The Scarlet Cord of Hope

Discovering Biblical Confidence This Advent

When most of us think about hope, we picture wishful thinking—fingers crossed, wishing upon a star, hoping things turn out the way we want. But what if everything we thought we knew about hope was backwards? What if biblical hope is something far more certain, far more powerful than we ever imagined?

The Cord That Saves

There's a fascinating story tucked away in the book of Joshua that reveals the true nature of hope. When Joshua sent spies into Jericho, they found refuge in the home of Rahab, a woman who had heard about the God of Israel and believed. She hid the spies from the king's men, risking her own life in the process.

In return for her courage, the spies made her a promise: hang a scarlet cord in your window, and when we return to conquer this city, your household will be spared. And Rahab did exactly that. She tied that scarlet cord in her window and waited.

Here's what makes this remarkable: the Hebrew word for "cord" in this passage is *tikvah*—the same word translated as "hope" throughout the Old Testament. That scarlet cord wasn't just a marker; it was a physical representation of hope itself. Rahab wasn't wishing or crossing her fingers that maybe, possibly, if she was lucky, her life would be spared. She knew with certainty that it would be. She waited with confidence for a future that was guaranteed, even though she couldn't yet see it.

This is biblical hope: waiting with confidence for the fulfillment of God's word.

When God Chooses the Unlikely

For centuries, the Jewish people had been waiting for their Messiah. They expected someone powerful, someone born into the right family with the right connections. Perhaps a child of the Sanhedrin, or someone with ties to Herod's court—someone positioned to climb the political ladder and overthrow Roman oppression.

God had other plans.

The angel Gabriel appeared not to a political powerhouse but to a teenage girl in Nazareth named Mary. She wasn't wealthy. She wasn't connected. She was engaged to a carpenter. By all worldly standards, she was ordinary.

Yet Gabriel's message was anything but ordinary: "Greetings, O favored one. The Lord is with you... You will conceive and bear a son, and you shall call his name Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. And the Lord God will give to him the throne of his father David, and he will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end."

Consider the magnitude of what Mary was being told. This child would be divine—the Son of the Most High. He would reign forever. His kingdom would have no end. These were promises that echoed through centuries of prophecy:

- Isaiah foretold that a virgin would conceive and bear a son called Emmanuel, God with us.
- The prophet declared that a child would be born whose name would be Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
- Micah spoke of one who would come from Bethlehem but whose origins were from of old, from ancient days.

All of these impossible, glorious promises were about to converge in the womb of a teenage girl from Nazareth.

Two Responses to the Impossible

The contrast between two responses to miraculous news reveals everything about the nature of faith and hope.

Earlier in Luke's Gospel, we meet Zechariah, a priest serving in the temple. Gabriel appeared to him with news that his elderly, barren wife Elizabeth would bear a son—John the Baptist. Zechariah had been praying for this very thing. He knew the scriptures. He knew God's history of opening barren wombs—Sarah, Rachel, Hannah. Yet when the answer to his prayers stood before him, Zechariah responded with doubt: "How shall I know this? For I am an old man and my wife is advanced in years."

He was asking for proof. Show me a sign. Convince me this is real.

Now consider Mary's response. She was told something that had never happened in all of human history—a virgin would conceive. Not just an elderly woman bearing a child, but a virgin. Something biologically impossible. Something beyond the realm of natural law.

Her question wasn't rooted in doubt: "How will this be, since I am a virgin?" She wasn't asking for proof; she was asking about the logistics. How does the impossible become possible?

And when Gabriel explained that the Holy Spirit would overshadow her, that the child would be called holy, the Son of God, Mary didn't ask for more details. She didn't ask how to raise the Son of God. She didn't ask what to tell Joseph or her family or her community. She didn't ask about the shame she would face or the ostracism that awaited her.

She simply said: "Behold, I am the servant of the Lord. Let it be to me according to your word."

The Surrender of Hope

In those words, we see hope fully realized. Mary wasn't surrendering to her own wishful thinking or her own plans for her life. She was surrendering completely to God's will—a will she knew with certainty would come to pass, even though she couldn't see how it would all unfold.

That word "servant" means to surrender to one's master. Mary was saying, "Your will, not mine. Your desires, not my dreams. Your purpose, not my plans."

This is the hope we're called to embody: confidence not in our own understanding, not in our own desires, but in the certainty of God's word.

Think about what Mary was about to face. The scandal. The whispers. The judgment. Being labeled promiscuous or crazy. Possibly being cut off from her synagogue, maybe even her family. And beyond that, watching her son suffer and die. No mother wants to witness that.

Yet she responded with unwavering faith: Your will be done.

Our Advent Hope

As we enter this Advent season, we celebrate the first coming of Christ—the moment when prophecy became flesh, when the Word became incarnate, when God chose to enter His creation in the most humble way imaginable. Born in a stable. Laid in a manger. The King of Kings arriving not in a palace but among animals.

Every Messianic prophecy about His first coming was fulfilled exactly as God decreed. Not according to human expectations or political calculations, but according to divine purpose.

And just as certainly as Jesus came the first time, He will come again. The prophecies yet unfulfilled will be fulfilled. The kingdom that has no end will be fully consummated. The hope we cling to is not wishful thinking—it's absolute certainty waiting to be revealed.

The question for us this Christmas is: Will we respond like Zechariah or like Mary? Will we ask for signs and proof, clinging to our own understanding? Or will we surrender our plans, our dreams, our desires to the One whose word is absolutely certain?

Biblical hope isn't about what we wish would happen. It's about waiting with confidence for what God has promised will happen.

Like Rahab's scarlet cord, our hope is tied to something outside ourselves—the unchanging word of a faithful God. And that hope will not disappoint.