Over the years, I’ve discovered something. Maybe you have too. It’s relatively easy (and somewhat enticing) to talk about spiritual formation—the hope of becoming more attuned to God’s work in and around us, the hope of shedding bad habits and self-serving attitudes like so many pounds after the holidays, the hope of experiencing even just a smidge of God’s ever-present, never-failing, nonstop love for us. Yes, it’s easy to talk about it. Just like it’s easy to talk about diets and exercise regimens, New Year’s resolutions, and the like. The hope of becoming something new—something better—is usually the silent driver behind marketing and advertising. Better abs, better hair, better tires, better life, better wife (yes, that’s what my husband asks for). It’s pretty easy to get us imagining our “better selves.” It’s easy to talk about spiritual formation, but it’s so much harder—so much more confusing, requiring so
much more hope—actually to hold myself open to change.

When we’re talking about the possibilities, especially if it relates to what other people should be doing—how they should be transforming—we can talk all day long.

But hope is the most dangerous thing in the world. I know that sounds counter-intuitive, but here’s what I mean. I believe most people eventually give up hope. Somewhere along the way they resign themselves to “life as they know it.” Hoping for a better life, a better relationship, a better job, a better retirement, a better church, a better relationship with God has all fallen flat. The striving has stopped; the surviving has begun. Like a drowning victim exhausted from effort, they give up. They stop trying. They stop hoping. It’s just too painful. It never works. If their soul-injuries happened early enough in life, they stopped hoping long before they reached adulthood. They’ve learned better. They may be dutiful soldiers, hard workers, devoted spouses and parents and employees, but inside they do not hope. Their souls ache with the haunting words offered to an incognito Jesus on the road to Emmaus: “But we had hoped…”

And into this reality comes another opportunity to hope. To hope, yet again, that God might be at work, that his heart, his ways, his intentions can be trusted. That his arm is not too short to save, nor his ear too far from our cries. We are invited, once again, to hope. But when we awaken hope, we had better be able to make good on the deal. Because hope is the most dangerous thing in the world. Do not awaken it falsely; it destroys. It unwinds rather than binds up, it wounds rather than heals, it corrodes rather than strengthens. False hope can kill.

Which leaves us—leaves me—looking for authentic hope. What is possible? What can I hope for? Who can I hope in? What are the false alternatives I must not put my hope in?

In Dave Johnson, I have been blessed to find a friend who shares authentic hope. He reminds me hope is real; he reminds me there are no simple formulas or gimmicks. He laughs loudly and often, he listens deeply and well. He leads a large organization with the heart of a shepherd. He loves the Word of God; he is frank about his shortcomings. He holds forth hope for others, and, along with him, they are being transformed.

Recently, we had the opportunity to serve together at a conference aimed at helping folks who led small groups see the powerful potential for spiritual formation that exists through their service. Dave’s session became our launching point, the vision and hope, for the possibility of real change. This article is adapted from his session—and will serve to remind all of us that change is not only possible, but essential to our awakening authentic, dangerous, hope in the midst of the crooked and perverse generation in which we find ourselves. – Mindy Caliguire

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