I'd like this post to be a conversation starter because I've been thinking, long and hard, about something particular and would appreciate your insights.
Hope is up. It's in the marketplace, the pulpit, the town hall meeting and the public square. Hope is on t-shirts and children's faces. It's being written and spoken with fervor and undeniable frequency. Hope is up. Those of us brave enough to call ourselves theologians take special interest when religiously coded words become common place rhetoric in the culture. I consider it my task, not because I'm a theologian, but because I am a theologically oriented ethicist, to bring this common place rhetoric into more detailed focus. So let us get into the nuts and bolts of what hope means...
A couple months ago I heard a person doing on-the-ground justice work in Darfur say "Hope is not a muscle you can pay someone else to exercise for you." He went on to say something like this: Hope is not something you feel, it's something you build--not an emotion, but something born of and through action.
Some of us are feeling hopeful these days, not just because America elected Obama, but because America seemed to care about something for the first time in a long time. America cared about something productive, something to be created, as opposed to the care we saw during and after 9/11 which was tragic attention turned into revenge-seeking violence. There's an aliveness today in America and it's grounded in hope for a different future. I am weary, however, when i think about the possibilities for hope. I know I've been guilty of feeling hope and sitting on it, considering it an affect, a result, not a initiator or sounding bell. Sometimes I'm so used to feeling bad, that when I feel something good, I want to cling to it and dwell in it as long as I possibly can. Perhaps others can relate to this. There is a possibility that we will watch Obama and think "he's going to take care of it all" while we sit back and relish in the fact that we, the people, elected him--as if our work is done. This kind of relishing won't be helpful if we, as a nation, are to ascend from the depths of hell we've created in the international psyche and domestic front. Our rigorous hope for a new kind of leadership elected Obama, but a detached American hope will not sustain him as a leader or sustain our efforts for justice that pre-date him and will outlive him (G-d willing). I am so grateful our president elect used the language of patriotic participation and personal sacrifice in his acceptance speech. I am wondering how we intend to respond to this call. I am wondering what hope requires of us as individuals, as communities, as a nation, as global citizens in these days ahead?
Are we to act? to preserve? to share? to keep the possibilities of/for despair in mind so as to avoid delusional happiness?
Are we to speak of it or should we let it speak to us?
What responsibility do we have to one another in the light and reality of hope? What kind of calling does hope make upon your life??
12 comments:
Great post, very good questions and concerns. I do think we as theologians need to speak of hope, and of hope as something that both speaks to us and we speak of it. If we do not let it speak to us, or read us, or rescramble how we enter into things, though, talking about it won't matter much, only cheapen it. The best books about hope I know are: Juergen Moltmann's Theology of Hope (from the 60s, but still lots there, and in many ways the theology dedicated exclusively to hope (as far as I know), and Rebecca Solnit's book Hope in the Dark. They both speak of the need for hope, not as a cheap motto, and hip zeitgeisty word, but something tender, and lived, and always in danger of falling into despair. C. Keller got it on the nail when she writes, somewhere in Apocalypse now and Then (i think) that U.S. culture see-saws between hope and despair, it's always either/or, and I think heeding her on that, would mean to resist the trappings of either extreme, but to live with careful hope, and remember that hope can be blind, but it ought not be. Anyways...
The hope that is beyond the rhetoric is personal, interrelational and best on a small scale--one to one. Hope is like love in that respect. If I can give hope to another, his/her hope increases and so does mine. Though it may not register on a larger scale, it brightens the space between you and me. As small lights multiply, a larger light is created. As the old hymn said, "Brighten the Corner Where You Are!"
You're answering a question that I think is on a lot of minds lately: now what? Obama's election saw a lot of motivation, a lot of movement, a lot of hope and joy. But you're right - he is not the messiah. Salvation is communal. But not even salvation -- survival is communal. I've been thinking about Prop 8, the Obama presidency, budget cuts to healthcare and other services for homeless, marginally-housed, and low-income people. Obama faces some tough challenges that can't be overcome without a broad coalition of support and action. I've been thinking about racist rhetoric and structural oppression. I've been reading about Harvey Milk, ACT UP, the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence.
