in christ alone, my hope is found

He is my light, my strength, my song.

If you’ve been following along in my email series, you know that there are a few lines from the hymn In Christ Alone that I just can’t get out of my head. I had a sudden thought while getting ready for work this week: what if I wrote a series through the lyrics of the first verse and how it correlates to ordinary life? After all,

“If I am to spend my whole life being transformed by the good news of Jesus, I must learn how grand, sweeping truths – doctrine, theology, ecclesiology, Christology – rub against the texture of an average day. How I spend this ordinary day in Christ is how I will spend my Christian life.”
—Tish Harrison Warren

I shared this message at a staff training camp at Camp Little Red last weekend, but I’m too excited about it not to share it here.

// In Christ alone, my hope is found. He is my light, my strength, my song //

“It’s not by might, nor by power, but by My Spirit,” says the Lord of hosts.

Last summer, I was struggling with overwhelm. Admittedly, I struggle with overwhelm a lot, but this particular emotional period was heightened because a friend of mine had just died. Summer was chaotically full and I felt strapped for time to manage housework on top of a job, family, and new husband. I didn’t know what to do with all of it. I also missed seeing my family. Death occupied many of my thoughts.

My siblings write me letters, and have done so ever since I moved out and got married. On one especially difficult day, I walked, in tears, to the mailbox. I didn’t know how to handle grief, never having lost someone I was close to before. When I unlocked the box and swung open the door, I saw only one tiny letter.

As soon as I got home, I tore it open, and as I did so, a printed index card floated to the ground. I stooped to pick it up, curious. As I read the words, my heartrate began to slow.

It read, “But He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” (2 Cor. 12:9).

I began to cry afresh, but this time, it wasn’t tears of confusion or grief—these were tears of relief, of peace.

I felt like I was in darkness, but here, in the dark, He kindled a glimmer of light and hope once again.

I was confused, but He wasn’t.

I was lonely, but He was there beside me.

I was weak, but He was strong.

I was grieving, but He was (and is) still good.

He is my light, my strength, my song.

If there’s one thing that’s a guarantee in our world, it’s that there will be darkness. Everywhere you look you can see entropy and decay: houses that constantly need cleaning and maintenance, gardens that quickly become weed farms, familial conflict, and on a broader field, violence and war. It’s pretty easy for this darkness to seep into our souls and dishearten us. Because we know, in our inmost being, that these things are too much for us. There is too much brokenness to possibly repair, and the cycle keeps perpetuating itself, spiralling out of control. What can we possibly do to fight against so much evil and the darkness that keeps pushing and probing and deepening?

Friend, Jesus isn’t called the light of the world for nothing. He brings light into the darkest of places. Think of Corrie ten Boom, who was imprisoned in a concentration camp during the holocaust for aiding Jewish refugees. She watched her sister starve to death. She never saw some of her family again. And yet, after all of the horrible things she endured, she was able to say, “there is no pit so deep that God’s love is not deeper still.”

Dare I say, there is no darkness so thick that God’s light cannot penetrate? A concentration camp should be a place of hopelessness, darkness, and despair—and I’m sure there were moments that were. But despite all of that, Corrie kept her eyes steadily fixed on Jesus. And somehow, God redeemed that situation and was Corrie’s light within the darkness.

The darkness in our world cannot be overcome by our God.

He is my light, my strength, my song.

Nothing makes me feel as physically weak as working out with dumbbells. I mean, have you tried doing bicep curls with a 15-lb weight?! Scratch that, even a 10-lb weight feels agonizing. Clearly, I need to do more arm exercises.

But it’s definitely not only physical categories where I find myself lacking strength or stamina. I sincerely empathize and relate to Paul when he wrote, “For I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate” (Romans 7:15). Why is it so much easier to scroll on my phone than to read a book, even though the former leaves me feeling drained and discouraged and the latter is truly enjoyable? Why is it so much easier to avoid a difficult conversation at the expense of a relationship when just talking about things (albeit awkwardly) can smooth over most misunderstandings? Why is it easier to avoid time with God when that’s what I need most?

In case you’re not getting the full picture here, let me spell it out: I’m pretty weak. And I’m sure that there are areas in your life that feel like weaknesses or impossibilities based on your abilities. I get that! But do you know who isn’t weak?

Yup, you got it—Sunday school answer. It’s God.

Isaiah writes, “Have you not known? Have you not heard?
The Lord is the everlasting God,
    the Creator of the ends of the earth.
He does not faint or grow weary;
    his understanding is unsearchable.
He gives power to the faint,
    and to him who has no might he increases strength.”

God never asks you to do things on your own. He doesn’t abandon you in your moment of need. He will sustain you. He will carry you. He will renew your strength. He will raise you up on eagle’s wings. He will be with you.

Even here. Even now.

He is my light, my strength, my song.

Sing it with me, friend. He is still worth praising, even in the dark and lonely moments. He is still good, even if our circumstances don’t match our definitions of good. We have a new song to sing because our God is with us. So, with every breath that you and I are able—let us sing of the goodness of God.