Reflections...

I. We have all been called here

This congregation is like a gathering of people from every corner of the world. Some of you were born in Hong Kong. Some of us came from somewhere else — Myanmar, Mainland China, the Philippines, India, Indonesia, Uganda, Kenya, Tanzania, and so on. We have some students from LTS. Some are asylum seekers, teachers, domestic workers, pastors, business people, engineers, and much more. I am Swedish, but I am sent by the Norwegian Mission Society to teach at LTS. My wife came from Tanzania to join me, and she found her own calling here at KUC, also financed by NMS.

All of us, in one way or another, have been called here. And for many of us, the call did not come with a map.

That is exactly where the Bible begins its story of faith. Not with certainty. Not with a detailed plan. Not with a theology degree. But with a call.

In Genesis 12 we read: "The Lord said to Abram, 'Go from your country and your kindred and your father's house to the land that I will show you.'"

II. The call that does not come with a map

Iwant to look at two Hebrew words in that verse: lek.leka?  Literally they mean"go

for yourself" or "go with yourself." This call is not just geographical. It is existential. Abram discovers who he is by.leaving. His identity is not found in staying put. It is found in responding to the call.

Another Hebrew word helps us see the shape of Abram's faith. Throughout Genesis, Abram is described with the verb hithallek — to walk about, to move stage by stage, to journey without arriving. It comes from the same root as lek.leka — the root meaning "to walk" or "to go." But this form suggests repeated, stage-by-stage movement. Not a straight line. Not a single decision. A journey. Our verse 9 expresses a similar thought.

So God says: lek.leka — go, leave, set out. And Abram responds with action: hithallek — he keeps journeying, stage by stage, altar by altar.

That is the shape of biblical faith. It is not a single decision you make once and then you are done. It is a thousand small steps. It is building an altar at Shechem, and then another at Bethel, and then another at Hebron. It is worshiping in the middle of the journey, not just at the destination.

Abram did not have a map. He had a promise. And that was enough to start walking.

III. But what kind of faith is this?

Paul looks back at Abram in Romans 4. And he uses a strange, but kind of poetical phrase. He says that Abram was "hoping against hope." At least in our translation.

In Greek: par".elpida.ep".elpidi.  Against hope, upon hope.

All evidence said: no child, no future, no nation. Abram was seventy-five years old when he left Harran. Or according to Paul, nearly a hundred. Sarah's womb was barren. Everyone around them would have said: give up. You are too old. The promise is not going to happen.

But Abram hoped anyway. Not because he was an optimist. Not because he ignored reality. He saw the reality. He did not pretend it was not there. But he trusted the promise more than he trusted the evidence.

That is hope against hope. It is tenacious anticipation of what others refuse to envision. It is not positive thinking. It is not "everything will be fine." It is trust that God's call is real even when every visible sign says it is not.

Paul says that this kind of hope does not put us to shame. He says that, elsewhere in the letter to Romans. But you can also see it in the story. Abram risked looking like a fool. He left his homeland, his family, his security. In an honour-shame culture, that was not brave. That was embarrassing. But he went anyway. And in the end, he was not ashamed. God made his name great.

IV. Two people who reached out

Now let me turn to Matthew 9. This chapter gives us two stories of hope against hope — and they are woven together.

Jairus — a synagogue leader — comes to Jesus and says, 'My daughter has just died. But come and lay your hand on her, and she will live.' He is a leader of the synagogue — a person of status, of reputation. His name is only found in the parallels in Mark and Luke.

He falls at Jesus' feet. That is already a risk. A man like him should not be begging a wandering teacher for help. But he does it anyway. He hopes against hope.

Jesus agrees to go with him. But on the way, something happens. A woman who has been bleeding for twelve years comes up behind Jesus and touches the fringe of his cloak. She is ritually unclean. According to the law in Leviticus, she should not be in public. She should not touch anyone. If she is caught, she will be shamed — possibly punished. But she has spent twelve years hoping. Twelve years of doctors, twelve years of expenses, twelve years of isolation. She has nothing left except the courage to reach out.

She touches his cloak. And Jesus stops. He does not shame her. He says, "Take heart, daughter; your faith has made you well."

