Claiming Hope in Times of Disorder and Despair

These days, even the most routine question – “how are you?” – is met with a hesitant, qualified answer: “under the circumstances…” And we all know too well what those “circumstances” are. We live in a time marked by overwhelming violence and suffering: mass displacement and starvation in Gaza, sexual violence in Sudan, landmines strewn across Ukraine, authoritarianism gaining ground globally, environmental degradation accelerating, and mounting attacks on migrants, minorities, and the vulnerable.

These crises aren’t just headlines—they reflect a deeper unraveling. Social cohesion, the rule of law, even fragile gains in racial justice are being dismantled. Fear is palpable. And yet, I was asked to speak about hope—an invitation I embrace fully. Because despite everything, hope is alive. It may not always be obvious, but it is stubborn, creative, and real.

I find hope not in sweeping geopolitical shifts but in the quiet spaces where ordinary people, often under extraordinary pressure, still choose dignity, courage, and community. In Gaza, where life seems unbearably hard, Palestinian professors continue to teach. Graduate students, despite war and scarcity, are submitting research proposals. The sheer act of pursuing knowledge in such conditions is an audacious claim on hope.

Hope also emerges in mass action. Remember when nearly five million people took to the streets on No Kings Day in the United States—a moment of collective refusal to normalize injustice. It didn’t stop there. On July 16, 130,000 people joined what may have been the largest online nonviolence training in U.S. history. These actions reflect a growing, informed, and committed movement for justice.

Around the world, land defenders and water protectors, many from Indigenous and marginalized communities, continue their nonviolent struggles against powerful interests. Their work is dangerous – activists have been killed for their resistance – but it is driven by love for their communities and the Earth. It is hope in action.

Students – Palestinian, Jewish, and allies – are risking arrest, expulsion, even deportation to protest the violence in Gaza. Their moral clarity and commitment to nonviolent action are building resilient communities of resistance and solidarity. In these courageous acts, we see the seeds of transformation.

Hope also takes quieter forms. The Economy of Francesco, launched by Pope Francis, gathers young entrepreneurs and economists across the globe to reimagine economic systems rooted in justice, sustainability, and peace. Elsewhere, artists and activists are exploring the relationship between nonviolence and creative expression – music, film, theater, poetry – as pathways to healing and resistance.

Still, the magnitude of our crises demands not just hope but a fundamental reimagining of how we live. As nonviolence trainer Kazu Haga writes in Fierce Vulnerability, our work is about “changing how we, as a species, relate to each other and to the rest of the cosmos.” It is a shift from separation to belonging, from domination to mutual care. Our task is healing, wholeness, and deep relationality.

Two directions in this global reawakening give me enduring hope: cosmic consciousness and nonviolence.

We are beginning to see beyond dualistic paradigms of superior/inferior, win/lose, domination/submission. As Franciscan Sister Pat Farrell said, the old constructs are giving way to new values: communion, equality, abundance, mutuality, and love. We are beginning to understand that life is not a zero-sum competition but a shared and sacred journey.

Michael Nagler, founder of the Metta Center for Nonviolence and author of The Third Harmony, calls this shift a “paradigm change,” a movement from the “old story” of materialism and violence to a “new story” rooted in science, ancient wisdom, and the lived experience of connection. In this new story, nonviolence and the Beloved Community are not idealistic dreams but practical, necessary realities.

This awakening is mirrored in our growing cosmic awareness. With the advent of technologies like the James Webb Telescope, we are peering deeper into the universe than ever before, awakening to our interconnectedness with the rest of creation, with the entire cosmos. Duane Elgin calls this a “sacred journey of discovery in a Universe with stunning depth and richness of purpose.”

Cosmic consciousness transforms our understanding of what it means to be human. It invites us to recognize that we are not separate from creation, but embedded within it. Many Indigenous traditions have long held this truth. As botanist Robin Wall Kimmerer reminds us, nature offers lessons in gratitude, reciprocity, and “enoughness”—lessons we desperately need.

This new consciousness brings us back to right relationship: with the Earth, with each other, and with the cosmos. And it points clearly to nonviolence as the path forward.

Nonviolence is  much more than a political strategy—it is a spirituality, a way of life , a discipline for personal conversion  and dismantling systemic oppression. It is ecological, relational, and transformative. It teaches us that change must be rooted in love, not domination; in courage, not control.

Nagler writes, “Violence pulls us back… nonviolence pulls us forward, toward the recognition of unity.” It is the new story and the path into that story. It is central to human identity and to the future we are trying to birth.

This societal transformation is already happening—slowly, surely, and yes, with resistance. As we build momentum, backlash grows fiercer. But the shift is real. Our claim on hope is multi-generational. It requires endurance, resilience, and care.

Within the Catholic Church, this transformation is also underway. Over the past decade, there has been a deepening recognition that nonviolence was central to Jesus’ mission. The teachings of the Sermon on the Mount are no longer seen as idealistic abstractions—they are increasingly viewed as essential guidance for how the Church must engage the world.

This is an extraordinary sign of hope. A Church rooted in Gospel nonviolence can contribute powerfully to a culture of peace—through catechesis, formation, and active engagement. Teaching nonviolent communication, de-escalation, and conflict transformation through Church institutions could become one of the most important ministries of our time.

As Ugandan theologian Emmanuel Katongole says, nonviolence is “a spirituality that reflects the very nature of God.” It is not peripheral to mission—it is the heart of mission.

We are Resurrection people. That is where our deepest hope lies. Even when evil seemed victorious, it was life that had the final word. Jesus built a beloved community and left seeds of love and courage that continue to grow.

We now face enormous spiritual and cultural upheaval. But I believe the divisions we are experiencing are not signs of collapse alone—they are signs of transition. We are moving, however painfully, into something new.

Our growing awareness of cosmic belonging and our embrace of nonviolence as the ethic that defines our relationships are transforming what it means to be human. They are enabling us, in this fragile, wounded world, to keep claiming hope.

Even now. Especially now.

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