In a world that feels overwhelming, hope isn’t just a feel-good idea—it’s vital for resilience and growth. This episode of Compass helps cultivate a mud-on-the-boots kind of hope, even when it feels like too much.
Real hope isn’t about ignoring pain—it’s about facing it and choosing to believe in something better anyway. Hope is spiritual defiance, a radical way to keep showing up for ourselves and each other, even when the world feels heavy.
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Episode Notes:
Here are some questions to help you formulate your own hope inventory:
- What's something that made you smile today?
- Who showed you kindness recently? Or who did you show kindness to?
- Where did you feel connected--to yourself, someone else, or to God?
- What beauty have you noticed around you?
- What are you still hoping for?
Related episodes
- Spiritual lessons from recovery (150)
- From hate to hope (139)
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This episode posted on July 9, 2025
Episode Transcript:
Ryan Dunn [00:00:00]:
Hi, I’m Ryan Dunn, and this is Compass: Finding Spirituality in the Everyday.
And today… we’re talking about hope.
But not the fluffy, unrealistic kind.
We need a kind of hope that has mud on its boots. That shows up even when the sky is falling.
We’re going to cultivate or rekindle some personal hope in this episode. And we’re going to that while admitting that everything is not OK right now. More on that in a bit…
[End music]
I’m a reverend, but I don’t spend much time in a pulpit. In fact, I deliver like one or two sermons a year. One reason for that is out of a sense of personal calling: I don’t feel a real strong pull to deliver sermons. But also, I have to admit that in my religious tradition, my voice–that of a
Middle-aged straight cis-gendered white guy–it’s pretty well represented. I appreciate hearing the voices of those who offer a different perspective.
I say this to acknowledge that, just maybe, this podcast becomes my pulpit from time-to-time–because I’m not in a church pulpit much. And this episode represents one of those instances when I might get a bit preachy.
So, let’s start a scripture reading. Romans 5:3-5 says this:
“we also boast in our afflictions, knowing that affliction produces endurance, 4 and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, 5 and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.”
Right now, it’s hard to not feel overwhelmed.
As I’m recording, there are devastating floods in Texas. Friends and neighbors on the East Coast and Upper Midwest are facing more severe weather.
And let’s be real—many of us are weary from watching political priorities unfold in ways that really feel cruel or disconnected from our values of compassion and justice. Hearing about people celebrating detention camps and deportations is repulsive. Certain budgetary decisions we see being made by the US government have us worried about the safety of all people.
And then there are the wars.
I just completed a road trip across a good part of the Midwest. In traveling around and talking with people I don’t get to talk with every day, I noticed that a lot of people are feeling wearied. It’s almost a form of analysis paralysis. There’s so much to feel upset, saddened or outraged about that people don’t know where to go with all of it and just left feeling numb… and sometimes that appears as apathy, although I think more often it’s a form of self-protection or self-care.
Now if you’ve been feeling disheartened… anxious… angry… it’s clear you’re not alone.
And if you’re spiritually curious or trying to piece together your connection to the divine, this kind of moment can truly make you wonder. It inspires some deep questions of theology and faith:
Where is God in all of this?
Or even: What good can I possibly do when everything feels like it’s burning down?
If we’re supposed to be on this course towards a more heavenly world… or, as Martin Luther King Jr put it, the moral arc of the universe is always bending towards justice… then why does it feel like we’re going backwards on so many issues of justice?
What do we have to be hopeful about? AND… this is the question I’ve really wrestled with… what am I to do when the load of outrage and care feels so heavy that I just want to set it down for an undetermined amount of time? How do I keep from giving up or giving in?
I hate answering my own questions… but the thing I have to say about this today is this:
hope is not optional.
Nor is hope escapism. It’s not toxic positivity.
Toxic positivity says “everything happens for a reason.” Or “We just need to think happy thoughts.” Or “Well there’s always someone who has it worse.”
In faith, we wrap toxic positivity into statements like “God won’t give you more than you can handle.” Or “Pray more, worry less.”
Toxic positivity is the kind of optimism that skips over the pain, and then leads towards feelings of shame for not being okay.
And here’s the thing: this stuff might sound spiritual. Right? It might even come packaged in a Bible verse or a prayer. I believe, though, if it’s silencing your grief or invalidating your anger, then it’s not leading you toward healing. It’s just pushing discomfort deeper down.
I think I heard a particular sentiment expressed in some early episodes of this podcast: you can’t heal what you refuse to feel. That sounds like something our old friend Steve Austin would say. One thing Steve definitely did tell us was that shame cannot survive being named. In the same way, we have to name the hurts in order to deal with them… Brian Tillman made a point of that in talking about racism and why we need to continually bring up points about racism.
