A Reflection on Longing & Hope

December 1, 2024

We are exploring this season of Advent through the book “On the Way to Bethlehem.” Our study is Tuesday afternoons from 2-3:30 or Wednesday evenings from 7-8:30. And idea of the study is to take a new look at the old, old, story of Christmas through the lens of the places that are significant in the story. This week, as the guide and the scripture reader highlights, we focus on the learnings that arise from Rome. Rome was the largest city in the ancient world and rivals even contemporary cities. It was the center of a huge empire and an economic powerhouse. Its leading citizens were rich beyond compare. And yet Rome was a place of deep longing. Riches do not guarantee happiness and those who stood on the lowest rung of fortunes wheel would have felt those longings, all the more. Empires create longing in the countries that conquer. The people in Israel would have felt longings for freedom and longings for safety particularly when so much of their lives were controlled by those with power in faraway Rome. We spoke at the study group about how our longings would differ so much from those in the Ukraine or in Gaza. Those who have bombs raining down on their heads compared to us who have to choose turkey or beef.  

The desire for riches through taxes probably spurred the empire wide census. The news of that decision would have been a long time coming and probably was made even before Jesus was conceived. At the study group we wondered. If this decision was made was even before Jesus was conceived, was this hardship part of God’s plan or did it represent that God was longing too? Like a parent who longs for their child to do good, to act justly and live with mercy. Do we see God’s longing in Rome because after all the Romans were God’s children too?

Now the other side of the coin that we know as longing is hope. At the study we debated the difference. Longing sounds heavier more desperate where just saying the word hope is more uplifting but both arise from not having something that your heart desires. 

A number of years ago, when our denomination was moving from Presbyteries and Conference to The Regional structure, we invited a church consultant by the name of Rev. Cameron Trimble to speak to us about this fairly major change. That is her work. Helping congregations and denominations deal with change. Recently she wrote that:

“Over the years, I’ve had the privilege of leading congregations, businesses, and organizations in future orientated conversations where we imagine the world of 2070 and the futures we might bet on.” She writes, “I’ve noticed a pattern in these discussions: a growing sense of anticipatory dread. The future feels heavier than the past, filled with challenges that seem insurmountable. We see the signs: the worsening climate crisis, deepening divisions among political polarities, rising inequality and hatred. These realities weigh on us, and in their shadow, hope feels harder to hold onto.”

I was so struck by this because, as it is hope is not based on reality but on the unreasonable belief that things can get better. It feels like hope is becoming more and more unreasonable in the face of our crumbling world. And then a couple of weeks ago I let you know I’m going to retire. Yes, in two years but still. Then I realized that it isn’t just decisions that are made far away from us in our modern-day Romes but also the decision made by those close to us that can affect our ability to hope. Decisions that increase this anticipatory dread. Then Cameron comforted my fears by writing that:

“Maybe we’ve misunderstood hope. Hope isn’t blind optimism. It’s not spiritual bypassing—a way to ignore the difficulties in front of us or avoid the work we need to do. Real hope is more grounded than that. It’s not about denying the dire truths we face but finding the courage to act in the face of them. It’s about placing trust not in easy solutions, but in the resilience, creativity, and compassion of the human spirit. It’s the kind of hope that fuels action, that says, “Yes, the challenges are immense, but we still have choices to make, gifts to give, and lives to live.”

There is a Buddhist teacher Joanna Macy who describes this kind of hope as “Active Hope.” She writes, “Active Hope is a practice. Like tai chi or gardening, (maybe singing in the choir) it is something we do rather than have. It is a process we can apply to any situation, and it involves three key steps. 

First, we take in a clear view of reality. 

Second, we identify what we hope for in terms of the direction we’d like things to move in or the values we’d like to see expressed. 

Third, we take steps to move ourselves or our situation in that direction.” So, our call is to move in the direction where our hope lives.

Rev. Cameron and I agree that Jesus embodied this kind of hope. He didn’t promise His followers that the road would be easy; in fact, he warned them of the trials ahead. But he also called them to live with courage and compassion, to serve the poor, to love their enemies, and to hold onto the vision of God’s kingdom—a world transformed by justice and love. That kind of hope doesn’t bypass reality or ignore the deep longings of our hearts. It steps into it and anchors us in the belief that every small act of goodness matters. So, for every longings’ of our hearts there ought to be a faithful hope which is grounded in the reality of Rome’s power, but also our power. 

In these days, hope means being honest about the challenges ahead while still choosing to show up—with generosity, with creativity, and with compassion. It’s not about clinging to the certainty of success but trusting that our efforts, no matter how small, carry meaning.

So today, ask yourself: What does hope look like for me? How can I act, not out of optimism that everything will be fixed, but out of faith that my actions matter? Amen