Hope Sinks
If you have ever ridden south from Austin, Texas down Highway 71 you may have come across the small town of Smithville, Texas. Though with only a population of around 4,000 cows (just kidding, residents), it carries with it some further notoriety. Without even leaving the freeway, you can proudly see displayed the sign proclaiming that this township is the home of the famous Sandra Bullock movie Hope Floats. Though I doubt that I will ever watch the chick flick myself (despite being a Sandra Bullock fan), I was reminded of the title while reflecting on the topic of hope recently.
Searching Google’s Ngram for the frequency of the phrase “hope floats” since the 1800s, you will find three distinct peaks — one at the beginning of the nineteenth century, another at the end of the nineteenth century, and finally, the slow, steady rise at the end of the twentieth century, after the film was produced. Looking into the use of the phrase during the first peak, I was entertained by the fact that the most common reference was a line from Christopher Marlowe’s sixteenth century play Edward II, in which a character states that he hopes that another character, Gaveston, floats on the Irish seas. Clearly, that is not the same syntactical context as used in the title of the movie. Moving to the second region of popularity, there appear more religious and psychological references to the concept of hope rising up during the trials of life. In its most recent wave, in addition to again numerous spiritual and self-help references to the value of hope in overcoming difficulty, there have also been countless references to the modern film itself.
Apparently, the title of the movie comes from a line that the main character, Birdee Pruitt (Sandra Bullock) says. It goes:
“Childhood is what you spend the rest of your life trying to overcome. That’s what momma always says. She says that beginnings are scary, endings are usually sad, but it’s the middle that counts the most. Try to remember that when you find yourself at a new beginning. Just give hope a chance to float up. And it will, too.”
While that all sounds fine and dandy and I agree that we spend most of our lives dealing with what happened in our childhood and that times of transition between beginnings and ends are always difficult, I beg to differ on the fact that hope should float. Too often in my life, I have attempted to allow my hope to rise up from within; yet, it has become like a lifesaver helplessly swept out to sea by a storm surge or as a child’s ballon commandeered by strong wind gusts.
Rather, I would say that hope is like an anchor. But, it is not me who said it first. St. Paul writes that, “[hope] we have as an anchor of the soul, sure and firm, which reaches into the interior behind the veil” (Hebrews 6:19). There are many other characterizations that have been given to hope, including being like a buoy (CCC 1818), a helmet (1 Thessalonians 5:8), an eagle (Isaiah 40:31), and a tree (Job 14:7, Jeremiah 17:7–8). Like the quote from Hope Floats, these images can be encouraging examples of the ideal of hope.
Yet, throughout biblical stories and our own lives, we can see witnesses of how difficult striving for this ideal hope can be. At times, Job gave up on the fact that he would ever be restored, the prophets and disciples doubted God when things did not go as they expected, and we too can become hopeless when promises go unfulfilled or our lives become darkened by consuming clouds of confusion. Likewise, we have pessimistic sayings such as “don’t hold your breath,” alluding to the fact that we should not hope for unrealistic outcomes, like those portrayed in the deep, dark, high pressure story portrayed in the Netflix documentary The Deepest Breath. So, while there are many positive images of hope that can be uplifting, I propose that our hope should instead sink, as an anchor so deep that we are unable to be drawn off course amidst the many storms of life.
Inherent in the purpose of an anchor is the reality that there are winds and currents that will try to pull us off our path. Throughout our lives, people ranging from false prophets of the world to even friends and family who want the best for us in our lives can be sources of these misleading promises. Some may offer us false sources of fulfillment, while others may continuously encourage us that things will get better. However, hope must come with the sobering realization that the promises of the world can never completely fulfill us and that, unfortunately, some aspects of our lives may never get better or it may take a very long time for the situation or other people to change. However, that is the reality of Christianity too. We are explicitly told that, “in the world you will have trouble” (John 16:33). True hope anchors us in the reality that life on earth will be tough.
Nonetheless, hope offers us the chance to be hooked onto a source of goodness. The etymology of “anchor” leads to this definition of “hook.” Most anchors work either by hooking themselves on the rock bed or by sinking themselves into the seabed. Likewise, we must be grounded in the reality of our dignity and concomitant calling as Christians. Similarly, we must be dependently anchored in the source of true hope. Dependent has a similar etymology that indicates a certain “hanging from” (as I describe in “From Darkness to Light: The Allegory of the Cave and Getting Out of Your Head”). This dependence grounds us in the reality that all of our existences depend upon God, from who comes our hope. Thankfully, the above quote from John 16:33 concludes: “but take courage, I have conquered the world.” Interestingly, the Greek often translated as “take courage” can also be translated as “be bold,” “be confident,” or even “cheer up.” Additionally, the verb used is a command; it is not a suggestion or a statement. Jesus commands us to confidently anchor ourselves in the hope of what is to come.
