Hope is Here

There is a place that most of us know, even though it is not marked on any map. It is the place where you pull into your own driveway at the end of the day. You have been gone all day. Maybe you have been at work. Maybe you have been running errands, sitting in a doctor’s office, helping with grandchildren, cutting grass, taking care of somebody else’s needs, or trying to keep up with all the things that do not wait simply because you are tired. You turn into the driveway. You put the vehicle in park. The engine goes quiet. And before you go inside, you just sit there.

Most days, it may only be for a few seconds. You gather your things. You look toward the house. You take a breath and go on in. But there are other days when you sit a little longer. Because you know what is waiting inside. Maybe it is a stack of bills on the table. Maybe it is a conversation that needs to happen but nobody wants to start. Maybe it is a phone call you have been waiting on from the doctor. Maybe it is the loneliness of walking into a quiet house. Maybe it is the worry over a child or grandchild who is making choices you cannot control. Maybe it is a marriage that has grown quiet in all the wrong ways.

Or maybe there is nothing dramatic at all. Maybe you are simply tired in a way that sleep does not seem to fix. And in that moment, sitting in the driveway, you are not thinking about tomorrow’s weather or what you need from the grocery store. You are asking questions that do not always come out loud. “How much longer can I carry this?” “What happens if this does not get better?” “Lord, where are You in all of this?” Some of you have sat in that driveway. Others of you have known that same feeling in a hospital waiting room, at a kitchen table, beside a bed in the middle of the night, or staring at your phone when it rings later than it ought to ring.

We all have those moments when life feels heavier than our hands can hold. Maya Angelou once said, “You may encounter many defeats, but you must not be defeated.” That is a strong word. And we need words like that. But the Christian gospel says something even deeper. We do not merely endure because we are tough. We do not merely press on because we are Southern, stubborn, or determined not to let anybody see us fall apart. We endure because Jesus Christ is alive.

That is why Peter begins this letter the way he does. Peter is writing to believers who were scattered, pressured, uncertain, and living in a world that did not always welcome their faith. He does not write them a shallow little message that says, “Everything will work out just the way you want.” He does not tell them to smile more, worry less, and think positive thoughts. He says, “Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! In His great mercy He has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead.” A living hope. Not a wish. Not denial. Not pretending that the doctor’s report is not serious or the relationship is not broken or the future is not uncertain. A living hope.

Because our hope is not built on whether today turns out the way we planned. Our hope is built on the fact that Jesus walked out of a tomb. The same Jesus who was betrayed, beaten, crucified, buried, and declared finished rose again on the third day. So when Peter speaks of hope, he is not talking about crossing your fingers and hoping the rain holds off until after the cookout. He is talking about a hope that has already looked death in the face and won. That is why John Wesley, near the end of his life, could say, “The best of all is, God is with us.”

Not, “The best of all is, everything went according to plan.” Not, “The best of all is, I never had trouble.” Not, “The best of all is, I understood every hard chapter.” “The best of all is, God is with us.” And that is what we need to hear today. Because some of us pulled into this church parking lot carrying something. You smiled. You shook hands. You spoke to people. You may have even said, “I’m doing fine.” But down underneath it all, even while sitting here in this sanctuary, you are still sitting in that driveway. Still wondering how you are going to face what is waiting. Still wondering whether you have enough strength. Still wondering whether God sees. And before this service is over, I want us to come back to that driveway.

I want us to see that the hope God gives is not found in avoiding the hard things. It is found in knowing that when the bottom falls out, Christ is still beneath us. When the road ahead is unclear, Christ is still before us. And when we do not know how we are going to make it through, Christ is still with us. That is not weak hope. That is the hope that Peter talks about here, knowing that nothing formed of this world can stand against us when we have a God who goes before us, a Holy Spirit who sustains us and a Jesus Christ who walked out for us and when He walked out of that tomb He hasn’t stopped, the mission is still the same, despite what some may want you to believe, the Word of God still hasn’t changed, it’s not going to change because God is the same yesterday, today and tomorrow and the hope promised is the the hope lived yesterday, today and tomorrow and even with that, some of us are still sitting in that driveway. But don’t worry, we’re about to pull out.

