I have been giving quite a bit of thought to the whole experience of hope. People use the language of hope all the time. Our hopes come in very short terms, such as what I hope to have for lunch. And of course, there are much longer-term hopes, such as what we plan to do when we retire or when we get the dream job. Sometimes folks have been very thoughtful about what they hope for and other times, I’m sure, what they hope for is barely a part of their consciousness. I also think many of us have been hoping since we were little kids, but we never thought too much about how hope is formed.
All this flowed into my mind when I was recently on a call with a very well-known Catholic priest and professor. Father Bryan Massingale is an African-American priest and professor of theology and ethics at Fordham University. Massingale is an authority on issues of race in America. His experience growing up African-American in Milwaukee was very different than my experience on an Indiana farm. His parents were Catholic, so he grew up in that tradition---often being the only black face in a white crowd. He went through his education in Catholic settings---again usually the only black student in the class, if not the school.
To his surprise, he sensed God was calling him to the priesthood. This did not fit with the plans his parents had for him, but he could not resist the call of the Holy. He finished college and headed to seminary in Milwaukee, his home diocese. This was followed by another theological degree in DC and a doctorate from a Catholic institution in Rome. Soon he was back in Milwaukee teaching at Marquette. But all along, he was having experiences that most of his classmates didn’t---for they were white.
He experienced racism. He had to deal with a Church that had a solid social ethic for justice---which he knew well, since it was his focus of study. But he also found parishoners were not always living up to their calling as good Catholics. Of course, this is just as true for any other Christian tradition. As I listened to his story, I was moved. At times, I felt guilty, because what he described indicted me.
He talked about the need for white Americans to be transformed. I found his challenge compelling, but also daunting. He said he thought this transformation would be achieved only by undergoing what he called a paschal experience. I squirmed, because I know paschal refers to the Passover lamb and, then, appropriated to describe the suffering and death of Jesus. The paschal lamb means death. And that is exactly what Massingale was talking about. Transformation means the death of our old worldview.
I could go on with his message, but I want to link what we have done already to the theme of hope. As I sat listening to Fr. Massingale, I wondered how he continued to persevere in the face of extending a call to his white audience to die to their old selves? What made him think we would want to do this? But if we don’t do this, our society will continue harassing, arresting, short-changing the African-Americans in our communities. He knows if he does not wear his collar, he might be pulled over and find himself jailed for no obvious reason. How does he continue in hope?
I asked him that question. He said a number of things I would love to report. Most importantly for me, he hooked the whole thing into the gospel message as he understands it. He is able to hope because of the Christian message. In classical language, it is because of the kingdom. He is convinced that Jesus came into our midst and inaugurated the kingdom into the present moment. It is not “something out there,” to be had only in death and at the end of time. The kingdom is---or can be---a present reality.
In that sense, hope is already here. The question is whether I can recognize it. That is why I think it is fair to say that Massingale is sure he is already living in hope. He does not simply hope “for” that to come. And then came a powerful punch line for me. He sat back and smiled a bit. Then he said, “you can’t prove hope; you can only witness to it.” That struck me as profoundly true. We cannot prove hope. We can only witness to it.
My way of trying to wrap my mind around it was to realize that hope is communicating with the not yet. In that sense, it feels like hope is always future---it is always about something that has not yet happened. Maybe this is true for most things we hope for. But hope in faith is different. Perhaps hope that is grounded in faith communicates with what already is here---is already true.
That is a new angle for me. Because the kingdom is already come, I can work in the Spirit’s work and be confident it is going to come to fruition. I don’t need to know exactly how or when. In this confidence I can deal with bumps in the road and, even, roadblocks. I think this is how we persevere. We let God be God and we continue to stay with the task of co-creating with God the future which will come---and which, in one sense, is already here. I think this is what Fr. Massingale was telling me.
He smiled. I believe he knew he was witnessing to me---witnessing to 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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