Hope in Hopelessness

By Alan Guo (PO ‘23)

But then why, why should we strive for goodness in the face of a wicked world? Why should we push the metaphorical boulder up against our own nature, fight back against the inevitable entropy of the human condition? Where can we derive hope to continue in these seemingly fruitless pursuits?

As I strolled down the familiar paved sidewalks of Central Cambridge, lined with parked cars, pastel-colored apartments, lush trees swaying back and forth in the summer breeze, a realization suddenly popped into my mind.

It was already Sunday, and I hadn’t been to church in two — no, three weeks.

That Sunday morning, I didn’t get up early to attend morning service. Rather, I was up at 9 am to go play volleyball instead.

While a little disappointed in myself (going to church every Sunday morning was a rhythm I had come to enjoy since becoming Christian, and it was one of the few habits that survived the COVID pandemic), I found myself rather unbothered by my negligence in attending church. This lack of meaningful concern stemmed from a simple observation: I just would rather enjoy volleyball with a group of friends than attend a congregation that I felt distant from.

I felt detached, isolated from the church community that I had been attending for over a month during my stay in Massachusetts — a disconnect that made me feel spiritually numb, even during my visits to Sunday service. I felt distant from the faith I was once so close with — I felt like someone merely pretending to be Christian.

And what Sunday service lacked, the volleyball group provided. Although I had only met the group a few weeks prior, those games on the grass at Kendall Square provided a sense of fellowship, community, connection — a feeling that I found absent from, and had previously associated with, the Church. I realized that it wasn’t at church where I felt this sense of unity most strongly. Rather, it was when I was with my (non-Christian) volleyball group.

This realization led me to reflect on my faith, on why I decided to become Christian. In the past, I gave so many testimonies on how I became Christian because of this sense of tight-knit community, because of this feeling of care, trust, and support — a feeling that I just didn’t experience anywhere else. But my experience in Boston was the final nail in the coffin of a realization that had been troubling me for a while: that a sense of tight-knit community, a sense of fellowship, can be found anywhere. Community isn’t exclusive to church, nor is it found in every church. I was lucky to have found community through church — but I came to truly realize that this wasn’t the case for many others.

But despite this setback, I still deeply considered myself Christian. So clearly, fellowship in community wasn’t the sole cornerstone holding up my faith in the Christian God. Thus, my introspection led me to ask:

So, why am I Christian? And what does it mean to be Christian?

This question reminded me of another moment from Cambridge over the summer. I was grabbing dinner with a friend, a fellow intern that I had met through work. We were enjoying Chipotle in Central Square, when he asked me why I was Christian (after I had mentioned going to church on Sunday mornings, ironically enough). And I still remember my response:

“Well, because Christianity acknowledges the fact that the world and humanity is doomed — but it provides hope in spite of that.”

In other words, it’s because Christianity is a worldview that acknowledges the inherent brokenness, the inherent evil in our world. But in the face of this daunting reality, Christianity provides hope — it provides a reason to continue in spite of the inevitability of our world and of ourselves.

And recently, the brokenness of humanity has become all too apparent. In the past year alone, we’ve seen police brutality against the Black community, riots at the Capitol over supposed election fraud, violence against APIDA-identifying citizens, continued violence within the Middle East — all amidst a steadily destabilizing social and environmental climate. The transparency of this fundamental truth — how both our world and us humans are imperfect — is something I’ve always appreciated about the Christian faith.

But then why, why should we strive for goodness in the face of a wicked world? Why should we push the metaphorical boulder up against our own nature, fight back against the inevitable entropy of the human condition? Where can we derive hope to continue in these seemingly fruitless pursuits?

To this, I offer my Christian perspective: I believe that we choose to love the broken world and the broken societies around us because God, because Jesus loved us first. We continue to be compassionate because of our God’s love for us, a love that us humans do not deserve.

And this gift of grace is crucial. Through His life, Jesus gave humanity a perfect example of what it means to love sacrificially, and through his resurrection, He gives us hope that our broken world can be restored.

A Christian is someone following in Jesus’s footsteps — a Christian is someone who, in short, believes in Jesus Christ and follows Him.

But a simple thing that I’ve continued to forget is that while a Christian is all of these things, a Christian is, above all, human. And as humans, our defining trait is our imperfection — a truth that is no different for even the most fervent of Christians.

Consider Peter, the first leader of the early Church, appointed by Christ himself to lead in his absence. It is undeniable that Peter was a man of great faith — and yet, we find that on the day of Jesus’s crucifixion, he rejected Him not once, but three times. Three times in the same day, Peter claimed he had no relation with Jesus. Despite being a great leader of the early Church, we see that Peter was still human — rife with his own insecurities, doubts, and fears.

But nevertheless, Peter wasn’t stripped of his position, or cast out of God’s grace. Rather, after affirming Peter’s love, Jesus recommissioned Peter as an apostle and leader in the church.

Peter’s story, to me, paints a vivid picture of how it’s possible to be a Christian and still make human mistakes. Indeed, that’s what makes a Christian. To be utterly convinced of your brokenness and imperfection, through, by, and despite God’s love, and therefore to rejoice in that same love: this the Christian walk. And thanks to His perpetual forgiveness and His eternal love, this walk is open to anyone.

No matter where I am, from the bustling streets in Cambridge or in the pews of the Church, I know God is present everywhere. And my time in Massachusetts left me with the humbling reminder that despite being Christian, straying from God is something we will always continue to battle. I know that my faith isn’t only defined by attending church every week or by reading the Bible every day. I know that my God already paid the price I owed for my sins and imperfections — freeing me from my debts, allowing me to keep making mistakes, constantly growing through each passing experience. I know that through God, there is hope in our broken world, that all things will be restored through Him. I know that there is hope where everything is hopeless.