Here Are Several Ways to Fail at Hope–And Perhaps One Way to Succeed

Today’s reflection is from guest blogger Robert Shine, executive director of the Pax Christi International Fund for Peace. He previously served at New Ways Ministry from 2012-2024, including many years as Bondings Managing Editor. He is a co-author of A Home for All: A Catholic Call for LGBTQ Non-Discrimination. You can read his most recent Bondings post by clicking here.

Today’s liturgical readings for the Sixth Sunday of Easter are available here.

“Fail.” With rare exceptions, a failing grade isn’t the outcome to a test we desire. I found even a “B” distressing as a student, which began in third grade when I received one for improperly labeling a lightbulb’s parts. The distress wasn’t tied to my educators, on the whole wonderful, nor my parents, who emphasized it was proper effort that most mattered. Indeed, it was because I evaluated myself on a scale no one else did. There was no curve. And years out of school, I am still a tough internal critic, something with which I know many LGBTQ+ people can relate.

You can imagine how such a disposition in academics grafts onto the religious: a bit scrupulous, a bit severe, a bit stifling (likewise relatable for queer Catholics). Perhaps more than a bit at times. I’ve matured thankfully, finding that a more self-compassionate spiritual life actually makes me a better Christian, better able to extend compassion outward. But while I have grown, I’m not sure some less-ideal parts of our spiritual life have been fully overcome–or ever will be. Such is the burden of a fallen world!

“Hope in the Prison of Despair” by Evelyn De Morgan

In today’s liturgical reading from 1 Peter, a biblical test is put before us: “Always be ready to give an explanation to anyone who asks you for a reason for your hope…” Reading this line, my thought was simply: “Well, I’m failing that one!” The old patterns sweep back in, and the verse has troubled me for five days now. Was the faith I professed even real if I could not offer what, I imagine, the correct answer is: Jesus Christ? 

Rationally, yes, Jesus Christ is my hope. But that answer feels inauthentic because I have not felt that hope in a consistent way for awhile. The problem isn’t a rational one. Studying theology for too many years gave me plenty of answers to big questions, and also a distrust that these questions actually satisfy anyone. 

My failure to hope is a felt sense, a vibe, if you will. And it isn’t without basis. Suffering is so great right now. For instance, LGBTQ+ people and our loved ones in the U.S., we seem to verge on upending rights once thought secure, and this echoes globally. The right-wing are not just targeting our marriages or healthcare, although those are in the crosshairs. They are targeting our very existence as queer and transgender people.

For Catholics, we lament that the leadership of the U.S. bishops’ conference have for decades been hand-in-glove complicit with the path that has led to authoritarianism. In this most dangerous moment for LGBTQ+ people in decades, the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops is still pleading with the Supreme Court to strip away further at non-discrimination protections. 

And in the secular sphere, U.S. imperialism is surging, Israel’s genocide in Palestine persists, ICE shreds communities and individuals’ lives, and climate change is unchecked. How can I hope in times like these!

However, I misunderstood 1 Peter’s test. I was looking to make an argument—thesis statement, evidence, conclusion—as an intellectual exercise. And I could not, at least not quickly and easily. I once again over-intellectualized faith, a chronic ailment I share with the institutional church. Because faith is at least as much, if not more, about how we live rather than solely what we profess. 

Thankfully, God is a proctor who offers unlimited make-up tests. Fail the test of being a Christian? We can retake it as many times as we need, going back to the course materials to plug in gaps and correct errors. And we are in good company. The early Christians failed, too. A lot. Think of Jesus’ disciples on Holy Saturday. After the Passion’s violence, how eloquent and considered would their reasons for hope be? It was a time of fear and panic. But Mary Magdalene went to the tomb and the Apostles (eventually) went out to evangelize. If hope is to believe in that which is unseen, then these Christians could explain their hope, if not with words, than with their lives. 

I failed last week at being able to give an explanation for my hope, or at least one that felt real. If asked by someone this week, I would respond that my hope is indeed in Christ, and that while I may not have the words to lay out the argument, my life can be the testimony. 

Today, as we confront fierce violence and hate, we can embody hope, even if our minds, moods, or vibes are more dour.  Simply to be out as LGBTQ+ in a society and church where being LGBTQ+ can be costly is to hope that justice and inclusion will become real. To work for peace when war and genocide are unchecked plagues is to hope nonviolence will win out. To reject and resist the global authoritarian lurch is to hope that pluralism and democracy can be achieved. To care for family and friends even when they are difficult is to hope our relationships will be rich for decades to come. To tend creation with love despite climate change’s ravages is to hope that a better future is actually possible.

In the end, the test in 1 Peter is actually pass/fail. All the best theological arguments for why one hopes can fail if they are not embodied. To pass the test requires only this: to live and act as if the Resurrection is real, that death will not win, and that a world marked by love and welcome is being realized. 

–Robert Shine (he/him), May 10, 2026