Rev James Hanson, Vicar, Burpham Church

‘It’s hopeless,’ she said. ‘Hopeless with a capital H and…’ I raised my hand, fingers splayed, and she froze mid‑rant, mouth open, before pushing on. ‘Don’t try to stop me. I’ve given up. There’s no chance of getting a job — any job — let alone a good one. Or one that pays well.’

I smiled at her. She glared back, arms folded, thunder gathering on her brow. ‘What?’ she snapped. ‘What’s so funny?’

‘Nothing,’ I said, still smiling. ‘It’s just… you always live in this glass‑half‑empty world. Nothing good ever lands on your lap, nothing ever goes your way. Do you never stop to count your blessings?’

She rolled her eyes harder than Kevin and Perry combined. ‘Yeah right. As if you’ve ever faced rejection like I have. As if you ever had to work for anything.’

I waited for the rest of the speech I’d heard so many times. And deep down, I knew she wasn’t wrong. Life is harder for her generation in one brutal way. They live inside a social‑media bubble where every move is measured, judged, ranked. One post can make you or break you. Their glass isn’t half‑full or half‑empty—it’s either overflowing or bone‑dry, with nothing in between. There’s no quiet confidence that things might slowly fill up. Only the fear that they won’t.

And the jobs market? Heinous. AI looming like a guillotine over whole industries. Graduate schemes shrinking. Companies cutting costs. For her generation, getting any job—never mind a good one—is a far tougher climb than it ever was for mine. No wonder so many turn to influencing, content creation, start‑ups, or striking out alone. Traditional workplaces haven’t exactly covered themselves in glory when it comes to wellbeing.

But even as she ranted, I could see the truth beneath it: she knew what she wanted. I’d seen that spark in her before—the flash of fire behind the eyes, the steam‑pressure determination that erupts when she decides something matters. When she truly wants to make something happen, she does. No one stops her.

The real challenge was lighting the fuse.

My supposed wisdom, my glass‑half‑full optimism, was just a mask. I don’t have her creativity, her adaptability, her instinct for the shifting world. If AI took over my job tomorrow, I’d probably sink without trace. She, on the other hand, would navigate the new landscape as if she’d been waiting for it. She has the nous to stay ahead, while I sometimes feel like I’m tiptoeing along a fraying tightrope. A glass half‑full is lovely—until the bottom drops out.

So why tell this story? Because most of us know what hopelessness feels like. Some have hit rock bottom. Some live with pain that can’t be spoken aloud. Our young people have forced us to see the mental‑health crisis around us more clearly than any generation before them.

And yet—there is hope.

We have someone who never leaves our side. Someone who knows rejection, suffering, separation, and brokenness in their deepest forms. In Jesus, we have a friend closer than family, one who has walked every human emotion. His other name is HOPE.

At Christmas, we remembered when Hope stepped into the world—light breaking into darkness, beginning and ending, source and destination. I look back only with gratitude for the times he carried me, gave me purpose, identity, forgiveness, and true hope. I also knew that she knew this too.

Blessings, Rev James

Church Office: 01483 825533
www.burphamchurch.org.uk