At 8 pm every night, my kids would run to the open window of our apartment, banging their pots and pans like maniacs. They'd pause for a second, just to make sure they could still hear the same sound echoing off the buildings as our neighbors all over the city and the country did the same. The noise was somehow both hopeful and defiant, shouting to the world that it might be too dangerous to be out on the streets, but there is still the expectation and the desire that together we can bring about change. 

It's hard not to get caught up in the hope of a powerful movement. Being surrounded by hope, an expectation that good will come, is powerful. And I do believe that God wants us to fight for the poor, the oppressed, the hopeless, and that our desire to see justice on Earth honors Him. (See Micah 6:8, Isaiah 1:17) 

But hope misplaced is devastating. “Some trust in chariots, and some in horses, but we trust in the name of the Lord our God” (Psalm 20:7). Chariots, horses, governments, movements... ultimately, they will all fail. 

In my circles, those who seem to most understand the difference between misplaced hope in governments and secure hope in God are my refugee friends. They've lost everything already. They have already realized that trusting in horses and chariots will only lead to dashed dreams. 

And yet, they have hope. True hope that will someday be realized. Jesus will return. He will bring justice to the oppressed; He will right the wrongs and wipe away our tears. 

The hope I hear in the clanging sound of pots and pans is powerful. But nothing compares to hope in our Living God, who was, who is, and who is to come.