The Kind of Hope That Changes Everything

Good Friday, we know. And Easter most certainly. But what is Maundy Thursday?

When Anxiety Won't Leave You Alone

Even the corporate world recognizes that people have an ego problem. The growing field of “transpersonal leadership” instructs leaders in how to transcend the fragile self. In her recent book, Annabel Beerel says leaders need an enlarged sense of their identity that “enables them to rise above the day-to-day reactive and often fear-based needs of the ego to a place where they can experience and act from a higher self  . . . and thus lead with greater insight and wisdom by not being held hostage to the ego’s needs and defenses.” To this I say, “Amen.” But easier said than done. A pastor leading a church in desperate need of revitalization might well react in fear when the congregation’s pillar families threaten his livelihood. An active youth-group member might understandably hide her light under the bushel of self-censoring silence when she hears her classmates mocking  “superstitious faith” and “regressive morals.” The volunteer who just folded all the chairs, vacuumed the fellowship hall, and set up activities for the weekly kids’ program without anyone seeing, noticing, or thanking him—again—might understandably feel like the activity without the accolade isn’t worth it. It won’t be enough to white-knuckle the ego into submission like a wrestler pinning his opponent. We need to have our desires for peace, love, and purpose met. We need to fortify our gospel identity, besieged as it is by circumstance and public opinion, if we’re going to overcome the ego’s onslaught—or, as Jesus put it, to deny ourselves take up our cross, and follow him (Mark 8:34). To transcend the self, we must follow Jesus in serving like we know who we are. Jesus’s Model The night before his unjust execution, Jesus gathered his disciples, including Judas, the paradigmatic example of a man putting ego above all. Jesus didn’t intend to enrich or ennoble him, so Judas made plans to get his. He betrayed his Master and Friend for a bagful of fleeting happiness. We need to fortify our gospel identity, besieged as it is by circumstance and public opinion, if we’re going to overcome the ego’s onslaught. Jesus knew this. Still, he washed Judas’s filthy, undeserving feet. When no other disciple would humble himself to do a slave’s menial task, Jesus knelt and served. Behold the man unfettered by ego’s grasping tentacles. The beloved disciple, pondering his Lord’s gracious condescension, discloses what freed our King to serve with reckless, loving abandon. Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going back to God, rose from supper. He laid aside his outer garments and, taking a towel, tied it around his waist (John 13:3–4). Because Jesus knew who he was and what his Father would do, he cast aside ego with his cloak and donned self-sacrifice like a servant’s towel. Calvin insists John added these details “to tell us the source of Christ’s quiet, composed thinking. . . . Men in the grip of fear are usually most upset,” but “Christ experienced no such agitation” because he knew the Father’s will and work. And so do we. Our Motivation We know who the Father is and what he’s done for us in Christ. Have we any less reason for confidence in God, any less motivation to deny self and delight in service? Hasn’t God put all things into our hands too—for all things are ours because we’re Christ’s, and Christ is God’s (1 Cor. 3:21–23)? We know how the story ends: We’ll be raised to eternal life in the forever kingdom of God’s favorite Son. God has given us the victory through Jesus, which means we know our labor in the Lord is never in vain (15:58). When no one else notices, our unseen Father sees what’s done in secret and promises to reward what’s done in his Name and for his sake (Matt. 6:4). Think what that means for how we live—how this knowledge can and should motivate us to Christlike service. Instead of looking out for number one, we can put the voracious ego a distant third behind our love for God and neighbor. Bound for glory, we can embrace the bonds of constraining love, like Jesus picking up the servant’s towel and the slave’s very nature (Phil. 2:7). When we remember the depths of Christ’s love for us, the lengths he traveled along the whole dusty road to Golgotha’s wicked, wonderful hill, our parched ego at last slakes its thirst. When Christ’s Spirit fills our hearts to overflowing with the Father’s inestimable love (Rom. 5:5), we rest fully and finally content. Transpersonal leadership indeed. A mid-level manager in the grip of grace spotlights her team’s contributions, letting those under her authority receive due credit. Because she knows she has her Father’s unwavering approval, she doesn’t need to impress her boss. An elder graciously overlooks unjust insults about his ministry decisions. He repays evil with blessing, because he knows he can entrust himself to his Father who judges justly (1 Pet. 2:23). Because Jesus knew who he was and what his Father would do, he cast aside ego with his cloak and donned self-sacrifice like a servant’s towel. A homeschooling mother of four serves her family day after day—preparing meals, instructing occasionally uninterested students, cultivating a nurturing home environment—even when the tasks prove thankless. Because she knows that God gives grace to the humble, she can imitate her Savior and make herself next to nothing before the God who, in the end, exalts the lowly. God’s got the whole ego in his hands, so we can rise above its selfish wants and fragile feelings. Like Jesus, we can love and lead, stoop and serve, because we know who our Father is and what the Son has done for us. We can serve like we know who we are.

