When Hopelessness is a Smothering Shroud
The silence of this morning reminds me that it is Erev Yom Kippur. Unlike most mornings, this one is already quieter than usual. For many, the day will be spent preparing for the holiest day of the Jewish year, when believers and non-believers alike gather in synagogues throughout the country seeking peace with God.
I suspect that after two years of war pounding the hearts and souls of everyone in the Land, the synagogues will be full this Yom Kippur.
Living in a Wounded Land
Since the Jewish New Year last week, I’ve realized the atmosphere here is not one of holidays, family, and celebration. This year, greetings have been muted. Few have wished me a happy new year; many have said softly, ‘May we all have a better year.’ Our children are lambs to the slaughter on the battle lines of hatred. Justice is mocked as those seeking to uphold the law are pushed aside for those who uphold ideals based on a skewed perspective of what a Jewish state should be. The captivity of our hostages is the backdrop to everyday life.
Israeli life is impacted on all fronts, from inflation to disruptions in shipping and imports of everyday staples. Some are more concerned about the lack of cat food enjoyed by their pets than the way spiritual poverty is creeping up on us all like a gangrenous wound. There is limited awareness of the suffering of those in Gaza and the West Bank: one has to want to know – to know. Yet none of this is new.
Despite the peace talks, hopelessness is a smothering shroud affecting every resident of Israel, Gaza, and the West Bank.
Wrestling with News and Seeking Refuge
I realize that I haven’t written since June. While I can give excuses, the truth is in my tears. My heart is not into it. I honestly don’t know what to share with you. I don’t begin to understand the nuances of news coming out of Israel. Every day, there is a new tidbit of information, some new spin on the situation, but the agony of Israel’s hostages and the violence of war go on. The news is surreal. The proposed “peace” plan sounds like a recipe for long-term disaster.
But it’s Erev Yom Kippur, and I’m longing to find refuge in my Lord. I’m thankful that a friend will be coming to visit soon, and we will have time to pray together before the buses stop and a different silence falls on the Land.
For me, the past few months have been marked by rounds of doctor appointments, an increasing workload accompanied by overtime, and blessed moments of finding refuge in fellowship at the Chinese Church and my local Messianic congregation. More often than not, my times of worship are marked by held-back tears as we communally worship the God I love, and my heart cries out to Him. I know He is doing something, but sometimes I feel blind to what He is doing.
Hope Anchored in Ancient Promises
Verses that encouraged my heart in the past have become anchors I’m hanging on to. I remind myself, if this is how I feel, how do people without Jesus feel?
What I love about these verses is this: God is not blind to our spiritual pain. He knows that even those who are HIS suffer from the heaviness of what is going on around them. God does not whitewash the situation and say, “There, there, it will be OK.” Instead, He reminds us to cling to Him in our darkness. In clinging to Him, I realize that the darkness is real. But, “God is light and in Him is no darkness at all” (I John 1:5).
“Though the fig tree does not blossom, and there is no yield on the vines, though the olive crop fail and the fields produce no food, the flock is cut off from the fold, and there is no cattle in the stalls. Yet will I triumph in ADONAI, I will rejoice in the God of my salvation!” (Habakkuk 3:17-18 TLV)
“Who among you fears ADONAI? Who hears the voice of His servant? Who walks in darkness and has no light? Let him trust in the Name of ADONAI and lean on his God.” (Isaiah 50:10 TLV)
“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me: Your rod and Your staff comfort me.” (Psalm 23:4 TLV)
“Go, my people, enter your rooms, and shut your doors behind you. Hide for a little while, until the wrath is past. For behold, ADONAI is coming out from His place to punish inhabitants of the earth for iniquity. The earth will disclose her bloodshed, no longer covering up her slain.” (Isaiah 26:20-21 TLV)
“At that time Michael, the great prince who stands guard over the sons of your people, will arise. There will be a time of distress such as has never occurred since the beginning of the nation until then. But at that time your people—everyone who is found written in the book—will be delivered. Multitudes who sleep in the dust of the earth will awake—some to everlasting life, and others to shame and everlasting contempt.” (Daniel 12:1-2 TLV)
Living in Expectation: Despite the Pain
As I read and reread these verses, I am reminded: I’m living through the birth pangs that will lead up to Jesus’ return. As it is written, “in just a little while, He who is coming will come and will not delay.” (Hebrews 10:37)
I think it’s OK to feel the heaviness of this hopelessness. It helps me to identify with those who don’t know Jesus yet. As Jesus shares in our suffering (both in His life as a man and through His living in us through His Spirit), He is asking us to share in others’ suffering. But not without hope. We need to remember that while God has promised to care for us in this world, our ultimate hope is not in this world, but truly beyond this world.
I’m so thankful for that. A new heaven and a new earth are coming, and righteousness will reign. But until He comes, our task is to take the gifts He has given us and to “Occupy until I come” (Luke 19:13, KJV).
Holding on Until His Return
As the Days of Awe end and Yom Kippur shortly begins, my prayer for my people continues to be that the name of each one will be written in the Lamb’s Book of Life. May they all come to know their Messiah, Yeshua, and may His kingdom come and His will be done. And my prayer for you and me? May each of us find refuge, purpose, and peace—even when life feels shrouded—living with expectation and hope until all things are made new.
