Acting in Hope

by Pastor Brittany Fiscus-van Rossum

Then they brought [the colt] to Jesus, and after throwing their cloaks on the colt, they set Jesus on it. As he rode along, people kept spreading their cloaks on the road. Now as he was approaching the path down from the Mount of Olives, the whole multitude of the disciples began to praise God joyfully with a loud voice for all the deeds of power that they had seen, saying,

“Blessed is the king
who comes in the name of the Lord!
Peace in heaven,
and glory in the highest heaven!”
 

LUKE 19:35-38

As I read the Palm Sunday story this year, I found myself imagining what it must have felt like to be a part of the crowds rejoicing at the sight of Jesus. I imagine that for many of those gathered, it must have felt overwhelming to be caught up in this moment of recognition and hope. Sometimes in these beautiful moments when many people gather together around a shared cause, you can feel the energy in the air. Such gatherings can elicit the collective expectation that even if things are not as we might want them to be right now, together, we can imagine and hope for something different, something better.

Those who gathered on the streets of Jerusalem recognized something in Jesus, this poor man riding into the big city on a humble donkey. In their moment of recognition, they were moved to rejoice. They threw down their cloaks and grabbed branches, too. They honored Jesus with the greatest respect and declared him a King and a harbinger of peace. This was no small claim. These declarations were a bold political statement just as much as they were the naming of a hope beyond hope. “However impossible and ridiculous it may seem, this poor man,” the people declared, “is our hope and our real King, and he brings peace.” Palm Sunday was a protest, wherein those gathered, however briefly, saw an image of hope for a peace not yet realized.

In the early months of 2017, when I was pregnant with my daughter Emi, I participated in a few peaceful protests myself. One in particular stands out in my mind as I time when I too felt those oft-fleeting moments of collective hope. At the time, I was concerned about how harmful government policies would impact the lives of people close to me as well as those I did not know. I remember feeling weighed down by the state of things in the country that I call home. I worried for my daughter’s future amongst such hostility and disregard for human well-being.

On this particular march, I was joined by my friend, a fellow seminary student, and her then-teenage daughter. At one point our little group was completely drenched in a downpour as we made our way to the larger gathering. My pregnant body was wet and tired, but I also remember laughing and feeling grateful and hopeful to be there alongside my friend, her daughter, and so many others. I remember the simultaneous feelings of tiredness, resolve, joy, hope, gratitude, and companionship washing over me as I raised my damp little cardboard sign in one hand and cradled the growing curve of my belly in the other.

For me, following Jesus means believing that our God is for humanity, for all of humanity. This too is a political statement of sorts. And so, I believe I must keep showing up to hope for something better for this world we are to share.

I joined those protests alongside my friends, neighbors, and those I did not know, not because I believed I could change the world, but because I was hungry for hope, and because I believe that following Jesus means acting in the hope that God loves humanity. My hope for my yet-unborn daughter was that she could inherit a world where she might live in security, with enough food to eat and a roof over her head. I hoped that she might be able to learn and grow in a safe environment, and that, like I had, she might find friends and communities of support along the way. I hoped that she might be tutored in love and compassion for others. But I also had to hope that she might grow up in a world where that hope could be realized for all of us on this planet we share. What I hoped for my daughter, I must also hope for all children and all people.

For me, sometimes acting in hope looks like joining a protest. Sometimes it looks like joining in worship. Oftentimes it looks like all those less glamorous day-to-day ways I try to show up for my daughter and my community. But, like those crowds who gathered in
protest and proclamation on Palm Sunday, when things get hard, I want to recognize and rejoice in something good when I see it. I want to hope beyond hope for this world God loves. In the ways that I live, I want to seek that which brings peace.