On this wintry Sunday morning we begin the season of Advent with a focus on the word hope. We do so in solidarity with those Christians who take as the four themes of Advent hope, peace, love, and joy—not always in that order but the same four words nonetheless. We look at those words and what they mean in the context of who we are—a Christian congregation, a liberal, progressive Presbyterian Church in the city of New York in the twenty-first century.
After being with you for more than a year, I can say with deep appreciation that we are quite a collection, we people of Rutgers Presbyterian Church. We celebrate the diversity of our constituency—younger, older, married, single, gay, straight, of different races, national origins, and spiritual backgrounds. It is that last category—spiritual backgrounds—that makes this congregation the most challenging one for preaching that I have ever served. I don't mean that as negative at all. I like challenges. But I, like so many people in my profession, have struggled for a long time with what psychologists call people pleasing.
When preachers give in to the need for people pleasing, they deliver sermons that are entertaining. Or they stay away from anything that will disturb or upset their congregations. I thought about that, and the makeup of the Rutgers congregation as I lived with the word hope over the last couple of weeks.
Last year I said that hope can best be understood as faith projected into the future. I still think that's the essence of hope. Hope is faith understood as trust projected into the future. Having said that, I could end my sermon now and sit down, risking the dismay of those in the congregation who look forward to longer sermons. So I will say more.
Good sermons should be relevant, and what could be more relevant in this congregation than Broadway plays—especially now that the theater lights are back on. Fifty-eight years ago (hard to believe) one of my favorite musicals opened on Broadway—South Pacific. Mary Martin sang these words:
"When the skies are bright canary yellow
I forget every cloud I've ever seen.
So they called me a cockeyed optimist,
Immature and incurably green.
I have heard people rant and rave and bellow
That we're done and we might as well be dead,
But I'm only a cockeyed optimist,
And I can't get it into my head.
I could say life is just a bowl of Jello
And appear more intelligent and smart,
But I'm stuck, like a dope
With a thing called hope,
And I can't get it out of my heart!
Not this heart...."
In the song Oscar Hammerstein equates optimism with hope. For me they are not the same thing. I agree with a Biblical scholar's commentary (Archibald M. Hunter) on Christian hope. He points to "the wistful, nebulous optimism that in the end things will turn out all right, which so often passes for hope; but [then there is Biblical hope, spiritual] hope, hope that rests not on [humanity] but on God, the living God who is known by mighty acts, the God who raised Jesus from the dead...."
What that means for me is that hope is not about things in personal life or in history working out favorably—the way we want them to work out. It is not about the end of pain, sorrow, struggle or strife. Christian hope is about being anchored in such a way, centered in such a way, that whatever happens—with all of life's up's and down's—the core of our being is okay. Hope enables Christians to say in all circumstances what the hymn-writer wrote: "Whatever my lot Thou hast taught me to say It is well, it is well with my soul."
Such a view of hope raises questions. One is whether such an understanding of hope leads to spiritual privatism or an abandoning the field of social action and peacemaking. The answer for me is, "No." Christian social action at its best is always shaped by a vision that transcends time and space. To be in a faith relationship with Jesus Christ is to have glimpses of eternity, eternity invading time. The best illustration I know is Martin Luther King, Jr., whose passion for racial justice and full equality was rooted in his deep personal faith.
I think also of the African slaves who responded so openly to the Christian gospel they heard from the very people who dehumanized them. Their faith got projected forward to a hope expressed in visions of heaven. Heaven was their only hope until they were able to build an underground railroad that could offer hope for deliverance in this life. Then their songs about life after death took on double meaning. "Comin' for to Carry Me Home" and "Steal Away to Jesus" meant not only going to Heaven but running away to the next stop on the railroad to freedom. Hope that is rooted in the God we know through Jesus is impetus to social action, not reason for abandoning it.
Another question my view of hope raises is whether one can be genuinely hopeful in the way I'm talking about without some kind of personal faith. My honest answer is that I don't know. I'm at a place in my life where I don't need to give definitive answers to questions like that. At the gathering where I celebrated Thanksgiving there were twenty-nine people of different ages and backgrounds. I found myself in conversation with a man who is a waiter at a well-known New York restaurant. He is active in labor organizing and other social justice causes. When I told him about Rutgers Church and its commitment to justice and peace, he listened with interest and appreciation. Then his feisty side came out. He said, "Don't tell me you think people have to be religious in order to have a social conscience." I said, "No, I won't tell you that."
Being a smart New Yorker and a good listener, he said, "Okay, you won't tell me that, but do you believe that?" My response was, "I try to have an open mind on that one." His response was, "At least that's better than a closed mind that's wrong."
I believe God is known by many names and experienced in many different relationships. The way I have come to know and experience God is through Jesus Christ, who is a living reality for me. But I am not willing to say everyone has to do it my way.
There is a contemporary theologian whose way of thinking about God and human life is as close to mine as that of anyone else I know. He is Douglas John Hall, a Canadian of my generation who studied theology at Union Seminary in New York during the 1950's. I am currently reading his book Bound and Free, a Theologian's Journey. He writes that at this stage of his life he is writing an autobiography, not for publication, but as a way of seeing his life in perspective. He begins by saying that "old men tell stories. The cynic may say they do so because they can't do much else." I am here to tell you the cynics are wrong about that. At my age I can do just about everything I have been doing for most of my life. It just takes longer.
Dr. Hall says that writing his autobiography "has given me a new lease on life—even new hope, thus demonstrating the truth of Paul Ricoeur's contention that, in the end, remembrance and hope are the same thing." I resonate with that. It's the same as hope being faith projected forward. For Douglas John Hall as for me, life has not been without challenges and losses—stinging losses at that. But we are both able to say that the one word summing up our response to life is gratitude. I wept when I read that in his book. I felt I had discovered another soul companion. I am fortunate to have some of those in my life these days. God's grace keeps coming to me through them and through all of you as well.
What our reading from Isaiah teaches us is that God makes promises, promises that speak to us at many levels of understanding. Isaiah said that the time would come ("It shall come to pass in the latter days") when nation would not lift up sword against nation, neither would they learn war anymore. That promise, though not yet fulfilled, inspires us to work for peace. Isaiah goes on to say, "Come, let us walk in the light of the Lord." Therein lies the secret for me, the key to understanding and experiencing hope.
When we do the work of walking in the light of God, being in relationship with God, we understand the power of all God's promises. In a few moments our wonderful choir will sing at my request, "We shall walk through the valley in peace, for Jesus himself will be our leader."
The core promise is that God will always be with us, assuring us of our worth, accepting us as we are, and meeting our need for unconditional love. All the other promises will come to fulfillment in different ways and at various levels of existence. But the promise of God's unfailing promise is rock solid. It is happening. It will come to pass. It will happen—always.
Thanks be to God.