But look beyond the humor, look beyond the “human, all too human” side of resolutions and you’ll see something that is precious and thick. We long for something transcendent. We hope for some final resolution of all of our worn-down hopes and teary-eyed dreams. That resolution to lose 15 pounds may be a longing for a new body, one that will never be corrupted or see decay. That resolution to read 12 books may be a longing for a renewed mind that is perceptive and wise. That resolution to treat people better (Lord, help us) may be a longing for people to live in peace with each other, for us to not learn war anymore (Isaiah 2:4).

Hope is humbling. Hope acknowledges that there is something that you need that you don’t currently have. It’s an acknowledgement of a lack. Paul says in Romans 8, “Who hopes for what he already has?” Answer: no one. If you already have it, it’s not hope. It’s called having it. Hope hurts. It’s hard to say that you desire something because intrinsically wrapped up in that desire is the possibility of that desire not being satisfied. And if it’s not, then what? You can’t help but imagine what will happen if your proposal is rejected or if your dream job never calls for an interview. And in the imagining, the hurt begins. This prospective pain makes hope a dicey proposition.

Jesus taught this to his followers in fairly concrete terms. He said if you’re going to invite someone to your fancy soiree, invite the poor and those who can’t pay you back with a return invite (See Luke 14:7-14). And, in a very famous passage in Mark, he says that all “payments” made for the sake of the Kingdom of Heaven will be repaid by God in the end—and then some (See Mark 10:17-31). In the reality of Christ’s kingdom, we are free to be generous and free to receive generosity because we all know where the gift comes from.

At the Clinic, we deal with the legal complexities of suffering in many of its guises. Poverty. Abuse. Betrayal. Relational baggage. Debt. Mental anguish. Homelessness. Death. It’s all there: suffering persistently parading its wares in open mockery of the goodness of God’s creation. And yet, for James, suffering gets turned on its head. Indeed, for the beleaguered, for victims of injustice who cling to vibrant faith in a God who suffered deeply and traumatically, suffering gets transmuted into something beautiful. Suffering becomes redemptive. Death leads to resurrection.

Last year was a big year at the Clinic. We celebrated our 20th anniversary, which gave us a chance to reflect. We remembered families reunited; homes saved from foreclosure; crippling debts forgiven; lives preserved through asylum, and more. We remembered the tens of thousands of clients we served with the help of countless volunteers, donors, and other supporters of the Clinic.