We are nearing the end of summer 2021, and somehow it seems like January is repeating itself for too many of us.

Personally, I do not want a repeat of any part of January, thank you very much. January brought pain and loss to my little corner of the world. Over the past few months, I’ve grieved and healed, and I seem to have made some progress. But then a word, a report, a memory, and I’m back in the cold and the bleak. In the long nights without rest, the short days of pushing away anxiety to “try to get something done.” The focus on visible, measurable, something. As long as it gets done.

We’ve been here before. We’ve seen the illness and the impossibility of recovering, of preventing. We’ve heard the shouting and the silencing. We’ve despaired in the face of uncertainty. Unsettled moments slowly drain the hope.

I see the hot takes – some scalding, some burned beyond anyone’s taste. I have my own inclinations to jump in and speak my mind, but I wonder, do I have anything to add here? Will my words bring hope?

Will my words bring hope.

A question and a statement, because if they will then I shouldn’t be silent and if they won’t then I shouldn’t speak, but somehow that sensible advice seems to flip in the reality of our interactions. I’m not only talking about political arguments and how we face global pandemics. In the day-to-day opportunities to encourage and challenge each other, will my words bring hope?

I Peter 3:15 says “Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you the reason for the hope that you have…” which I was taught was the greatest verse about apologetics. In the church we’ve pushed the idea of “be ready to give an answer,” but what kind of answers are we giving? Are we telling the reason that we have hope? I’m afraid too many of us answer questions not even asked of us, inserting ourselves in conversations to increase our sense of significance, assert authority, or tear down the down-trodden, when the conversation never involved us to begin with.

What is the reason for the hope you have?

Maybe we should back up even more – do you behave, speak, interact as if you know that you have hope?

Believers are to operate as if they have hope. And as I watch online and observe in person, I don’t always see hope in our interactions. I see despair and desperation, a clinging to tradition, a defense of a way of doing things, loyalty to temporal values that are passing away and must – when we are renewed by God’s glory and grace – pass away fully. The shadows of what we think we know will flee in his ever-brightening light. And until then we have hope.

We have hope in a resurrection. We have hope in complete healing. We have hope that the struggles, trials, abuses, and injustices are not in vain. We have hope of perfect joy, and of life without sin, sorrow, or death. We have hope of eternity.

But we also have hope in this fading world. We have hope of right-now transformation, and hard-won progress. We have hope of fruit produced in us that is sweeter than any we could manufacture for ourselves. We have hope that our words and our presence matter in this moment, and in the moments beyond. We have hope that we are seen and loved and valued for who we are, regardless of what we do. We have hope, believers. Precious, life-giving hope.

It’s time to live as if we have hope. It’s time to speak up based on that hope, and to keep our peace if our words don’t lead others to hope. It’s time to offer hope to each other. We may not always have an answer to the topic of the day, but we always have a reason for hope.