Exiled Hope
By Anthony Casperson
11-30-24

O come, O come, Emmanuel,
And ransom captive Israel,
That mourns in lonely exile here
Until the Son of God appear.

When it comes to this famous Christmas hymn, I find the connection of exile and Jesus’ advent to be an interesting one. On the one hand, the people of Judah had returned from the Babylonian/Medo-Persian exile over four centuries before Jesus’ first arrival to earth in human flesh. And on the other hand, we who await for the Son of God to appear for his second advent aren’t exactly in political captivity either.

Yet, the connection leads us to something that could be true of those who awaited both advents. A sense of hope that not only has a focus on the future change that he’ll make for us, but also has a focus on the present sense of hope that gives us the security to stand amidst life’s difficulties.

A hope that gives us surety to stand right now—despite the anxiety, depression, and loneliness of this season—as we await the arrival of that future change. That hope which stands between the promise and the complete fulfillment.

In the book of Jeremiah, the prophet writes about this hope to the people of Judah who had already been exiled to Babylon. The false prophets of the time were telling these exiles that it wouldn’t take long for God to return them to the Promised Land. “Just hang on a little longer. The change of circumstance that you desire will come soon. I guarantee it.”

But the problem was that God hadn’t told those so-called “prophets” to say anything like that. As a matter of fact, very few of those people would ever see the land of Israel ever again. Likely, only the very young—who would be quite elderly by the time the exile was over—might be able to once again lay eyes on their homeland. God had seventy years of captivity ahead of them, as he had told Jeremiah, the prophet Yahweh had actually chosen to speak his words.

With a desire for the exiles to not lose faith in their God, he called Jeremiah to write a letter to the exiled. A letter of hope, despite the fact that their expectation of change wouldn’t come for a very long time.

In Jer. 29, we see the contents of the letter. And for those who felt forgotten, lost, and alone in exile, the words sounded terrible. The little bit of expected future change they had been clinging on to was yanked away from them. “Seventy years?!” they likely cried out as they fell to their knees. How could they survive that long with such a terrible fate? How could they deserve seven decades of oppression?

But the truth was that God was still with them. He was truly Immanuel to them.

We can see this in the rest of the letter’s beginning. Words which the exiles had quickly forgotten because of their focus on the lengthy time for their exiled status.

In verses 5-7, God spoke through Jeremiah that the exiles should plant roots in Babylon. Get married. Have children. Give the children in marriage. Multiply in the land. And pray for Babylon’s welfare, because your welfare is dependent upon Babylon’s safety.

To the exiles, this was unthinkable. How could God leave them here? How was this life of exiled oppression supposed to be Yahweh’s blessing? They only saw the problems, not the God who was with them. The God who had a plan. The God who wanted to give them a future and a hope, as verse 11 says.

Notice that while God had a future hope ready for them as a nation, the individual exiles had to realize that hope for them wasn’t getting the happily ever after. Rather, hope had a present sense, a surety of God being with them in the midst of the exile. They might feel lonely and far from God, but he was with them still.

Immanuel.

The words of Jer. 29:11 have a special place for me during this season. No one else might consider them a Christmas anthem. But I can’t help but think of Christmastime whenever I see them.

During the year that began my long-time aversion to the holiday, I’d gotten a new CD, and was listening to its songs while looking at the book that included the lyrics. I spun around on a chair in the kitchen. And my eyes fell upon words that weren’t lyrics, but had inspired some of them. The songwriter had included them to speak to the listener.

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord,
“plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”

In the other room, an argument had broken out. One that was a long time in coming. And forever changed the trajectory of my life. Not quite an exile, but definitely along the same lines as I would see it. Anxiety, depression, and loneliness certainly fit the situation.

And year after year, I longed for some sort of change in the future. A desire for that hope and future to be real.

I had an expectation of some future change to be the answer to all of the problems. All I had to do was hang on a little longer. But that wasn’t the truth. It was a promised lie made by false prophets who didn’t understand the plan of God.

He’d called me to settle in the land of my metaphorical exile. Live life there. And pray for its welfare. Because it’s here that my welfare will be found. With him right beside me.

Immanuel.

I don’t know what pains and problems everybody reading these words are currently experiencing. I don’t know the land of your exile. But I do know that God has a plan.

A plan for your hope and future.

But don’t hear the voice of the false prophets, proclaiming lies about how short your time in your specific exile is. Don’t expect your desired future change to be guaranteed, as long as you just hang on long enough. That’s not a life of hope that will stand firmly in God.

Instead, hear the truth from God. You might feel like you’re in a lonely exile awaiting for the Son of God to appear with triumph in your life. But he is right there with you in the pain and the struggle. In the anxiety, depression, and loneliness. Calling you for his specific purpose.

For the exile, hope isn’t for a change of circumstance. Rather it is standing firm in the knowledge that God is with us in the middle of it all.

Immanuel.