“The hunger that has hope for its satisfaction does not kill.”
This proverb from Eastern Nigeria is typically employed to counsel hope and endurance to the rural farmer who, while waiting for the next harvest, might run out of food and must ration what little he has in the interim. It reminds him that a time will come when, once again, he can eat his fill of yams, cassava, or whatever crop he may have put into the soil during the planting season.
On a deeper level, the proverb goes beyond mere sustenance. It is about the kind of hunger that keeps a person alive—a longing that is carried by hope. It highlights that when someone is yearning for something—whether it is food, success, or meaning—what keeps them going is the belief that what they long for will eventually be satisfied. If there’s hope, then hunger, be it physical or emotional, becomes bearable. Hope turns hunger into strength rather than despair. Waiting hungry becomes motivational rather than destructive.
Biblical examples of this sort abound: Abraham and Sarah waited for 25 years for God’s promise to have a son; Joseph waited for years and endured slavery before he was elevated to a position of power; the Israelites waited 40 years in the wilderness before entering the promised land; Hannah waited for many years before conceiving a child… All these examples “waited on the Lord” and saw their hunger satisfied.
Devoid of Christian hope, the ordinary experience of waiting can provoke uncertainty—even anxiety. The unknown, with its multiple permutations, challenges the heart and brings fear: “What if my hope is in vain?” “Why should I hope?” “What if…?”
Advent, the time of waiting and preparation for the Nativity of Our Lord, invites us to take up an active posture of faith. Hope does not thrive in inertia, nor does it encourage idleness. It waits differently! It moves, it acts, it prepares. Isaiah’s prophecy calls us to activity: “In the wilderness prepare the way of the LORD! Make straight in the wasteland a highway for our God!” (Is 40). That call reaches out to us today. Maybe your way of waiting differently is a spiritual retreat, a good confession, or even a personal resolution. Whatever it is, the message remains the same: “Prepare!”
The experience of waiting can be profound. Biblical examples have a common character of keeping their eyes on the Lord while they waited and hungered. Waiting, when lived with hope, invites us into a sacred space of attentiveness, listening for God as one does for a whisper in a quiet room. Psalm 130 expresses this: “I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and I hope for His word.” Hope, in this sense, becomes a form of prayer that draws us into a deeper relationship with God.
Hope goes beyond mere optimism. Optimism depends on the condition that circumstances turn out well. Christian hope, however, finds its source in God’s faithfulness, which is constant, even in the worst situations. True hope does not deny pain or uncertainty; rather, it holds them before God. Reminiscent of Ignatian indifference, hope helps us find God in all things: in joy and sorrow, health and sickness, abundance and lack. Waiting does not weaken true hope: it rather sharpens it and teaches it to hold on and to trust even more deeply.
In a world that values instant answers, Advent slows us down. It teaches us to wait and to find God labouring in silence, in the hidden places where hope takes root. When we truly learn to find God in the ordinary days, quiet moments, and in our earnest longings, hope becomes a fertile space of encounter. Hope becomes our motivation to survive the “hunger” that cannot kill us. Hope becomes life itself.
