Things Can Be Otherwise

As we enter into 2025, I'm finding the act of creation difficult. Writing, posting videos, hell, even "Tweeting," (or whatever the skeet we're calling it this year).

In the face of endless bad news, it's hard to feel like throwing my pebble out into an ocean of despair is worth it.

There are days when even the much more important things that I do in real life—pastoring, parenting—seem pointless in the face of it all. What burning, flooding, bleeding world will my children inherit? What has all my sermons and Bible studies and prayers and worship songs actually done to help anyone?

As Theoden King said, "What can men do against such reckless hate?"

Paul told us, "Let us not become weary in doing good." Easier said than done.

Robert Samuels, co-author of His Name is George Floyd, wrote on the four-year anniversary of Floyd's murder:

I came to believe this: Pessimism is the ultimate American privilege. It is the feeling held most easily by those whose lives would still be functional, and maybe even satisfactory, if nothing changed.

And it is the feeling so often rejected by those who have the least, who, like George Floyd, wake up each day in hopes that a better tomorrow might be possible. This form of American hope was a defense mechanism, but it was also an engine that kept them engaged in the world.

Pessimism is the ultimate American privilege. It is the feeling held most easily by those whose lives would still be functional, and maybe even satisfactory, if nothing changed. And it is the feeling so often rejected by those who have the least.

The Three Tasks of the Church

Reading James Cone's A Black Theology of Liberation, I've been struck by his vision for the church's mission. Cone outlines three essential tasks that seem particularly relevant to our moment of despair.

First, the church must proclaim divine liberation. As Cone argues, the gospel itself is the announcement of God's liberating work revealed through Jesus and the outpouring of the Spirit. If we truly understand this good news, we can't keep it to ourselves. Our silence betrays our misunderstanding.

Second, Cone insists that the church must actively participate in liberation struggles. It's not enough to theorize about freedom—we must embody it in social, economic, and political reality. Though evil has been defeated in Christ, the old powers pretend they still reign. Our task is to prove them wrong through active resistance.

Third, as Cone emphasizes, the church must visibly manifest the gospel reality. Borrowing Bonhoeffer's phrase, he describes the church as "Christ existing as community." We cannot retreat from human suffering and still call ourselves church. Such withdrawal amounts to denying our fundamental calling.

Hope Demands Action

For Cone, eschatology (our vision of the future) must directly shape our present action. If we believe in God's promised future, we must begin living it now. Any oppressed community must reject unjust treatment precisely because current humiliation contradicts God's promises.

This means we have two choices: either connect Christian hope to concrete liberation, or abandon it entirely. There's no middle ground of passive waiting. As Cone puts it, the church "cannot accept the present reality of things" if it truly hears God's promise.

Why We Create

This framework helps me understand why creative work matters, even in dark times. If we really believe death isn't the final word, then we fight. We risk ourselves for human freedom, trusting that humanity's ultimate destiny rests in God's hands.

Cone argues that we cannot accept pessimism as wisdom. Hope creates tenacity. Hope builds grit. Hope arms us for the fight ahead. Our creative acts—whether writing, preaching, organizing, or building—are not mere distractions from despair but active resistance against it.

The way we push back against fear is through action. This means:

• Volunteering in our communities
• Teaching and remaining teachable
• Telling better stories
• Building alternative structures
• Creating beauty in the face of ugliness
• Speaking truth in the face of lies
• Choosing hope in the face of despair

Beyond Despair

Our hope must be grounded in both past and present reality. We've seen God act before. We trust God will act again. And crucially, we believe God will act through us.

This isn't blind optimism. It's the tenacious belief that things can be otherwise. That the darkness, while real, isn't final. That even small acts of creation and resistance matter.

So we keep writing. Keep preaching. Keep singing. Keep creating. Not because we're certain of the outcome, but because we're certain of the calling. Because sometimes hope looks like throwing pebbles into an ocean of despair, trusting that even the smallest ripples matter.

We create because we must. Because pessimism is indeed a privilege many cannot afford. Because hope, while sometimes feeling foolish, is actually an act of resistance against the despair that would have us give up entirely.

In times like these, our creative acts—no matter how small they seem—are declarations of faith in a better future. They are ways of saying, "We believe things can be otherwise." And in that belief lies the seeds of transformation.

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