(Editor’s Note: What does it take to remain faithful when the change we long for is slow, uncertain, or may never come in our lifetime? Throughout our four-part “Practicing Moral Courage” series, Dr. Terence Lester and Dr. Emiola Oriola Jr. have explored different dimensions of a courageous Christian life. In Part 1, “The Courage to Be Formed: Why Moral Courage Matters Now”, Lester examined how moral courage is cultivated in a culture shaped by fear and othering. In Part 2, “The Courage to Stay Human,” Oriola explored how compassion, hospitality, and truth can interrupt our assumptions and help us see one another more fully. In Part 3, “The Courage to Stand With,” Lester challenged us to move beyond charity toward justice, advocacy, and solidarity. Now, in this final installment, Oriola asks what happens when we have done all we can, and the work remains unfinished. Drawing on Scripture, he explores the difference between hope and optimism, the practices that sustain us through disappointment, and what it means to remain faithful without being able to control the outcome.)
We don’t like unfinished stories. Cliffhangers may entertain us in movies or books, but there is a particular kind of exhaustion that comes from waiting for something we believe should have happened by now.
When we’ve waited, done all we can do, but the diagnosis still isn’t resolved, the relationship isn’t restored, the healing hasn’t come, the injustice isn’t corrected, and the prayer hasn’t been answered, waiting eventually stops feeling like patience and starts feeling like a test.
When prayers begin to feel like nonstop boomerangs hurling back to us, something slowly begins to happen in us. We begin to become cynical, controlling, and numb. Sometimes, we even perform hope, because we’re too afraid to admit we’re disappointed.
When Hope Is Deferred
What does deferred hope do to a person? Thankfully, the Scriptures are less sentimental about this than we are sometimes. The beginning of Proverbs 13:12 tells us that
“Hope deferred makes the heart sick…”
The author doesn’t ask us to romanticize the waiting or pretend disappointment doesn’t hurt. There are seasons when we believe God is faithful and still feel disappointed. We can long for justice and grow tired of having to hope for it. This is especially highlighted in the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew 5:6.
Jesus calls those who are still hungry and thirsty for righteousness “blessed,” before they are filled. Hunger hasn’t disappeared, injustice hasn’t been resolved, and the kingdom has not arrived in its fullness. Yet, Jesus calls people who continue in this path of wanting and waiting “blessed.” Why?
They do not respond to deferred hope with optimism that says, “It will probably work out,” or despair that says, “It won’t, so why bother?” Instead, they take that gnawing ache in their stomach and throat and hold onto a far stranger yet honest biblical truth:
“I don’t know when or how this will be fulfilled, but I won’t allow absence to determine who I become.”
Living faithfully for the long haul is less about trying to control the outcomes. It begins by acknowledging that this is not yet what it should be without sanitizing or over-spiritualizing our feelings about it. Then, with the mustard seed of faith we have left, we choose again to continue to hunger and thirst for what is good without allowing the delay to deform us. And that takes courage.
Faithfulness in the Waiting
It is neither pretty nor easy, but it is tested and proven, not only by the life of Jesus, but in the stories of two biblical figures whose lives embody what it means to remain.
Luke 2 highlights the peculiar yet steadfast lives of Simeon and Anna. The former, a righteous and devout man who was waiting for the promised consolation of Israel, the Messiah. And the latter, an elderly widow who had been married for seven years before her husband died, and who remained a widow, waiting for the redemption of Jerusalem.
While many read their stories and leave satisfied by the fact that both got to see the Messiah, we often miss out on the subtle fact that their faith never atrophied all of those years. While they didn’t know when the Messiah would show up, they remained hopeful, expectant, and, most importantly, capable of spotting, engaging, and embracing what their heart once grew sick of hoping for.
As their hearts wanted and waited over the years, they planted their lives in environments that could refresh their hearts before it got too brittle because of disappointment. They had practices and people built into their lives to help them retain an expectant posture. They remained connected to the temple, fasted, prayed, worshiped, grieved, and embedded themselves in community doing life with other faith-filled people. They kept showing up, bringing their hunger and thirst to the right place.
While none of these practices made God move faster, they helped Simeon and Anna remain faithful as they waited. They didn’t manufacture the promise. They cultivated the kind of lives that could recognize it when it arrived.
But not everyone gets to see what they have been praying for. Hebrews 11:39, near the end of what is often called the “hall of faith,” reminds us that even those commended for their faith did not receive everything they had been promised:
“And all these, though commended through their faith, did not receive what was promised.”
Mic drop.
Some people remain faithful, hungry, thirsty for what is good, and never see the thing they hoped for. Which means, the fulfillment of the promise cannot be the ultimate measure of the faithfulness of the person who waited for it.
The person who had faith, and whose mother still died. The person whose marriage doesn’t reconcile. The advocate for justice who never got to see justice roll down like waters in their generation. The parent who never sees their child return. The person who spends decades building something and never sees its fruit.
The Courage to Remain
To remain isn’t simply to push through, refuse to quit, dig deeper, or try harder. It is about staying present no matter what. It isn’t passive resignation, “whatever will be will be.” Nor is it spiritual manipulation, “if I pray, attend, and believe hard enough, I can force the outcome.” It is something more subversive: continuing with God when you cannot control what comes next.
Proverbs 13:12 gave us the honest reality at the beginning: hope deferred can make the heart sick. But it also gives us another image:
“…a desire fulfilled is a tree of life.”
Perhaps that is part of what we are being formed for, not simply to get what we want, but to become people whose lives are rooted deeply enough in God that we can endure the space between desire and fulfillment.
Psalm 1 gives us another picture: a tree planted by streams of water, yielding fruit in its season, its leaves not withering. Notice the language: in its season.
The tree does not produce fruit because it controls the weather. It does not panic because winter has come. It remains planted, receiving what it needs, and bears fruit when its season comes. The fruit belongs to the Lord of the harvest. The outcome belongs to the Beginning and the End. The power belongs to God. And our faith belongs to the Author and Finisher of it.
We may not control when the promise comes. We may not live long enough to see everything we hoped for. We may never know why some prayers seem to take so long, but we can remain. We can keep hungering, praying, showing up, loving, telling the truth, and doing what is ours to do. Not because we know exactly how the story will end, but because we know who holds the story.
The courage to remain is the courage to keep becoming faithful people in the space between promise and fulfillment. And maybe that is the long work of hope: not learning to stop wanting but learning to remain with the One we trust while we wait for what we cannot yet see.
Dr. Emiola Oriola Jr. is a scholar-practitioner, educator, and storyteller whose work explores belonging, dialogue, and what it means to remain human in a fractured world. His scholarship and leadership focus on global citizenship, experiential learning, cross-cultural engagement, and organizational culture, helping people and institutions cultivate deeper forms of connection and responsibility. He holds a Doctorate in Education from the University of Pittsburgh, where his research examined communal dialogue, out-of-school learning, and holistic human development.
Professionally, Dr. Oriola has led initiatives centered on dialogue and belonging, including serving as the inaugural leader of the Office of Interfaith Dialogue and Engagement and the Office of Inclusion and Belonging at the University of Pittsburgh. He has also served in executive leadership at Vibrant Pittsburgh and currently serves on the boards of the World Affairs Council of Pittsburgh and ARYSE, supporting global engagement, refugee support, and intercultural learning. Through teaching, immersive learning experiences, and public scholarship, he helps people and organizations navigate questions of identity, justice, and community with greater compassion and humanity.
