Editorial: As purple as hope

Hope is a recurring theme in our news this week.

The Southern Baptist Convention’s Executive Committee hopes to present a CEO candidate in February. A Malawian oncologist charged students at Houston Christian University’s Missions Convocation to be hopeful.

Disaster relief ministries aim to bring hope to Israel and Georgia. Pastors from Bethlehem seeking an audience with President Biden in Washington, D.C., hope for an end to the Israel-Hamas war.

Lesslie Newbigin wrote in The Gospel in a Pluralist Society, “In most ordinary speech ‘hope’ means little more than desire for a better future” (p. 101).

We throw the word “hope” around as casually as we do “love.” I hope you had a happy Thanksgiving. I hope you feel better soon. I hope I pass the test. I hope the meeting doesn’t run long. This hope is grounded in temporal things.

I wonder if we would still throw the word around if we understood what a messy, involved and powerful thing hope is. As many churches light a hope candle in observance of Advent—either last Sunday or next—are we mindful of hope’s depth?

Beyond the strangeness of lighting a light purple candle during a season of red and green, do we dare allow our minds to dive into the depth of hope?

Hope is more than sentiment

Newbigin was a missionary to India. During his language study, he discovered Tamil—one of the languages of southeastern India—has no word for “hope.” He asked his native language instructor about this.

“He asked me in turn what I meant by hope. … Things will be what they will be. I may wish that they turn out better than likely, but why should I wish to be deceived by my desires?” Newbigin recounted (p. 101).

Newbigin realized “in English also the word ‘hope’ often stands for nothing more than a desire for what may or may not be.” He diagnosed our culture with “the absence of any sense of a worthwhile future”—a sort of “qué será, será.”

Ironically, Doris Day’s singing of the fatalist song by that name sent a coded message to her kidnapped son, who whistled along while his father followed the sound and eventually rescued him from death.

A hopeless lyric serving as a beacon of hope, giving a young boy enough confidence in his rescue that he whistled along. Thank you, Alfred Hitchcock, for The Man Who Knew Too Much.

But hope isn’t a fatalist wish, Newbigin contended.

Hope, far more than mere desire and sentiment, is “the distinguishing mark” of the Christian community, he asserted, contrasting the Christian community with much of the world.

A Christian view of hope

Eastern cultures often view history as circular and devoid of ultimate meaning. Western culture thought history was progressing—until the world wars that demonstrated the imperfectability of human reason. Much of the world these days has little or no hope in any kind of ultimate direction or meaning to life.

For the Christian community, hope is conjoined with faith, as the writer of Hebrews asserted: “Now faith is the assurance [the confidence] of things hoped for, the certainty [the conviction] of things not seen” (Hebrews 11:1).

This certainty is based on the narrative of history’s beginning and end revealed by God in Scripture, and in Jesus’ life, death and resurrection. Newbigin contended Christian hope is built on the forward movement of history toward its culmination in God’s promised future.

Moreover, Christian hope’s certainty is rooted in Jesus’ life, death and resurrection, all of which made good on centuries of God’s promises, reaffirm the culmination of history, and demonstrate the way in which Christians can and should live toward that ultimate fulfillment.

That ultimate fulfillment is the return of Jesus, who already came to us just as promised.

From this position of confidence, Christians can act hopefully in the world, so that “whatever we do—whether it is our most private prayers or our most public political action—is simply offered to [Jesus] for whatever place it may have in his blessed kingdom,” Newbigin wrote (p. 101).

Hopeful living

Living this way means we are completely aware of the brokenness of this present world; it is not lost on us. But instead of becoming overwhelmed by and lost in the improbability of better days, the Christian community knows no amount of brokenness is unredeemable in and by Jesus. In fact, Jesus not only can redeem any and all brokenness, he can use it for redemption.

This week, many hope the truce between Israel and Hamas will extend indefinitely. Many are hopeful political solutions will bring peace. Their hope is weighed down, however, by the past. So, they hedge their bets that war will continue—or at least violence will.

Christian hope, on the other hand, isn’t a bet and needs no hedges. It is fully confident in the promised future realized in Jesus. In this confidence, Christian hope can engage—without fear or despair—this broken world in this tenuous present. Christian hope doesn’t have to avert its eyes, shrink back or pretend things aren’t what they are.

Purple like hope

“It’s been said that a person can live forty days without food, four days without water, four minutes without air, but only four seconds without hope,” Mark Cole wrote for leadership guru John Maxwell’s website.

I’ve heard it said, too, though I don’t remember when, where or by who. Cole likely didn’t know who said it either and hoped “it’s been said” protected him from copyright infringement or accusations of false claims.

As for making false claims, from the time I first heard a person can live only four seconds without hope I’ve wondered if it’s true. It’s easy—and unethical—to test how long a person can live without food, water and air. But hope? How do you test that? I know plenty of people who have felt hopeless far longer than four seconds.

Purple is a fitting color to meet hopelessness. As purple is a mixture of red and blue, hope is a mixture of the vitality and brokenness of life. The light purple of the Advent candle adds the white of the Christ candle, making yet another new color.

Our hope is not merely a desire for a better future. Our hope is colored by Jesus entering our broken present, living it with us and dying from it, living again beyond it, and promising to return to bring us into the perfection of his promised future.

May we let that light shine through how we live in a world desperate for hope deep enough to match the mess we’re in.

Eric Black is the executive director, publisher and editor of the Baptist Standard. He can be reached at eric.black@baptiststandard.com. The views expressed are those of the author.