But We Had Hoped

I was in the fourth grade. I overheard a classmate of mine talking about the “Banana Split Club” he went to every week after school. An entire club dedicated to banana splits? How could I resist? I followed him after school one day, my mouth watering in anticipation of the ice cream sundae I was sure to be offered. Upon my arrival, I noticed a small circle of chairs in a very plain office. We were in the school counselor’s office. It seemed like a weird place for an ice cream social. I scanned the room. No ice cream buffet in sight. Maybe they would bring it in on a cart. The school counselor was sitting in one of the chairs, quietly inviting each student who entered to take a seat. The mood was somber. The counselor, knowing it was my first time, told me to sit next to him. He asked me my name and gave me a gentle squeeze around the shoulders. I was so confused. There was really no ice cream? I sat in the circle, still trying to work out where I went wrong in my mind. Had I misheard? This was the “Banana Split Club,” right? Soon enough, the counselor welcomed everyone and started the meeting by asking each student to share something their parents had done that week that upset them. Huh? As I listened to each response, it dawned on me. I had unknowingly walked into the “Banana Split Club,” a safe place for kids to come and share about their parents who were separating or divorcing; they were splitting. Before I could make a quick exit, it was my turn to share. I didn’t have the courage to admit my parents were happily married and I was just there because I thought I’d get a free banana split. I worked up a lie about a fight my parents had that “scared me,” and then muttered something like, “I don’t want to talk about it too much.” The other students nodded empathetically. I walked out of the room racked with guilt and left wanting. I was really looking forward to that banana split.

Have you ever been really excited about something, but came to find out it was not at all what you expected? Maybe it was a highly anticipated Christmas present that broke after just thirty minutes of playtime. Maybe it was a piece of furniture you ordered, but the color was nothing like what you saw in the catalog. Maybe it was something far more significant. For children, anticipation is almost better than the actual thing. (Conversely, the anticipation of a bad thing, is often way worse than the actual thing. Any parent out there can tell you what it’s like dragging their screaming toddler into the doctor’s office for a flu shot that will inflict literally 1 second of pain.) The next few weeks leading up to Christmas are a perfect example. We fill our days with baking, wrapping, music, and merriment. We countdown the days in joyful expectation. But how many of us have a sense of disappointment after the excitement of Christmas morning has worn off? The gifts are all unwrapped, the dinner is consumed, the family has gone back home and we’re left with the remnants of packages on the floor, dishes in the sink, and a quiet home, void of laughter and conversation. How many of our kids are already fighting or complaining of boredom within hours after the stockings have been emptied? So much work, so much excitement, for that. Hopeful anticipation can be both a beautiful and disappointing thing.

I wonder what the shepherds thought when they arrived at the stable that very first Christmas. They’d just been visited by an angel and a heavenly host, telling them the Messiah, the Lord was born, (Luke 2:8-16). Their excitement, their hopeful anticipation as they hurried off to find the baby, must have been off the charts. The Son of God had come! The heavens were proclaiming His arrival! Imagine the looks on their faces when they found Him in a pungent stable. The Savior of the world was nestled in a feeding trough and surrounded by dirty barn animals. (We’ve all been to a petting zoo, right? I don’t need to tell you what it must have been like.) Likewise, the Magi, three wise men of high regard, followed a star leading them to the one who had been born king of the Jews. After months of traveling and an intimidating run-in with King Herod, they finally made it. “The star they had seen when it rose went ahead of them until it stopped over the place where the child was. When they saw the star they were overjoyed,” (Matthew 2:9-10). But I wonder what ran through their heads when they laid costly gifts and treasures before the son of a humble carpenter. I doubt it was anything like what they thought it would be. However let down the shepherds or the Magi may have felt, they didn’t let their disappointment keep them from worshipping, and we shouldn’t either (Luke 2:20, Matthew 2:11).

Even Mary, the mother of Jesus, surely didn’t expect her life to turn out the way it did. Young and engaged, still a virgin, she felt stunned and terrified when an angel told her she would conceive and carry the Son of God. How would she explain that to her fiance? Even once she came to grips with her pregnancy, I can’t imagine she was thrilled to travel miles on the back of a donkey, in her third trimester, just to participate in a census. (Probably not how she wanted to spend her last few weeks of pregnancy.) And the cherry on top? No room in the inn. Poor Mary couldn’t even give birth in a clean room with a midwife. Instead, she delivered her son in a stable. Certainly not what any mother envisions for her birth plan. Nothing went as Mary hoped, as she expected. And yet amid fear and discouragement, she worshipped. She obeyed. She treasured it all in her heart, (Luke 1-2).

Jesus’ disciples knew a thing or two about hopeful anticipation and disappointment too. They knew Jesus was the Son of God. They didn’t know how He would do it, but they knew He would save them. Their entire ministry had been building up to the big rescue plan Jesus was to carry out. Instead, Jesus was arrested and crucified. His followers were devastated. That’s not what was supposed to happen. Even after Jesus’ tomb had been found empty, His disciples still didn’t understand. Jesus’ body was gone, but it made no sense. When was He going to save everyone? On the road to Emmaus, two of Jesus’ followers were kicking the dirt, their faces downcast. “He was a prophet, powerful in word and deed before God and all the people,” they mumbled. “The chief priests and our rulers handed him over to be sentenced to death, and they crucified him; but we had hoped that he was the one who was going to redeem Israel,” (Luke 24:19-20). But we had hoped. The disciples’ disappointment blinded them to the miracle that was right before their eyes. Jesus himself was walking alongside them, listening to their grumbling (Luke 24:15). They didn’t recognize their own rescuing because it didn’t look anything like they thought it would. In dying, Jesus had saved them from their sin, from eternal separation from God. In rising from the dead, Jesus had conquered death, proving nothing can keep Him from us, not even the grave.

But we had hoped. I’ve muttered those same words so often in my life, haven’t you? We saw things going differently in our minds. It’s hard to look past our disappointment. Our heads are hanging so low in discouragement that we fail to see the blessings right in front of us if only we’d look up. Like all of us, I have experienced great disappointment in my life. I’ve hoped for things that never came. I’ve even blamed God for letting me down at times. I’ve looked forward to what I thought should happen, according to my plans, my desires. I’ve let it keep me from worshipping. My hope has been misplaced, that’s all. This Christmas season, let’s not get so caught up in what we hope will happen that we miss what already is happening. Don’t miss it. God is working, He is in it all, even the disappointment. He’s there walking beside us as we’re kicking the dirt and grumbling about our letdowns. We had hoped, but He IS hope. He is everything we could ever desire and better than anything we could ever look forward to, even a banana split. (I never went back to the Banana Split Club, and to be honest, I’m not sure I ever ate a banana split again either. As it turns out, I developed a life-threatening banana allergy later in my adult life. It serves me right I suppose.)