By Rev. Dr. Kharma R. Amos, Minister of the Unitarian Universalist Church of Brunswick, Maine
Our congregation’s theme this season is “Choosing Hope,” something admittedly easier said than done, especially when the world is on fire. I am inspired by the witness of countless oppressed communities who have courageously chosen love as a response to hate, and non-violent resistance in the face of cruelty. Their testimonies challenge despair by insisting that we live fully within the world as it is, without denying its brokenness, while still holding fast to what we believe life can be.
However, choosing hope is not a tidy exercise. It is a theme full of tensions—competing instincts, differing philosophies, and even contradictory wisdom traditions. Some of us hear the call to hope and immediately feel resistance. Why invest in hope when reality seems immovable? Why not simply accept what is? Others among us hear the same words and feel energized: better to hope and fail, than to surrender to fear. Both impulses carry truth, and neither tells the whole story.
What does it mean to choose hope, and when is it wise to release it? Hope has its own mysterious timeline. Anyone who has left a sports stadium too early—only to learn later about their team’s miraculous comeback—knows that our internal clocks often misjudge what is possible. Hope does not move according to our timelines or schedules. The Spanish verb esperar captures this paradox well: it means both “to hope” and “to wait.”
“How long?” our ancestors asked. How long do we wait for the world we envision? And what do we do while we wait?
A wise member of my congregation shared with me that she had been thinking of hope as a specific outcome, rather than an ongoing process of making things better. That insight echoes the wisdom of Archbishop Oscar Romero, who reminded his people—just months before his assassination—that the work of healing the world is always larger than any one lifetime. “We plant the seeds that one day will grow,” he wrote. “We are prophets of a future not our own.”
Hope, in this sense, is not wishful thinking. It is an orientation toward action. It frees us from the illusion that we must accomplish everything, enabling us instead to do something faithfully and well.
Joanna Macy, in Active Hope, suggests a pragmatic shift: instead of asking “Will it happen?” ask “What steps will help it happen?” This is hope as engagement, not promise. It dissolves the tired binaries—optimist or pessimist, glass half full or half empty—and invites us to work toward what matters, even when the outcome is uncertain.
As this season unfolds—with its holidays, expectations, and challenges—consider what choosing hope might look like for you, in small and sustainable ways. And may there be moments when hope itself lifts and carries you, reminding you that you do not travel this road alone.