Guarantees are Hard to Come By

Guarantees are hard to come by these days.

After sixty days of cancellations and loneliness, I feel like there are few promises I can make and keep anymore. My kids ask, “When can we play with other kids again? Will we have school this fall? Will we get to have birthday parties with our friends this summer?” I honestly don’t know what to say beyond maybe.

It’s not just me—it’s all of us. We do our best, but we’re still subject to the times and trials of our present reality. Last week I went to the grocery store and stood speechless in front of an empty meat case. I went to another store. And another. Chicken was scarce, beef nearly non-existent. Though we have plenty of food, preferences aren’t guaranteed anymore.

Over the weekend, we ordered a new patio swing to replace the one that broke. Rather than showing up in two days, the swing will arrive in a few weeks. Maybe. There aren’t shipping guarantees anymore.

Today, I canceled one last airline ticket for a conference that’s been rescheduled. I got a voucher to use next year. At least, I hope I can use it. Large gatherings aren’t guaranteed anymore.

I’m weary of a life where nearly every day is identical, but nothing is the same anymore. We keep questioning, “when? when? when?” but the answers we give and are given are temporary and speculative at best. James 4 never felt so true: “yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring.” Guarantees are hard to come by and even harder to give.

My prayer list has been long lately. Life continues to demand our time, affections, and health. Even in a pandemic, people get cancer. People still need Jesus. Relationships still get broken. Sin is still a present temptation each day. Life is still the same in its radical strangeness. Every day that passes is still a day to know Christ and make Him known. Every day that spools out before us still must be handled with Scripture and wrapped in prayer. And the strangest truth is that no matter what we need to pray about, we’re guaranteed to find what we need. I’m not talking about definitive answers like an end-date or a miraculous cure. I’m talking about what we need every day that we sometimes forget we need: mercy and grace. We can, without fail, find both. And prayer is where we find them. I guarantee it.

As I’ve dealt with the sanctifying pressures of a pandemic the way many of us have in quarantine, I’ve found the book of Hebrews to be especially helpful. As the light of isolation casts a beam on my just-below-the-surface sins of anger and impatience, Hebrews has been the balm I didn’t know I needed. Take, for instance, chapter 2 where we learn of Jesus’s humility in being made like us “in every respect, so that he might become a merciful and faithful high priest in the service of God, to make propitiation for the sins of the people” (Heb. 2:17). The purpose in his incarnation and ministry? “For because he himself has suffered when tempted, he is able to help those who are being tempted” (2:18). I can’t think of a stronger expression of love than this. Jesus endured the same things we do, and he knows what it’s like. Keep going, and you’ll see why—to give us access to the Father, to pay for our sins at the cross, to help us remain steadfast until he returns. And to give us grace and mercy when we need help. Which, if you’re like me, is pretty much every waking moment of every single day.

Here’s the gift he’s given in our striving against our sin:

“For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in the time of need.” (Heb. 4:15-16)

First of all, Jesus knows it all. He’s lived this life, walked this earth, felt the tug of temptation. He knows how it feels to be weak. When we come before him with our desperate pleadings for help and hope, he knows what’s in our hearts at every level. But he is not you or me. He didn’t ever have to confess to an accountability partner that he recklessly gave in to temptation. He didn’t suddenly “lose control” or say one thing and do another. He steadfastly resisted and remained without sin.

That isn’t meant to make you feel like holiness is unattainable. Just the opposite, actually. Jesus’s perfect steadfastness is meant to encourage you. It’s meant to assure you that his sinlessness makes him the perfect priest and lamb. It’s meant to assure you that his sacrifice in your place was enough. It’s meant to assure you that his sacrifice reconciled you to God and you can approach his throne through prayer with confidence about what you’ll find there: mercy and grace to help you when you need it.

If the only guarantee you can find right now is the self-same fight with sin day in and day out, know that there’s another. You’ll absolutely find what you need in prayer: mercy and grace. You’ll find mercy and grace to fight your sin, mercy and grace to hold fast to the faith, mercy and grace to persevere through the trials of our days. Prayer is where we find it. Jesus is how we get it. God is the one who gives it. We’re the weak, glad creatures who benefit from it.

And that’s a guarantee.

If the only guarantee you can find right now is the self-same fight with sin day in and day out, know that there's another. You’ll absolutely find what you need in prayer: mercy and grace. Share on X

 

 

 

Photo by Dingzeyu Li on Unsplash