If we were to imagine a field full of growing crops, we might say that the crops themselves represent our hope. We want these crops to grow and flourish so that we may have a harvest and partake of that for which we have hoped. We hope that the prevailing weather conditions will tilt in our favor - that it will be neither so hot that our crops of hope shrivel from excessive heat, nor that they freeze and die from excessive cold, that the rain will neither be so sparse that the crops wither from the lack of moisture nor that the rain is so fierce that flash floods wash the crops away. It seems that at least while the crop lives and grows and flourishes, so too does our hope live and grow and flourish. But it also seems that if we were to lose our crop entirely, we would also lose our hope entirely. But that’s not actually true. Our hope isn’t just in the crops themselves. “Or saith he it altogether for our sakes? For our sakes, no doubt, this is written: that he that ploweth should plow in hope; and that he that thresheth in hope should be partaker of his hope.” (1 Corinthians 9:10). It is not just the crops in the field, but the field itself also that represents our hope. We tend to focus on the outward, tangible manifestations of hope that grow up from that less visible but no less vital field of hope. The plant cannot exist without the soil. We think that if we have lost all of our crops, that we have lost everything. But we can plow once more the field of hope, plant again, and hope that we will not lose the next harvest. It is hard to lose a crop, but whether or not our expectations came to fruition, our capacity to hope and to cultivate new dreams and form new plans and lay out new goals remains unaltered. If one crop of hopes and dreams dies, the broken and discarded pieces will only decompose and enrich the soil, making our next attempt even more likely to bear fruit. Even if we have given up utterly, if we have gone so far in our bitterness and despair to salt the earth or pave over our field so that nothing can grow, the conditions of life are such that cracks will eventually form in our pavement and despite all of our best efforts hope will grow once more in our field. We can choose to be as cynical and jaded as we like, but whether we want to admit it or not, we are at our core hopeful creatures. Hope is so much more fundamental than optimism or wishful thinking. Hope is more or less what we are made of. If we have allowed our field of hope to lie fallow or become overgrown with pessimism and doubt, then let us plow in hope once more. Maybe this time we will also get to thresh in hope, and be partakers of hope.
