God's Promises: He Changes Times and Seasons

I generally look forward to a new year, a clean slate, a reset for new habits. Part of the attraction of a new year is also being able to discern the season of life that God has for me and for the world in general. This year, it feels as if I have some temporary clarity about what season God has me in, but my motivation has still been sputtering as it tries to come to life. Perhaps that is because this season for me, at least for the time being, is meant to be slow and hidden though not purposeless or unproductive. That honestly feels frustrating because the last few years have felt more like a "slow and steady wins the race" pace rather than rapid acceleration. Then again, there have been exceptions. As much as I might want to dismiss the impact 2020 had on me, especially since I was spared in so many ways compared to others, the truth is that isolation did not mean deprivation of stress--something I think that is probably true for us all to some degree. I don't know about you, but even as I knew that the turning of a calendar page to 2021 wasn't going to magically change world circumstances, I just craved relief in the form of anything new and fresh. Even now, with nearly a month of 2021 behind us, my brain has been turning to creative outlets. I think that's to somehow grasp for wonder and beauty in the midst of ongoing uncertainty, to somehow create the shift that didn't emerge with the turning of a calendar page.

I found myself surprisingly teary watching the US presidential inauguration. The emotion was unexpected since I don't place much hope in the government in general regardless of political party. Yet, looking beyond all of the political figures and agendas and speeches and songs, I saw a shared human fragility and a shared willingness to seek hope. It was the same feeling that brought tears to my eyes watching a Congresswoman crouched in a balcony praying and calling on Jesus as people banged on doors and Capitol police were clamoring to barricade a mere weeks before. It's the same feeling I get when I recognize that something powerful and inspiring rises up in me as a woman when I see a woman being sworn in as Vice President, regardless of her party, even as it feels long overdue. In some ways, it's the same feeling I get when I read about those who stormed the Capitol seeking a pardon or see farewell posts to former President Trump fraught with genuine sadness. It's the feeling I get when I watch interviews with doctors and nurses battling COVID, crying and exhausted but still going to work everyday. It's simultaneously sorrowful and hopeful, humbling and inspired. We humans are so fragile in our ways of making meaning, in the ways we seek hope. But we do seek hope, however on point or misguided our methodology or the object of our hope. We do turn our faces to the sun and believe for redemption, strive for change. There's something heartbreaking, sobering, and reassuring about that. If anything, I think my tears on Inauguration Day were about recognizing my own fragility, longing for relief, and releasing my own building need for hope. I wonder if it feels like the groaning of creation described in Romans 8:19-23:

"The entire universe is standing on tiptoe, yearning to see the unveiling of God’s glorious sons and daughters! For against its will the universe itself has had to endure the empty futility resulting from the consequences of human sin. But now, with eager expectation, all creation longs for freedom from its slavery to decay and to experience with us the wonderful freedom coming to God’s children. To this day we are aware of the universal agony and groaning of creation, as if it were in the contractions of labor for childbirth. And it’s not just creation. We who have already experienced the firstfruits of the Spirit also inwardly groan as we passionately long to experience our full status as God’s sons and daughters—including our physical bodies being transformed." -- The Passion Translation


Photo by Ksenia Kudelkina


David, the man after God's own heart, went through a season where he was living under constant threat from King Saul who was hunting him down to kill him. Close calls, narrow escapes, and drastic measures wove their way into David's ongoing story until David retreated to the Cave of Adullam. In this place of refuge, he had a chance to catch his breath and seek the Lord. In 1 Samuel 22, it says:

"All those who were in distress or in debt or discontented gathered around him, and he became their commander. . ."  -- NIV  

In other words, David, who was grasping for hope himself, attracted other people who were desperate for hope, and they congregated together in a place of protection and rest. David retreats to the Cave of Adullam, and through no rallying or publicity or outcry of his own, God brings broken people to him and shifts him from being a solitary man on the run to a commander and friend of nearly 400 men. Rejected by his admired mentor, the leader he faithfully served, he suddenly finds himself surrounded by people so loyal to him that they risk their lives for his defense. In later chapters, this location becomes his sort of headquarters, and eventually, David became king. 

God was able then just as He is now to grant tangible hope and swiftly shift seasons in the midst of broken humanity. Our hope cannot be solely in a leader or our followers, in a resource or a cure. It cannot be in a political party or a political figure. It cannot be solely in prophecies that come from the lips of fallible humans or predictions that come from the lips of esteemed experts. It cannot even be solely in something, anything, new. We are fragile beings though we grasp for anything that feels concrete. Yet, it is in our divinely inspired helplessness where we can be met with the reality of the Person of Hope, the promise of His mysterious, simultaneous power and deference to human will. It's beyond our understanding, but it's not beyond our receiving. 

In Daniel 2:20-22 it says:

“Praise be to the name of God for ever and ever;
wisdom and power are his.
He changes times and seasons;
he deposes kings and raises up others.
He gives wisdom to the wise
and knowledge to the discerning.
He reveals deep and hidden things;
he knows what lies in darkness,
and light dwells with him."         -- NIV

While we may be collectively camping out in a cave, licking our wounds with disappointment or with renewed faith and wondering what will become of the world around us, God promises that He does change our times and our seasons. He who is the only One who can see all of eternity at once is able to maintain His sovereignty even as He allows human rulers their time to govern. Our wisdom begins by embracing the truth of our dependency on Him. Our discernment is sustained by keeping Him as our ultimate hope. Our discovery of His deep and hidden things paradoxically comes from loving and seeking Him more than we love and seek His secrets. While we may currently reside in the darkness of uncertainty, we are accompanied by Light Himself. It may be in that very darkness that God is orchestrating shifts in our favor. We cannot escape our fragility or our mortality, but we can trust that the same God who made us mortal and dependent also designed us look for hope and redemption because He fully intends to be what we hope for.