Are you an optimist or a pessimist? Most people would call themselves optimistic, but that’s because most people in the U.S. consider themselves an optimist. So let’s ask a slightly different question: was Jesus an optimist? Specifically, was he optimistic about His earthly ministry which culminated in the cross? That puts the question in a different light.

First, we need a clear definition. The word “optimist” descends from the Latin optimis, which means “best.” When we think of an optimist, we think of a person who expects the best in every situation, e.g. if a problem arises, the optimist expects it to work out well. Americans are known for their optimism, being the people who traversed the North American continent while dreaming how they would acquire its land. Not having fought a serious international war on our continent since we gained independence, Americans have limited acquaintance with the dreariness of war, loss, and national grief when compared with other countries.  

We’re naturally drawn to people who express confidence that things will work for the best, whether it’s a potentially negative diagnosis, a family crisis, or a looming war. The optimistic outlook of Franklin Roosevelt in 1932 helped him get elected President over the seemingly dour incumbent, Herbert Hoover.[1] This has been played out in many elections since. Looking on the bright side can an admiral quality, but if you only look at the bright side of something, you may miss part of the bigger picture.[2]

In 1965, Commander James Stockdale was shot down while flying an A-4 Skyhawk Jet over North Vietnam. He was imprisoned, beaten, and tortured for seven years as leader of the prisoner resistance. When he was asked what was the difference between himself and those POW’s with him who gave up, he said that those who gave up were optimists. The regularly told themselves that good things were right around the corner and were inevitably disappointed.

Let us then return to the question about Jesus: was He an optimist? Is there evidence in Scripture that He expected things to improve? Did he assume the Pharisees would suddenly repent, or that at some point the disciples would suddenly understand what He was doing and teaching? Did He believe that His ministry would be so “successful” that He could avoid the cross? The answer to these questions is certainly “No.” One of the marks of Jesus’ earthly ministry is clear-minded realism about His situation and the people who surrounded Him. He knew the foolishness of his disciples; He knew the dogmatic stubbornness of those who would rather kill an innocent man than yield their power; He knew the political ramifications of His words and actions. Jesus was many great things but He was not optimistic.

The disciples, on the other hand, were quite optimistic about the Kingdom. They knew the promises, that the reign of the Messiah would be from sea to sea, and from the river to the ends of the earth. They knew that the kingdoms of this world would become the kingdom of the Lord and of His Christ. They saw the miracles, the healings, and they too were empowered to cast out devils and heal in Jesus’ name. They had clear expectations of what God’s kingdom coming to earth would mean. Imagine the blow when instead of seeing Him raised on a throne, they saw Him raised on a cross. Their untethered optimism led to great discouragement.

“But wait,” you say. “Didn’t Jesus expect to be raised again?” Yes, He did. He knew the promises of resurrection and even told the disciples He would be raised again. But their inability to view reality before them prevented them from understanding what Jesus meant. But neither was He a pessimist. The pessimist expects things to always turn out poorly, so as to not be disappointed. This view is no more righteous than optimism, but it does accord more with general reality. Yet a purely pessimistic view soon gives way to cynicism, and eventually to despair.

How can Christians escape the ditches of optimism and pessimism? By adopting a view we find in the Old Testament, the New Testament, and the early church - hopeful realism.

When I say “realism,” I mean we must not deny what is plainly before us. Recently when I interviewed Rod Dreher about his book, The Benedict Option, he said that many American readers were put off by the bleak outlook of Western culture he presented in 2016. Yet since that time many of his predictions have since come to pass. I don’t deny a melancholy tone in much of Dreher’s writing, but the prophet Jeremiah was accused of the same thing. Like many in Jesus’ day, we often expect deliverance from our trials and soon-coming cultural restoration because we are faithful. But did Jesus expect special treatment because He was the Son of God? Did God spare the apostles who proclaimed the gospel in the early church? Not at all. They faced trials because of their faithfulness and saw little cultural change.

