Perhaps the most famous part this chapter is “Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason to the hope that you have.” This verse has always made me ask myself a few questions.
- What is the hope that we have?
- What is the reason for this hope?
- How do we give the answer in a clear manner?
- Who is asking us these questions and why?
The passage this verse comes from is in the context of suffering, mainly suffering on account of your faith. It asks us to give account of our hope in the face of threats and problems. Now, this is perhaps why the question is being asked in the first place. Hope and optimism is not unusual when things are fine. If you’ve got a nice house and healthy bank account, no one is going to be surprised when you seem a bit perky. However, when you are facing genuine trials and opposition, it may seem a little more unusual. (It is a possible barrier to evangelism for missionaries in poorer contexts. When we preach how joyful we are because we know Jesus, they may be thinking it’s not Jesus but our wallets that are making us so cheerful. But that’s probably another blog post entirely.)
Now, these passages about suffering always trouble me. I’ve never really suffered for my faith. There was one time at secondary school where someone said, “I hate how you always tell me about your faith.” I then pointed out, she was in fact at a Christian Union event and I was answering a question she just asked. (And then I burst into tears.) But that’s hardly suffering. So it makes me wonder if I’m doing it wrong if I’m not suffering. And then, should I be asking the Lord for suffering? (I haven’t made my mind up on that one yet, so I may hold off on that prayer for a while.) But it makes me wonder about the state of the church in the West. Is the legitimacy for our witness hindered precisely because we have it too good? If you listen to stories of the persecuted church, there are incredible testimonies of churches flourishing under heavy opposition. In Europe, where everything is more comfortable, it is seen as a dying out-dated phenomenom. In America, Christianity is perhaps too closely associated with the “Karens” of the world. We have what we want, and often we believe we deserve it. In fact, the stories of suffering believers often come as a surprise even to “comfortable” Christians, and are perhaps a bit unsettling. So it’s easy to see how a testimony of hope is powerful in such a context.
And the reason for the hope is clear: in their hearts they revere Christ as Lord. It’s interesting that the word “revere” is used here. It’s not love or some other warm emotion. Revere suggests a respect or fear towards someone. There is perhaps a clear implication: Christ is Lord. If suffering in obedience is a part of his will, then it is right. I interviewed my Khmer best friend about hope in troubles, and he said the most important thing to do is to fear God. This is, of course, interesting and jarring to the ears of British (and I suspect of other) Christians. We often soften God and perhaps do a disservice to our faith in doing so. Of course, God is love and cares for us. But he isn’t safe and cuddly.
How then do we bring a theology of suffering and fear of God back into our churches? How to we then give reason to the hope that we have?