Anchored in Hope

A Reflection on the Second Reading for June 2nd, 2019:
The Solemnity of the Ascension of the Lord

Ephesians 1.17-23

Brothers and sisters: I pray that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of glory, may give you a spirit of wisdom and revelation as you come to know him, so that, with the eyes of your heart enlightened, you may know what is the hope to which he has called you, what are the riches of his glorious inheritance among the saints, and what is the immeasurable greatness of his power for us who believe, according to the working of his great power.

God put this power to work in Christ when he raised him from the dead and seated him at his right hand in the heavenly places, far above all rule and authority and power and dominion, and above every name that is named, not only in this age but also in the age to come.

And he has put all things under his feet and has made him the head over all things for the Church, which is his body, the fullness of him who fills all in all.

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For many years, I misunderstood what it means to hope — thinking of it as only “a desire for something”. We often use the word hope to express a preference or sentiment, such as, “I hope that it doesn’t rain tomorrow” or, “I hope that my sister left the last doughnut for me”. The outcome is something fleeting, and we either get what we want, or we miss out.

Historically, I didn’t like to let myself hope in this way for anything, whether it was trivial or vital. There was a defence mechanism at work when I strived for indifference. I would operate based on the illusion that numbing my desire prevented me from being disappointed when I didn’t get what I longed for and that it just made me pleasantly surprised when things did go my way. However, I typically found myself expecting the worst (and being miserable) and regretting the time that I wasted needlessly worrying when things did go alright. The pain I tried to protect myself from showed up in different ways, within my own anticipation of being let down.

Looking exclusively at this world, it is easy to hold a negative bias. In fact, this attitude is engrained in us as a survival instinct, because expecting potentially lethal situations allows us to prepare for them. Our brains work against us, and I would argue that, on a spiritual level, sin also works against us. Apart from God, we may conclude that hope makes us weak and opens us up to frustration and failure.

The truth is that hope, in its intended context, is courageous. Hope is the virtue that anchors us and helps us move towards victory and life. 

"The truth is that hope, in its intended context, is courageous. Hope is the virtue that anchors us and helps us move towards victory and life."

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Hope is more than desiring something — it is the expectation of receiving it. And of course, looking at anything that is transient (i.e., In this world), acts of hope are mostly foolish. Even that which I may eventually receive will also eventually be taken away from me. The only way that hope makes sense is when we possess faith first — faith in something that, or someone who, does not fade away.

Faith, a gift from God and a function of the intellect, requires enough knowledge and understanding to believe in something that has not been fully revealed. We come to know Christ, only in part, and we have faith that He is with us — journeying with us and revealing Himself more and more each day. And eventually we come to understand that He is our greatest desire.

In Jesus we find lasting hope, and He calls us to “the riches of his glorious inheritance among the saints”. Our hope is found in the knowledge that He is preparing a place for each one of us — a home with Him, where we can live for all eternity in love and fullness of life. He is our hope, heaven is our destination (or our destined nation), and we can hold fast to Christ with expectant hearts, knowing He is the way who will get us there. ​

​Kendra Chisholm

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