Realism And Resurrection
Perhaps it’s a product of growing up, but I do feel that the passing years have tarnished the old optimism I remember from the world of my childhood. There were always deep problems in the world—even I knew this growing up—but there was also a general sense of progress in the air, at least as I remember it. There was a hopeful feeling back then that our problems were not insurmountable, and better days were ahead. Science was supposed to solve some of our challenges, politics would solve others, and culture and civilisation would inevitably advance, even if the process was slow and bumpy. Those were the days when the unified, peaceful vision of a harmonious humanity depicted in shows like Star Trek felt like it could be a real possibility someday—minus the teleporters, of course.
Now we’re not so sure. The world feels different. Maybe our new technologies haven’t been all that we hoped they would be. Maybe our political leaders have burned us too many times and left us disillusioned with the system. Wars have continued relentlessly, as have human trafficking and slavery and corruption. Selfishness, injustice, and cruelty still plague our cultures and institutions, and they can pop up unexpectedly in our own hearts, too. Things are still moving quickly, but it’s become clear that movement isn’t necessarily progress. The old optimism of my memory has given way to a tired realism that doesn’t expect as much, hope as much, or feel as disappointed when everything goes sideways—isn’t the whole world constantly spinning sideways anyway?
The world is still going around the same circles. The same old problems persist in the same old ways, and in creative new ways, too. If you limit your gaze to this worn out planet, then realism makes a lot more sense than optimism. But in spite of it all, I’m still optimistic. Better yet, I’m hopeful about the future, and entirely confident in my hope. I don’t say this because I’m a realism-denier. I see and feel and recognise and mourn all the same kinds of realities as everyone else, and there are times I feel like the weight of reality could nearly crush me. Yet I remain hopeful. Why? Because there’s more to reality than this world alone.
Our world was invaded by the King of heaven 2,000 years ago, and when Jesus came he broke the power of our sin and the curse it brought—the curse that made everything spiral down into disorder and death—and now he planted his resurrection power here in my heart and like the flowers coming up this spring his life is rising in me as well and I know that the winter is passing. Beyond the awful realism of death is the greater realism of resurrection life for those who put their trust in Christ. This changes everything. It turns reality on its head—from inevitable loss to secure hope.
The world is still a disaster. That is reality. It’s no use pretending otherwise. But for the children of God, there is far more to reality. Even now, God is raising dead, sinful hearts like mine, breathing life into hopeless situations, bringing good out of evil, and building his eternal kingdom on our dying, rebellious planet. Nothing and no one is too dead for him to raise—and I belong to him. That is reality. And that’s why I have hope, even when the other realities around me look dire. Because of Jesus, I can be a hope-filled realist. Because of Jesus, resurrection is my reality.
