I am thinking about hope and the Book of Revelation. We will soon be in Year C and during the season of Easter of Year C are a series of passages from the Book of Revelation. I'm thinking about writing something on the subject.
Here is what I am thinking at this moment about such a project.
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Hope is utterly essential. Without it, the human spirit falters, unable to rise above the chaos and challenges that life so often throws our way. And yet, hope cannot be shallow or misplaced. It must be grounded in reality, anchored to truths that endure even when the world seems to spin out of control. Unrealistic expectations will only lead to disillusionment, and in their wake, despair. But despair, too, is not the final word.
I invite you to consider this: we do not know enough to fully embrace despair. The mystery that surrounds us—the vast, unfolding complexity of creation and history—calls us instead to a stance of humility. In any given moment, we cannot grasp the full extent of what is happening around us. What we perceive as darkness and disturbance may yet hold within it the seeds of transformation. To acknowledge this mystery is to open ourselves to the possibility of hope, a hope that is both courageous and grounded in the reality of the Holy One’s promises.
The book of Revelation plays a vital role in the “Great Story”—the narrative the community of faith tells itself, giving our lives meaning and direction. This is the story of God’s redeeming work, mighty acts, and steadfast love, unfolding across the generations. Revelation, as the culmination of this story, reminds us that we are part of something greater than ourselves—a divine drama of renewal and hope. To neglect this chapter of the Great Story would be to lose sight of the ultimate horizon of God’s grace, where love triumphs over hatred, life conquers death, and justice rolls down like waters.
This humility is at the heart of a story I shared on November 7, 2024, from the life of John Claypool, a minister who once stood at the brink of despair. At a time of deep darkness, an elderly rabbi offered him a piece of wisdom that reframed his struggle: “Despair is the only unforgivable sin for a Jew.” The rabbi explained that despair is, at its core, an act of presumption. It declares with certainty that no hope is left and that the future holds nothing but the weight of our present sorrow.
But this, the rabbi pointed out, is a future we have not seen and cannot predict. In presuming to know the outcome, despair claims authority over time and the possibilities of the Divine—an authority none of us possess. This wisdom is a profound reminder of humility. None of us can see beyond the present moment, yet our faith invites us to trust what we cannot see—that grace may break through in ways we cannot imagine. Even in the darkest moments, this stance of humility keeps the door to hope open.
God’s grace brings us hope in many ways. One way is through collaboration. The Spirit moves alongside us, inviting us to join forces with the Divine in addressing the challenges we face. In this partnership, we are not passive recipients of hope but active participants in its realization. Another way grace sustains us is through the gift of endurance. As the words of scripture remind us, “Those who persevere to the end will be saved.” This endurance is not a grim acceptance of hardship but a resilient trust that the Spirit is at work, even when the way forward is unclear.
The book of Revelation, so often misunderstood as a document of doom, instead presents us with a profound and hope-filled vision. Its pages bear witness to the ultimate triumph of love over hate, of life over death. They call us to persevere, not in naïve optimism, but in a hope that is deep, reality-based, and enduring.
Revelation’s imagery may feel strange or unsettling at times, but its message is clear: the Holy One is with us, even in the darkest of times. And when we open our hearts to this truth, something remarkable happens. A revelation of the Christ enables us to live better, more joyfully, even when life has taken a dark and disturbing turn.
This is an invitation. May it guide you toward a theological vision of your own, one that enables you to move from fear and despair to courage and a joyful capacity to cope. May you find your courage renewed and your hope rekindled. May you begin to see the mystery surrounding you not as a void, but as the true context of our lives—a context where the Sacred is at work in ways we cannot yet see.
Let us approach this journey with humility, wonder, and an openness to transformation. For in the end, it is not despair that defines us, but hope—the kind of hope that empowers us to face the future with faith, courage, and joy.
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Let me know what you think.
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