Dear sisters and brothers in Christ,
There is a difference between optimism and hope. Ambrose Bierce, in his Devil’s Dictionary, defines optimism as, “The doctrine, or belief that everything is beautiful, including what is ugly, everything good, especially the bad, and everything right that is wrong… [optimism is] an intellectual disorder, yielding to no treatment but death.” An optimist observes wrong in the world but does not see it. Worse, the optimist will call the wrong right. An optimist, frankly, does not live in reality. An optimist lives in a fantasy world. When I was a young boy, perhaps two or three years old, I was a perfect example of an optimist living in a fantasy world. I used to wake up in the morning – every single morning – creep out of bed and sneak down the hall. I would carefully tip-toe past my parents bedroom and shimmy and slide across the kitchen tiles in my footed PJs. And, as cautious as a spy infiltrating an enemy stronghold, I would grab the wall that separated the kitchen and the living room and ever so slowly peak my head out around the side of the wall to see if it was Christmas morning. I was only wrong 364 times a year! Granted, I did not know when Christmas was or when it was going to be, I just wanted it to be every morning! So I looked for the tree, creche, lights, reindeer, and presents as soon as I woke up everyday! My parents would say that Christmas was but once a year, but I was optimistic that despite what my parents were saying, Christmas would magically appear and all the joy and presents that accompany it would be mine! After all, what did Santa do the rest of the year? Nonetheless, my desire, my optimism about a perennial Christmas morning was counterfactual and fantasy. In the end, despite my optimism, my parents were right (sigh!) and the Christmas holiday occurred once a year, December 25.
Later in life, as I began to understand the calendar and the passage of time, I would count down to Christmas using a variety of methods. When there were scary things in the windows and stores it was or near Halloween. When there were turkeys and pilgrims it was almost Thanksgiving. And, when houses and stores had lights and Santas it was almost Christmas. In some ways it seems like our cultural observance of Advent has become a sort of “countdown to Christmas” or even a month long dress rehearsal for the genuine and pervasive “joy” that accompanies Christmas morning. Back of all my ramblings about Christmas is the secular presupposition that Christmas and “joy” are synonymous. This is optimistic isn’t it, that December will be full of joy? I am no prophet, but I suspect that when you read this letter in early December there will still be hungry people in the world, 1 in 8 children in the United States will still sleep on the streets, the United States will still be battling it out with the Islamic State, Palestine and Israel will not have shaken hands, and Republicans and Democrats will still be gridlocked. On top of that your schedule will likely become even more overbearing than it was before December. And, you might have some anxiety about either seeing or not seeing your family on Christmas day. You may feel alone and miss a loved one who is no longer around. Did you just say, “Bah, humbug?” So what then is the difference between “humbug” and hope? What is the difference between an optimism that sees only “comfort and joy” and an ambiguous hope that sees the world for what it is but still longs for more?
There is an old adage that says, “Show me what you hope for, and I will know who you are.” For what do you hope? Emily Dickinson says of hope, “Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul and sings the tune without words and never stops at all.” For Dickinson, hope is perched precariously as a bird uncaged on an evergreen branch that dances sometimes gently and sometimes violently in the winter wind. All the while, as it sways back and forth, our little bird sings a song of hope from the heart – unscripted – and regardless of what comes its way – snow, wind, or darkness – it continues to sing! Is not the source of genuine hope, the Christ child, as fragile in the manger as the bird singing softly atop a branch precariously perched? Is not the tenderness of a baby whose future is full of hope at the same time dependent and fragile symbolic of our hope which clings to a branch swinging beneath our feet? Peter Gomes, former professor of homiletics at Harvard Divinity School, said of hope, “Hope is not merely the optimistic view that somehow everything will turn out all right in the end if everyone just does as we do. Hope is the more rugged… view that even if things don’t turn out all right and aren’t right, we endure through and beyond the times that disappoint or threaten to destroy us.”
Hope, not optimism, was born on Christmas Day. Hope calls a thing for what it is, good or bad, and clings to the object in which it longs singing from the heart all the while, “Lo, how a rose e’er blooming from tender stem hath sprung. Jesse’s lineage coming as seers of old have sung, it came, a flow’r so bright, amid the cold of winter, when half-spent was the night.” Hope descended like a star and called shepherds and wise men from around the world to travel great distances for the slight chance of a glimpse of a more promising tomorrow. Whatever they were searching for, they found hope, and hope has been born in and among us. It is a fragile ambiguous hope that recognizes the dark that surrounds us. More, our hope apprehends that the dark that encroaches in on us is in the shape of the cross whose shadow stretches out touching all aspects of life. Still more, our hope beckons us to look harder still to see the light breaking in behind the cross from which the shadow is cast. Our Christmas hope sees beyond the cross to life. Our hope sees the world for what it is and longs for profundity. Advent and Christmas are about the birth of hope – the birth of the Savior. And, unlike secular Christmas, hope does not only occur once a year. Christmas hope declares with Desmond Tutu, “Hope is being able to see there is light despite all the darkness.” Hope clings to the light in the dark while not denying the dark. Jesus Christ, who is our hope and light, said, “No one after lighting a lamp puts it under a jar, or puts it under a bed, but puts it on a lamp stand, so that those who enter may see the light.” Jesus Christ, our light and hope, with his next breath said, “The Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, chief priests, and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised.” Christ, our hope, sees his life and future for what it is, tumultuous and full of darkness, but by clinging to the resurrection – the third day he will be raised – Jesus’ life is enlightened by a hope which sings and never stops! The object of our hope, resurrection and eternity with God does not begin at death, but rather begins now and was born on Christmas in the baby Jesus.
Recall, when I was a boy I optimistically longed for that Christmas morning feeling everyday. What made me an optimist was not in the longing itself, but in the thing I longed for. I wanted presents, which over time became boring and I out grew them. I wanted a tree, which eventually had to be put out on the curb because its luscious green had faded to brown. I wanted that special feeling, but in hindsight that special feeling can only properly be called special if it occurs infrequently. But, amidst these finite things that distracted me from it was born the one thing that could, perhaps even to this day, inspire me to sneak down the hall, shimmy past our sleeping toddler’s door, scurry down the stairs and ever so slowly peek around the corner at the bottom of the stairs to see not a tree, nor lights, nor presents, but a people who daily seek out the profound in the mundane because of hope. I long to see a people, wise men and women, follow the hope that descends like a star and chase it down across the world for the hope of a better tomorrow. After all has faded – presents, Christmas sales, secret Santas, family and office parties – I long for a world sustained not by the infinite distractions of those things that are finite, but by the infinite which was born to us on Christmas Day, hope. “Show me what you hope for, and I will know who you are.” I hope for hope that perches in the soul and sings the tune without words and never stops at all, not even on December 26.
Grace and Peace,
Pastor
