The hope that is in you

You probably don’t know Thomas Anderson but you might be familiar with his story.

He has a job, an apartment and a life that looks much like millions of others. He goes to work each day, answers to a boss and lives in a city full of people doing much the same things that he does. But something troubles him. Beneath the familiar routines is a nagging sense that something is wrong. Something that he can’t quite identify.

When the answer finally comes, it tears apart everything that he thought he knew. The city, the office, the ordinary life he’s been living are all part of an elaborate illusion. His body is somewhere else entirely, plugged into a machine while his mind inhabits a world designed to keep him unaware of his actual circumstances. Around him are countless others, still asleep, still absorbed in lives that conceal what is really happening to them.

That’s the premise of The Matrix, a movie that leaves you wondering how much of the reality that you take for granted you actually understand. Its unsettling power comes from the realisation that most of the people who are in it don’t know that they’re in it – so they have no reason to wake up. Their world keeps them occupied. There’s work to do, money to earn, somewhere to be and always another demand on their attention.

But if you’re a Christian, that metaphor should send alarm bells ringing, because we’ve already been brought out of the Matrix. When we came to Christ, our eyes were opened to the larger reality and we discovered what this life is for, what lies beyond it and why the things that once consumed our attention could never give us what we actually needed.

We know that our lives don’t end with the final hospital visit, the funeral and the distribution of whatever we’ve accumulated. We know that the few decades we spend earning a living, raising a family and finding our way through the world are a façade and that the real purpose of our lives is what lies beyond that – resurrection, judgment and reward.

We also know that we cannot earn that life. No career achievement, charitable reputation or carefully assembled record of good behaviour can make us worthy of it. Jesus Christ, alone, offers what we cannot obtain for ourselves. Through Him we receive forgiveness and the hope of eternal life, and He calls us to follow Him, submit to His authority and learn to live as He instructed.

That’s what we were awakened to when we escaped the real life version of the matrix. We were shown that knowing Christ and following Him is the purpose around which our lives must be built. Our work, our ambitions and our responsibilities take their place within that calling, and the years we’ve been given become an opportunity to live it out.

But we were also given a job. Christ instructed His followers to make disciples of all nations, teaching them to obey everything that He commanded. That commission reaches into our homes, our families, our friendships, and every other place where we have influence.

So we know why we’re here. We know where our hope rests and what we’ve been instructed to do. We’ve had the larger reality revealed to us, and we understand that the people around us need to hear about it too.

Yet somehow, having been brought out of the Matrix, many of us allow ourselves to be drawn back into it. The old demands regain their hold. We become absorbed in the next controversy, the next career opportunity, the next financial goal or the next argument we’re determined to win. Gradually, the reality that changed our lives slips into the background, and we go back to sleep.

I’m as susceptible to this as anyone and the pattern is familiar. I get drawn into politics, economics and the issues of the day. And somewhere along the way I lose sight of the most important job that I – and all Christians – was given

That hard conversation that we intended to have with a friend, or son, or daughter, gets put off in anticipation of the ‘right time’. Another week passes. Then another year. The intention survives, but the conversation never happens.

We can spend years carefully planning our finances, our careers and our retirement while giving scarcely a thought to whether our daily lives reflect the calling we once understood so clearly. We’ve prepared for almost everything except the thing we say matters most.

Our jobs and responsibilities can put us among the people we’re called to reach. Providing for our families, caring for others and doing our work honestly belong within a life of obedience to Christ. But when those responsibilities become the reason we never speak about Him, something has gone badly wrong. We’ve allowed the setting in which we’re called to serve to consume the calling itself.

Imagine a friend setting out along a road you know well. You also know that a bridge further along has collapsed, although from where your friend is standing the road looks perfectly safe. You watch them prepare to leave, discuss the weather and wish them a pleasant journey. You decide that mentioning the bridge would be awkward, and perhaps they’ll discover it for themselves.

Your friend is free to choose their route. They’re free to disregard a warning, too. But their freedom doesn’t relieve you of the responsibility to tell them what you know. Keeping quiet leaves them to make a decision without information that could change everything.

This is the cost of remaining absorbed in the machine. It affects the lives of the people that we love – with potentially devastating consequences. This isn’t a video game in which we can lose multiple lives and just reset after each game. In this version of the matrix we get just one lifetime in which to follow Christ and fulfil the responsibilities He’s given us. In this game – once we die, that’s it. The game is over.

The machine will always have another demand on our attention. It will take every hour we give it, including the hour in which we intended to speak to someone we love about Jesus. Christ opened our eyes to the purpose of this life and entrusted us with a message that can change theirs. Every day we spend postponing that responsibility is a day we cannot recover.

So have the conversation. Make room for it today, while the person you’ve been meaning to speak to is still there to hear you. They must make their own decision, but they deserve to know what you’ve been shown. We’ve already been awakened. We know that the bridge is down. It’s time to stop discussing the weather and tell them.

“Always be ready to give a defense to everyone who asks you a reason for the hope that is in you, with gentleness and respect.”

1 Peter 3:15:

Comment on this article on Facebook

Comment on this article on LinkedIn