I was born in Swansea and the sea and its closeness to our family home played a very important part in my family life right up until I left Swansea in 1987 to go to Nottingham to study at university. Swansea Bay is like a great spoon of water filled to the brim. At high tide, especially in September, you could walk along the seafront and the waves would be gently lapping up against the sea wall. At low tide, you can literally walk for a mile before reaching the sea. The range is the second largest in the world – 10.4m – and this means that the bay is an exceptional place for wildlife and birds.
You may be wondering about why I am talking about the sea rather than about hope? One of the things I learned very young was that the sea could be a good servant but a demanding master. I have talked about the beauty of the bay and the sea lapping against the sea wall. But one bit of wind and the whole scene changes. I remember the day of my dad’s funeral. It was windy and wet and afterwards, when all was done, I went for a walk along that same seafront and was bashed by the waves crashing over the sea wall. I was drenched from head to toe, but that evening walk alone by the side of the sea wall was a precious time, as I remembered all that my father was to me and commended him to God. It was as if the waves took my prayers to the heavens and the wind and rain enveloped me in grace.
Thinking about these contrasts takes me to the first bit of scripture that I want to share with you today. We heard it as a gospel a few weeks ago, so let’s listen to it again and then reflect on it as our springboard to think about hope.
On that day, when evening had come, he said to them, “Let us go across to the other side.” And leaving the crowd, they took him with them in the boat, just as he was. And other boats were with him. And a great windstorm arose, and the waves were breaking into the boat, so that the boat was already filling. But he was in the stern, asleep on the cushion. And they woke him and said to him, “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?” And he awoke and rebuked the wind and said to the sea, “Peace! Be still!” And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm. He said to them, “Why are you so afraid? Have you still no faith?” And they were filled with great awe and said to one another, “Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?” (Mark 4:35-41)
One of the beautiful things about this Gospel is that we immediately enter into the intimacy between Jesus and his disciples. It is all the more important because we know who Jesus is and that he displays in himself a frontier between the created and the uncreated, the human and the divine. There is a normality in this scene; fishermen crossing from one side of the Sea of Galilee to the other in a boat. On the crossing, a storm blows up and these fishermen with all their years of experience begin to fear for their lives. What they are confronted with is death and they wake Jesus (who is asleep in the stern of the boat with his head on a cushion) who seems oblivious to the danger they were all facing.
What the disciples were experiencing was a moment when we feel that there is no hope. This moment is when we think but there is nothing more that can be done from a human point of view. We feel powerless and all of us have been there. Our human makeup hates this place because we love to feel in control, competent and sufficient. We will do all that we can to avoid this place of powerlessness, but we know that it will come at certain points in our lives because it is a part of being human.
When we have to place ourselves in the hands of another, we touch this raw human feeling. For example, when we are going into hospital for an operation, or when we climb aboard an aircraft, we rely on the skills of surgeons and pilots to bring us through safely to the other side, the recovery room and ward, or our destination. It is at this moment, only turning to the divine raises us up above our humanity and gives us hope. That is why the disciples, the fisherman, in their fear and despair turn to Jesus.
Jesus does not leave his disciples in their panic but immediately awakens and deals with the situation. What is interesting is that he does not pray to the Father for his intervention but speaks with a sovereign authority: he commands the wind and the sea “Peace! Be still!” The word he uses for rebuke is the same as the word he has already used to silence an unclean spirit in the synagogue at Capernaum. This suggests that demonic powers somehow instigated the storm that threatens to deflect him and his disciples from their mission. Jesus exorcises the hostile forces of nature with the same authority with which he frees human beings from possession. His word brings about a great calm to the situation; the greatness of the calm equalling (or even exceeding) the greatness of the storm.
In a strange way, this Gospel confronts us with a challenge. If we choose to ignore our limitations and the uncomfortable truths about human existence, we are doomed to live in fear. Fear is the opposite of hope, and it paralyses us. It is only by raising ourselves from what is contingent and human and focusing on what is divine and eternal, but the darkness of fear can be dispelled, and we can experience freedom and life. Jesus teaches us, just as he teaches the disciples, to have faith in him and faith in his promises. This is why in the world of today with all its many challenges, the Holy Father calls us to be Pilgrims of Hope in the Jubilee Year.
From the outset, we must recognise that faith and hope are intimately connected virtues. Indeed, faith is the basis for hope, and the hope cannot exist without faith. In his 2007 encyclical Spe salvi, Pope Benedict XVI spoke of “the present-day crisis of faith which is essentially a crisis of Christian hope” (§17). In other words, the current loss of faith is also a loss of hope. At the same time, it is important to recognise that St Paul gives us three theological virtues for a reason; so while faith and hope may be related, we know they are not the same thing (see 1 Cor 13:13).
When it comes to defining hope, it is important to distinguish between hope as a desire and hope as a theological virtue. As human beings, we talk all the time about hoping for this or that outcome to a situation in life, for example better weather, a speedy recovery from illness, a change in circumstances. Hope in this basic sense is not a virtue, it is a desire.
