For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us. For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the sons of God. For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of him who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to corruption and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now. And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.
Romans 8:18-25
When he died in 2024 at the age of ninety-eight, Jürgen Moltmann, known as the theologian of hope, was remembered not only as one of the great theologians of the twentieth century but as one who had lived the questions he explored (The title of one of his works, Experiences in Theology, comes to mind). As a young man in Nazi Germany, he was drafted into the army, witnessed the destruction of Hamburg, and spent years as a prisoner of war in a British camp. It was there, surrounded by the ruins of his nation and his own despair, that he encountered the Gospel of Mark and the God who suffers. His encounter of a God present in desolation, not running from it, became the seedbed of his lifelong theological project.
For many in our time the weight of life feels heavier than usual. There is a pervasive feeling of unease. Economic anxiety seeps into homes and congregations as people worry about wages, retirement, housing, paying the bills, and raising children. Political stress has for many become an ever-present cloud that follows overhead, leaving us tense, fatigued, and cynical. Technological advance promises connection but often delivers exhaustion, comparison, isolation, and endless noise. Pastors and ministry leaders find themselves trying to speak hope into a culture frayed by cynicism and burnout.
The good, hope-filled news, Moltmann insisted, is that God does not stand above our turmoil but enters into it. God is not an indifferent ruler watching history unfold and intermittently intervening, but a servant-messiah who is radically present in our darkest moments, personally and societally. This divine solidarity with creation and humanity is anchored in an eternal hope that depends not on stock markets or election cycles, but the eschatological hope that rises from resurrection. Another way of summarizing this movement is to say that God’s future does not ignore the world’s pain; it transforms it. The pastor, teacher, or friend who clings to that promise becomes a living sign that despair is not the final word.
“But the ultimate reason for our hope is not to be found at all in what we want, wish for and wait for; the ultimate reason is that we are wanted and wished for and waited for. What is it that awaits us? Does anything await us at all, or are we alone? Whenever we base our hope on trust in the divine mystery, we feel deep down in our hearts: there is someone who is waiting for you, who is hoping for you, who believes in you. We are waited for as the prodigal son in the parable is waited for by his father. We are accepted and received, as a mother takes her children into her arms and comforts them. God is our last hope because we are God’s first love.”
– Jürgen Moltmann, The Source of Life: The Holy Spirit and the Theology of Life
Moltmann reminds us that God’s transcendence is not distance but depth. God’s other-worldly yet profoundly human love tunnels under the algorithms, the fear, and the fatigue. It is the mystery that holds for us what we cannot and sustains life when we cannot see a way forward.
When pastors and congregations lose sight of this hope born of the cross and resurrection, they slip into a worldly idealism that mistakes control for faithfulness and progress for salvation. Ministry becomes managerial, and all suffering turns into a problem to fix rather than a place where God might be revealed. Congregations grow brittle and anxious, forgetting the future God is still ushering in, opting instead to “cede our well-being to the world.”
Ministry in anxious times is neither about denying the storm nor limiting our vision to what lies within its immediate grasp. It is about recognizing that Christ is already present within it, comforting the fearful, sustaining the weary, and that this same Christ is not subject to the storm’s power, but even now is sowing a future we can scarcely imagine and a hope that will never disappoint.
For Discussion
How have we become captive to narrow visions of progress or success?
In what ways has the church adopted an immanent, worldly idealism, believing that better strategies, systems, or outcomes can save us, rather than trusting in God’s transcendent work of renewal that often unfolds beneath the surface?
How does our community respond to suffering?
Even as we aim to relieve suffering where we can, do we see it as something to fix or as a place where God might be revealed? What would it look like to accompany pain rather than manage it?
What practices help us recover a cruciform hope?
In our context, what would it look like to cultivate hope rooted not in success or stability, but in trust that God continues to bring new life from loss?
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