Most people I know are people of hope---or at least they say they are. If we listen to the language of folks around us, it is surprising how often we hear references to hope. In my own academic community students are always using that term. They hope to do well on the exam and in the course. They hope to see their friends. They hope for so many things. Older people are not much different. We hope to see our kids or that our kids do something significant---or even insignificant. If the teenage drives the car out of the driveway, the parent is hoping she will be safe. And the list goes on.
I don’t belittle hope. I cannot imagine life without hope. It is sad, to be sure, when we encounter someone who truly despairs. Despair is literally to be without hope. Our country contains a countless number of folks who are depressed. Many are clinically depressed and take medication to help with this. Many others are simply self-diagnosed and may self-medicate or just go through their days feeling very down. I think all this is real. And despair and depression put hope on thin ice. Life can come to feel hopeless.
Almost 50,000 Americans commit suicide each year. In fact, it is claimed suicide is the tenth leading cause of death. This is tragic. What is equally frightening is the likelihood that many more are committing a kind of metaphorical suicide as they live on. Even though they live, they are dead inside—they have lost their capacity for any quality of life. Some simply have given up. When we no longer see any point to life---or anything else, then effectively we are committing suicide.
Hope is the antidote to this. I don’t mean hope in any pollyannish way. It is not excessively cheerful or even unrealistic. What I know about hope is it has to be possible. And I know hope is always about the future. And when we see hope as a virtue, as it is in Christian tradition and others, then hope is a choice. We have to be able to imagine a future and choose it. It is not a guarantee, but it does have a kind of power and energy.
All this musing came to mind recently when I took some time to ponder a question I had been asked and my answer to that question. Specifically, I was asked about one of my classes and “how it is going,” was the question. Too often, we pose these questions as a kind of social interaction, without expecting any real answer, much less a thoughtful answer. Most of the time, I probably respond with a generic answer which says something like, “It’s ok” or “It’s good.” That answer suffices, because the question was not really a question. The person asking the question may not even care how my class is going or how I am doing.
For some reason when I was asked how my work in that particular class was going, I paused and thought about my real answer. It called for a quick assessment. The assessment clearly was judge based on my criteria about good or great classes. What do I consider to be a great class? For me it is a range of things: effective learning, high engagement and personal growth. I might even add some others bullet points. I set a fairly high bar, but I assume all faculty think they do. Maybe my bar is so low, a three-year-old could step over it! But I don’t think so.
My real response to the question whether it was a good class? “Not yet; the students are working on it, but we’re not there yet.” That answer is honest, realistic and hopeful. In the first place, I admit they are doing ok---passable, but not great. I have hope they will get better. Better means more effective learning. Better certainly means more engagement. I know engagement is a good indicator of high performing teams---which in my case is the classroom. And I know engagement will likely lead to more personal growth and professional development.
My conclusion, “not yet,” was more powerful than I had thought. It was an expression of hope. Not yet means there is work to do and we can do it. Not yet means tomorrow can be better than today. Not yet keeps me engaged and willing to keep working at jumping the high bar. Not yet is not a plan for tomorrow. But it is a commitment to plan and execute. Not yet means I will continue tomorrow to go after it.
Thinking further into the issue, I think saying “not yet” is a kind of progress report. It affirms I know where I want to be and expresses hope that I will get there. Not yet comes with some patience. Patience is a friend to persistence. The American way too often is too hurried. If there is not immediate success, then quit. Not yet tells me there is a way to go, but we are making progress and should persevere.
Finally, I am convinced not yet can be inspiring. This is especially true if our goal or task is difficult. To say, not yet is an assuring way to admit we have work to do, but we can and will do it. To despair closes the book, effectively saying it’s done. Having said that, I am not sure some important things are ever finished. For example, I see my life as a work in progress. I am not perfect---probably never will be. But I am working on it. So, I can say I am not perfect yet.
My goal is not to be effective, but spiritually I would like to be fully obedient to God’s desire. Am I there? Not yet. But saying not yet is a sign of hope.
Those of us who have read theology or, perhaps, those who are people of faith and are old enough might well recognize this title as a reminder of the late Jewish philosopher and theologian, Martin Buber. I remember reading Buber’s book, I and Thou , when I was in college in the 1960s. It was already a famous book by then. I am not sure I fully understood it, but that would not be the last time I read it. It has been a while since I looked at the book. Buber came up in a conversation with a friend who asked if I had seen the recent article by David Brooks? I had not seen it, but when I was told about it, I knew I would quickly locate and read that piece. I very much like what Brooks decides to write about and what he contributes to societal conversation. I wish more people read him and took him seriously. Brooks’ article focused on the 2016 contentious election. He provocatively suggests, “Read Buber, Not the Polls!” I think Brooks puts
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