Wild, Bright Hope

Having completed the "Wild Bright Hope" Lent course I feel I have been on a journey. Clichéd perhaps, but the past six weeks have been so much more than disparate group discussions. The course has become a wonderful drawing together of so many thoughts and ideas: some new, some many years old, caught rattling around in my head waiting for an outlet. It's odd really, because it's "just" a book - and not even one I initially felt particularly inspired to read. As any parent navigating complex illness will tell you - or any family carer struggling to source additional answers or support, it's often "the hope that gets you", precipitating another descent into despair, and I've written about it many times before: - 

"Each time someone offers you a bit of hope your heart leaps. The adrenalin kicks in and you start to take your eye off the ball. That "ball" is coping, it's the hamster wheel of life where you know your niche and get on with it, where you understand your limitations and work within them. At whatever level, we all do this. But hope makes you look beyond, at what might be, the what-ifs, the maybes. It's dangerous territory."

In our modern society "hope" can become fear-inducing because it prompts us to embark on a journey where we dare to hope for change. Change we yearn for, change we desperately need. And what if that change fails to materialise? Unfulfilled hope can feel acutely painful. 

What this book has taught me is that hope doesn't necessarily mean focussing on desired, or even defined change. Instead, hope creates the space for change, it facilitates new perspectives which enable us to grow. To grow in our thinking, our behaviour and our interactions with others. Fear is thus a barrier to hope, preventing those new perspectives which create this space for change. Hope is therefore not a definitive movement towards desired change, it is an openness to new perspectives. And the catalyst required is human connection. Liberating stuff. 

The book comprises a series of reflections on the topic of hope from different voices. Each equally thought-provoking, the clear theme throughout is that hope can be transformative and empowering, but to effect change human interaction is required. In our chaotic modern world that human interaction is frequently compromised, we don't have time to connect, time to listen or time to empathise. Compassion is too frequently replaced by platitudes, or the "toxic positivity" Bhanuka describes in Chapter 11. We isolate and distance from each other, denying our humanity. It's the opposite of what we are called to do.

The book breaks down the concept of Christian hope, almost incidentally. The differing perspectives providing a toolkit for action. "Reimagining Day to Day" (Chapter 2) focusses on listening, and the importance of being present. How often are we distracted and only partially aware during our interactions with others? I know that's often the case for me, my attention divided between my many responsibilities. But am I doing all a disservice? It has long been the human experience that the simple act of truly listening can effect change. Feeling heard offers hope through connection and acceptance. Feeling heard is of huge importance to us all - evidenced by the numerous petitions, awareness days etc. Who hasn't changed their perspective when given the opportunity to verbalise their experience? Whilst it's all too easy to feel powerless in today's complex society if we start from a place of respect, presence and connection we can hope for a shift in our shared reality. We don't need to shoulder the burden of the world's problems, being present and connected is the perfect starting point. Hannah points out in "Widening Horizons" (Chapter 7) that being present is incredibly grounding, since we are centred in time and space. As someone whose mantra has long been "Stop the world I want to get off!" this really resonates. We are hugely adept at multi-tasking, focussing on the future or grieving for the past. We rarely stop and take the time to be truly present. 

There are clearly implications here for people who feel unable to be themselves. In "Seeds of Unity" (Chapter 1) Alysia-Lara shares a perspective on belonging from one of her pupils from the Roma community : - "Belonging means feeling comfortable and happy with who I am, and not having to mask with different people." As someone on the autism spectrum I spend much of my time masking. It's utterly exhausting and prevents me from really connecting, and from being present. I've written about this at length, describing it as feeling "on the outside, looking in". As a society we are improving at challenging ourselves on inclusion, but are particularly poor at recognising invisible difference, and many like me are incredibly good at masking. Hannah speaks of hope as "the moment your heart swells and your lungs breathe deeper" on page 105 and I can really relate to her "mountain top moment" - but for me it's more a "still small voice of calm" I seek, when the anxiety ebbs and I can relax. Less mountain top, more quiet, dark room!! Of course, this does make bringing my true self to God a challenge too. But if we are to be wholly present we also need to be transparent with God. And we need to let go our modern obsession with identity. Because it's just another form of masking. 

If you have read any articles on my "Musings" blog, you will be aware of my passion for community, belonging and how much I deplore our modern obsession with identity and labelling. Being truly "present" requires acceptance; both self-acceptance and that of others though. Awareness here is not sufficient. But even with the best of intentions, all too often our cultural awkwardness is prohibitive and I loved Cameron's description of the necessity of "clumsy conversations" (In "Kingdoms, Faith and Diplomacy" Chapter 3) to circumvent this. Hannah also mentions the need to welcome others with respect, and of course respect is naturally born from broadening our horizons - yet this can be almost impossible since everyone has a platform and a voice. Belle continues this concept of positive connection ("A beautiful and messy awakening" Chapter 8), describing St. Paul's visit to Athens and the way he honours the Athenians whilst offering hope. In a world of sound-bites, fake news and echo chambers it can be challenging to retain context and remain connected. But information without relationship is dangerous, opinion without context equally so. (I wrote here about how "fake news" is in fact the end product of democracy.)

The most powerful chapter in my opinion is the penultimate one. Bhanuka's "Journey through a Supper Table" was both profound and incredibly moving. Shedding a new light on Matthew 26:26 he analyses the adjectives taking, blessing, breaking and sharing to offer a wonderful new (at least to me) perspective on belonging, gratitude and community. (It also offers a welcome perspective on evangelism so often lacking in the close-minded past of the Anglican church, with its colonial arrogance.) And having reduced me to tears with Ruth Etcher's "Ballad of the Judas Tree" Bhanuka then offers hope - and better still, a blueprint for achieving it.

"Is giving the final action we need to perform to have hope? It looks like it. But in giving, someone takes, and the one who takes blesses, and breaks it and gives it again. Our Christian life - given in the abundance of the Spirit - is a meal that never ends.

Would you like to stay for supper?"

So what next? How do we go forward with hope? In truth it's the most challenging problem facing modern society - and yet the answer to this question is so simple. We listen, we pause and we connect. True hope requires the suspension of judgement, because we are creating a space for change, an open mind. This is perhaps the hardest part - because this open-mindedness means trusting in God. Not defining that change, nor it's timing, or questioning suffering... as Rachael eloquently explains in the final chapter: -

"I don't think that I quite appreciated ... and still don't fully comprehend  - the magnitude of what Christian hope is ultimately set on, the horizon which it reaches, or the scope it encompasses, which profoundly changes our perspective of what is happening now, if we let it." 

This part of hoping is deeply connected to faith and I for one am not as sure as I could be. But in bravely stepping forward to connect with others with hope, we can effect change. In Adam Curtis' "Can't get you out of my head" documentary series from 2021 the analysis of how individuals make decisions was quite enlightening. Whilst Prof Buchanan (founder of public choice theory and later an advisor to Thatcher) believed people would always act selfishly within a social framework, what transpired upon further investigation was that people only make selfish choices when disconnected from each other. Community and connection restore the concept of community goals and the resurrection of the "public good". 

It occurs to me (and not for the first time) that a great deal of the world’s problems could be prevented or solved if we were more present, and more connected. It’s pretty hard not to help someone you know, whom you have a connection to - and it’s even harder to fight against them. Knowing everyone is obviously impossible, but connection begins at home. Be present. Listen. And fight against the craziness of modern individualism. I’ve always been a fervent believer in community, because humans need to be part of something bigger. And into this new, hopeful world of broader horizons, we can let God in.

Take, bless, break and give. With wild, bright hope.