I have a confession: I’m not a silver lining person. Optimism has never been my default. In my family, there’s an ongoing debate: am I a realist (my take), or a pessimist (my spouse’s)? The truth is, I probably waver between the two. But when someone accuses me of seeing the glass as half empty, I simply reply, “The glass just is…”

Maybe my aversion to optimism comes from years in parish ministry. Any pastor can tell you the sorrow of walking with people through deep grief and crisis. It’s harrowing. It’s heartbreaking. And often, when words failed, my only prayer was, “Jesus, be a balm.”

In those darkest moments, I refused to lean into the toxic positivity that reduces faith to platitudes like “Everything happens for a reason.” Other banned phrases included: “God gained another angel,” “Everything will work out,” and especially, “It could be worse.” Because sometimes, it absolutely gets worse.

Lately, I’ve found myself sinking into existential dread, fueled by living an ocean away from my extended family and waking each day to headlines that feel more surreal than the last.

Between the doom-scrolling and distance, my pessimism about the state of things back home has only grown. And I know I’m not alone.This week, the consumer confidence index fell to its lowest level since 2020, while the Expectations Index, which reflects outlooks on business and the labor market, hit a low not seen since 2011.

There’s reason for the gloom: the stock market just logged its worst single-day plunge since the Covid-19 pandemic, rattling nerves enough to shake even U.S. Treasury Bonds. Economic turmoil aside (and that’s no small aside), there’s plenty more to be alarmed about—far too much to dismiss with a hollow “It’ll all work out.”

Just over 100 days into Trump’s presidency, the fallout from his rapid-fire executive actions is already immense. From trade relations to due process, his whirlwind of extreme policies has left Americans reeling across the political spectrum.

This moment in the country’s history shouldn’t be underestimated or brushed aside. Trump’s falling approval rating suggests I am not alone in this assessment.

While I am tempted to assign one of Dave Tarnowski’s hilariously bleak, “disappointing affirmations” to each remaining day of this presidency (curious how many days are left? Use this ticker!), I know that it would only deepen the gloom I already feel. Still, we can’t soften the truth. 

For students detained for protesting, for migrants swept into detention centers, for federal workers fired en masse, and for judges ignored, the reality is harrowing. I struggle to find words that do justice to the sorrow hanging over our nation, and even more to muster hope for what’s ahead. Call me a pessimist, if you must.

And yet, even here—in this politically fraught, fear-filled moment—I believe Jesus is with us. I’m reminded that on Palm Sunday, as Jesus rode into Jerusalem and the crowds cried out “Hosanna!” pleading for salvation, he wept (Luke 19:41).

While others cheered, the savior of the world wept for the state of the world.

So let us not rush past our sorrow. Let us not bury our grief under hollow platitudes or force hope before we’re ready. 

If all you offer right now are tears, know this: our tears are not a failure of faith but an expression of it. Jesus wept, and so can we.

And no, that doesn’t make Jesus a pessimist! It makes him present. It makes him compassionate.

In our lament, we tell the truth. And in our refusal to look away, we may even find the courage to love the world in this moment, even as we work for what it could become. That, I believe, is hope. 

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Rev. Michelle Wahila is an ordained PCUSA pastor, founder of Ruffled by Grace, and sought-after officiant and retreat leader. She creates heartfelt celebrations and soulful experiences that blend tradition with imagination. Now living in a 19th-century farmhouse in rural France with her family and a menagerie of pets, she enjoys gardening, making jam, and savoring a good cup of coffee.