Theological hope transcends the passions and is transformed into a virtue; it now shines forth as an essential component in the ennobling and perfecting of human nature, enabling the person to transcend the world in which we live. The Catechism of the Catholic Church defines it this way:
Hope is the theological virtue by which we desire the kingdom of heaven and eternal life as our happiness, placing our trust in Christ's promises and relying not on our own strength, but on the help of the grace of the Holy Spirit. (CCC§1817)
Properly understood, Christian hope is a gift from God which fosters within us a deep and appropriate desire for him and animates us on our journey towards him.
I like to think of hope as Confident Expectation – hope is directed to a future good which is hard, but not impossible to attain. It is the elevation of the will, made possible by grace, by which we expect eternal life and means to attain it, confident in the supportive love of God.
The Catechism in §1817 quotes from the letter to the Hebrews which says, Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who promised is faithful. (Heb 10:23). This is more than a vague wish of something that is unlikely or could possibly go either way. This is more than a “maybe God will save us.” Rather it is robust because the one who has promised this future is trustworthy, true and able to bring it about. Its robustness is because true hope is a theological virtue; it is infused into the soul of the believer by God himself and is a gift with which we can cooperate in order to grow in holiness.
The virtue of hope has God for its proper object. St Thomas Aquinas makes it very clear that eternal happiness with God is the proper and true object and purpose of hope: The hope of which we now speak attains God by leaning on his help….[and] the good which we ought to hope for from God properly and chiefly is the infinite good…For we should hope from him nothing less than himself….Therefore the proper and principle object of hope is eternal happiness (ST II,IIae, 17.2).
Hope is thus an integral part of the Christian life, because without hope we are doomed to falter and fail in our pilgrim journey.
But how is this hope different from faith? Once again, we must remember that faith and hope are deeply interwoven, yet they are not identical. Whereas faith draws us to the truth of God, it is hope which propels us towards his goodness. Christian hope is rooted in the recognition that our wills require healing no less than our intellects. If faith is a divine blood transfusion for our intellect, then hope is the same for our will. Without hope, our faith risks becoming sterile, inanimate, lifeless, and discouraged. Faith without hope is an exposed and endangered faith. Indeed, faith without hope is exactly the kind of lifeless faith which St James warns about: “faith by itself, if it does not have works, is dead” (Jas 2:17).
When our faith is devoid of hope, we inevitably slide into presumption or despair, and eventually we lose our faith altogether. Hope is therefore essential for sustaining the life of the Christian, empowering us to allow God to guide us through difficulties. Faith is the bedrock of the theological virtues; but it is hope which is the “sure and steadfast anchor of the soul” (Heb 6:19).
Hope also pertains to what we do not yet fully see or possess. Though hope is a confident expectation it is not an absolute now. St Paul writes of hope like this: For in this hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience. (Rom 8:24-25). In other words, if I have lost my keys and say, “I hope to find my keys!” as soon as I find them then hope disappears. I do not hope for what I have, my hope is a promise for something that I will possess because God has promised it.
The gift of hope dispels fear. If we return to our reflections on the Gospel of the storm, we can see that Jesus’ rebuke of the elements is then directed at the disciples: “Why are you so afraid? Have you still no faith?” Jesus was forming a band of followers, chosen by him, who were to be confident in their mission on earth; to bring the peace and authority of the Kingdom into all the troubles of humanity. Is it any wonder then that despite their lack of faith, they were filled with great awe when the storm was calmed. The abject terror brought about by the forces of nature has been replaced by a reverent fear of the presence of God, the God who created and calms the storm. Jesus’ subduing of the sea is the manifestation of his divine authority which raises the question “Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?” Faith in him giving rise to a lasting hope.
The theme for the Jubilee Year is Pilgrims of Hope. We are a pilgrim people, the baptised are constantly moving across the face of the earth to proclaim the wonders of God and our hope in his promises. We can turn to the scriptures and look at three characters who can help us in growing in hope: Abraham (our father in faith), Mary Magdalene (the Apostle to the Apostles) and two characters who we know so well, the Emmaus Two.
Abraham
Now the Lord said to Abram, “Go from your country and your kindred and your father’s house to the land that I will show you. And I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you and make your name great, so that you will be a blessing. I will bless those who bless you, and him who dishonours you I will curse, and in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed.” (Gen 12:1-3)
After these things the word of the Lord came to Abram in a vision: “Fear not, Abram, I am your shield; your reward shall be very great.” But Abram said, “O Lord God, what will you give me, for I continue childless, and the heir of my house is Eliezer of Damascus?” And Abram said, “Behold, you have given me no offspring, and a member of my household will be my heir.” And behold, the word of the Lord came to him: “This man shall not be your heir; your very own son shall be your heir.” And he brought him outside and said, “Look toward heaven, and number the stars, if you are able to number them.” Then he said to him, “So shall your offspring be.” And he believed the Lord, and he counted it to him as righteousness. (Gen 15:1-6)
Abraham sets out on his journey and agrees to leave his land and become an outsider. Yet he is to be a great nation and all the peoples of the world will be blessed by him. But there is a problem: he has no son, and it seems that Sarah was unable to conceive. Yet, Abraham believed, and his faith opened up a hope that seemed irrational, but faith led him beyond human reason to hope in the promises of God.
