Bright Hope for Tomorrow

Around this time last year, I did not know a lot of things.

Take our dog, for instance.

Please!

But seriously, I didn’t know we were going to get a dog, not for sure anyway. His name is Biscuit, he’s a good boy, and he is very happy to see you.

Sure you don’t want a dog?

I did not know that I would be elected and installed the new senior pastor New City Church. I knew it was a possibility, of course, but it seemed presumptuous for me to think it was a done deal.

I did not know that I would contract a rare disease that would render me weaker than a child and unable to perform even the most basic functions without leaving me utterly spent.

I did not know that my mother would be diagnosed with incurable cancer, and that I would be giving the eulogy at her funeral just six months later.

It was this last surprise that occupied much of my head and heart space over the last few months. I spoke briefly about my mother in this past Sunday’s sermon.

I wonder if you would allow me to tell you a little more about her.

At the age of seventy-seven, my mother was not young, but she was clear-minded and tough. She did have a few health problems over the years, but she never drank, smoked, and generally lived a clean lifestyle. It was a shock when we heard that she had been diagnosed with stage four lung cancer.

But that initial shock was the easiest part of the grief journey. It’s relatively easy to be philosophical, to think and say the right things before the real pain sets in.

My mother was a pianist and organist, and music was always a big part of her life. I grew up watching my dad conduct the church choir while my mother accompanied on the piano or the pipe organ. Our home was always filled with music and the singing of psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs. It was inevitable that music would play a big part in my mother’s dying.

In late April, when our family first gathered around her after receiving the surprise cancer diagnosis, we prayed, we read scripture, and, yes, we sang a hymn.

As the treatments only resulted in complications and did nothing to kill the cancer, we prayed and watched with grief as my mother suffered and wasted away. It was hard to sing then.

In late September, we made the difficult decision to place my mother in hospice care. Four days before she died, we gathered around her bed. At this point, she was on strong medication to manage her pain, which made it difficult for her to communicate. Through tears, we prayed and sang,

Pardon for sin and a peace that endureth,
Thine own dear presence to cheer and to guide;
Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow,
Blessings all mine, with ten thousand beside.

Two days later, we gathered around her one last time. And we sang,

No fate I dread, I know I am forgiven
The future's sure, the price, it has been paid
For Jesus bled and suffered for my pardon
And He was raised to overthrow the grave

Two days later, I received a call from my dad just past midnight. He told me that my mother had died peacefully in her sleep. In a daze, I hastily put on my jacket and drove to the hospice.

As I drove, I sang,

Hold Thou Thy cross before my closing eyes
Shine through the gloom and point me to the skies
Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee
In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me

As I sang, alone in the car, I was surprised that there were no tears obscuring my vision. Instead, I felt an uncanny mixture of sadness, relief, and yes, joy. During that twenty-minute drive to the hospice, I experienced a powerful certainty that heaven’s morning had, indeed, broken for my mother. Earth’s vain shadows had fled, and she was abiding permanently in the presence of her dear Savior. My heart was filled with gratitude that the bright hope she had treasured for so long had finally become sight.

Oh, I had no clue how beautiful, how cruel, and how wondrously complex one year could be. And I bet you could tell a few stories yourself about the twists and turns you’ve had to navigate this year.

And that’s the powerful beauty of Advent.

Even as we walk through the Valley of Tears, Advent reminds us that those very tears we shed make the valley “a place of springs” (Psalm 108:6). We can journey even through the darkest valley without despairing when we are persuaded that the journey is leading us to Zion, the beautiful new City of God where His redeemed people will live in His presence, forever free from pain, sin, and death (Isaiah 33:20).

Life is filled with uncertainties. But those who trust in the Lord can take this to the bank: Christ has come, and He is coming again. And that gives strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow. My sincerest prayer for you, my friends, is that the Lord will fill your hearts aplenty with both this Advent season.

With faith, hope, and love,
Moses