This article originally appeared in our Early Pentecost edition of The Bellringer.
Lord, make us instruments of your peace. Where there is hatred, let us sow love;…. where there is despair, hope;
A Prayer attributed to St. Francis p. 833, BCP
I recently attended the Diocesan Renewal Gathering at which the Rev. Dr. Miguel De La Torre was the speaker. Throughout the day he explored the dynamics of the hopelessness and desperation of migration and resettlement throughout history. Near the end of his final presentation he focused on the topic of one of his latest books, Embracing Hopelessness. Initially this struck me as completely antithetical to how I live my faith. I preached a whole sermon on hope after all, in which I spoke of hope as Paul’s wish for us, Jesus’ promise to us. Embracing hopelessness? That just didn’t seem right.
However, as I listened to Dr. Le La Torre speak about how hopeless people must feel for them to make the decision to leave everyone and everything they’ve ever known to undertake an at best arduous and more likely dangerous journey that carries no guarantee of a positive outcome, I found myself reflecting on another of my sermons. In that sermon I talked about living in the moment between now and not yet. It seems to me that the point at which people decide their current situation is so hopeless that they simply have to strike out for someplace else, is just such a moment. Individuals choose to leave behind the hopelessness of now for the unknown but hopefully better, world of not yet. This hope rising from the ashes of hopelessness seems to me a perfect example of the resurrection hope given to us by Jesus. Most of us have never had to leave home with nothing but the clothes on our backs in fear for our lives, but that doesn’t mean we haven’t had moments when we felt hopeless, utterly alone, utterly powerless to change our situation. In those moments we were forced to recognize that hope doesn’t begin in us, but rather comes from God, made real by those who choose to be God’s loving hands and hearts to us and to a struggling world.
We all live our lives in an endless series of moments between now and not yet. Some days we may need others to help us find hope when everything seems utterly hopeless. Other days we may have the chance to offer hope to someone else. Fortunately hope is not a zero sum commodity. Offering hope to others doesn’t mean we’re left with less ourselves. Indeed, quite the opposite is true. Being surrounded by hopeful people makes it easier for us to hope, and vice versa. Such is the economy of a loving God.
