By Mike Janton

 The cynic in me chafes at the title of Louis Armstrong's song, “What a Wonderful World.”

There’s no doubt it's a beautiful song. It's the kind of song that would fit nicely with a hammock and a glass of sweet tea or lemonade.

I've had it playing in my head for the past couple of days and, I have to admit, I don't try to change it.

But for someone who, when charged with negativity or cynicism, usually counters with a declaration of “realism,” the song occupies a tenuous place of safety between my ears.

There is always the creeping thought that lurks (or sometimes struts openly) in my mind which stands in contrast with Louis' song.

It suggests that I'm a naive fool to believe that it's a “wonderful world.” There is far too much evidence to the contrary. The world, to the material eye, looks like a meaningless, menacing cesspool.

As much as the new man in me wants Louis' song to play on untainted, in my worst moments I try in vain to argue his case. The “realist” opens and closes the books in a moment. Sentiment can't stand up against the cold, dark facts of history and nightly news.

At least not “mere” sentiment. Not the worldly sentiment that tries to play ball on the same field of materialistic “realism.”

Worldly optimism tends to deception as much as worldly pessimism tends to despair. When did we begin to believe that all that is real is only what can be sensed?

Switchfoot's lead singer Jon Foreman puts it this way: “I began to believe that all we are is material... It's nonsensical.”

Eyes of faith begin to show me why Louis' song resonates within. What we see now in this world has not always been, nor will it remain as it is. The Bible declares to us that “the Creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of Him who subjected it to hope” (Romans 8:20). It speaks of a time when we damaged the perfect picture. Foreman says: “We've been blowing up; we're the issue, it's our condition... we're ammunition.”

We have damaged, by our own rebellion, God's masterpiece. But not irreparably.

One day, that which has been purchased by the blood of Christ will be redeemed. The apostle Paul tells us that not only will our souls be redeemed, but the rest of Creation as well: “The creation itself will also be delivered from the bondage of corruption into the glorious liberty of the children of God” (Romans 8:21).

Armstrong sings a song of what ought to be. His song resonates in the souls of those created in God's image. Whether conscious of it or not, there is a sense of what was, and what will be again.

Indeed, one day, Christ will make all things right. In the tension between then and now, we have hope. Not hope in mere sentiment or worldly optimism, but hope in God's word, for “God is not a man, that He should lie” (Numbers 23:19) and His “word is truth” (John 17:17).

In the present, we have opportunity to exercise childlike faith.

I think Scottish novelist George MacDonald's character “Gutta Percha Willie” would have tuned his life strings to the melody of Armstrong's words. I think he would have especially liked his “bright blessed days and dark sacred nights.”

Ol' Pops' song is a gift of light in a dark world. If heard in light of God's promises, it heals hopelessness.