Now, I know what some of you may be thinking. “That sounds good, preacher. It sounds good to say Jesus is with me. It sounds good that Jesus is going to catch me. But I still have to go home. I still have to face that empty chair. I still have to deal with the problem in my family. I still have to get up tomorrow and go to work, or go to the doctor, or try to make a decision I do not know how to make where there is no good answer.” And that is true. Faith does not mean trouble will never come. Faith does not mean the road suddenly becomes smooth. It does not mean every prayer is answered in the way we hoped. It does not mean grief disappears, or a broken relationship heals overnight, or the burden you are carrying suddenly feels light.

But faith does mean this: when the ground beneath you begins to shake, you are not standing on it alone. Peter says God has given us “a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead.” That word matters: living. Peter does not call it a memory of hope. He does not call it a hope we used to have when life was better. He does not call it a hope for people who have everything together. He calls it living hope because Jesus is living. And because Jesus is alive, hope is not buried with what you lost. Hope is not buried in the cemetery with the person you loved. Hope is not buried or written in that diagnosis under the news you received from the doctor. Hope is not buried under the mistakes your family has made. Hope is not buried beneath the disappointment you have carried for years.

Jesus came out of the grave. And because He did, the hardest chapter of your life is not necessarily the final chapter. Now, that does not mean it is easy. I do not want to stand here and make it sound like you can just snap your fingers, say a prayer, and walk right out of every struggle untouched. Some of you have been sitting in that driveway a long time. You have sat there long enough that you know every crack in the windshield and every song that comes on the radio. You have grown accustomed to carrying the weight.

You have learned how to smile at church, speak kindly to people, and answer, “I’m fine,” even when you are anything but fine. But hear me: just because you have been sitting there a long time does not mean that is where God intends for you to stay. You may need to sit there for a moment. You may need to breathe. You may need to cry. You may need to admit that what you are carrying is more than you can handle. But don’t build a house in that driveway. Don’t let the fear of tomorrow keep you from living today. Don’t let what has happened convince you that nothing good can happen again. Don’t let grief become the only name you give to your future. Because we are going to get out of that driveway. Not because we are pretending the problem is gone. Not because we are strong enough to fix everything ourselves.

We are going to pull out of that driveway because God is not finished with us there. Some of us have been waiting for God to give us the whole map before we will move. We want Him to show us exactly what tomorrow looks like. We want to know how the situation will turn out. But most of the time, God does not give us the whole road. We wait for the door to open and we think that it is closed and locked but we never try turning the knob. Sometimes the door that appears closed, isn’t, God just wants to see if we will have faith enough to try turning the knob.

He gives us enough light for the next step. It may be getting up tomorrow morning and praying before your feet hit the floor. It may be picking up the phone and calling someone instead of carrying the burden alone. It may be forgiving someone you have been holding at a distance. It may be telling the truth about how badly you are hurting. It may be going to the doctor, taking the treatment, making the apology, opening the Bible again, coming back to worship, or simply saying, “Lord, I do not know what to do, but I need You.” That may not seem like much. But sometimes faith is not running a hundred miles. Sometimes faith is putting the car in reverse. Sometimes faith is taking one foot off the brake.

Sometimes faith is saying, “I cannot see the whole road, but I refuse to stay parked in fear.” That is what living hope looks like. It does not always roar. Sometimes it whispers, “Get up.” Sometimes it says, “Try again.” Sometimes it says, “Make the call.” Sometimes it says, “Take the next step.” And sometimes it simply says, “You are not alone.” Peter knew something about failure. He knew what it was to make a promise to Jesus and then break it. He knew what it was to say, “I will never leave You,” and then deny that he even knew Him. Peter had seen his own courage collapse. He had watched Jesus die.

He had felt the bottom fall out. But then Peter met the risen Christ. And that is why Peter could write about a living hope. He was not writing theory. He was writing testimony. He had seen what happens when Jesus steps into the place where you thought everything was over. He had seen that Jesus can restore what shame has torn down. He had seen that Jesus can meet you after failure. He had seen that even when you have lost your way, the Savior still knows where to find you. And some of us need to hear that today. You may not know what tomorrow holds. But you know who holds tomorrow. You may not be able to fix the whole situation. But you can take the next faithful step. You may still feel the weight of what you are carrying. But you do not have to carry it by yourself. And, by the grace of God, we are going to get out of that driveway.