It’s always been interesting to me how we can read and be familiar with a given scripture verse, but then, an event will come along in our lives that gives us a whole new appreciation for that passage. For me, Hebrews 6:19 is just such a text.
Let me tell you a story.
Almost exactly five years ago – August 2017 – I was living with my elderly dad in Southeast Texas, as his caregiver and chief cook, driver, prescription sorter, and pretty much anything else he needed. Now, you have to realize that dad couldn’t walk – neuropathy had left him confined to a wheelchair, without the use of his legs and only limited use of his hands. Also, you need to understand that our little corner of the upper Texas Gulf Coast is prone to hurricanes, and sure enough, late that August, Hurricane Harvey hit, and it started raining. Over a four-day period beginning August 25, we received about 30 inches of rain. And then it got bad, averaging over an inch of rain per hour. For over two days. Dad had a rain gauge that could hold ten inches, and I was having to empty it twice a day. For real. We woke up at 3:30 am on August 31 with water in the house, ankle-deep and rising. It would get much higher.
It was a two-day process getting evacuated out of the area, first to a neighbor’s house, then a dry patch along a canal levee, then to a temporary shelter in a school cafetorium. The Nevada Air National Guard finally flew us out (God bless the High Rollers!), and we spent the next 13 months getting dad’s house cleaned out and rebuilt while he lived in a nursing home. The story ends well, but there’s one moment in particular that I remember and that’s where this scripture comes into focus.
There was one point where dad, his German Shepherd, and I were all in an airboat operated by a wonderful guy from Louisiana, part of the (unofficial) Cajun Navy. He carried us a couple of miles away to a farm to market road, where we were met by a giant big wheel pickup truck. The highway was flooded, too, but that truck was tall enough to go through anyway.
So I’m standing there, in water over my waist, carrying the dog and putting her in the back of the truck, then several of us lifted dad in his wheelchair, and loaded him in the truck. Just for comparison, a nearby four-strand barbed wire fence had only the tops of the fenceposts still showing. I climbed in, and we took off (slowly) to the shelter.
Anyway, during that whole operation, at times standing in water up to my chest or deeper, with so much of my life under the floodwaters of Hurricane Harvey, in my mind I was thinking about several scripture verses that seemed to apply. “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you,” God says in Isaiah 43:2. And Psalm 29:3 – “The voice of the LORD is over the waters; the God of glory thunders, the LORD thunders over the mighty waters.” In Matthew 7, Jesus said that everyone who hears His teaching and puts it into practice is like a builder who constructed his house on a solid foundation, so that when “the rains came, and the floods rose, and the winds blew and beat against the house, the house stood firm.” But it was Hebrews 6:19 that really spoke to me: We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure…
Right then, I needed to be reminded of our hope. I had a garbage bag with a change of socks, some prescription meds, my wallet and cell phone – that and the clothes on my back was about all I had that I could count on. And to tell you the truth, right about then I was running pretty low on hope.
But you see, in Christ, we do indeed have this hope that cannot be shaken. Hope in the One who doesn’t change with the times. Hope in the One who is greater than ourselves. Hope in His unshakeable power and limitless grace. Hope that never fails. Hope in His constant presence and abiding love. Hope, because we know that God truly is above the thunderstorm, and hope because we know that we have built our lives on Christ, so that when the winds rage and the floodwaters rise, we are on the Solid Rock, and we can stand because of Him.
The writer of Hebrews was right: this hope is indeed an anchor for our souls, firm and secure. And the anchor holds.