Sometimes it’s one thing. And then it’s something more. And just a moment later it’s another. And its huge stuff like Climate and Asylum seekers and Pandemic and Elections and systematic injustice and privilege. And its small stuff like lack of inspiration and lethargy and tax and body and what does it look like to move out of lockdown and…and…
Sometimes it all just piles up and up. A great weight that pushes down heavy on your hope.
Pressed down hope. Squelched down hope. Pounded and crushed and broken, hope.
Hope like wheat. Milled.
Hope like grapes. Trampled.
Appropriate elements of symbol and sacrament and sacrifice.
May the breaking of my back and the breaking of the world somehow bring forth resurrection and feasting and jubilation and a dancing upon the grave.
Could I believe that hope crushed, may still be hope. I hope so. I hope so.
Lecturer at Whitley College and Artist Ambassador at Tearfund Australia