[Here’s a piece of a project titled Our Hope Springs Eternal: Letters for Life and Death. I’m writing letters to a man named Russ through all the stages of the Christian faith. Here’s a draft of the first letter.]

A Letter to those Exploring Faith

Dear Russ,

I’m thankful for our brief encounter last week.  You blessed me with your generosity and thoughtful conversation.   I appreciate your willingness to develop our newfound friendship through letters.  I know letters are a relic from another time. Maybe that’s part of their charm. They give us room to think before we respond.

I don’t know your story, but it’s likely a good one, filled with ups and downs.  I’d love to hear about what brought you to town, the tattoo on your arm, and perhaps the things which keep you awake at night. I’m sure you have moments you love to share and a bucket full of regrets. It’s your story and it’s likely a bit messy. I have much to learn about you.

As a pastor, I’m a collector of stories.  Sometimes I search for them, but many times people freely share.  When you closely listen, you appreciate the uniqueness of each story, but also notice common threads.  People are on the hunt for what they label as happiness, but the search is much deeper. 

A banker once walked into my office and exhaled before he unloaded.  He spoke of his beautiful wife, large house, new boat, and successful career.  Then he muttered, “but I’m not happy.”  Shortly afterwards, another man sat down in the same chair and told me of his struggling marriage, inability to keep up with bills, and frustration in a dead-end job.  Embarrassed by his situation and emotion he sheepishly said, “I just want to be happy.”  After pressing both men, they expressed a desire to find purpose. They didn’t want to be happy, they wanted significance, a life that mattered. 

I’m a preacher so I can’t help but get preachy from time to time.  I’ll do my best to resist merely writing sermons to you.  Tell me if it ever gets out of hand.  The narrator of Ecclesiastes (a wisdom book from the Old Testament) presents Solomon’s search for the meaning of life.  Solomon’s experience led him to describe much of life as hevel.  “Hevel of hevel …all is hevel” (Ecclesiastes 1:2).  This is a Hebrew word for vapor—a mist that appears for a moment and disappears when you reach for it.  Solomon discovered that much of his life was spent pursuing what he could not hold for long, could never fully satisfy.  He sought pleasure in wine, women, and wisdom but it was like chasing after the wind.  

This truth is not merely contained in Ecclesiastes.  We see it many places in the world around us. I know a marathoner who placed his hope in health but died of cancer at an early age.  I know a financial planner who placed her hope in wealth but was always wanting more. I know a socialite who placed hope in friends but often found betrayal and rarely found meaningful friendship.   Perhaps you’ve grown tired of chasing happiness too.   

I’ve stood beside many people approaching death.  Those nearing the finish line become poets.  They spout wisdom. They make things plain. It’s painful to sit with those who realize they’ve placed their hope in the wrong things.  Those who have placed their hope in what is eternal face the finish line differently. I pray you find the kind of hope that survives the finish line.  I wonder if you pray.  If you were to spend time in prayer, what would you pray about?  Your answer will tell me much about what is most important to you.  I look forward to hearing your response. 

Ecclesiastes eventually provides a turn in Solomon’s story. The narrator encourages pleasure seekers to rejoice and remember—not to cling to fleeting things as though they could last forever, but to remember the One who gave good gifts to us here on earth.  He does not push the reader towards nostalgia or sentimentality but to remember the Creator.  Our view of life is transformed when we view everything as the handiwork of God.  If you’ve been created, you’ve been given purpose. It’s not purpose you invent but purpose you receive.  Some spend a lifetime seeking purpose in all the wrong places.  I wonder where you’ve traveled in your story, right and wrong turns you’ve taken.

You’ve shared that you don’t attend church or even like to talk with religious people.  You said, “Religion is a crutch for weak people.”  I’ve reflected on that since our brief meeting.  I’ve recounted it more than I’d like to admit. You’re right about crutches. We all have them: relationships, success, wealth.  There was a time when I leaned heavily on mine.  But I don’t believe religion – true religion – is a crutch.  I sought after things of this world in search for security, but it was hevel.  Success left me merely wanting more. Failure devastated me.  I discovered that the hope I was searching for wasn’t found in something, but in Someone. But we can save that for another letter.

I’m often sent on a mission to pick up breakfast for the kids. Perhaps I’ll see you at the coffee shop soon.  

With hope,

Pastor Jeff

… but feel free to call me Jeff. No need for titles.