Steve C, you stop it too soon. Interpersonal relationships are the grounding of coalition work and movement. But the key is when that hope is connected beyond individuals, when it infuses communities and organizations. Interpersonal hope is getting through from one day to the next. But on some days, there is the possibility of more. Not so much to 'end' or 'dismantle' something like racism or war, but to concretely shift the conditions that cause it. I requires intense intrapersonal, interpersonal, and global movement.
At least that's what I'm thinking over oatmeal this morning.
Ejoye, thanks for the invitation to join the conversation. As I told you earlier today, your blog has made me think. And to be honest, I'm struggling. In some ways it feels like I've just heard the good Baptist invitation and it's time for me to respond. It feels like I'm "sitting" on my hope.
The past few months have been filled with hope talk, energy but little movement from me. Part of my struggle is that I'm looking for ways to build hope while building a new community. The easy way is to hide in my apt and not get connected to people's lives. When I lived in Atlanta, I was building hope through work with Starlight Ministries (www.starlight-ministries.org) and through working to stop sex trafficking of young girls. Those things filled me with hope and I couldn't help but get involved.
What should I work towards building now? Where should I get involved in places of building hope? I don't know. I'm hopeful I'll find out soon. The opportunities in Atlanta came in the "for such a time as this" moments of life. I could not eat, sleep or have peace until I agreed to join the movement of building hope.
So, thanks for starting the conversation, challenging me to intentionally think about what it means for me in a new place and walking with me when I find out!!
The problem with hope on a large scale is that individual responsibility for maintaining it gets watered down. When expectations are not met, the lack of genuine hope means that there is nothing to prevent disappointment from taking over. People ask, "What happened to our hope?", not realizing that they have aided in it's demise.
It's like being the number one team in the sports standings. Hopes are high until a "spoiler" comes along and suddenly stops the string of victories. Often more defeats follow. That kind of hope is like a balloon full of helium. At first it rises, ever eager to progress skyward. Then, one of two alternatives are almost guaranteed: The balloon will encounter a sharp object and, as it continues to push against it, will suddenly burst, all hope being lost; or, more likely, the gas that maintains the balloon's buoyancy will slowly seep out, hope almost imperceptibly slipping away until the pull of gravity cannot be resisted any longer and the balloon drifts back down to the earth from which it was launched.
Lasting hope does require outside influence. However, no one person or group of people in our current society can sustain it. Only one Person ever did.
If my hope is to last, it will be because of the communion I have with God. No action of man or men will give my hope the same amount of durability. I can progress through my life modeling God's hope, often unawares, to others that I touch. God takes care of me and those I encounter.
"Whether I live or die, I am the Lord's." The balloon filled with that hope is impenetrable and impermeable. Any other hope will eventually become just a memory.
Steve C.... I guess I wonder what happens to our hope during times that we feel disconnected from God? From my perspective, it is possible to have hope, to act in hope and to respond to hope even when we are struggling to have communion or faith at times. Perhaps it doesn't happen for you, but my times of unbelief certainly come.
Yet for me, hope can and is there in those "tender, lived and places in danger of falling into despair" as One Holy Fool described.
Yeah, and quite frankly, I'm not sure limiting one's scope of/for hope to Jesus' lived-acts of courage sustains people over time. That seems rather limited to me. But hey: we just have different theology!
Thanks for all the comments people!
It's late and I've been up too long already. I am mulling over the latest comments by L.A. and E.J. but it may take a few days to post a full response. Just a note to let you know I'm still interested. Be thankful on Thursday, and every day if you can possibly manage it! Thanks also for "speakin' yer mind."
LeAnn said, "Steve C.... I guess I wonder what happens to our hope during times that we feel disconnected from God?"
In cases where we feel disconnected, we must not trust our feelings but rather assure ourselves of what we know. God assures us that He will not leave us, although He does speak of turning away His face at times. I must trust that God is near and is watching, no matter how I may feel. The tempter would like nothing better than for me to be convinced that God, even for a moment, has abandoned me to fend for myself. This does not mean that I will not be allowed to struggle with life's circumstances. I must realize that it is all part of His refining process; that I am being prepared to do His will.
