These are the points where our heroes think all is lost. There is no hope. You might as well give up and go home. Even Samwise is ready to quit.

When Hope Seems Lost

These moments of dark are what make the light all the more bright!

The same though is true of us in our everyday lives. We see the darkness and give up.

A pinched nerve that never relents.
A tumor that won’t shrink.
A weak heart.
Your child suffering from leukemia–again!
Bills piling up without a job.
No food in the cupboard and no money to buy any.
The things you trusted in for your future fall through.
The love of your life has walked out.
Your friend who promised he’d be there isn’t.
The person who said they’d vouch for you, lies about you.

Darkest Moments Lead to Hope

Yet, it’s these moments that help us see the light all the more.

Without knowing pain, you don’t treasure pain-free days.
Without food and money, you don’t remember that box that showed up to provide your next meal.
Without betrayal, your apreciation for love isn’t complete.

Hope and Story

Think about it.

Narnia

Lucy and Susan walk with Aslan who tells them to wait. They watch as the White Witch drives her knife through Aslan’s heart. The evil horde rushes past their hiding spot, leaving them in darkness. When they dare crawl up to Aslan, he’s dead. They know this, saw it, and yet, they cry on his beloved face. They even are ready to send mice away until they realize the little creatures are trying to gnaw the ropes away.

Cold, mourning, and in despair, Susan and Lucy turn to leave to tell the boys all’s lost.

Against that backdrop of despair, what do we have? One of the most cinematically pleasing moments. The rumble of stone, and they turn to see dawn has come, and stepping into that light is none other than Aslan!

Two Towers

The night of fighting the orcs has left the Rohirrim descimated. Their women and children are huddled in caves, and their old men and young boys have died fighting. Aragorn rallies King Theoden for one final muster of the men of Rohan.

But why does Aragorn know to fight one final time? Because Gandalf told him, “Hold out. Look to the east. At dawn, look to the east.”

And there, reinforcements come riding down the hill, and blocking the main escape are the wild trees.

The Greatest Hope

Today, we remember the greatest story ever told. The one where despair ruled.

The man that they’d walked with, seen provide food to feed thousands, healed the sick, and even raised the dead was handed over to his enemies. Who’d even think that such a one could gain enemies, but he did.

And like in every good story, the enemy was larger than our hero’s party. They rallied men who lied about their friend in a court of law, gaining a conviction. Not only a conviction but a death sentence!

The darkest day of their lives was the day they watched as this man they’d hoped would bring light, healing, and set everything to rights died. They watched–well some of them. Most of them ran and hid. They’d be next! After all, they were friends with now public enemy number one.

They spent three long days and nights wondering, waiting, trying to decide what to do, how to go back to life as normal after three and a half years of following this guy. Oh… and mourning.

Think of his mom! She watched her son be executed! She was there when he was buried, and because it was a holiday, there wasn’t a funeral and the burrial was quick and efficient.

And so, on the morning before dawn, the women went to finish the burrial procedures. To say a final farewell.

But…

When they got there, the body was gone! The tomb empty! And besides that, there were men in white who reminded them of their hero’s words.

He’s not here for he has risen as he said.

Hope Beyond Story

Without the greatest story every told, we wouldn’t have hope in our darkest moments. There’d be no reassurances. It’d be as some claim: a wives tale, good for sissies and no more.

But you see, every good (western-minded) story ends with a happy ending. We expect that.

That’s probably why when hard times come, we expect them to end quickly. But often, they drag on, making us wonder if it’ll ever turn for good.

The problem is that the greatest story every told is book one of a series–a long series. So far it’s gone on for over two thousand years! But like a good series, we know that the middle of the series is always bad. But… if book one ended on a good note, we know the series will end happily.

Think of it. The Lord of the Rings, Star Wars (okay I’ll be biased and say 4-6), Harry Potter, Star Wars: Heir of the Empire, and more all end on good. The hero wins, as do his friends. Not all may make it to the final pages, but their deaths are for a greater good.

This is the same with us. Book one was the greatest story ever told. We’re the characters of the rest of the series, and the final book won’t be written until our Hero returns to claim the throne. But when he does, you can be assured that all the dark moments will be the backdrop that will display his light in all its glory!

As you face your week, may you remember the hope at the end of the series. May you trust the author of life to see you through, and if need be, put on the armor to fight.

The young urchin inhaled the scent of myrtle wood. It reminded him of Momma. The thought of her always brought pain. He pushed the memories down and listened to the night sounds of frogs and locusts. Curling up to go to sleep under the boughs of the tree, an odd noise caught his attention. He peered out from the darkness. A group of men carrying torches marched by his hiding place. After they passed, he crawled out and followed them.

“What could they be after?” he wondered.

As the mob stopped, he scurried up a tree to see and not to be seen. The sight surprised him. The men had come to a halt in a clearing in the garden. Olive and myrtle trees gave way to grass. On the grass thirteen men stood. Several seemed to have just awakened from a nap, confusion registered on their faces, while the firelight flickered off their brown eyes. Several women huddled in a group off to the side. The boy couldn’t imagine what the mob wanted with so few men and women.

Movement caught his eye. A man dressed in a tunic with an overcoat stepped out of the crowd and walked forward. His steps showed purpose and familiarity with the area and the group waiting.

“Rabbi,” the man said, greeting one who stood in the center waiting almost as if he had expected his little party to be interrupted.

“Friend, do what you came to do,” the teacher replied.

His voice carried over the sound of the frogs in the distance, over the shuffling of the feet of the crowd, and through the glade. The young lad in the tree froze. He had heard that voice before once long ago. He had no opportunity to think of the memory for a sudden movement tore his attention back to the clearing. The crowd moved forward as one. The lead men seized the man with the gentle voice, turned him around, and held his hands behind his back. In the same instant, a short, burly man with dark curly hair bound forward drawing a dagger and swung at the other man’s head. The boy couldn’t see what happened, but the man with the kind voice turned around, reached out and touched the other’s ear. A collective gasp went up from those around the teacher.

“Shimon,” the voice that evoked memories in the urchin said for all to hear, “put your dagger away. Even now, I could ask Father and he would send messengers to rescue me.” The teacher turned to the crowd. “Every day, I was among you teaching, and you did nothing. But now you come at night with swords and sticks.”

The mob reacted instantly with more surrounding the teacher and grabbing him. The women and the teacher’s friends scattered into the garden. The boy sat in his tree unmoving. Fear coursed through his veins. If the crowd would take this respected teacher, what would they do with a homeless street kid? He watched from his perch as the men pushed the teacher in front of them out through the trees of the garden. Once the lights moved passed him and he could only hear the march of feet but not see them, he slid out of the tree and followed at a safe distance.

Questions swirled in his head much like flies buzzing around the meat market. Who would want to take the teacher? Why would they march him off? Where were they taking him? What about his friends? Had they all deserted him? As he contemplated these questions without answers, he moved silently, accustomed to sneaking around people and not being heard or seen.

“Achim,” he whispered to himself, “you’ve been in many scrapes in the past, but this one beats all.”

Look for the continuation of the story to come later this week. I’ll leave a link to it once it’s posted.