“In the heart of each person,
hope dwells as the desire and expectation
of good things to come, despite our not knowing
what the future will bring.”
~ Pope Francis, Spes Non Confundit
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A practice I created, patterned after Time magazine’s “Year in Review,” was to write my own version in my journal. Though I began writing in the late ‘90s, at the turn of the millennium, I recapped my experience of the entirety of the 1990s. I’ve since journal-written my years in review, along with parallel decades, always setting time aside close to New Year’s Eve to do this. Indeed and true to the concept of tradition, my Year in the Review is always to be handwritten. Suffice it to say, using this medium, 2024 has been a year that ran on fumes. But it was also the year of finding a vital measure of high ground in this region’s unrelenting housing crisis. Truly, “how precious did that grace appear,” albeit after twenty months of desperate, tireless searching and traipsing. Living in a safe and civilized apartment building is a blessing counted daily; “'tis grace has brought me safe thus far and,” inevitably I believe, “grace will lead me home.” This was a major development during a very, very hardworked year. And now the first quarter of the 21st century begins to give way to the second. In 2025 I’ll mark the 19th year of La Vie Graphite with pencilled gratitude. Being able to continue writing is itself cause for gratitude, along with loving to write, and I look forward to more ideas and adventures. I’m also thankful for the readership, while at the same time aware that my years of essays and imagery have yet to find their most receptive audience. But I carry on. Appropriate to these points, I’ve just serendipitously learned that Pope Francis has authored a year of observances and community action based upon the virtue of hope.
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The quarter-century observances will revolve around being Pilgrims of Hope, both as individuals and more broadly as communities. The basic idea can become constructive practices for anyone of any denomination,”looking to the future with an open spirit, a trusting heart, and far-sighted vision.” Pope Francis titled his document Spes Non Confundit (Hope Does Not Despair), applying words of the Apostle Paul (Romans 5:5). I prefer something closer to the Latin, the more persistent: Hope That Will Not Be Confounded. That’s a challenge to be taken head-on, as there are more than enough reasons to be dissuaded. That’s central to the point; hope is the way to holiness, but the way is rough, often ungratifying, and surely not passive. While steeply pitching my whole self forward into the torrents, I’m convinced the efforts are worthwhile.
Aligning personal renewal and outward generosity with the Resurrection, Pope Francis joined steadfast faith with expectant hope for healing and reconciliation. Not treated superficially, the profoundest expression of hope looks beyond things of this world: When wholeheartedly lived, this buoyancy can transform our vision of the future and produce a foundation upon which our lives can transcend the ephemeral. As you’ve been raised with Christ, wrote Paul, strive toward things above. Lifestaking confidence stands out from fingercrossing tentativeness. Aspiration is a very serious matter that demands all the strength of character I’ve got. Confident faith drives us to rise above our trials and difficulties, inspiring us to continue pressing forward in our vocations. Inward direction and a sense of purpose are benefits in a life that exemplifies hope- all of which bring to mind the vital attribute of mercy. Sincere, entrusting hope not only embraces divine mercy, it also seeks to be outwardly merciful. Rather than being an impossible idealism, the life of faith is entirely practicable. And expandable. Contemplation and action need one another; in fact they want one another.
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“Let us be strongly encouraged to seize the hope that is set before us,” Pope Francis wrote, referencing the Epistle to the Hebrews; “We have this hope, a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul, a hope that enters the inner sanctuary...” Holding fast to hope, actively keeping faith, is essential- all the more amidst the instability of troubled times. Pope Francis observed, “The image of the anchor is eloquent... The storms that buffet us will never prevail, for we are firmly anchored in the hope born of grace, which enables us to live in Christ and to overcome.” When we lose hope, our dignity is impaired. Confident trust inspires me to continue pressing forward and persevering. Profound hope is stronger than disappointments and setbacks- and this needs to be the case, speaking for my humbled self. And thus hope and aspiration barrel through hardships and exhaustion, because they must.
From reflection to application, hope is tied to intention, as pilgrimage is a form of motion through this world, with grace in mind. For many years, I’ve treated the entirety of life as a pilgrimage that comprises countless eras, scenarios, days, and steps. For the jubilee year, Pope Francis recommends the compelling balance of earnestly internalizing hope, along with the physical effort of moving forward. In the example of pilgrimage sojourning, the purpose is to rediscover simplicity, silence, and physical intention in the context of visiting sacred sites. Places of significance take many forms, and there is no set duration for a pilgrimage. My suggestion for those among us who must tirelessly work full-time is to make “working jubilee steps,” such as walking to an available sanctuary. Simplest is best, such as turning off the lit screens and finding a secluded perch. To sanctify (sanctus) is by definition to intentionally set apart something for the pursuit of holiness. On occasional research days in Boston, I’ll set down my projects, and navigate the congested sidewalks to any of numerous shrines and churches I know that are open. The immediate silence always strikes a beautiful contrast away from the city streets. Even the most pedestrian of pilgrimages are responses to the grandest of callings from eternal sources.
1 comment:
I appreciate your writing on hope. It is a view I hadn't considered.
After a bereavement, I decided hope was a cruel companion. Just an empty promise held close. I wrote a one act play about how we process grief and the point was to get the main character to a place of hope. At one workshop, while the play was still in process, the leader asked me where the character was going, how was she going to get there, and I didn't know for her, because I didn't know for me.
The play's been produced twice now and although it still changes (writer's curse) the audience reactions have been the same. The play tells the truth about grief and we feel better being heard. The main character gets to a place of the possibility of hope and that's enough.
I think humans must have a hope imperative lodged in our brains or encoded in our DNA. We can't seem to shake it. And maybe that's good.
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