The Incarnation of Hope Thoughts on Henri Nouwen's, Our Greatest Gift: Meditations on Dying and Caring

Last night I dreamed I was pregnant.  I’ve dreamt it before so I know better than to give it too much heed. After all, most dreams really don’t come true and it’s a good thing or I would be perpetually showing up for exams that I hadn’t studied for and failing out of college.  Still I couldn’t resist the urge to linger over the idea for a few minutes.  I closed my eyes and let my head fall back into the pillow, my mind was quick to create images of muslin blankets and tiny diapers. What a celebration a new baby would be for us and for my daughter whose only sibling is an imaginary friend.  No matter how many times I set my mind on contentment, nay, no matter how content I truly am, I can not help but let hope whisk me off into a world of unrealized dreams. Hope, it seems, is irresistible.

I thought next of my friend who lost her father this year, another whose husband left her, another who miscarried recently. I wondered if they too let their minds wander.  If maybe all of us, in the vulnerable moments of sacred quiet when the lines between truth and fantasy are blurred by sleepy heads, if all of our dreams attempt to overtake us.

This month we read Our Greatest Gift: Meditations on Dying and Caring, in the Liturgy of Life Reading Group.  Henri Nouwen’s gentle questioning got me thinking that perhaps these irrepressible hopes are the very whisper of God to us.  Perhaps they are inescapable because He is all encompassing and in our hopes He speaks to us of His Kingdom.

Christians are fools there is no denying that. We are a people founded in mystery.  Our story begins with a talking snake and climaxes with a virgin giving birth.  We dare to call the undeniable existence of death nothing but a lie.  For us the brutality our last breath is our entryway to eternal glory.

We believe in the Incarnation of Hope.

So when hope rises in our hearts, we should not be ashamed.  We need not bury our longings for our parents to be reconciled in their marriages or for our dead children to come back to us.  The never ending “what if’s” and “if only’s” need not haunt us.  We are called to grieve for the brokenness of the world, indeed we are called to be broken. If you are like me tonight, your head weary on a pillow damp with tears, if it feels like hope is tearing you apart, know at least this, you are not alone and your dreams are not in vain. Out of our bleeding wounds we call forth life. We live for Resurrection.

 

 

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