Hope. And expectation. Are these words synonyms? Or do they define different ends of the same spectrum? How are they connected? Which of these is under our control? What lessons do these words, these concepts teach us?
How important is it to have them present in one’s life? I mean, is there such a thing as a minimum daily requirement of hope? Or expectation? (“Honey, did you take your expectation today, like I told you?”)
Can one live one’s life without one or the other (or both) of these words? How foundational are they to a healthy existence? (At this point, I’m wondering: can I write an entire article in the form of running questions?)
Recently, I heard the author and contemporary theologian Brian McLaren define expectation as: “Disappointment that hasn’t happened – yet.” I laughed when I heard this because I’ve lived this experience. I recognize it as a pattern in my life – generally with me being a primal instigator of much disappointment. And thereby earning the title of expectation spoiler extraordinaire.
So, are both hope and expectation fragile? Expectations certainly can be. But I think of hope as being more sturdy. Durable. Enduring. Not so lightly dashed.
Perhaps sturdiness is all relative, and dependent on its respective source. Wishes and expectations come from within ourselves. And they can be so fragile. As such, have very little assurance of coming to be. Sometimes, hope, as a verb, is also ephemeral. Elusive. “Did I get that right? Gee, I hope so.”
But hope, as a noun, is a different thing altogether. Hope comes from without. We place our hope in things outside of our own selves. And hope is enduring. In the visual vernacular of Christianity, the virtue of hope is sometimes portrayed as an anchor. An anchor provides a safe mooring, preventing one from perilous drifting.
In his first letter to the Corinthians, the apostle Paul wrote about the three virtues essential for a solid Christian life. “And now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; and the greatest of these is love.” Faith is a gift. Love we can generate. And hope? We aspire to hope. To me, hope is a deep yearning for that far-off time or place where, in the wonderful words of Dame Julian of Norwich: “All shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.”
I have faith that place exists. And, I would so love to see it. Do I expect to get there? Dear God, I hope so.
Richard Rumble
May 2012
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Monday, March 25, 2013
Chasing rabbits
Ah, the thrill of the chase! There's nothing quite like it, is there? We are born to pursue things in this life. To honor that inclination is a good thing. And to recognize how this tendency toward hot pursuit sometimes leads to frustration is a wise thing.
One Friday not too long ago, 35 middle school kids from Temple Beth Ahabah came up to Richmond Hill for a retreat weekend for their Confirmation class. Their energy and enthusiasm was inspiring. If there is such a thing as reincarnation (does God grant us spiritual Mulligans?), my wish might be to come back Jewish. I love how connected some Jews seem to be to life, to love, to each other.
For a long time I envied my Jewish friends for their seemingly effortless ease in playing games of worldly success. Were they smarter than me? More savvy? Somewhere along the line, a Jewish friend explained how his theology allowed for the love of God, but that love is all here now. For him, there was no afterlife. This is all there is. This is it. You get this one chance — you best make the most of it.
What? No after-life? The thought of an eternity with nothing going on was too much for me to handle.
Christians do believe in life hereafter, and that belief in Eternal Life shapes our choices. Choices in this world may have ramifications in the next. We live torn between realms, as if we're chasing two rabbits. I saw how liberating my friend's theology was — how it simplified things. His field of focus was limited to here and now. What elegant simplicity.
When it comes to decision-making, I often struggle. How does one decide between a good thing, the right thing, and, the best thing to do? Deep down, I want to do the right thing, the best thing, the thing that God wants me to do. Or, that God needs me to do. How does one figure out which is which?
In the RUAH School of Spiritual Guidance, we devote a whole study section to discernment. (Ignatius of Loyola spent the second half of his life studying how to discern; we spent a weekend — it’s not much, but it's a start). We are not robots, programmed to execute God's will. We are not God's puppets, responding to the tug of a string in our soul. God endowed us with our own free will. And God is curious to see what we come up with. Seeking God's will is not a test, it is a dance.
We come to know and do the will of God through active engagement in a process of desiring, discerning, and choosing. George Herbert said it well, “Enrich, Lord, heart, hands, mouth in me — with faith, with hope and charity, that I may run, rise, rest in Thee.”
Pursue the prey. And pray the pursuit. Ah, the thrill of the chase! There's nothing quite like it, is there?
Richard Rumble
April 2012
One Friday not too long ago, 35 middle school kids from Temple Beth Ahabah came up to Richmond Hill for a retreat weekend for their Confirmation class. Their energy and enthusiasm was inspiring. If there is such a thing as reincarnation (does God grant us spiritual Mulligans?), my wish might be to come back Jewish. I love how connected some Jews seem to be to life, to love, to each other.
For a long time I envied my Jewish friends for their seemingly effortless ease in playing games of worldly success. Were they smarter than me? More savvy? Somewhere along the line, a Jewish friend explained how his theology allowed for the love of God, but that love is all here now. For him, there was no afterlife. This is all there is. This is it. You get this one chance — you best make the most of it.
What? No after-life? The thought of an eternity with nothing going on was too much for me to handle.
Christians do believe in life hereafter, and that belief in Eternal Life shapes our choices. Choices in this world may have ramifications in the next. We live torn between realms, as if we're chasing two rabbits. I saw how liberating my friend's theology was — how it simplified things. His field of focus was limited to here and now. What elegant simplicity.
When it comes to decision-making, I often struggle. How does one decide between a good thing, the right thing, and, the best thing to do? Deep down, I want to do the right thing, the best thing, the thing that God wants me to do. Or, that God needs me to do. How does one figure out which is which?
In the RUAH School of Spiritual Guidance, we devote a whole study section to discernment. (Ignatius of Loyola spent the second half of his life studying how to discern; we spent a weekend — it’s not much, but it's a start). We are not robots, programmed to execute God's will. We are not God's puppets, responding to the tug of a string in our soul. God endowed us with our own free will. And God is curious to see what we come up with. Seeking God's will is not a test, it is a dance.
We come to know and do the will of God through active engagement in a process of desiring, discerning, and choosing. George Herbert said it well, “Enrich, Lord, heart, hands, mouth in me — with faith, with hope and charity, that I may run, rise, rest in Thee.”
Pursue the prey. And pray the pursuit. Ah, the thrill of the chase! There's nothing quite like it, is there?
Richard Rumble
April 2012
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