I have a recurring dream. I’m driving and I can’t get my eyes open. I can’t see the road in front of me. I’m not even sure that I’m on the road. I’m panicked about what I’ll hit. Desperate, I wake, struggling out of a deep sleep and fighting to get my eyes open…. 

My wife and my therapist think it’s emblematic of the last few years. They think it’s a metaphor for the living of these days. 

We’re driving in uncharted territory. 
We can’t see the road ahead of us. 
We’ve got a van full of kids. 
We don’t know where we’re going. 
We’re struggling to get our eyes open. 

I serve as the pastor of a disaffiliated Christian Reformed church in south Chicagoland. We did the best we could to make our way through discussions and decisions about human sexuality and the nature of belief. We were forced out of our denomination. We don’t know for sure where we’ll land.

Pandemic politics, denominational division, and livestreaming worship thinned our ranks. Old friends have moved on, new friends have moved in. Our life feels fragile and in flux given the impending closure of Trinity Christian College, the toxicity of today’s national discourse, and the erosion of the norms and practices of democracy. It’s like we’re driving in the dark, unable to see the road ahead of us. 

However, lately I’ve been grateful for a muted light that’s just over the horizon. Rather than a dramatic epiphany, I’ve been reminded recently of the slow illumination at daybreak that gives you just enough light to make your way – just enough hope to hang on until the sun blazes.  

A few lines from Tim Keller were helpful. Keller died of pancreatic cancer in 2023. He was 72. In 2021, soon after his diagnosis, in an interview with Russell Moore, Keller said the following, 

If Jesus Christ was actually raised from the dead, if he really got up, walked out, was seen by hundreds of people, and talked to them, if he was raised from the dead, then you know what? Everything is going to be alright. Whatever you’re worried about right now, whatever you’re afraid of, everything’s actually going to be okay. 

Because you’ve got to remember, we’re not just talking about resurrected people, we’re talking about a resurrected world. There are plenty of other religions that talk about a future after life – which is a non-material world. In other words, you get a consolation for the world we’ve lost. Christianity says, it’s not just your bodies that are being resurrected, but the world is actually going to be a material world that’s cleansed from all evil and suffering and sin. 

And if Jesus Christ was raised from the dead, then the whole world is going to be in a sense, resurrected, and everything is going to be okay. Everything. You don’t know how. I don’t know how. But it will be. 

I love that light in this present darkness. 

No matter the tribulation, 
no matter our reasonable anxiety, 
no matter how dark the road, 
God in Christ will ultimately deliver us from sin and all of its dire consequences.  Everything’s actually going to be okay. 

There’s no promise that we won’t drive in the dark. There’s no hint that we won’t be battered, overwhelmed, or despairing. There’s no guarantee that we’re going to enjoy success. The promise is that finally, ultimately, cosmically, to quote Bob Marley, “every little thing is gonna be alright,” Shalom will be restored to earth, God will make his dwelling with people, and the very hand of God will wipe away the last tear.  Thanks be to God.

That hope may seem like magical thinking or the flimsy fantasy of a Hallmark movie. It may seem quaint to some and bereft of judgement for others. But for me, that eschatological vision provides just enough light for this darkness. 

In the meantime, as we wait for that glorious morning, Wendell Berry writes,

Whatever is foreseen in joy
Must be lived out from day to day.
Vision held open in the dark
By our ten thousand days of work.

And therefore, if we’ve caught a glimpse of that joy, if we hope in the resurrection, then let us live it out from day to day. Our calling is to hold it open – when the way is dark – by loving our neighbors and our enemies, by offering forgiveness without needing the last word, by seeking reconciliation over comfort, by listening, by protecting every square inch of creation, by following Jesus. Our hands will ache and our faces will sweat, but if light pushes back dark, and resurrection follows death, then everything’s actually going to be okay. 

I still have the recurring dream, but I also long for that day when we’ll be called “out of darkness into his wonderful light.” May we hold open that vision, follow the way of Jesus, and rest in the promise of dawn’s arrival. 

daybreak photo by Kevin Omiple on Unsplash