A Series – In Defense of Hope

Chaos, Politics, Death and Faith

On March 13th, I went to bed and woke up on March 14th to a world where hope felt illusive, and my legs dead. There were other reasons besides the sun coming up for me to get out of bed – four children, two dogs, a husband, and the basic necessities for living (food, water, use of the bathroom). For months, I have carried on. I rise. I shower. I eat. I work.

Somewhere along the way, I lost my ability to write. It’s been six months now. A dear friend named the ambivalence of my faith journey. I staggered backwards, fended off her words enough to finish school and write a few blogs – but they hit a nerve of truth. I had no words for the conflict inside.

Under the weight of chaos, politics, death and faith I find myself in a battle against myself to hold onto hope.

How will hope hold the complexity of systems, people, polarized political parties, governments, estranged friends – faith communities divided? Is hope complex enough to find goodness and also sit in despair? Will hope provide for the hopeless without asking me or them to live in fantasy? 

Hope is not a theory. Hope is not an idea. Hope is not an illusion. It is made of faith, secure in love.

I’m hopeless, and full of hope. Hope aches in my ribs, labored breathing, erratic blood pressure. Hope moves in the letters, paper, pen before me. It is living, breathing. It runs with a 9-year-old boy chasing rabbits, and wails week after week over racial injustices.

Hope and hopelessness wage war for my heart.

If I sink into despair, I am comforted. If I soar with hope, I collapse. I can neither stand to hope or live fully in despair. 

I am caught in incongruence. A void. Somewhere between hope and despair —where what I believe and what I am able to do don’t always meet. In the dark of night, I rage against God. In the day, I find some relief, a glimpse of light to relieve the ache. 

The isolation and pandemic force me to live the tension more not less.

It means I am incongruent.

The fury of the earth raging. 

Chaos. 

Politics. 

Death.

Faith. 

It’s screaming at all of us – screaming inside of me. They orient me toward a fierce hope, dug in the dirt of this beautiful earth. It’s the sound of my family. It’s the pounding of the rain. It’s the protests in our streets. 

No one told me that to hate my enemies or to love my family would be so hard. I didn’t know I could ache in one part of my body and feel joy in another. 

This void catches my heart in its’ own war. 

I sit at the bottom of the pit. Waiting. Hopeless. 

A place of heavy burdens. A place where you accept rage and anger as pathways to truth. I’m trapped in a body that needs more than I can give it. The pandemic, still here. An election looming. Culture wars. 

This is treacherous terrain…. holding faith, hope, love. Its’ refrain doesn’t rush us to a complacent resurrection life, but says I WILL remain. 

Hope is resistance.

I cling to its call for justice, peace-making, and love. 

This is the work of the Spirit on our behalf.

In collaboration with colleagues, in humility, in the middle of my fight against myself to hold onto hope, I present:

A Series – In Defense of Hope

Chaos, Politics, Death and Faith

Romans 5:5 states, “And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.”

Sources:  Jo Saxton, Rachael Clinton Chen, Jen Oyama Murphy, Dr. Dan Allender, Dr. Chelle Stearns, Dr. Miguel De La Torre, and Rev. Sandra Maria Van Opstal