Every fall, I plant daffodil bulbs. It’s a bit irrational. At least half are eaten by the squirrels and bunnies that populate my gardens in the cold winter months, finding shelter beneath my bushes. They are grateful for the food I leave them. I plant anyway. As the sun sets earlier and earlier each night and the mornings are so cold I clutch the blankets around me in bed, my heart hopes for a spring filled with abundant yellow daffodils. I can’t help it; every fall I buy bags of bulbs in hope that a few will be spared and push upward as the first days of spring warm the earth.

Hope is often irrational. It is not measured or calculated or planned. It springs from a deep desire in our hearts. Barack Obama declared in his famous stump speech, “There is nothing false about hope.” Nothing can be false that heartens us and gives us courage. Hope can’t be proven or measured, but hope is true. 

There is another irrational woman living in the Roseland neighborhood of Chicago. Her name is Diane Latiker. In a neighborhood where some would never dare venture and most would lock their car doors as they passed through, Diane opened her home. She has become an activist mother who simply invited the neighborhood youth into her life. In a neighborhood plagued by gun violence, she decided she needed to make it clear to the youth around her that they had lives worth living.

​In a run-down stretch of Chicago's South Michigan Avenue, Diane created a memorial out of foot-high paving stones. Each of the 574 stones has a name to honor the young people who have died from street violence. But Diane hoped for more. She imagined a basketball court free from drugs and crime. A donor came forward to build it. Now youth find her basketball court and then find her. One such youth commented, “When I'm around Miss Diane I feel safe."

​​Diane Latiker admits she was a bit naive when she began, but she was not short on hope. Some would say such hope is futile. Gang violence stills plagues Chicago. Diane adds stones to her memorial on a regular basis. But young people show up to her basketball court daily and find her. Irrational? Perhaps. Futile? Never.

There was another irrational woman in a small town of Nazareth. She was without any social standing in her community; she was young and poor and unmarried. Yet she said yes to God’s daring plan for the world. Some historians suggest she was the victim of sexual violence at the hands of a Roman solider. This seems plausible and, if anything, magnifies the beauty of Mary’s hope. Against all odds, Mary nurtured that hope growing inside of her. She hoped for a new social order in which the powerful would be brought down from their thrones and the hungry would be filled (Luke 1). Some would argue that such hope is futile: corrupt power and desperate hunger are a reality that must be accepted. Yet Mary hoped for more. She hoped for a world where Roman soldiers did not terrorize communities, landowners did not exploit workers, and all bellies were full. Irrational? Perhaps. Futile? Never.

​This 1st Sunday of Advent the candle of hope will be lit across the globe, even in Paris. Hope is a risky business. Although it is irrational to some, there is and never will be anything false about hope, hope that heartens us and gives us courage and helps us to imagine a more just and generous world. Hope springs from deep within us and changes everything—one flower, one Chicago youth, one small forgotten Roman territory at a time. Hope is true. 

Learn more about Diane Latiker

Something very ordinary but significant happened at Grace’s Sunday night gathering. We sang John Lennon’s Imagine boldly and prayerfully, if a little out of tune. This might not seem like much. Someone suggested we sing Imagine in light of the global terrorist attacks. It seemed right. We had just finished packing toiletry bags for the homeless, and we had shared bread and cup. Then, we found the lyrics to Imagine on our smart phones and began to sing, soulfully. Without hesitation, we sang the second verse:

​Imagine there's no countries.
It isn't hard to do.
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too.
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace...

Something in my heart broke open as we sang the words, “no religion.” I wondered how many “religious” organizations have sung these words with hope and expectation. For us there was no dissonance, just boundless hope for a peaceful world no longer divided by religion.
 
I don’t think of myself as a religious person (ironic, huh?). I also don’t think of myself as a spiritual person. I no longer fit into the church camp or the SBNR (spiritual but not religious) camp that sociologists have been tracking for years. If asked what I am, I might answer “a follower of Jesus.” But even that answer is too specific. I am mostly a follower of Jesus because I was born a white westerner. If I were to search for some other word I would chose faithful. Simply faithful.

What’s the difference between being faithful and being religious? Faith is a way of life, not adherence to a prescribed set of beliefs. Faith is a way of being in the world, not a way of belonging to a tribe. Religion provides you with a particular view of the world, determined by the religion to which you ascribe. Faith acknowledges all religious practices, whereas religions often deny the legitimacy of other people’s faith. When John Lennon wrote the words “and no religion too,” he wasn’t thinking of those who have a deep sense of the sacred, or those who love every person as a child of God, or those who serve the less fortunate as they would serve Jesus. He was thinking of angry, divisive, exclusive religion. 

When I was in Seminary surrounded by Christians, I quickly realized I did not belong. Funny, considering I am a self-identified “lower c” christian who even believes in the resurrection (go figure!). Truth be told, I have much more in common with a progressive Muslim, Buddhist-Baptist (yes, I know one), and a volunteering agnostic, than I do with an orthodox Christian who is bent out of shape about points of doctrine or particular passages in the Bible. That sort of closed-mindedness builds walls, not bridges. Divisions, not faith, is what John Lennon critiqued in his beautiful song.  
 
I stand in solidarity with my inclusive Muslim brothers and sisters across the globe who are Muslim for the same reason I am christian: it is the faith they were born into. As adults, they have embraced the faith of their culture, but not in a way that separates them from others. Rather their Muslim faith offers meaning and purpose to their lives, as my christian faith offers meaning and purpose to my life. Our differing faiths do not separate us, they unite us.
 
Terrorism, crusades, persecution, bigotry, violence and exclusion in the name of religion—these are not the result of faith. They are the narrow, hateful behavior of people who have more allegiance to tribe than God, of people who care more about being right than being kind. As an ordained minister and practicing christian, I yearn for the day when there’s no religion anywhere, but faith everywhere. Until then I will continue to sing, no religion, imagining with John Lennon a world where religion does not divide, but instead faith unites.