Too often the American church has relied on a theology of hope that’s rooted in optimism and a narrative of unrelenting forward progress. Such a theology is inadequate to the current moment of unprecedented challenge—from the numerical decline of our congregations to the continued scourge of white supremacy to the existential crisis of global climate change. Granted, many aspects of human existence are getting incrementally better, especially if we take a long view of things. I’ve often quoted Beuchner’s pithy summation of the Christian faith as an affirmation that the worst thing is never the last thing. But that can be cold comfort for someone mired in the worst thing, with no end in sight. After all, Jesus affirmed a reign of God that’s in the here and now, not the sweet by and by.

Meanwhile the culture at large is gravitating to books, movies and television shows that explore dystopian narratives, from The Handmaid’s Tale to the reboot of Blade Runner. Even children’s fiction has gotten into the game, with the apocalypticism of The Hunger Games trilogy and the authoritarian-inflected Harry Potter series. At first glance, the public hunger for this content seems indicative of a collective gloomy mood. But in my conversations with people who love these works, and my own experience with them, I find that people are not wallowing in these bleak narratives. In fact, they seem to flock to them as places to explore the contours of hope amid hopelessness—in fact, to be inspired to faithful and courageous action, even if the outcome seems uncertain.

My project will explore these works of fiction and the fandoms they galvanize. I will mine these dystopian stories, holding them up to the biblical narrative, to help the church articulate a theology of hope that moves beyond triumphalism and inexorable progress into a more durable hope that will not only survive, but thrive in difficult times.