Anne Frank, Paul and Hope

“It's difficult in times like these: ideals, dreams and cherished hopes rise within us, only to be crushed by grim reality. It's a wonder I haven't abandoned all my ideals, they seem so absurd and impractical. Yet I cling to them because I still believe, in spite of everything, that people are truly good at heart.”

The irony of these words from Anne Frank hits me like a punch to the gut. Despite everything she experiences as a Jew hiding from the Nazis, fearing that her life could be taken from her at any moment, she believes that people are “truly good at heart.” And yet, her life soon comes to an end at the hands of those anyone would have trouble describing as “truly good at heart.” Even Anne herself acknowledges that the evidence doesn’t seem to support her thesis.

To be honest, I have trouble agreeing with her. When I was younger, I was embarrassed by our Lutheran theology that seemed so negative, emphasizing how “we are by nature sinful and unclean.” I didn’t want to believe it. Now that I’m older, there’s no denying it. Anyone who doesn’t see it isn’t paying attention. It’s been hard to face that reality with much enthusiasm for the future.

Depression keeps leaving messages on my phone these days. Although I haven't replied to any of them, I do resonate with what they're saying to me. In my most despairing moments, I wonder if hope is just something for us to cling to when things are desperate. It becomes our only alternative to throwing in the towel. That’s to say that we hope because we can’t bear to face the alternative. It’s a convenient illusion to keep us going, despite all evidence that people are basically f***ed up, they are incapable of changing, and life is pointless.

Yes, I know that’s a cynical outlook on life. And yet, is it untrue? I can only visit these thoughts from time-to-time. I don’t dare live there. But during these visitations, I wonder where the truth lies. When am I more out of touch with reality—when I feel like I’m drowning in despair, or when I’m wrapping myself in a protective blanket of hope?

In Paul’s letter to the Christians in Rome, he tells them they can boast in their sufferings, knowing that “suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us…” Is this just crazy talk, or is Paul onto something?

If you cut to the chase with this line of reasoning, suffering leads to hope. That makes hope one of those defiant actions that’s born out of a negative place. Like courage, which is born out of fear. If you weren’t afraid of something, it would take no courage to face it. Or forgiveness, which is born out of resentment. If you didn’t truly resent another person, you would have no need to forgive. In the same way, hope is born out of suffering. Without suffering, there can be no reason to hope.

Not one of us escapes this life without suffering, so the struggle is real. We might just as easily give in to despair. We have every reason to. And yet, we still hope. It’s a defiant action – the way we fight back in the presence of suffering. Hope eats despair for breakfast.

Hope is not like wishful thinking. We don’t all live happily ever after. It may never be possible for you to have the life you’ve always longed for. The loved one who has left you grieving may never be coming back. The disease you’ve been diagnosed with may never be cured. The politician you detest may get elected. Injustice may rule the day. Cruelty may overshadow any evidence of kindness in the world around you. Humanity may seem hell-bent on destroying itself. Things don’t always go the way you want them to, and no amount of wishing can change that.

But here’s the truth I keep before me. No matter how bad things may get for me personally, or no matter how bad they may get for my community, my country, my world, I’m connected to something much bigger than the circumstances of my life—something much bigger than me. And in faith, I trust that that something bigger is a God who brings order out of chaos, a God who pulls all creation toward healing and wholeness, a God who loves us so much that nothing can ever separate us from that love, not even death itself. That’s the source of my hope. I can see no other.

So, here’s the thing about hope. I’ve noticed again and again that when things feel most desperate, that’s when hope appears. And so, I await its appearance, knowing that the more convinced I become that it will pass me by this time like a pizza delivered to someone else’s house, the more I begin to taste the mozzarella cheese in my mouth.