I have not read the book based on the diary that Mother Theresa left behind--just a synopsis of it. From what I understand, she was in despair over not feeling God's presence during most of her ministry. Yet, she pressed on. She did a great work and led others to help her and, indeed, to continue on after her death. She expected God's presence but, though disappointed, did not let the mission suffer when she did not feel Him near. Look at 10 pictures of her picked at random. In the majority of them, she is probably smiling. Such a life cannot be lived without God's presence.
I agree with you that we don't ever have to "fend for ourselves" but your first sentences ring of religious fundamentalism. Assure ourselves of what we know?? We know NOTHING! Okay, well, we might know a little (on our best days), but to "know" G-d? Cmon...
Perhaps resting in the fact that we "know" enables us to escape life's uncertainties (in our heads anyways). And if we project our "struggles" onto this cosmic battle between G-d and "the tempter" then we don't have to examine the way our choices, beliefs and ways of thinking impact our own experience and the experience of other people.
Service to others is a great way to express devotion to G-d, but I'm weary of Mother Teresa being held up as the Christian par excellance. There's something sexist and work-a-holic about this admiration in our culture.
" ... We know NOTHING! Okay, well, we might know a little (on our best days), but to 'know' G-d? C'mon..."
A little is all of God we'll ever know in this life. I said what we know, not Who we know. However, I believe that the scriptures do not tell us to "be still and know that I am God" without the expectation that we can do it, if only on a rudimentary level. The "be still" part is an encouragement for me to be patient.
I also do not believe that this "knowing" ends with the mere acceptance of His existence. It also goes beyond just knowing about God. There is an internal "knowledge" that comes with familiarity with His Word but only if you go beyond learning about the Bible. It's like the difference between a biography and a diary. In the process of reading "God's diary," written and preserved by the hand of [hu]mans He has chosen, I get to know the Person as well as the relevant details. I do not pretend to know how this works. Without this personal knowledge, although it is always far from complete, the Bible is just a trivia book with a few nice poems and stories thrown in. If God did not want me to know Him in a personal way, He would not have given me the means to do so.
Knowledge does not assume perfect obedience either. A relationship involves both knowing and doing. For me to attempt doing without knowing is futile. The resulting disappointment may even be blamed on God, even though I am the one who is out of balance in the relationship. Unless I know in a personal way that God loves and forgives me, I am, like the Pharisees, continually striving to be acceptable and always falling short, even if I am not aware of it. The rich young ruler asked Jesus about eternal life assuming that Jesus would fully validate the young man's efforts and deem it sufficient. Jesus did not tell him to go sell all he had and give to the poor because that was an intrinsic part of the road to eternal life. Instead, ridding himself of riches actually would have eliminated one roadblock in the path the young man claimed he wanted to travel. His desire was real, despite his pride in thinking he was headed in the right direction. He was sorrowful because he was not willing to give up his own path and obey.
Which perhaps allows me to segue to the topic of fundamentalism. Hopefully you don't believe that hanging a label on another person's words or beliefs invalidates them. Accepting the fundamentals is not necessarily "fundamentalism" in the usual sense. Life will always be uncertain from the human perspective. That does not mean that God is not in control. I believe that the evil that that we see in the world is aided by forces beyond the mere sinfulness of man--though not in a "devil-made-me-do-it" way. I bear responsibility too. Otherwise I would just be an "innocent" victim and not even need forgiveness.
Speaking of which, hopefully this post is not too long. I'm kinda new at this so please let me know if I break any conventions or protocols. The above statements are part of my journey to know God better rather than from a "God-said-it-I-believe-it-That-settles-it" point of view, even if that doesn't always appear to be the case. Theology is always "fresher" after it gets "aired out."
No, your post isn't too long and, in fact, it gives me a much better sense of where you are coming from. Your theology is thoughtful and relationally-based. I don't agree with all of it--especially the part about G-d's control--but I appreciate the time and energy you spent sharing with "us." Gives me much to ponder. Thank you.
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