Hope Requires Honesty

The issue of Liturgy entitled “Liturgy and Hope,” guest-edited by Michelle Baker-Wright, an Episcopal priest in Los Angeles, offers a number of essays from scholars dealing with hope in times of difficulty––death, environmental disaster, imprisonment, when flexibility is needed, when isolation threatens community––and the role that liturgy plays in speaking truth. Here is an excerpt from the Guest Editor’s Introduction to the issue. –– Melinda Quivik

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We are in a time deeply in need of voices that can extend hope that is truthful, clear, and vibrant. Hope has the best chance of being rekindled when pastoral leaders employ their wisdom and skill to shape liturgies where words of hope can be spoken into places that are often vulnerable. Because the words “liturgy” and “hope” both cover a range of concerns and potentialities, my own goal in assembling a thoughtful group of people to consider liturgy and hope is to open up questions about the multifaceted nature of both. How can our worship shape us toward authentic hope versus hope grounded in a false sense of optimism? As liturgical leaders, pastors, and scholars, how do we discern the difference?

Hope is often depicted as if it has a persona and agency of its own. Sometimes it is portrayed as in need of awakening or renewing. Sometimes we speak of hope as having died or as having been lost. Perhaps we assign lifelike qualities to hope because it is such a significant driving force in our lives and such a powerful motivator. . . Hope has to do with the meaning we ascribe to our past, present, and future, and what we place our hope in impacts what or whom we pursue, what or whom we attend to, and how we inhabit the world. . .

While varied in their approaches and methodologies, our writers voice some common themes surrounding liturgy and hope. First, hope in liturgical contexts is best cultivated through honesty, be it a truthful naming of the circumstances of the gathered assembly, an attentiveness to moments of grace in painful situations that gets reflected in a willingness to adapt, or in thoughtful discernment of ways that pandemic adaptations challenge and refine the liturgical norms of more settled times. Second, hope is not formulaic, and attempts to make it so ultimately undercut the ways that liturgy can encourage, but not manufacture, hope. The difference can be subtle, but can involve naming hope that is already perceived and already gradually coming to light rather than speaking in the language of ideals. Third, different types of hope might be simultaneously at play within a given liturgy and a given assembly, and some hopes may be present yet unvoiced. Some hopes may be disappointed, while others may be renewed through words spoken or affect and energy that diffuses throughout a liturgical gathering. Lastly, hope can be powerfully ignited in liturgical contexts, sometimes in ways that are surprising, sometimes in ways that are anticipated yet nonetheless profound. In many ways, our congregations gather looking for hope, which is why disappointed hopes in the midst of our liturgies can be so very painful to experience and so painful to observe.

But as the writers in this issue recognize in different ways, hope has a way of resurfacing, kindled by the Spirit, unpredictable yet unmistakable. May these words encourage you in the midst of the places where you are searching for hope, that you may in turn extend hope to those whom you encounter.

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The rest of this essay is available in the full digital and print editions of Liturgy. All of the essays in Liturgy 37, no. 2 are available by personal subscription and through many libraries.

Michelle Baker-Wright, PhD, is an Episcopal priest serving in the Diocese of Los Angeles. She currently chairs the Bishop’s Commission on Liturgy and Music and is a board member of the Liturgical Conference.

Michelle Baker-Wright, “Introduction: Liturgy and Hope,” Liturgy 37, no. 2 (2022): 1–3.