The Difference Between Optimism & Hope

I teach a confirmation class for teenagers preparing to be confirmed at our church, and last night's topic, as dictated by the Outline of the Faith in the Prayer Book, was "The Christian Hope." A few hours before the class, I got a call from a friend in Charlottesville who let me know that one of my close friends had been found dead in his apartment. As is often the case, the shocking reality of the word "dead" did not hit me for a little while. In this case, it was right after I arrived in the youth room that evening. And there I was, crying on the floor, 15 minutes before I was going to teach a class on "The Christian Hope."

What is "hope" anyway? I think in our culture, the word has become almost interchangeable with "optimism," that is, looking on "the bright side" of things. Even when the worst happens, we try to find the good in it, and/or we make ourselves believe that some good will come it. As Christians, we've gotten pretty good at this. We use the Bible to preach optimism all the time. We mine it for verses that will fit well in Christian Hallmark cards and motivational speeches. Even and especially at funerals, for example, we paint death as a "quiet passing" that is not only natural, but acceptable and ordained by God. You'll often hear this passage read from Ecclesiastes, as though to bring us comfort:

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven

a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot

a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,

a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance...

But somehow we miss the words that follow, which bring clarity to what Solomom was saying:

All have the same breath; man has no advantage over the animal. Everything is meaningless. All go to the same place; all come from dust, and to dust all return. Who knows if the spirit of man rises upward and if the spirit of the animal goes down into the earth?"

And we miss his words that come before:

Meaningless! Meaningless!
Utterly meaningless! Everything is meaningless.

What does man gain from all his labor
at which he toils under the sun?

Generations come and generations go,
but the earth will remain forever...

What has been will be again,
what has been done will be done again;
there is nothing new under the sun.

The point is, Solomon was bitter. He was not at all finding comfort in the words, "There is a time to be born and a time to die." He was questioning whether or not there was any meaning to life at all if, no matter how much one works or learns or does or gains, you soon end up in the grave, like every human being before you, and like every one that is to come after.

Solomon was not an optimist here. He did not see the bright side of anything, except maybe for a moment, as it was being overshadowed by the unstoppable darkness of death. He was honest.

But he was wrong about one thing. There was one who came and proved him wrong; one who came to break the meaningless cycle of death once and for all. He came as a light in the darkness, but the darkness did not understand him. He gave himself up to the cycle of meaninglessness, and he died. But with his death, he brought the entire cycle down with him, and he conquered it and he rose victorious.

We believe this. This is our hope. And it is real hope. So there is no need to be optimistic. In other words, there is no need to play mind games with ourselves to make ourselves feel a little bit better. We can call death what it is - our enemy. We can hate it. We can agree with Solomon that if sin and death get the last say, this life is meaningless. But then we can say, "What of it? Our hope is in the One who called Himself 'the resurrection,' the One who died to overcome death and the One who promised that if we put our hope in him, even though we die, we will never die." (from John 11) This is our hope.

And, again, it is real hope. Optimism, in this respect, would be worthless. We cannot make Jesus and Christianity just another a way to make ourselves "feel better" about humanity and the world. He did not die simply to be a martyr. He did not die simply to inspire. He did not die simply to leave a "legacy of love." He did not die to fuel our optimism. He died because He was our only hope. And He is not simply "risen in your hearts." Don't talk such nonsense. He is actually risen.

And if He is not, then our faith is futile, and we are to be pitied more than all men. But that is what it is to put your hope in something. There will be dark times when it seems all is meaningless and nothing is going to work out for good. And we will be tempted to turn to the drug of optimism for relief. And often times it will bring quick relief, like Advil at the first sign of a headache. But what if it's a tumor that's causing your head to ache? The real issue then is not the pain, but the tumor. The pain serves to show you the reality of the tumor, and the Advil will do nothing to stop it - it will only cover it up or help you to forget about it. Hope, on the other hand, does not necessarily stop your hurting. True Christian hope usually only happens in the very midst of pain. It is especially during the dark times that we are reminded that our hope is found in Him. And there it is secure, no matter what the threat and no matter how much it hurts. We don't need to pretend that this life or this world is better than it is. That makes less of our hope that He is coming back to destroy all that is so screwed up about this place; our hope that the old order of things will pass away, and that He will come with a new heaven and a new earth. In our greatest despair, we realize how truly great our hope is in Jesus.

His name was Nat Glover - my friend who died. I knew him for the last few years of his life, and for the most part, they were not happy times for him. He was an amazing man with a bitter story. He was a movie buff. So am I, so we went to see quite a few "pictures" (as he called them) together, but he was never so impressed with the recent ones compared to the classics of old. He was a talented sketch-artist and would make up movie titles and plotlines with old stars from the 40's and draw up detailed movie posters to give to me and a few other friends. The tragedies of his life, including his own mental and physical ailments, broken relationships with family and friends, and especially the loss of his mother (whom he loved more than anything) had driven him for years into deep, debilitating despair. Most days he could hardly find the motivation to get out of his house, or even to take a shower or have a meal. He was a believer and came to church with us regularly. And when he heard something he knew was true, he would say in his slow, Nat way, "Yeaaaaah, that's right."

In my view, it was not "Nat's time." At least, not his time to die. It was his time to be free. It was his time to be completely alive, to be completely sane, to be completely himself - to realize what he was always meant for: not to die, but to live eternally with his Maker. And I believe he is now actually free. Praise God. Thank You Lord. What hope we have in You.