We humans are wired for the future. As Alexander Pope’s immortal line puts it: ‘hope springs eternal in the human breast’. Which resonates with Ecclesiastes 3:11: God has ‘set eternity in the human heart.’
We long for what we were made for: a world without pain, a reality without injustice, relationships without betrayal, creation without decay. Every protest against suffering is a sign that we know things ought to be better. Hope is the compass needle pointing toward the Kingdom of God.
C.S. Lewis once observed that if we find desires in ourselves that nothing in this world can satisfy, the most logical explanation is that we were made for another world. Hope, then, is homesickness for the Kingdom.
What enables Ukrainians—bombed, displaced, bereaved—to continue believing, rebuilding, resisting, and praying? How does hope survive such devastation?
I heard this week the following testimonies from the wives and children of Ukrainian soldiers who were invited on a retreat in Cluj, Romania. They were led in devotionals together, received specific individual prayer, painted and created collages with their dreams, went out for ice cream and a picnic … and have returned home with new hope.
Plant flowers
Svetlana (63) reported: “I work as the head of department at the regional hospital in Sumy (a town 20 km from the Russian border). Before coming to Romania, I was completely exhausted—mentally, emotionally, and physically (just the simple fact of living with the fear of “what if” they invade, and having two bags ready in case we are evacuated), plus the stress from work and health issues. I reached the point where I had nothing left to give. I knew my team needed my moral support, but I just couldn’t anymore… Here, I recharged. I received the encouragement that God has not forgotten us! I’m going back ready to encourage my family and medical team. I’m now prepared to open the new hospital lab, even under wartime conditions.”
Yevhenia (42): “This is the first time I’ve left Ukraine. Seeing so much beauty and peace around me was like a balm for my soul. Hearing the story of Naomi from the Bible, who lost everything but was blessed by God with a new future, gave me new hope for myself and my family. I’m going home and I want to plant flowers everywhere so that my eyes can see that beauty exists even beyond war.”
Yaroslava (16): “For me, it was surprising to see fathers walking with their children. You don’t see that in Ukraine, especially now, when the men are at war or hiding to avoid being drafted—but even before the war, it wasn’t common. I wish it would be like that in our country too.”
Marina (28): “Three weeks after the war began, I got married. My husband finished university and now he has been drafted. We have a one-and-a-half-year-old daughter. Many times, it’s hard for me, but this time here helped me understand how to draw closer to God. I return home encouraged and with new strength!”
Erika (47): “When the war started, my husband and I decided we would stay and serve here as a family. We are members of a Pentecostal church. It’s very difficult to pray and believe that God is orchestrating everything and is in control—when every day you only hear bad news and see darkness all around—you feel so powerless. And like Naomi, I no longer saw God in my life… When I came here, I had only one desire: for God to speak to me personally, because at home it’s hard to hear Him among sirens, sleepless nights, and worries… And He spoke to me! I’m going back at peace and with new hope!”
Hope is not passive. It does not sit back and wait for better days. True hope mobilizes action. It inspires resistance against evil, perseverance in hardship, and compassion toward others. It tells us: “It’s not over yet.” In times of war, oppression, or ecological crisis, hope is what keeps people working, praying, building, and dreaming.
Hope is the miracle that keeps the soul alive when everything else seems lost. And today, more than ever, Ukraine needs this miracle. As the war drags on, the temptation to despair is real. Families are torn apart. Cities are scarred. Futures are uncertain. And yet Ukrainians continue to rise, clear rubble, teach their children, share bread, sing hymns. This is hope in action—the heartbeat of a nation refusing to be extinguished.
Worth doing
Hope is not the same as optimism. Optimism expects things to go well. Hope holds on even when they do not. It is not dependent on circumstances. While it sees reality clearly, hope chooses to trust anyway.
Hope inspires resistance to evil, perseverance in hardship and compassion toward others. It tells us, “It’s not over yet.”
Hope understands that in the end, God’s purposes will be worked out – that everything will be alright, and that if it’s not alright, it’s not yet the end.
Vaclav Havel, the Czech dissident who spent years in a communist prison, defined hope not as the belief that things will turn out well, but as the conviction that something is worth doing no matter how it turns out. This kind of hope is prophetic, because it aligns us with God’s purposes even when we cannot yet see the fruit.
Ukrainian historian Yaroslav Hrytsak, whom I interview this evening on this month’s Schuman Talk, writes that the task of rebuilding Ukraine into a nation with sustainable growth is “challenging—nearly impossible—but worth doing.”
Durable, soul-deep hope is a gift from God.
Paul prays in Romans 15:13:
“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in Him,
so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.”
Till next week,
