Moving Toward Hope

Even the hardest parts of your story can become the place where Jesus meets you most deeply. In John 9, we learn how to move toward hope—one humble step at a time.

📷: David Underland

Laetare Sunday and the Light That Breaks Through

This past Sunday marked the fourth week of Lent, traditionally known as Laetare Sunday. The word Laetare means “rejoice” and finds its roots in Isaiah 66:10—“Rejoice, Jerusalem!”

At first glance, rejoicing may feel out of place in a season often marked by repentance, reflection, and fasting. But this mid-point in Lent is like those surprising sunny days in the middle of a long Utah winter—days when the sun breaks through the gray, the air turns warm, and we can finally open a few windows. Spring is on the way. Laetare Sunday reminds us that Easter is coming. And more than that, it reminds us that hope is alive, even in the middle of our suffering.

Since the fifth century, the Church has paused here, halfway through Lent, to remember: Easter is on the horizon. Light is breaking in. Healing is possible. And joy isn’t something we only experience after the pain. God offers it in the midst of it.

But let’s be honest—suffering has a way of suffocating hope. It tempts us to believe that what is will always be. We begin to lose sight of what’s true. That’s why we need to return, again and again, to the reminders of God’s presence, power, and provision.

As a pastor, I see this need every Monday morning when I read the prayer requests submitted by our church. I hear it in texts, in counseling conversations, and in the quiet ache of my own soul. Life is hard. And if we’re not careful, that difficulty can cause our faith to decay.

So how do we move toward the hopeful, healing light of Jesus when life feels heavy and uncertain? John 9 tells the story of a man who did just that—and through his journey, we discover four steps we can take to move toward hope.

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1. Step Out of Blame: Not All Suffering Is Someone’s Fault

Jesus and His disciples encounter a man born blind. He hadn’t just lost his sight—he had never seen. In that time, blindness was a life sentence to poverty and social exclusion.

Seeing this man, the disciples ask, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents?” Like many of us, they were trying to make sense of suffering by assigning blame.

But Jesus rejects that framework. “Neither this man nor his parents sinned,” He says.

It’s a deeply human instinct to try and understand pain by finding a cause. Our brains crave meaning—for emotional safety, for narrative coherence, and for healing. Viktor Frankl, a Holocaust survivor and psychiatrist, said, “Those who have a ‘why’ to live can bear almost any ‘how.’”

But Jesus wants us to understand: not all suffering is someone’s fault. Yes, sometimes pain is the result of choices — either our own, or those of others against us. But other times, it’s simply the reality of living in a broken world.

To move toward hope, we have to step out of blame. Maybe it’s time to stop asking, “What did I do wrong?” and start asking, “Where is God at work in this?”

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2. Step Into Purpose: God Can Use Pain as a Stage for His Goodness

Jesus goes on to say, “This came about so that God’s works might be displayed in him.”

The man’s blindness—what seemed to be a hopeless limitation—became the very place where God’s power and compassion were revealed.

I’ve seen this in my own life. When I was a high school junior, I wanted to play football at Taylor University. After some initial recruitment, I even received a call from the head coach saying he was excited to have me join the team. A few days later, I got a letter saying I hadn’t been accepted because my GPA was too low. I was crushed.

But that disappointment redirected me to a different university in Chicago. In Chicago, I met a church planter named Darrin Hughes, who introduced me to church planting. I took a job at a Starbucks across the street from that church—and that’s where I met Tami, my wife — the woman I’ve now spent over two decades with.

Looking back, I can see how God used that heartbreak to shape every beautiful thing in my adult life.

Sometimes, the pain that feels like the end of something is actually the beginning of God doing something new.

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3. Step Through Disruption: Healing Doesn’t Guarantee Comfort

After Jesus heals the blind man, you’d expect a celebration. But instead, conflict erupts. His neighbors bombard him with questions. The religious leaders interrogate him and argue over whether Jesus is from God. Eventually, they throw him out of the synagogue altogether.

It’s a disorienting experience: he’s healed, and then immediately rejected.

This tension is one many of us know well. Life with Jesus often holds both joy and grief, healing and heartache.

St. Ignatius called this the rhythm of consolation and desolation. Even when we feel dry or distant, God is still at work, drawing us closer, deepening our trust.

So when healing leads to disruption—when the miracle is followed by misunderstanding—don’t lose hope. Step through the tension, knowing Jesus walks with you through every part of it.

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4. Step Into Faith: Jesus Invites You Out of Isolation and Into Intimacy

After the man is thrown out, Jesus finds him.

He doesn’t leave him alone to figure things out. He comes close. And then He gently invites him into deeper understanding and faith.

That moment reminds me of a friendship I shared with a man named Darrin, who tragically passed away in 2020.

Darrin was exceptionally gifted. He founded a church in St. Louis that grew to thousands of people, authored a few great books, and served as a network and a true movement leader, speaking at conferences worldwide.

However, he was also a wounded man who made some poor decisions and lost almost all of his influence for a season.

During this healing season in his own life, I was struggling while pastoring a large church in North Carolina. In God’s kindness, we connected during this time and spent several long hours on the phone, processing through our shared struggles.

Before this, I had known Darrin as a larger-than-life influential figure. However, when we were both in seasons of struggle and isolation, we became close friends.

My point is, sometimes our deepest friendships are formed through the most painful periods of our lives. I have never seen this be more true than in friendship with Jesus. When we are most brokenhearted, He is most near. And He gently invites us to deeper and deeper faith in Him.

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The Only Condition for Healing

This entire story points to one big idea:

Humility is the only condition for healing.

The blind man had the humility to trust Jesus, to step forward in faith, to risk rejection. The Pharisees clung to pride, and their hearts only hardened.

So the question for us is this: Which will we choose?

Will we humble ourselves enough to move toward the light of Jesus, even when it’s hard—or will we resist, retreat, and remain unchanged?

My prayer is that we would all choose humility. Because it’s in that humble movement toward Jesus that we find the healing, hope, and joy we so desperately need—even in the middle of Lent.