does not disappoint looks less like being idealistic about ourselves and more like being realistic about God’s redeeming work in us and the world. It’s a hope that doesn’t come from naïve cheerfulness—but from being wrong and falling short, experiencing hurt and being an offender. It’s a hope that comes from suffering and the grave and what feels like a night from which dawn could never emerge—and then how God reaches into the very graves that we dig for ourselves and once again loves us back to life.
The Easter hope we have, brothers and sisters, the hope that never disappoints has nothing to do with optimism or the avoidance of suffering. Easter hope is a promise that can only come from a God who has experienced birth, the friendship of a mother and lepers and tax collectors and notorious sinners and betrayal and suffering and death and burial and a decent into personal hell itself. Only a God who has borne suffering himself can bring us any real hope of resurrection. And if ever given the choice of optimism or resurrection, I’ll go with resurrection any day of the week because it’s not just for Sunday anymore.
This is the God of whom Paul speaks. And the Christian faith is one that does not pretend things aren’t hard when they are. This is a faith that does not offer platitudes to those who lost children last week to suicide or sickness. This is not a faith that produces optimism, it is a faith that produces a defiant hope that God is still writing our stories and that despite darkness a light shines and that God can redeem our crap, that quiet space matters and that despite every disappointing thing we have ever done or that we have ever endured—there is no hell from which resurrection is impossible. The Christian faith is one that kicks at the darkness until it bleeds daylight.
Just as back in the day when we would share our stories; what brought us here, what keeps us here at The Sanctuary, there are still those of you who also have a story to tell. A story developed and told out of an Easter hope and we’d love to hear it. A hope that sustains because that hope does not disappoint.
People will always come and go here, and people will always leave churches because they’ve been disappointed and that will always be sad to me. Not because they leave, but that they will miss the way that God’s grace fills in the cracks left behind from our brokenness and how that through the process he deposits an Easter hope which does not disappoint. And that’s not something to miss. So, welcome to The Sanctuary. We will probably disappoint you, if we haven’t already. But we don’t think God will—and in this and this alone do we confidently place our hope.
May our prayer continue to be that God will build his kingdom here in all of us, because he is still rolling stones.
This is the Word of the Lord for the day.
Amen.