"Hoping For" versus "Hoping In"
Back during Advent, it was the week of Hope. Jana and I were with our small group from church reflecting on the Advent theme: "What gives you hope?"
I had an odd response to that question. And I've been puzzled by what I shared that evening. Because my answer to the question "What gives you hope?" was a simple "Not a lot."
In a way I'll explain shortly, I don't have a lot of hope in anything. I don't have a lot of hope that tomorrow will be better than today. Tomorrow could actually be worse. And history, I don't think, is guaranteed to 'progress' over time. Everything could go sideways. That, it seems to me, is a real possibility.
I also don't have a lot of hope in people. We, being human, are inconstant and unsteady. We're not reliable. We make mistakes. We hurt each other. We break our promises. We disappoint.
This, by the way, gives me great compassion for people. When people massively screw up my response is automatic: “We always do.”
Quite the cheerful Advent reflection!
But let me add some clarifications. I do hope for many things. I hope things for my sons. I hope things for myself. I hope things for the world. I hope things for the future. But by "hope" I mean I "want" or "wish" these things. But I don't know if any of these things will happen. I'm hopeful that things can happen, and I see hopeful signs all around me, but being prone to preparing for feared scenarios I'm always expecting things to fall apart. Nothing is guaranteed. It's hard to hope in a fragile world.
I do, though, take joy in everything. In fact, my lack of hope enhances my joy. I'm with Qoheleth on this one. Today is a gift. All good things are precious. So celebrate and give thanks! For each and every moment I'm grateful and joyful. So, not having a lot of hope doesn't mean I'm not happy. My life is filled with joy.
And yet, I do have hope. I just don't have a lot of hope in us. As I shared with our small group during Advent: "God can surprise us. I hope in God."
As I reflect back over my odd response to the question "What gives you hope?" I think the issue I was wrestling with was the connection between "hope" and "trust." For example, you can hope for something, but not have a lot of faith that it will happen or last. In that sense, hope is a desire, a wish, and I hope, desire, and wish for a lot of things. But the grim realist in me knows that I shouldn't depend upon those things happening, I shouldn't put my trust in them. Because tomorrow could be worse than today. Things can go sideways.
Maybe some prepositions can clarify what I was wrestling with that evening. I think there is a difference in hoping for something versus hoping in something. "Hoping for" and "hoping in" seem different to me.
When the issue is "hoping in," where I place my trust, I don't think hope can rest upon any finite, creaturely thing or upon any contingent future history. In that sense, I don't have a lot of hope in anything in the world. I don't pour my hope into finite and unsteady receptacles. Though I do have many, many hopes for all those finite, unsteady receptacles. I want and wish many things for you and me and those I love. I hope for the world. But ultimate hoping in can only be placed in something ultimate, beyond the bounds of mutability, transitoriness, chance, and change. "Place your treasures in heaven," Jesus said, "where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal."
Stated theologically, hope has an eschatological aspect. That hope is what keeps you serene, grateful, and joyful while history burns, because history is, to borrow from Tolkien, a long defeat.
So, I have a lot of hopes for us, but not a lot of hope in us.
But God can surprise us. I hope in that.
I resonate much with hoping "for" good things.
I'm still contemplating hoping "in" God. Dr. Beck rightly points out that humans are, among other things, unreliable, inconsistent, and prone to causing disappointment. My experience with people is similar, but so is my experience with God. In what sense is it better to hope in inconsistent, unreliable people, versus hoping in inconsistent, unreliable God?
While the question may sound caustic and accusatory at face value, I mean it mostly as a frank description of reality. I think Dr. Beck's comments on human life (tomorrow may not be better than today...history is not guaranteed to progress over time) point to the fact that God cannot be depended upon to reliably curtail suffering, injustice, or anything else we find distasteful.
This brings me back to my initial thought...what does it mean to "hope in God," while also knowing he cannot/will not/may not reliably change anything in my day-to-day life?
One answer to this is to punt to the end of days, which is what I interpret Dr. Beck mean by the "eschatological aspect" of hope - that is, even if God cannot be relied upon to do anything specific now, he will certainly make all things right in the end, whenever that may be.
I feel ambivalent as to how valuable such a hope can be. One the one hand, I can see how it would enable one to maintain and positive and grateful posture through life. On the other hand, it seems so powerless, so impractically useless in the face of life's daily challenges. At least with something less divine - a person, a tool, a system - I may be able to determine a rough probability of success. I may be able to anticipate potential disappointment. But with God, it's a complete crap shoot.
In the eschatological sense, hoping in God is like simultaneously hoping for nothing and everything. For me, it's sometimes helpful, but often confusing and nauseating.
As the Hebrew writer wrote, hope in heaven is an “anchor for our souls”, or at least it should be. I do go there for hope. But practically, embarrassingly, too often my “hope” is in a good meal, or in time with my spouse, in a hike in the mountains, or in my favored sports team. And of course, sometimes, often really, these things disappoint, especially my favored sports teams.
But I find I can redeem these activities by seeing them as Lewis described them in Weight of Glory:
“The books or the music in which we thought the beauty was located will betray us if we trust to them; it was not in them, it only came through them, and what came through them was longing. These things—the beauty, the memory of our own past—are good images of what we really desire; but if they are mistaken for the thing itself they turn into dumb idols, breaking the hearts of their worshippers. For they are not the thing itself; they are only the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never yet visited.”