Faith Anchored In Hope

Some of us are old enough to remember this little ditty from the 1950s:

“Next time you’re found with your chin on the ground…

there’s a lot to be learned, just look around.

What makes that little old ant think he’ll move that rubber tree plant?

Anyone knows an ant can’t…

but he’s got high hopes…”

It’s catchy, upbeat, and even inspiring. But it also reveals the world’s shallow answer to despair: just keep on hoping. Keep believing in yourself. Put on a smile and keep going.

Yet if the last few years have taught us anything — with a pandemic that shook our world, with endless political shouting, with society divided and people walking around weary — it’s that human hope collapses quickly.

Dorothy Sayers once wrote:

“In the world it is called tolerance, but in Hell it is called despair — the sin that believes in nothing, cares for nothing, enjoys nothing, finds purpose in nothing, lives for nothing, and remains alive because there is nothing worth dying for.”

That’s where many live today: promises undelivered, expectations disappointed, like an itch that can’t be scratched, a thirst that is never quenched.

Life feels like the accident report of a hapless construction worker — one thing after another. He hoists up a barrel of bricks, the barrel is heavier than he is, up he goes, down it comes, smashing his shoulder. He keeps going up, smacks his head on a beam, jams his fingers in the pulley, crashes to the ground, lands on the bricks, the barrel comes back down on his head. His final request: “sick leave.”

Sometimes life feels like that: one blow after another.

And yet the Bible insists: “The just shall live by faith” (Hebrews 10:38). Faith is not trusting God only when things go well, but clinging to Him when life goes wrong. Faith is not the absence of doubt, but the decision to trust and obey in spite of doubt.

The Bible shows us what that looks like in three men: Job, Moses, and Abraham. Each of them faced moments when God seemed silent, unfeeling, or contradictory. Each of them shows us what faith looks like when everything else collapses.

I. Job — Faith When God Seems Silent

Job wasn’t a myth. He was a man of flesh and blood. He was wealthy, respected, a father who prayed over his children daily. He was the kind of man about whom Scripture itself says: “blameless and upright, one who feared God and turned away from evil” (Job 1:1).

And then — in a single day — he lost it all. His wealth, his flocks, his servants, his children. His health collapsed, sores covered his body. He sat in ashes scraping himself with broken pottery. Worst of all, heaven was silent. He prayed, he cried, he begged: “Oh, that I knew where I might find Him” (Job 23:3). No answer came.

I thought of Job when I visited Urfa, in southeastern Turkey. There, local tradition points to a cave where Ayub — Job — endured his suffering. I stepped into that cave. It was dim, cool, silent. Pilgrims came in hushed tones, some kneeling, some resting in silence, some weeping. Beside it there is a spring, said to have gushed forth when Job struck the ground with his foot — the very water that restored him. People still cup their hands to drink, believing in its healing.

Standing there, I realized Job is not just a symbol of patience; he was a man who lived, who had a home, a family, a place. And in that silence I could almost hear his cry: “Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him” (Job 13:15).

Have you been there? Not in Urfa, but in that silent place where prayers seem to bounce off the ceiling? Where you ask, “Lord, do You hear me at all?”

Job shows us that faith is not about getting quick answers. Faith is about holding on when heaven is silent.

II. Moses — Faith When God Seems Unfeeling

Moses was a man of passion. He once struck down an Egyptian in anger. He argued with God at the burning bush. He grew frustrated at Israel’s constant grumbling. He was strong, fiery, and sometimes weary.

For forty years, he carried Israel like a father carries children. Through Red Sea crossings, manna mornings, water from rocks, endless complaints, and rebellion after rebellion.

And after all that, God said: “You may look at the land, but you will not enter it” (Deut. 34).

I know something of that view, because I have stood on Mount Nebo with my family. In the evening, the sky turning amber, we looked across the Jordan Valley toward Jericho, the shimmer of the Dead Sea catching the last rays of light, and the ridges of the Promised Land beyond.