My Hope is Built on Nothing Less

Photo by Sangia on Unsplash

This weekend, I've been thinking a lot about death. My grandmother passed away on Friday. Then I had a visit from a dear friend who recently lost his father. But the thing is, we had been mourning the loss of these beloved long before they took their last breaths. For months, we mourned losing their personalities and memories to dementia and a tumor.

It's different thinking about my third-grade classmate who died in a car crash as her grandfather suffered a heart attack behind the wheel. Or the cousin who heartbreakingly took his own life.

Death is inevitable. It most often feels unfair. Poorly timed.

They had so much to live for.

In the face of death, on Easter Sunday, I am fueled by the hope we have in our resurrected Savior. For the Christian, death is the end, yes, of our physical bodies. But it is also the death of suffering, pain, sadness, evil, temptation—the death of everything bad. The death of sin.

The apostle John described a vision of heaven, that is, the place where Jesus is king.

"Look! God’s dwelling is with humanity,

and He will live with them.

They will be His people,

and God Himself will be with them

and be their God.

He will wipe away every tear from their eyes.

Death will no longer exist;

grief, crying, and pain will exist no longer,

because the previous things have passed away."

(Revelation 21:3–4, HCSB)

As Jesus hung on the cross in his final hours, a criminal crucified alongside Him, presumably not knowing much about His messianic companion, requested, "Jesus, remember me when You come into your kingdom!" (Luke 23:42, HCSB)

Jesus replied, "I assure you: Today you will be with Me in paradise." (Luke 23:43, HCSB)

Though we are mourning the loss of our beloved, we are comforted by the hope of this promise—they, having received new life in Christ, are truly "in a better place." They are in the best possible place. They have recovered full use of their bodies and minds. They are on the other side of this difficult life full of trials and pain, united with the One who made them and satisfies every longing heart.

“'I am the bread of life,' Jesus told them. 'No one who comes to Me will ever be hungry, and no one who believes in Me will ever be thirsty again.'" (John 6:35, HCSB)

The apostle Paul made it clear that dying is not to be feared; on the contrary, he sometimes longed for death.

"I have the desire to depart and be with Christ—which is far better." (Philippians 1:23, HCSB)

This is the hope of Easter Sunday, when we remember the resurrection of our King.

The uncertainty of a loved one's salvific status may yet cause grief, even with the promise of the great Joy awaiting us, because we don't know for sure if the beloved is with Jesus or not. I struggle with this. But, as I see it, there are two points to hold onto.

1) There is always hope. The thief on the cross next to Jesus was presumably unrepentant up until the moment right before his death. We have no way of knowing whether a hardcore Church-slamming atheist had a change of heart in his or her last moments. We can still hope and pray that they saw the goodness and truth of God before it was too late.

2) In the end, we all get what we ask for. Those who desire to live in Christ's kingdom, under his charge, with whatever theological knowledge God deems sufficient, will receive exactly that. Those who reject Jesus' lordship and, convinced of their own perfection, want to be autonomous will end up in eternal separation from God. This is startlingly sobering, and we can only cope with this by doing our best to share the gospel and praying for hearts to be changed.

The overarching theme of the weekend is HOPE. The hope for my fellow believers comforts me when I hear another member of the Church body has passed from this life. Instead of meaningless sorrow, it is Joy and celebration that my heart feels for them.

"She can run again!"

"She'll get to hug Jesus."

It is an overwhelming peace that truly surpasses circumstances (Philippians 4:7).

My hope is built on nothing less

than Jesus' blood and righteousness;

I dare not trust the sweetest frame,

but wholly lean on Jesus' name.

On Christ, the solid Rock, I stand:

all other ground is sinking sand;

all other ground is sinking sand.

When darkness veils his lovely face,

I rest on his unchanging grace;

in every high and stormy gale,

my anchor holds within the veil.

His oath, his covenant, his blood,

support me in the whelming flood;

when all around my soul gives way,

he then is all my hope and stay.

When he shall come with trumpet sound,

O may I then in him be found:

dressed in his righteousness alone,

faultless to stand before the throne.

~ Edward Mote, 1834

Photo by Damian Markutt on Unsplash