Today’s blog has been written by our beloved Rev. Dr. Diane Mowrey.
A month or so ago, in worship Gail asked us to consider and share answers to the question: “Where have you seen God at work in a way that gives you hope?” Folks answered in a variety of ways: in our young people; in the recent climate bill; in the resilience of many of our children throughout Covid; in brilliant, creative minds meeting to solve problems; in our reading group focused on African American experiences; and in places on the edge of mainstream culture where people work together to respond to natural or human disasters. I imagine we could add more to this list as we reflect further on this critical question of our faith: Where do you and I find hope?
This past Sunday, Rev. Helms Jarrell preached a powerful sermon about hope. (You can watch and listen to it here.) Among the many insights she offered, she suggested we look for hope in the ground. It’s not that we “lack hope,” Helms said, “but that we have unrealized hope.” And she continued: “Our collective work is to make the ground ready for hope to be revived” and to participate in that revival. She offered inspiring examples of hope revived: 7 affordable houses in their Enderly Park neighborhood, holding a funeral for the empire and pounding nails into its coffin, among other examples. Her sermon and examples of hope suggested that hope emerges from seeds planted in other times that we, in our time, need to recognize and nurture.
When I consider everyone’s answer to Gail’s question or reflect on Helms’ sermon, I feel buoyed by a sense of hope. There is a sense of “God’s in God’s heavens, and all is right with the world.’’ But then I open the newspaper or turn on NPR or talk to some friends about the state of our city, our country, and the world, and my sense of buoyant hope fades. While I love feeling hopeful, the reality is that, like many things, hope – real hope, the kind that sustains us – is more than a feeling.
Bryan Stevenson, who founded the Equal Justice Initiative and who wrote Just Mercy, and Krista Tippet, who hosted “On Being” podcast for two decades, talk about hope as “a muscle, a practice, a choice.” In Krista’s interview with Stevenson, he says: “We’ve been dealing with injustice in so many places, for so long. And if you try to dissect, why is this still here? It’s because people haven’t had enough hope and confidence to believe that we can do something better. You know, I think hope is our superpower. I mean, hope is the thing that gets you to stand up when others say, Sit down. It’s the thing that gets you to speak when others say, Be quiet.
(https://onbeing.org/programs/bryan-stevenson-finding-the-courage-for-whats-redemptive/)
“People haven’t had hope and confidence to believe that we can do something better.”
Stevenson’s comments make me ask myself whether I / we believe there is something better than the conflict and chaos that dominates our news; do I have hope we “can do something better”? If that is true (and I believe it is), what choices am I making to exercise my “hope muscle”? On my own, I am aware of my human frailty; and when I observe human attempts over centuries at building “utopias” or making “progress,” l don’t see us humans as having a very good track record.
However, as Christians, we are not alone in this work; in fact, we should not be trying to do this work of bringing in the reign (kingdom) of God on our own. As the Psalmist said, “Unless the Lord builds the house, / those who build it labor in vain” (Ps. 127:1). When I remember that God and all God’s people together are “building this” Beloved Community, this “house,” then my sense of hope shifts. It shifts from looking for things, events, or people that might make me feel hopeful for a while to asking myself “where do I see God at work in the world in the short term and in the long term” and how can I participate in that endeavor? How can I exercise that hope muscle by choosing to be involved in God’s work in the world and people’s lives even when – especially when – I do not feel hopeful.
The theme of the all-church retreat in November – “Exploring Spiritual Practices Together” – offers one answer to how we can build our hope muscles. By finding and practicing a spiritual discipline, engaging in a regular spiritual practice, we ground ourselves in a reality beyond that of the nightly news, and in so doing build our hope muscles.
Bryan Stevenson suggests that (for those of us with a certain level of privilege) we need to become “proximate” to people who live on society’s margins and are the most vulnerable to unjust systems. Only by getting “proximate” can we understand an injustice that some of us may not experience personally; only by getting proximate can we build relationships with all God’s people.” Becoming “proximate” enables us to make choices for justice and to exercise our hope muscle. Similarly, Archbishop Tutu reminds us that God calls us “to extend God’s kingdom of shalom – peace and wholeness – of justice, of goodness, of compassion, of caring, of sharing, of laughter, of joy, and reconciliation” (God Has A Dream: A Vision of Hope for Our Time, p. 128). In other words, consistent acts of service to and with others strengthens our hope muscle.
Finally, for me, immersing myself in Scripture reminds me again and again of God’s power and promises as the basis for hope. From God’s liberating the Israelites out of bondage to the voices of the prophets to Jesus’ feeding 5000 or including lepers, women, and other vulnerable
people in his new reign, throughout Scripture and since God has been and is at work. In recognizing how God has kept God’s promises in the past and how God has worked throughout history as the long moral arc of the universe bends towards justice, I can rest in the knowledge that God is indeed sovereign and still doing the work of liberation in our time.
Our job is to tune our ears, sharpen our eyes, and strengthen our hope muscles so that we, too, can be signs of God’s dream emerging now and embody the hope that enables us to “stand up when others say, ‘Sit down,’ and to “speak when others say, ‘Be quiet.’”