In his autobiographical story Everything Sad Is Untrue, Daniel Nayeri asked a provocative question about what we worship: “Would you rather a god who listens or a god who speaks?” “Be careful with the answer,” he cautioned. “This is the kind of thing you live your whole life thinking about probably.” Nayeri dives back into explorations of God, speaking, and listening in The Teacher of Nomad Land: A World War II Story. This short historical novel won the 2025 National Book Award for Young People’s Literature. It reads as children’s fiction, but the story reflects Christian themes profound enough to challenge and inspire adult readers as well, with an emphasis on how it looks to both listen and speak with grace. Listen The Teacher of Nomad Land is set in Iran during a time, like today, when people from across the world met and mixed uncomfortably, even dangerously, at the crossroads of cultures and communication. A boy named Babak and his sister, Sana, are orphaned and have to find a way to care for themselves and stay together. The story reflects Christian themes profound enough to challenge and inspire adult readers as well. Babak’s father, his “Baba,” was a teacher, and Babak wants to follow in his footsteps. The boy carries a blackboard strapped to his back for most of the book so he can be ready to give lessons any time there’s an opportunity. Babak meets a particularly frustrating boy who speaks a different language and doesn’t want to learn about anything beyond addressing his immediate needs. Babak observes how “Baba managed kids like this and somehow never screamed at them to take a breath and leave a single solitary second for someone else to speak,” and he wonders “for the love of all the angels in heaven, please . . . how does any teacher do it?” (117). So Babak decides to try letting the other boy teach him. As Babak listens, something changes between them. The two boys find common ground in their languages and experiences, and they begin moving from annoyance to compassion, then slowly to friendship. In an author’s note, Nayeri says that perhaps a lot of human history is actually “one giant misunderstanding after another in a cacophony of voices” (179). The book is filled with examples of characters moving toward understanding through taking time to hear each other. As I’ve talked to kids who have read The Teacher of Nomad Land, they’ve remarked that the book reminded them that Scripture also emphasizes the importance of listening—to God (Deut. 6; 8:3; Rom. 10:17) and to the people around us, whether teachers (Prov. 12:15; 22:17) or fellow students (18:13; James 1:19). Faith comes from hearing, after all (Rom. 10:17). Maybe the most astounding biblical truth about listening, though, is that God listens to us (Ps. 18:6). “The least of His consideration is immeasurable blessing,” as Teacher of Nomad Land says (49). The novel reminds readers that if the King of the Universe pays attention to our joys and cries, we can pause to listen as well. Speak In Nayeri’s books, listening and speaking are counterbalanced themes, two sides of one coin. Babak must not only listen but also speak courageously to teach the people around him and to save lives. Characters talk about their horrible war experiences and the hope that remains anyway. Part of the climax includes a scene where Babak has to step into a complex and dangerous situation to literally help people speak to each other. He slowly learns to live out his father’s lesson that “what we want others to know, we must teach them” (87). Nayeri has spoken publicly about faith and what he learned during his years attending Redeemer Presbyterian in New York. During the National Book Awards broadcast presentation, Nayeri gave a brief acceptance speech and talked about Babak teaching Farsi to the other characters in the story. Nayeri said, The first thing you learn if you are teaching the language of Farsi is . . . “Father gave water. Baba ab dad.” And the second sentence you learn is “Father gave bread. Baba nan dad.” Somewhere I think in the origin of that language is the idea that what we need most in this life has been . . . given to us freely. Nayeri connects that concept directly to the gift of the gospel, a teaching on true grace from his fictional story. Maybe the most astounding biblical truth about listening is that God listens to us. One of the great miracles of humanity is that God has spoken to us. His voice sounds in his Son (“the Word made flesh”) and through the written Scriptures. Both repeatedly command God’s often silent people to speak as well—from Moses and Ezekiel to Paul and to us and the children and other fellow believers we disciple. Christ’s followers should teach “all nations” (Matt. 28:19–20) and stay “prepared to make a defense to anyone who asks [us] for the reason for the hope that is in [us],” speaking “with gentleness and respect” (1 Pet. 3:15). Babak’s story—and Nayeri’s—provides a model for living these calls to speak boldly and to keep teaching. God Speaks and Listens When Nayeri asked in  Everything Sad Is Untrue whether the reader would prefer a god who listens or a god who speaks, he clarified, A god who listens is love. A god who speaks is law. . . . Oh, and in case it wasn’t obvious, the answer is both. God should be both. The Bible shows God both generously speaking and graciously listening, and it encourages us to do the same. “Because [God] has freely given these things I do not deserve, then I can freely share them with you,” a traveler tells Babak as they have a meal together (48). The Teacher of Nomad Land was published before the recent headlines about Iran, but it offers captivating insight into a land where the church is growing rapidly as the gospel is shared in the face of persecution and conflict. It’s also a timely reminder for believers to pray for their brothers and sisters around the globe and to continue giving out of the abundance God has given: love and teaching, water and bread, patience to listen and willingness to speak.