This is not to say that we will face the same kind of persecution they did, nor that cultural victories won’t happen. But it is pretty clear that what was once called the “moral majority” – the mainstream voters in the 1980s and 1990s who desired traditional moral values and would vote accordingly – has evaporated. It’s more accurate to label 21st century America as the “immoral super-majority” who votes for what is best for their pocketbooks, and the devil take the rest. While electing a particular candidate to the presidency can slow the degradation, the hope of Washington D.C. coming to our rescue is laughable. The vast majority of churches in the U.S. and Europe are declining. This is reality as we can see it…but don’t stop reading yet.

There is also hope. When I say “hope” I don’t mean optimistic wishes, but a solid, biblical, grounded expectation that God will accomplish what He promises in His word, and He will use us to do it. Being finite creatures, our vision is limited. We can only see what is before us. While living in the internet age allows us to see much more, our eyes can’t see what lies behind the eternal veil.

As bad as things are right now, those early saints in Palestine had many more reasons to fear. Famine, plague, persecution, and regional genocide were all tangible realities in the first century. Family separation happened more then than we could ever imagine. And that’s not counting the additional risks associated with being a follower of Jesus. Yet these saints could sing after being beaten in prison, they could watch their leaders die and the church still multiplied. How could they do this? Because they understood that God was working through their triumphs and their trials. They knew that though the nations rage, “He who sits in the heavens shall laugh” (Ps. 2:4).

They didn’t deny the reality before them, but they didn’t succumb to it either. They knew the task before them and they practiced Jesus’ warning to be “wise as serpents and harmless as doves.” They were like leaven, which works slowly through an entire lump of dough. The book of Acts sees the church beginning at Jerusalem and spreading, not overwhelming cities, but leavening them. Here a little, there a little. And though there were setbacks, God’s people knew they worshipped the King of kings who will one day see the nations bow before Him. They were realistic about the short-term prospects and hopeful about the eternal promises of God. In other words, they were okay with admitting that they would likely not see the fruit of their labor, but they were confident that fruit was forthcoming.

This is the nature of hopeful realism. It neither denies what is true, nor despairs at what is lacking. It is undergirded by the expectation that the power of the gospel is deeper than what we see and is quietly overturning the world. As Commander Stockdale would later say, “You must never confuse faith that you will prevail in the end—which you can never afford to lose—with the discipline to confront the most brutal facts of your current reality, whatever they might be.”[3]

What does it look like for Christians to be hopeful realists in 2023? It means not putting a gloss on what is possible in our work. We will not eliminate national sins through laws alone, although better laws are helpful and necessary. The cultural situation in the U.S. will likely get worse before it gets better. We won’t see reform in the land until it begins in the church. Nevertheless, God is still at work. Like Jews in Babylon or Christians in ancient Rome, God’s people must continue living day to day, seeking His kingdom and pursuing the good of the city where God placed them.

And then, when we least expect it, God will work. Not usually through concentrated, focused efforts but through the simultaneous work of apparently unconnected saints, participating in a divine plan of which they are unaware. Then, when things look hopeless, the light of God breaks through. If you doubt this, read G. K. Chesterton’s The Everlasting Man, especially the chapter entitled “The Five Deaths of the Faith.” There he outlines five times in the last two-thousand years that the church seemed to have died, but in turn was resurrected.

No matter how bad things get, we must forsake the false hope of optimism. We serve the God of resurrection, who has demonstrated His power to overcome evil, whether individually or nationally, and turn to His glory. We can obey in confidence that He is doing more in us, through us, and sometimes in spite of us than we can imagine. And no power in heaven or earth can thwart Him.

Matthew Carpenter is a husband, father, humanities teacher, and pastor of Trinity Reformed Church in Huntsville, Alabama. He has written for Front Porch Republic, The Imaginative Conservative, New Focus, and others publications.

[1] This presentation was more a fabrication of the national media than an accurate account of both men. 

[2] The late British philosopher Roger Scruton wrote about this in his book, The Uses of Pessimism.

[3] https://www.jimcollins.com/concepts/Stockdale-Concept.html