In this way, hope is similar to wonder in that it directs us toward that which we cannot fully understand. St. Paul posits that: “Hope that sees for itself is not hope. For who hopes for what one sees?” (Romans 8:24). Similarly, the German, Catholic philosopher Joseph Pieper notes that, “wonder reveals itself as having the same structure as hope,” and that, “to wonder is not to know fully, not to conceive absolutely; it means not to know what is behind it all” (Leisure: The Basis of Culture). Hope and wonder continually draw us out of ourselves, beyond ourselves, toward that which we desire to obtain or to understand. Yet, he describes that, “what is given us in hope . . . is really only given to man in the form of a loan” (Leisure: The Basis of Culture). In this life, we can never have it all and understand the complete meaning behind things. Still, it is our hope that can anchor us in the truth that there is an underlying purpose to our existence. Pieper himself concludes that, “it is because the structure of wonder is that of hope that it is so essentially human and so essential to a human existence” (Leisure: The Basis of Culture). Though hope itself cannot fulfill us in and of itself, and it can sometimes mislead us — if from a misguided source, ultimately, continued hope rooted in the Truth will one day allow us to reach a full understanding of our lives.
As such, hope is more of an assurance than it is a promise. Assurance has as its root “to secure,” and to secure means “to free from care.” Contrarily, promise signifies “to release, let go, send, or throw before.” The first is more passive while the latter is more active. For example, we use phrases such as “rest assured” versus “making, keeping, or believing a promise.” The dove from Noah’s ark was similarly sent forth three times before they left the ark. It was only when God reassured Noah that it was okay to do so that he actually left the ark. In our lives too we have to decide if we want to continue chasing promises given to us or if we want to anchor ourselves in the “blessed assurance” which is our hope in Christ.
Still, that does not negate the fact that both the world and God make promises to us. The world can tempt us with vicious promises (Matthew 4:1–11) and those around us and even we ourselves can set unrealistic expectations for our lives. However, both of these eventually lead to further disappointment. Just as good weather forecasts cannot prevent our plans from still getting rained out, so too do worldly and human promises frequently fall flat. Additionally, speculations may be nothing more than empty words. For, we cannot predict how other humans will react or what will come to pass in our lives. Yet, as I wrote in a poem once: “Put not your trust in princes, in mortal man, who cannot save, / But, blessed is he who hopes in the Lord, the Psalms do say” (“An Electoral Reflection,” 11.7.2020). Further, St. Paul describes that, “when God wanted to give the heirs of his promise an even clearer demonstration of the immutability of his purpose, he intervened with an oath, so that by two immutable things, in which it was impossible for God to lie, we who have taken refuge might be strongly encouraged to hold fast to the hope that lies before us” (Hebrews 6:17–18). This double proof of reliability gives us reason beyond a shadow of a doubt to anchor our hope in that which God promises us, both the easy to receive and the difficult to accept.
In the end, living with hope takes practice. St. Paul outlines that, “affliction produces endurance, and endurance, proven character, and proven character, hope, and hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out into our hearts through the holy Spirit that has been given to us” (Romans 5:3–5). By daily renewing our commitment to live through our afflictions well, we will grow in endurance, proven character, and hope. It is by “Rejoic[ing] in hope, endur[ing] in affliction, persever[ing] in prayer” that this can come to be (Romans 12:12). Yet, this hope is also a gift given to us through our baptism. In this way, over time (as noted in “Only Time Will Tell: Time As the Best Medicine”) we can come to see that times of affliction are actually beneficial opportunities of growth and change (as described in “Crossing the Liminal Space”) drawing us closer to attaining that which is the goal of hope — eternal life. At the root of it all is the statement of St. Paul that, “we know that all things work for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose” (Romans 8:28). Through faith, hope, and trust we can come to rest in our anchored assurance that truly all things work for the good of those who love God (as expounded upon in “Omnia Cooperantur in Bonum: On Faith, Hope, and Trust”).
The are numerous images that one sees when they think of hope. Some propose that Hope Floats. Others describe it as a buoy, a helmet, an eagle, or a tree. While these are all uplifting and encouraging images, I prefer St. Paul’s mundane image that hope is an anchor. For, inherent in the purpose of an anchor is the reality that there are winds and currents that will try to pull us off our path. Nonetheless, hope offers us the chance to be hooked onto a source of goodness. In this way, hope is similar to wonder in that it directs us toward that which we cannot fully understand. As such, hope is more of an assurance than it is a promise. Still, that does not negate the fact that both the world and God make promises to us, to which we have to learn to respond. In the end, living with hope takes practice. I would like to conclude with another quote from Pieper’s Leisure: The Basis of Culture. Here he imaginatively dives into the relationship between wonder, hope, and philosophy and how they relate to our life pursuits:
“The innermost meaning of wonder is fulfilled in a deepened sense of mystery. It does not end in doubt, but is the awakening of the knowledge that being, qua being, is mysterious and inconceivable, and that it is a mystery in the full sense of the word: neither a dead end, nor a contradiction, nor even something impenetrable and dark. Rather, mystery means that a reality cannot be comprehended because its light is ever-flowing, unfathomable, and inexhaustible . . . Since the very beginning philosophy has always been characterized by hope . . . no man is wise, and no man “knows”; God alone is wise and all-knowing. At the very most a man might call himself a lover of wisdom and a seeker after knowledge — a philosopher.”
