Hope Does Not DisappointRead Time 9 min

Like a butterfly returning to its favorite flower, my soul has been hovering over the wonder and meaning of hope. I am trying to rise above the seeming hopelessness of this moment in history, to discover a path to walk into this Jubilee Year of Hope. So, beyond the trite greeting, “Hope to see you again!” or “Hope your day goes well!” I prayed to understand the hope that does not disappoint, the hope that Abraham and the Prophets lived into as they obeyed the voice of God.

I have discovered that hope is forged in suffering. It cannot see what lies ahead, but only weeps in the moments of loss and human depletion. We have seen it on the faces of people grasping for food in Gaza. We saw it on people displaced by deportation and watched it in the grieving parents whose children were washed away by the raging Guadalupe River. There is something about suffering that becomes the seedbed of grace drawing us nearer to the heart of God.

Pope Francis was clear “Everyone knows what it is to hope. In the heart of each person, hope dwells as the desire and expectation of good things to come.” Francis continues, “Christian hope does not deceive or disappoint because it is grounded in the certainty that nothing and no one may ever separate us from God’s love.” (Spes non Confundit) For without being conscious of the fact, hope has everything to do with eternity and with the embrace of the divine. The Church helps us reach back to remember models of hope — like the patriarch, Abraham.

Abraham’s faith was remarkable for it was grounded in obedience to God, whose plan engaged the beginning of all of salvation history. Abraham could not yet see the unfolding of the plan of God, but he walked by faith in the realization of what he hoped for. By faith he sojourned to a foreign country. Through faith Sarah conceived a son in their old age. From Sarah and Abraham came Isaac, Jacob, Joseph and the lineage of patriarchs laying the ground for Christ, the Messiah. They all died holding a piece of the salvific puzzle, hoping.

I have come to realize that hope also involves preparation: a kind of certitude that there is a horizon that lies beyond suffering. Hope has everything to do with spiritual preparation for the “now and at the hour of our death” moment, when we leave everything behind and reach toward the Kingdom of God that the Father is pleased to give to us. Hope involves selling what weighs us down and investing in the inexhaustible treasure in heaven that cannot be destroyed by evil. Hope involves knowing where our treasure is. It involves anticipation for the coming of the Son of Man.

Hope involves love.

When my friend and her husband gave birth to a child who would never walk or talk or feed herself, when the realization of her every need usurped each waking hour, they rose to trust in a God who allowed their daughter to become a magnet of love. And when she died at 8, her parents established a memory journey by galvanizing a community to build a playground where children handicapped in body could play, too. Their dream has touched communities all over the country. For my friend, hope was born out of suffering and love.

Jesus fleshes out his teaching through parables of readiness and vigilance. While we live our lives here upon the earth, he asks us to wear our jogging shoes, our hearts filled with light awaiting the master’s return. Even if the master comes in the middle of the night, we are to be ready to receive him, not caught in lethargy or ennui. These are readings that we normally would hear at the end of the liturgical year — but now they are in the heart of summer: They are warnings that are sobering. Clear warnings that Christ can come at any time to judge the world. He can come at any time to bring us home through death. Beyond the finality of it all, I like to think that Christ comes to us in the Eucharist each week, each day, giving us a foretaste of the heavenly Jerusalem.

Peter wonders: “Are these parables meant for us?” The danger with the question is the temptation to disassociate from the lessons of the parable, to think the Word of God is meant for someone else. Jesus does not answer Peter directly but tells another parable. Peter … who is the faithful servant? Who is the one who awaits the master’s return? Who is it that God will set over his flock to distribute the food, to see to their well-being? Who is it that spends his time in preparation for the Master to return, even though he does not know when? Peter — it is you! You are that faithful servant. And so are we, the followers of Jesus Christ!

We, too, must have our jogging shoes on, not giving up the struggle to be hopeful disciples faithful to what we know and yet cannot see.

In the end, I asked myself if I have discovered the meaning of hope. Admittedly, I am plunged more and more into mystery. But in the real existential alleyways of life, I have discovered it on the faces of people who have suffered and by their holy preparation have emerged, by the grace of God, radiant and ready to embrace the Kingdom that the Father is pleased to give.