Prisoners of Hope

“We always live on the eve of our disbelief becoming reality” — Pastor Thabiti Anyabwile

Those who know me know I’m generally an upbeat guy. I don’t believe the world is out to get me; if I have enemies, they do a pretty good job at not letting me know; and, generally, I operate under the assumption that everyone’s doing the best they can with what they have. But in recent years, I’ve felt this optimism waning. Life has chipped away at my cheerful disposition until cynicism has become my default. After all, what are you left with when optimism fails you?

For the past two years, I’ve been obsessed with this quote from Dr. Cornel West, turning it over again and again in my mind, and the more I reflect on it the more accurate it feels. He says, “I cannot be an optimist, but I am a prisoner of hope.” At first glance, it seems contradictory. Hope and optimism are practically synonymous. Yet, I think on some subterranean level, we recognize the difference.

Optimism is a natural disposition, a favorable view toward the future. In the optimist’s world things are good, the glass always half full. If you were to ask them why they might not be able to give you an answer. They just feel it in their bones. Hope is different. Hope acknowledges things are not ideal but holds the possibility of better in tension. It’s active; and perhaps like faith, is not only a choice but is also only as strong as the object it’s placed in.

But what grabs me most from that quote is the idea of being a prisoner of hope. The image is a fascinating one. Prisoners are bound, chained, held captive to a thing. Nobody wants to be a prisoner. To be a prisoner of hope is to say that hope owns me. It orders my steps. We’d much rather be free and yet we are bound. Hope can feel that way at times. It’d be so much easier not to hope. Hope carries the possibility of disappointment. The cynic might feel the sting of disappointment but at least they saw it coming. Yet hope commands us to move forward. As long as there’s hope, there’s work to be done. As long as there is hope, we have to try.

Here’s the kicker: if the resurrection is true, then there’s no such thing as a hopeless situation. The God who conquers death can overcome any seemingly impossible situation. Not only does he have the ability, but the resurrection also speaks to his character. He is faithful and true to his promises. You might not want to hope things will get better in your marriage, that that one family member will come to faith, that that prognosis isn’t the final word, and yet, if we are resurrection people, we are prisoners of hope because to be bound to Jesus is to be bound to hope incarnate (Isaiah 9:6–7). We might not feel hopeful and yet we know, cognitively, there is hope.

It’s in those moments when all the evidence around us says the opposite that we have to choose hope. We might still think the worst, we’re forced to recognize that the worst isn’t the only possibility. There are also divine interventions, merciful moments where the veil between heaven and earth gets thin and we witness the hand of God move in time and space. When optimism fails us, we are still left with hope; and we know from Romans 5:5 that hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us.