The Coexistence of Hope and Tragedy
Recently, I finished the book “We’re Still Here: Black Dignity in a World Made for Whiteness” by Austin Channing-Brown and it stirred some things in me. I relate to Channing-Brown on many things, and her book was a safe place to unpack my relationship with my faith and my blackness in the world.
In one of the last chapters entitled, ‘We’re Still Here”, I braced myself. Brown introduces the chapter with this thought,
“For millions of people—white and black—the election of Barack Obama was a sign that America had become a post racial society. Even in those early years of optimism, I knew better than to expect so much.”
Why did I feel the need to brace myself?
I asked myself the same question. The answer is protection. I didn’t want to face the reality of the bleakness of our country, of the black experience in the US, or the hopelessness of this world. Though I knew everything she was about to say would be true, I felt like if I let reality sink in, all my joy, hope, and peace would dissipate. Somehow I felt that hope and tragedy could not exist in the same place, so I protected my fragile hope.
Notice I said fragile.
Fragile hope.
Hope that allows no bad things, no evil in, to maintain the peace.
This is not hope. This is fear in thin clothes.
As I read, it highlighted something deeper and beyond the black experience. This bracing was a familiar feeling in my life. It seemed that if I let too much darkness in, then it would consume me. That light couldn’t shine to a certain degree of darkness or stopped being light if I acknowledged the fullness of wickedness. This is not faith that can withstand in this world, as christians our faith must reach and operate in the depths or else it won’t reach anyone.
It revealed a flaw in my understanding of the Lord. He is bigger than the darkness. Psalms 139:12 says, “even the darkness is not dark to you; the night is bright as the day, for darkness is as light with you”. The darkest of places, emotionally, mentally, spiritually, and physically are as light to him. I can say these things all day, but my reaction to the dark reveals my true belief. This recoiling has been my form of protection, but the word says that God is our protector.
It’s funny because I opened my Bible the next morning after considering all these things and it opened to Psalm 37, entitled “He Will Not Forsake His Saints”. The Holy Spirit spoke right into the heart of that conversation. The night before I posted a discussion post asking me to make a connection between how you view hope and how the author does. In that discussion post, I noted that all that I read pointed me back to Christ.
My hope is not in man, but in a God, a friend, a Savior, a Father whose very character is the definition of just. Who sees all injustice, understands the weight of it all, and hurts with the broken. Whose anger burns like a wildfire as the innocent are taken advantage of. As people continue to devalue his creation, and tell his beloved that they are worthless and nothing. True love, as Christ is, is "troubled by injustice".
When the world isn't good, I know someone who always is and has been in the midst of darkness and evil--a light that shines in the darkness. The definition of good. The definition of love. The definition of comfort. In man, I cannot trust. (full post found here)
He was there. Channing-Brown found his character to be consistent over and over again throughout the book as well. In the fullness of pain, you were there. After every shooting, you comforted her, uplifted her, reminded her that you loved us and valued us. [quote pg. 158] It stuck out to me how Channing-Brown saw the depths, allowed herself to gaze upon the fullness of the wickedness of racism, hurt to the highest degree, and still find Christ in the midst. This cycle was significant to me.
Psalms 37 was a declaration that He will never leave or forsake me, nor ever let me down. That though evildoers attack, He will not let his people fall. With God, we can do anything.
As I read the chapter, questions arose for me.
Psalms 37:39-40 says,
“The salvation of the righteous is from the LORD; he is their stronghold in the time of trouble. The LORD helps them and delivers them; he delivers them from the wicked and saves them, because they take refuge in him.”
As I read this, I asked myself: Do you trust God to deliver you?
Psalms 37: 25-26 says,
“I have been young, and now am old, yet I have not seen the righteous forsaken or his children begging for bread. He is ever lending generously, and his children become a blessing.”
I stumbled. Do I really believe that his children are always taken care of? or that your children are never begging for bread?
I thought, honestly Lord, your people are still needy, still struggling, still hurting. So how do we reconcile that? How do we reconcile suffering to these verses? How do we reconcile the wickedness we experience to the deliverer you’re supposed to be? I listened in on a pretty great conversation by Judah and Chelsea Smith during their podcast, “In Good Faith”. The titled the episode, “Between Prayers & Answers” and they talked about disappointment and unmet expectations and assumptions.
John 16:33 says, “I have told you these things so that in me you may have peace. You will have suffering in this world. Be courageous! I have conquered the world.”
Even in suffering, you encourage us to have peace, to be courageous because you have overcome the world. You turn sorrow into joy. In John 16, you’re telling them what’s about to happen. You address their sorrow and give voice to their grief but are reminding them now that it is but a moment, because joy will come in the morning, when the covenant is made through Christ’s death and resurrection and restored.
Even in suffering, we do not have to be afraid.
