Hope Chest

Not that long ago, a hope chest was a piece of furniture used by an unmarried young woman to store clothing and household items to be used after she got married. Presumably, the chest and its contents represented her hope for the future.

All the good people of Westville ever wanted was a better life. So, they adopted the message machine, the speaking machine, the transmitting machine, the washing machine, the vacuuming machine, the motorcar machine, the flying machine, the viewing machine, the computing machine, and the Westville-wide-web. “Nothing like a labor-saving machine,” the people said. “With the time we save, we can all lead richer, fuller lives.” Nobody could ever say Westville didn’t keep up with all the modern conveniences.

When the “hope chest machine” came out, all of Westville began to use it, even though they weren’t quite sure what it did. Some said it was a vast repository of knowledge. Others said it offered endless entertainment. Still others said it would make everyone’s dreams come true and one day would become the last word in human progress. It didn’t matter that the hope chest machine was very expensive to build or that it absorbed a lot of everyone’s time. It didn’t even matter that it consumed a lot of electricity and water. Its inventors reassured the good people of Westville that it would be “well worth it” in the end.

The hope chest was the latest in a long series of inventions that showed the ingenuity of the good people of Westville. It took words, images, and ideas and used them to remake Westville in ways that made the people long for more. It was intended to be a source of hope for the future.

Yet somehow the hope chest took away more hope than it could give back. Every time someone used it, they lost a little speck of hope. The ultimate machine, intended to provide a better life, exacted a price. Instead of hope being founded on faith and supported by love, the people of Westville discovered that these once transcendent human qualities were gradually being replaced with synthetic versions. What happens to faith, hope, and love without the human spirit? What happens when hope is lost? When love becomes indifference and faith becomes suspicion, hope becomes obsolete or just melts into despair. After all, a person needs something to hope for.

As hope chest technology grew, it did more of the work in Westville. People gladly used it as a slave. Imagine, hope enslaved! Here’s the rub: Enslavement reveals the indolence or impotence of those who enslave. Why lift a finger when your slave can do it? Why hope for anything if everything is provided? Why have hope if the hope chest machine will somehow hope on your behalf?

One year, as Christmastime approached, the good people of Westville noticed they had a big problem. The season of hope didn’t feel very hopeful anymore, even though the hope chest had been recently expanded. It seemed like the good people of Westville needed to take a break from the machine. But they couldn’t. They were utterly dependent on their invention. The hope chest was now so intertwined with every part of their lives that turning it off might destroy Westville. Was this what was meant by hoping against all hope? The people of Westville wondered what it would take to abandon the hope chest once and for all.

Then someone looked out their window at the sun’s rays reflecting off the snow-covered branches of the evergreens and remembered an old story about a mother and child, told in an ancient style. It was the story of how a child of light was born to a humble mother in dark times and modest circumstances. The story told of a kind of love that would change the world, a kind of faith that could move mountains, and a kind of hope that would touch all people. And it promised peace on Earth and goodwill to all. The old story was part of the fabric of the universe, and neither the hope chest nor any other machine could surpass it. It was the memory of that story that gave the good people of Westville the courage to switch off the hope chest machine. At least for a little while. At least at Christmastime. And maybe, someday, the good people of Westville will remember that the true source of hope is not a machine, but what was within them all along.