Hope in the low
For several weeks I’ve been reading over the beatitudes in different translations. In trying to take in the particular ideas and notes of wisdom Jesus is putting forth, I’ve found myself struck and lifted by one organizing theme: hope. One by one, as Jesus speaks blessings upon people and situations of struggle, he inspires us to imagine the good life in store, beyond and through the pain. He invites us, even in situations that feel rough, to also feel the audacious and buoyant energy of hope, of good things to come.
I wonder if one way to think about the summarizing trajectory of the beatitudes is this: when our present pain intersects with the kingdom of God, there is good reason to get our hopes up.
As I wonder about this invitation, I’m noticing some interesting things happening in my heart and mind. I’m observing what feels like competing or opposing responses to hope. On one hand, I want to believe. I want to have a hopeful outlook on my life and the world. I badly want to see fighting cease and peace prevail. I feel excited by the prospect of goodness having the final word. Yet, on the other hand, to be honest, I’m a little hesitant to get excited, to buy in all the way. The longer I sit with this vision of hope, the more I can see in myself twinges of guardedness, self-protection, and cynicism. I don’t want to be let down. I’m not sure it’s smart to get my hopes up.
Within this confusing ambivalence, within the strange overlap of these competing thoughts and feels, a kind of clarity has emerged that I think just might apply to some aspects of the cultural moment we find ourselves in. I wonder if Jesus is helping us sniff out where we might be at risk of feeling hesitant, numb, or even unwilling to get our hopes up? With so much pain in the world and so much access to bad news, it seems understandable, yet tragic, that we would eventually inhabit a space where getting our hopes up feels unwise. And yet, here in the beatitudes, we have a wisdom teacher, one intimately aware of what is good for the human spirit, inviting us to do it anyway. The whole trajectory of this passage and Jesus way of doing things creates a sense of confrontation in the hidden parts of my heart and mind where I do feel beyond or above it. Meanwhile, the audacious and buoyant energy of hope comes and says: another life is possible! you could shed the guarded self-protection and cynicism, you could be engaged at the ground level where you’re…
Not above asking for help
Not beyond knocking on doors
Not above crying
Not beyond praying for a miracle
Not above showing up for others
Not beyond being a beginner
Not above traditional wisdom
Not beyond being wrong
Not above forgiving, again
Not beyond looking silly
Not above working for peace
Not beyond caring with intensity
Not above dancing
Not beyond working on a dream
Not above getting your hopes up
These days, when cynicism can seem so inevitable, so eventual, perhaps a glimpse of hope will invite us to explore and acknowledge the unspoken, maybe even unknown ways we’d lost sight of it. And it is precisely in this kind of exploration, this place of being in between two competing visions for the future, where I’ve come to know Jesus as incredibly patient and present to my pain, fear, and hesitation; for even here, in this awkward and slow awakening, Jesus offers a blessing and a promise to be with us, right where we are. Even here, where I’m not yet sure if my heart can take it or if I want to risk it, I’m finding understanding and solidarity. Here, I can imagine Jesus empathetically saying, “Of course you feel guarded. Of course you feel hesitant. That’s ok. And, while you feel that way, come and have a look. Come and see what it might be like to receive a blessing before you’ve made any progress or can even imagine a breakthrough of light in the dark.”
Can you hear it?
Can you see it?
Can you imagine it?
Blessings upon those who feel understandably cynical and beyond hope; for there, in that guarded posture, the kingdom of God, if given the chance, will awaken unspeakable joy and hope.
We are not blessed because we are hopeful.
We are blessed because our lack of hope is where God is knocking on doors, dancing, crying, forgiving, caring, and working on a dream.
In the beatitudes, Jesus paints a striking picture of the kingdom of God emerging from below, from the ground up, and all these years later, it’s still surprising and loaded with fresh possibilities for our time. This is the liberating grace of God, which comes up from below our position, never above our pain or cynicism. Here we have a Father whose vision and imagination is so creative and life-giving, one who awakens hope and new potential in the places we thought beyond it.
— Josh VonGunten
