Don’t Set Your Hope on Tomorrow

“How’s your 401(k) looking?” “What’s your five-year plan?” “We’re heading out West this summer.” “Everybody’s working for the weekend . . .”

We hear each of these phrases in our daily dialogue (or on our eighties radio station), and, with rare exceptions, we receive and respond to each without question.

But when I consider both the word of God and the wisdom of historical Christian thinkers, they give me pause. Just as C.S. Lewis looked askance at his society for basing its “whole life” on lending at interest while so many ancient civilizations deplored it (Mere Christianity, 85), I feel unrest in my heart when I see myself basing my whole life on my non-eternal future. Whether we focus on our retirement plans, our five-year plans, or just the next moment to grasp for fulfillment, both Scripture and our historical and theological influences call that focus folly.

Our Non-Eternal Future

We’ll start with Lewis himself in The Screwtape Letters (speaking from the perspective of a man-tempting demon):

The humans live in time but our Enemy destines them to eternity. He therefore, I believe, wants them to attend chiefly to two things, to eternity itself, and to that point of time which they call the Present. For the Present is the point at which time touches eternity. . . .

Our business is to get them away from the eternal, and from the Present. . . . It is far better to make them live in the Future. (75–76)

Martin Luther is said to have put it more starkly, four centuries earlier: “There are two days in my calendar: this day and that Day.”

But Scripture is even more direct when it assesses our orientation toward the non-eternal future. James calls a sense of certainty about tomorrow arrogant and evil:

Come now, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go into such and such a town and spend a year there and trade and make a profit” — yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes. Instead you ought to say, “If the Lord wills, we will live and do this or that.” As it is, you boast in your arrogance. All such boasting is evil. (James 4:13–16)

Jesus tells those who smugly store up for the future, rather than for heaven, that they are fools:

[The rich man] said, “I will do this: I will tear down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods. And I will say to my soul, ‘Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.’” But God said to him, “Fool! This night your soul is required of you, and the things you have prepared, whose will they be?” (Luke 12:18–20)

And of course, in Matthew 6:25–34, our Lord tells us repeatedly not to concern ourselves with tomorrow — not about what we will eat, drink, or wear — any more than the lilies do.

Alongside Lewis and Luther, the scriptural calls to attend to the present are accompanied by equally stark mandates to focus on the glory that awaits us after death. Peter calls us to set our hope fully on the grace to be brought to us at the revelation of Jesus Christ (1 Peter 1:13). The writer of Hebrews makes clear that we exiles on earth are seeking a heavenly city (Hebrews 11:16). And these are among dozens of summonses to set our gaze on eternity.

Holding the Present and Eternity

We are left with two significant dilemmas. First, we need to learn how the present and eternity can take up more of our mental, emotional, and conversational bandwidth. Second, we need to learn how the non-eternal future properly fits into our thoughts and conversations.

So, let’s get practical. How do we remain in the moment and hold eternity in front of us on the daily?

1. Don’t bank on tomorrow.

Psalm 90:12 tells us to number our days in order to get a heart of wisdom, but our minds usually run to the seventy- or eighty-year life expectancy referenced earlier in the psalm (Psalm 90:10). Even in moments when I vigilantly consider my vaporishness, I think about my life ending in my eighties or so. But shouldn’t my day-numbering also recognize that tomorrow is not remotely guaranteed? Shouldn’t the infamous “What if I were hit by a bus?” scenario ring true? Wise people attach “Lord willing” to any plan, especially beyond today, and they mean it.

2. Count your blessings (really).

Yes, it sounds like a Facebook hashtag or a country song, but it’s a powerful way to remain present and remember the presence of God. I have spent many holidays with my senior pastor, a rather hyperactive septuagenarian. But year after year, I watch him hold back his kinetic energy, sit back in the middle of a chaotic meal full of longtime friends, children, and grandchildren, and simply drink it in with a grateful grin. That’s not just a holiday-worthy practice. Anxious future planners forget to do it at all. If it helps, pull out your journal and record what you’re thankful for.

3. Put your phone away.

See 30 percent of the Christian books written in the last ten years for evidence.

4. Plan your planning.

There is clearly merit and necessity to planning for days beyond today (and before heaven). Farmers consider the coming winter. Meetings must be scheduled out of consideration for others. Bad husbands leave anniversary and birthday plans until the day of (gulp). But most of us are caught in a vicious habit of considering tomorrow while missing the sweetness of today. While a handful of impromptu future plans may be necessary each day, consider relegating the lion’s share of your calendaring to a set time in your schedule (alongside your spouse if you’re married). I’m tired of sunsets and movies and games with my children being interrupted by intrusive thoughts of oil changes or flights to be scheduled.

5. Let anxious thoughts die.

Future thinking is complicated, and this isn’t meant to be a definitive commentary on clinical anxiety. But Matthew 6 is clear enough that we shouldn’t worry about tomorrow. It’s one thing (and wise) to make a plan; it’s quite another to ruminate anxiously on the uncertain execution or outcome of it. Setting a regular doctor’s appointment is good stewardship, but fretting over possible outcomes is a “respectable” sin. If you find yourself dwelling in hypothetical doomsday scenarios, don’t call yourself a worrywart. Repent of your fear to the God who knows your needs.

6. Don’t let hope wither.

Of course, we should, in some measure, anticipate the immediate future. It would be a sad existence if you constantly remained stoic about a long-distance friend coming to visit, never sending a “Can’t wait!” text or the like. But your hopes about their visit or your vacation to Banff next month are but a shadow of the fully guaranteed new earth that comes on that Day. If you should hope for the former, how much more so the latter, when real rest is coming (Hebrews 4:9). Beware of truncating your hopes about eternity.

Savor the Substantial

We naturally dwell in the future. I was recently sharing a meal with some extended family members, and one of them exclaimed, “I’m so excited for you to be with us at Christmas! Then we can plan what we’re going to do next summer!” We eventually laughed about the absurdity of that statement, but in reality, it was an unfiltered example of our inability to sit in the present. The unfulfilling “next thing” simultaneously keeps us from experiencing the substance of this moment and prevents us from placing our hope where actual fulfillment lies.

It goes without saying that this endeavor is complicated. Poor planners are often inconsiderate (I know from years of experience). Ministries and marriages require meticulous thought, often months in advance. But the Scriptures are clear that we have lost something sweetly substantial in our focus on the uncertain. The wise learn to dwell on what is ours in truth, whether in the now or the new life to come.