You’re allowed to name what hurts. You are, in fact, allowed to feel anxious. You’re allowed to be angry at the injustice in the world. AND, you’re allowed to be overwhelmed by it all.
Hope does not deny those feelings.
In fact, I’d say that real hope begins when we get honest about the hurt.
It’s not a silver lining we slap on top of sadness.
Hope is resistance.
Hope says, “This is not okay. And still, I believe in something better.”
As I’m recording this, we’ve just gone through a strange July 4th season in the United States. I say it’s strange because I heard a number of people express discomfort in celebrating patriotism when it feels like that ideology has been hijacked to represent a skewed sense of nationalism or exceptionalism. Hope suggests we can celebrate the goodness of what may still be.
Hope says, “The floodwaters may rise, but I will keep building.”
Hope says, “I will not let cruelty or despair write the final word.”
That’s why I believe hope isn’t optional—it’s a form of spiritual defiance that helps push the world towards what many of us believe God intends for it. Hope is a kind of sacred rebellion against giving up.
And honestly? In a world like ours, hope is one of the most radical things you can practice.
Theologian Cornel West once said, “I cannot be an optimist, but I am a prisoner of hope.”
In Scripture, we read things like Romans 5: “Suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope.” I have a teenager at home, and feel like I’m preaching this all the time… But the best sermons we preach to ourselves. So I think really as I nag my teen about persevering through adversity, I’m really reminding myself of this reality.
Hope shows up through the struggle, not around it.
It is spiritual defiance in the face of despair.
And it’s a practice—something we do and we cultivate even when we don’t feel it yet.
In our last episode of Compass, I talked about Ignatian Examen. I noted that it’s a wonderful practice because it’s really adaptable. The point isn’t to do it right through the step-by-step instructions. The point is to have an encounter with your soulful, spiritual side. It’s to offer yourself a moment to connect with God’s presence and work in your own midst.
Here’s something I’ve started doing when I feel swallowed by the bad news of the world. Well, at first, I just started with a simple reflection on gratitude… it was a challenge to myself to name 5 things I was grateful for in the moment. But that wasn’t aspirational enough to deal with the big, systemic hope stealers. So the following has become an adapted practice, which was, in part based off some Ignatian Examen.
I sit down—maybe with my journal, more often just with my coffee—and I do what I’m calling a Hope Inventory.
Like Ignatian Examen, it’s five simple prompts. You can try them right now in your mind, or jot them down and return to them later. Whatever… I’ll put them on the episode page on UMC.org, too.
ANYWAYS, here’s the Hope Inventory:
What’s something small that made you smile today?
A bird. A meme. A bite of something good. Your teenager telling you about why Star Wars is so cool.
2) Who showed you kindness recently?
Or: Who did you show kindness to?
3) Where did you feel connected—to yourself, someone else, or even God?
A walk. A hug. A breath. A prayer.
4) What beauty have you noticed around you?
The sky. A child laughing. A song. An awesome album cover.
5) What are you still hoping for?
Even if it feels far off—naming it gives it shape.
It’s amazing what shows up when you start looking for the light.
Not because the darkness disappears. But more because the light was there all along—we maybe just forgot to look.
In our national discourse, we’ve lost sight of the value of good stories. There are a lot of negative stories… stories of harm or of breaking relationships for us to harp on.
We’re missing the stories sharing what it looks like when the world is as it should be. The stories of people really stepping up in support of one another… or where radical inclusion and hospitality created something beautiful (because it always does). A practice of hope might help us see those stories again.
If you’re listening to this and feeling like you don’t know how to hope anymore…
It’s okay. You don’t have to force it.
But maybe just try the inventory. Just name what is.
Or start more simply: name three or five things you can be grateful for today.
And maybe, just maybe, hope will sneak in through the cracks.
Here’s what I hope:
May your soul be stronger than the headlines.
May your spirit stay soft, even when the world feels hard.
And may you find, even now, small reasons to keep showing up with love.
If you’d like to try the Hope Inventory again, I’ll post those five questions in the show notes at umc.org/compass.
Thanks for walking with me today.
If this episode meant something to you, would you take a second to rate or review Compass? It helps others find the show.
We’ll be back soon with more conversations, reflections, and practices for finding spirituality in the everyday. And, I’m really invested in finding these hopeful stories. Send them my way if you can.
Until then—take care, and keep exploring. Peace!
