An elderly man at my church, a widower for a dozen years, endured chronic pains from aging, a drafty downsized apartment, a dwindling social security check, and several thou- sand miles between him and his adult children and grandchildren. Yet, his spirit was always buoyant. I asked him once, “What sustains your hope?”
The man told me a story. He and his missus, on their fortieth wedding anniversary, searched for a first-class restaurant. They found one that surpassed their imaginations—adorned with white tablecloths, fine china, and sculptures made of ice. Upon hearing about the anniversary, the entire staff, some thirty people—tuxedoed maître d’s and aproned dishwashers alike—broke open bottles of champagne, on the house, and toasted the couple, total strangers, as if they were celebrities. My friend glowed just remembering. It was a peek at heaven, where persons from around the globe will break bread together at the feast of life. These moments keep him alive and going.
Today’s psalm, written after the Israelites’ return from Babylon, does not speak of triumphant homecoming. The Temple still lay in ruins; the land yielded few crops; the threat of war seemed ever present.
And yet, the people remember. Jacob had fallen on hard times, drought leading his people to exile in Egypt. God heard their plight and restored them into a twelve-tribe nation. Remembering God’s faithfulness gave the Israelites hope. In the midst of decay and division, it kept their spirits alive.
Waiting faithfully within the wilderness includes remembering our hope—remembering our peeks at heaven in the past and remembering that the God who has restored before will restore God’s people once more.