Then he continues to Jairus's house. And Jairus keeps walking. He hopes against hope. Maybe his faith, his hope is stronger after seeing Jesus healing the woman. And indeed, Jesus does raise his daughter.

V. What connects these stories?

Abram left his homeland without a map. The woman reached out in public when she should have stayed hidden. Jairus kept walking even when all the signs said it was too late.

None of them had certainty. All of them risked shame. And none of them were disappointed.

That is hope against hope. It is not the absence of fear. It is moving forward despite fear. It is reaching out despite the risk. It is staying with Jesus even when everyone says it is too late.

And notice: in each case, the hope is embodied. Abram builds altars. The woman touches a cloak. Jairus falls at Jesus' feet. Hope is not just a feeling. It is something you do with your hands, your feet, your body. It is a posture. It is a direction of travel.

VI. A word from the prophet

Paul knew this kind of hope from his Scriptures. The prophet Habakkuk lived in a time of violence and injustice. He cried out to God: "How long?" And God answered with a promise — a vision that seemed to delay. And then came the famous words: "The righteous shall live by their faithfulness”, or as I would argue "The righteous shall live by its faithfulness" where it refers to God’s vision, to God’s promise— The righteous will live

by trusting, by remaining, by holding on to God’s vision, to God’s promise. That is hope against hope.

Habakkuk ends his book with one of the most radical statements of hope ever written. He says:

"Though the fig tree does not blossom, and no fruit is on the vines; though the produce of the olive fails and the fields yield no food; though the flock is cut off from the fold and there is no herd in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the Lord; I will exult in the God of my salvation."

That is hope against hope. Not because everything is fine. Because God is trustworthy even when everything is not fine.

VII. The God of hope

Paul ends his great letter to the Romans with a string of quotations from the Old Testament. And the last one is from Isaiah:

"The root of Jesse shall come... in him the nations shall hope."

In the Greek Bible that Paul used — the Bible he read and quoted — Isaiah says the nations will hope in the Messiah. The Hebrew more original version, says "inquire." Both are true. But Paul chooses "hope" — because hope is what his whole letter is about.

This matters because the Roman world worshipped hope as a goddess — Spes — tied to emperors, heirs, and material security. Paul redefines hope entirely. It is not about what you can see. It is about trusting the God of promise when there is no evidence yet.

Then Paul prays:

"May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that you may abound in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit."

That is his final word to the Romans. And it is his final word to us. Not certainty. Not a map. Just Hope.

VIII. What this means for us here

We are a congregation of people who have been called here — from Sweden and Tanzania, from Myanmar and China, from the Philippines and India and Uganda and Kenya...and elsewhere. Some of us have papers, HKID. Some of us are still waiting for something more permanent. Some of us have found our calling. Some of us might still be searching.

And the call did not (always) come with a map.

But we have the promise. We have the same God who called Abram, who healed the woman, who raised Jairus's daughter, who raised Jesus from the dead. That God is trustworthy.

Hope against hope does not mean pretending that the difficulties are not real. It means reaching out anyway. It means building altars along the way — acts of worship, acts of hospitality, acts of kindness, acts of justice. It means staying with Jesus even when everything says it is too late.

Paul said: "Hope does not disappoint." These stories prove it. Abram was not ashamed. The woman was not shamed. The synagogue leader was not laughed at in the end. Because the God of hope is faithful.

So let us hope against hope. Let us walk stage by stage, altar by altar. And let us trust that the one who called us will also show us the land — perhaps not yet, perhaps not fully, but surely.

And let me say one more thing. This hope does not require us to be certain. It does not require us to never doubt. Abram doubted — he lied about Sarah, he laughed at God's promise. The woman had twelve years of disappointment. Jairus heard the worst possible news. Doubt did not disqualify any of them. So, if you sometimes wonder whether your faith is strong enough, or if your hope falters when things do not go your way — you are in good company. Hope against hope is not hope without doubt. It is holding on anyway.

ƒ S o .l e t .u s .h o p e .a g a i n s t .h o p e ¡ .L e t .u s .w a l k .s t a g e .b y .s t a g e ¡ ¡ ¡ƒ

 Amen.