After my dad died, I had the chance to read through the notes in his Bible and other papers he had there, some of which were in anticipation of his death.  Included in this “terminal” information was his favorite scripture. 

This is it, Hebrews 11:1 – “Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.”  Why, after nine decades of life, would this verse stand as his favorite?  What truth resonated in his years of life? What was the wisdom borne of long experience?  How did it speak to him and, perhaps of equal import, how does his favorite verse now speak to us?

The truth is, much of our life is built on dreams, immaterial wisps of fancy, misty wishings.  Too often, we travel through life from one hope to the next.  Hoping things will get better.  Hoping it will turn out okay.  Hoping for peace or prosperity; for wealth or health.  We invest ourselves in work, or study; in busyness.  And we accumulate – possessions, fears, regrets.  So much of our hoping, so many of our dreams, turn out to be empty.  Like our very lives, they are but vapor – mere mist that swirls in the dawn and burns away by mid-morning.

This is an old man’s verse, “faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.”  It is a puzzle to the young with its mixing of the spiritual and the material. With its strange upside downess that gives tangibility to things that cannot be seen or heard or touched.  It is a verse for those who have lived a while, who have lived deeply, thoughtfully.  It is a verse for those who have endured enough, seen and heard enough, to join with Solomon in his lament, “Futility, futility, all is futility”

But unlike Ecclesiastes, Hebrews 11:1 is not a cry of despair.  It is a shout of victory.  For there is a hope which does not disappoint, a confidence that endures forever.  There are things we cannot see, but which, nonetheless, are real and true.  Dad knew that this visible world, this physical life are not the real thing.  He knew his body was but a tent, in which he lived and worked until it wore out, as he journeyed on to his house, his permanent home.  His sufferings were but light and momentary troubles, not to be compared with the glory to be revealed in him in the presence of Jesus.  Sure, there is trouble in the world.  There is loss and pain, failure and tragedy. Dad knew that, and, by the end, knew it too well.  But he had overcome the world.  The apostle John says, “Everyone born of God overcomes the world. This is the victory that has overcome the world, our faith.” And our faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.

When all the earthly things you think will save you fail, as surely they will, remember this:  There is a God who is real and who will prepare a place for you so that you may joyfully dwell in his presence forever.  Your faith in Christ gives substance to that reality and to a hope that stands secure through all your years and into the eternity beyond. 

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