First Reading – Jeremiah 17:5-8

Responsorial Psalm – Psalm 1:1-2, 3, 4 & 6

Second Reading – 1 Corinthians 15:12, 16-20

Gospel Reading – Luke 6:17, 20-26

The theme of hope is certainly prominent in this Sunday’s readings, with a detailed exposition of the question in what (or whom) we should put our hope. This question, especially, seems particularly poignant—almost painfully so—for our present moment.

Consider the opening contrast in the first reading, which compares “the one who trusts in human beings” with “the one who trusts in the Lord.” The former, Jeremiah insists, is “cursed” while the latter is “blessed…like a tree planted beside the waters that stretches out its roots to the stream: it fears not the heat when it comes…but still bears fruit.”

The message is that putting all one’s hope in the works of human beings inevitably leads to disappointment, but drawing one’s hope from the Lord allows one to persevere even through “the year of drought.” I know that for many the current moment feels like a year of drought both literally (think wildfires decimating homes after drought created the conditions for conflagration) and figuratively (as once reliable sources of support like US foreign aid dry up). If our sole source of hope is the benevolence of human beings, the vagaries of that benevolence confirm that such hope is in vain.

Christian faith offers a response to these (and any other) moments of anguish, with St. Paul pointing to the resurrection as the fundamental reminder of where Christian hope can be found. “If for this life only we have hoped in Christ,” St.  Paul warns, “we are the most pitiable people of all,” because the goods of this life are always susceptible to destruction. But Jesus’s resurrection reassures the faithful that temporal goods are not the only, nor even most important, goods we seek. On the contrary, we are called to yearn for the ever greater goods that are found in union with God.

Of course, none of this is to say that we should give up on earthly projects that would counteract suffering and improve the lot of human beings now while we turn our attention to the afterlife. Liberation theologians, such as Gustavo Gutiérrez, rightly pointed to the hypocrisy of using Christianity’s hope in the resurrection of the body to ignore the plight of the body in this world. The long tradition of the corporal and spiritual works of mercy, meanwhile, demonstrates that the fundamental Christian call to love one’s neighbor cannot be fulfilled by simply telling those in need that things will “get better” in the next life. Jesus’s disciples have a real duty to make sure that things get better now too.

This duty is implicit in the framing of the blessings and woes (Luke’s version of the Beatitudes) found in the Gospel reading for today. While many of the blessings point toward a future reward—for example, the hungry are assured “you will be satisfied” and the weeping are consoled with the guarantee that “you will laugh”—the first blessing is tellingly communicated in the present tense. “Blessed are you who are poor, for the kingdom of God is yours.” The tension between the already and not yet of Christianity’s eschatology facilitates this present tense translation, asserting that the kingdom is a reality now even as its fulfillment is still yet to come.

How can all this be true in practice? How can the poor have the kingdom of God (and, relatedly, the rich “have received your consolation”) now even as the sufferings associated with poverty persist? How can we be called to turn from a hope in the inconsistencies of human benevolence toward a lasting hope in God without abandoning the work of aiding those in need?

The answer seems to depend on our ability to see our hope in God as the source of our motivation to do the work necessary to bring hope now to those who need our help. If we place our fundamental, existential, hope in God and then use that hope to inspire our work for love and justice, for example, we will not despair when humanity’s sinfulness—in both its personal and structural manifestations—stand in our way, and we will continue that work and find ways to bear fruit even in the year of drought.