The new year is almost here. It’s really a bit unsettling, you know, to view the series of celebrations from across the globe as midnight 2018 strikes and 2019 is born. Even the time zones here in the U.S. result in a wavelike stream of “newness” as the midnight hour comes and goes in the blink of an eye, the passing of a breath, a flash of awareness. So much emphasis is placed on the strike of a clock, drop of a ball or the click of a digital display. We are schooled to believe that there should be some tangible act to mark the transition from old to new.

We are showered with best and worst lists of pop culture and politics, music and sports. Weather statistics from 2018 are organized and analyzed and presented to us in charts and graphs. We are encouraged to make all kinds of positive life changes, since we must need to take better care of ourselves in some way. And thus are born New Year’s parties and kisses and toasts and resolutions. Yet what really changes? The calendar on the wall, the display on electronic devices, a legal holiday from work and life goes on as it did before.

Please don’t misunderstand. I believe the traditions of reflection on the past and anticipation of a new set of 365 days, unmarred by tragedy or life stress, are valuable. We long to make tangible the intangible. We long for new beginnings. We long for renewed hope. I remember a passage from Isaiah:

“Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?…”

Isaiah 43:18-19b (NIV)

I have sermon notes in the margin of my Bible. The speaker suggested that remembering successes leads to pride and remembering failures leads to guilt, both pride and guilt being bad things. Perhaps that was a good message for Isaiah’s audience. I’m not sure it speaks to me tonight.

I want to remember the good things of this year–new lives added to our family, the times I have caught my breath at the beauty of a sunrise or sunset, the satisfaction of teaching children’s Bible classes, the emotion accompanying songs of praise in worship. I want to remember the kind words spoken to me, the unexpected pleasant surprises, the gratification of seeing patients do well after I’ve been involved in their care.

And I want to learn from the year’s failures, from the times a more thoughtful choice might have avoided future distress, from the times I could have expressed my thoughts better in a blog or note or paragraph. I want to be more patient, kind, and, above all, more loving and remembering the times that I failed to show those qualities may help me achieve a needed adjustment of attitude!

I believe both of these exercises can help me hope. I suspect hope is what a lot of the world needs right now. I know I do. I hope for a healthy family and one particular restored relationship. I hope for peace. Many hope for food and clean water and shelter. We all hope for a government that governs for all the people with integrity and in a civil manner. What about hoping for cleaner speech in television and movies because we all really don’t talk like that? We need hope for a world where families don’t have to travel hundreds of miles to escape violence and death and poverty only to be met with a “no admission” sign.

Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.

Hebrews 11:1 (NIV)

I guess my faith is not strong enough, because I certainly cannot be sure that some of the things I expressed hope for will come about in this current climate, culture, world. But I do know who true hope and peace and joy reside in–Jesus.

For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

Isaiah 9:6 (NIV)

May your 2019 be filled with peace of mind and heart, the joy of knowing life in Jesus, and the love of family and friends.