Hope was always my favorite Christian virtue. I mean, I like love. Who doesn't? But it's such a smarmy word with too many meanings and not enough substance. Christians themselves are comfortable talking about Jesus' love and his death on the cross as demonstration of that, yet they can't seem to apply the ideal to God the Father, especially in his role as YHWH. Read through a fundangelical lens that brings the Tanakh into play, love ends up meaning judgment, wrath, murder, and genocide. Faith always seemed to irrational, and I mean that in the bad sense of the word, as if there is a good one. Christians never could seem to distinguish between irrational and non-rational, despite the huge chasm between the two ideas. Faith was always applied to both, and that seems to me to be a silly and often dangerous idea. Hope though...
Hope through a Christian lens was the "Christ in you, the hope of glory" kind of talk. The looking forward to glorification, perfection, sinlessness, joy, God's presence, and the meting out of perfect justice, understood as the poor, marginalized, and voiceless finally having their part in the glories of the kingdom of God. For some it also meant heaven, a concept that always struck me as tragically odd until I read Yoder. I want to keep part of the Christian definition, but I think it's time to redefine hope as a post-Christian.
One of the primary reasons I am choosing to vote for Obama is the hopefulness I hear in him. Contrast his tone and message with this from Focus on the Family (be sure to read the .pdf linked at the bottom of the article). Where is the hope in the Christian Right? Where is the message of God's presence? Where is the certainty of a "kingdom which cannot be shaken"? Obama sounds like Isaiah; Focus sounds like Lamentations, but Jerusalem has not fallen. America has not been razed. Obama has been criticized for his links to Jeremiah Wright, but Wright's prophetic role should be understood by Christians. Instead, they have lapped up the pablum served by the prophets of hegemony and ignored the substance of Wright's message: there is an ideal called America; it is not salvific; it is not always good; it can be better than it is, especially if it keeps its promises to provide equality to all. Does Wright go too far? Sometimes. But how can someone read the prophets and not realize they have gone too far from time to time? It is possible to love an ideal and hate its current iteration. It is possible to believe to the point of anger that things ought to be different. What ultimately separated Obama from Wright was, I believe, the virtue of hope. Wright may have lost his; Obama has not.
I am 44. If you had asked me two years ago if a black man would be elected president in my lifetime, I would have told you a woman or a Latino had a better chance than a black man. I would have said, "I hope it happens, but I don't expect it in my lifetime." Ah, see, sometimes hope pays off, whereas faith almost never does. I grew up on military bases during and after the Vietnam War. It never occurred to the children to hate other races because we were all together, a community whose fathers were away at war, or whose fathers could be called away any time. We were knit together by a common commitment and a shared sacrifice. Color didn't matter; commitment, and to borrow King's phrase, content of character mattered. People were friendly or not, trustworthy or not, faithful or not, but they were certainly not different than us based on physiological or ethnic issues. Our parents probably harbored those old resentments, but we children were free from them, at least for a time. It never occurred to me that my friends Mike and Al James couldn't be president one day. It never occurred to me they shouldn't date white girls. I loved them, why wouldn't any girl love them too, if differently?
I am about to see a black man elected president in my lifetime. I cannot tell you the degree to which my cynicism is taking a beating right now. Is it possible that I have grossly underestimated my fellow Americans? My fellow white folk? Is it possible that hope still animates enough of us that we can dare to believe that America can be better than it is? That we needn't listen to the preachers of fear, the evangelists of division, and the prophets of doom? This is an amazing time to be alive. The hot, Obama-supporting, hairdresser wife and I keep talking about how proud we are of people willing to put aside their instinctual fears, their prejudices, their sense of despair, their apathy, and their cynicism to get behind someone who actually understands the power of hope and the dream of America. Not the dream where America is better than everywhere else, or that "greatest country in the world" talk, or that America is blessed by God or is some sort of salvific force for the world (always at the end of a gun, somehow), but the America that believes all people are created equal. That a black man can be president. That a kid can work hard and achieve great things. That being poor is not a dishonor. That dignity and honor and pride and decorum really seem to matter to people. That somehow people have seen through the ugliness and divisiveness and lies of the hegemonic forces that attempted to keep us locked up in envy and hate and greed and fear, and that we will be coming out of this with a terrible uphill climb but a corresponding willingness to make it work because it's really worth it. If we can be the kind of country where we finally, finally, elect a minority to the White House, we can be the country where anyone truly can do anything.
Is it possible that Christians, not all of them, are going to miss this revelatory moment? Is it possible that the Church still can't lay aside the swords and guns of fear and hatred and participate in the construction of something that, though not heaven, is better than we have a right to expect? Can they for this kairos moment in time finally participate with the heathens in helping to build something better than all of us? Can they share in the hope? I hope so, because it is from their texts that I learned to define hope as that virtue which animates the daring to believe that things can be better than they are, not just for me and mine, but for all of us.
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