Abraham laments with the Lord, saying “O Lord God, what will you give me, for I continue childless, and the heir of my house is Eliezer of Damascus?” Eliezer was the steward of Abraham’s household and would inherit if Abraham died childless. Abraham continued, “Behold, you have given me no offspring, and a member of my household will be my heir.”
Yet again, the Lord promises Abraham that his heir will be his own son and the number of his offspring will be as great as the stars of the heavens. Abraham again believed in the word of God and his promise, and a new horizon of hope opened up in his heart.
This scene takes place at night; outside it is dark, but also in the heart of Abraham there is the darkness of disappointment, discouragement, the difficulty of continuing to hope for something he believes is impossible. By this point the Patriarch is elderly, and it seems that there is not much time left for a son and it will be a servant who will inherit everything. There is a sense of weariness in Abraham; he feels alone, old and tired. How can he continue to trust? And yet this lament of his is a form of faith, it is a prayer.
Prayer opens us up to the action of God and the encounter changes us, our perceptions and our outlook. Faith is not just a silence that accepts everything without question just as hope is not certainty that shelters us from questioning and perplexity. Both are struggles with God and if we stick with the struggle, we gain a new panorama on the circumstances in which we find ourselves.
The response of the Lord is unchanging: he continues to repeat what he had already said and does not offer reassurances to Abraham. He reaffirms that Abraham will have a son who will be his heir, not any servant and not Eliezer.
The giving of the sign is important. God brings Abraham outside of the tent to show him the heavens. He expands that human horizon and shows the great expanse of the cosmos. What were stars to everyone else in the world, at that moment, became physical signs of God’s promise to Abraham. To hope, we must look with the eyes of faith and trust in the word of God. In this way, we can see Abraham as a man of faith, yes, our father in faith, but also a man of hope who trusted in the promises made to him by God.
Mary Magdalene
Now on the first day of the week Mary Magdalene came to the tomb early, while it was still dark, and saw that the stone had been taken away from the tomb. So she ran and went to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved, and said to them, “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.”
But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb, and as she wept she stooped to look into the tomb. And she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had laid, one at the head and one at the feet. They said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping?” She said to them, “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.” Having said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing, but she did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you seeking?” Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.” Jesus said to her, “Mary.” She turned and said to him in Aramaic, “Rabboni!” (which means Teacher). Jesus said to her, “Do not cling to me, for I have not yet ascended to the Father; but go to my brothers and say to them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’” Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, “I have seen the Lord”—and that he had said these things to her. (John 20:1-2, 11-18)
On the day of the death of Jesus, there had not been enough time to complete the initial funeral rites. For this reason, on that sorrow-filled dawn, the women went to Jesus’ tomb with aromatic oils. The first to arrive was Mary Magdalene. She was one of the disciples who had accompanied Jesus from Galilee, putting herself at the service of the Church. Her walk to the sepulchre echoes the fidelity of so many who mourn the loss of someone they loved. The most authentic bonds are not broken even in death: we continue loving even through the death of a loved one separates us.
The Gospel describes the person of Mary Magdalene beautifully. After her arrival at the sepulchre and discovering the open tomb empty, she returns to the Apostles’ hiding place. She tells them that the stone has been removed from the entrance to the sepulchre, and her first hypothesis is the simplest that one could formulate: someone must have stolen Jesus’ body. Thus, the first announcement that Mary makes is not the one of the Resurrection, but of a theft perpetrated by persons unknown while all Jerusalem slept.
The Gospel then tells of Mary Magdalene’s second visit to Jesus’ sepulchre. Why did she return? I believe that she was not convinced by the idea of someone stealing Jesus’ body. In many ways, we see Mary suffering twice: first for the death of Jesus, and then for the inexplicable disappearance of his body.
It is as she is stooping near the tomb, her eyes filled with tears, that God surprises her in the most unexpected way. The gospel writer stresses how she is does not see what is in front of her. She does not seem to comprehend she is speaking with angels, and she does not become suspicious even when she sees the man behind her, whom she believes is the custodian of the garden. Instead, she her epiphany comes when she is finally called by her name: “Mary!” (v. 16).
This appearance, the first appearance of the risen Christ, is very personal; personal to Mary but in fact personal to each one of us when we encounter the Lord in faith that leads us to hope. To think that there is someone who knows us, who sees our suffering and disappointment, who is moved with us and calls us by our name.
And Jesus calls her: “Mary!”: the transformation of her life, the transformation destined to change and reorientate the life of every man and every woman begins with a name which echoes in the garden of the empty sepulchre. The Gospel describes Mary’s happiness. Jesus’ Resurrection is not a joy which is measured, but an abundant joy that transforms sorrow.
Mary would like to embrace her Lord, but he is already oriented towards his heavenly Father, whereas she is sent to carry the news to the disciples. And so that woman, who, before encountering Jesus, had been at the mercy of evil (cf. Lk 8:2) now becomes the Apostle of the new and greatest hope, handing on what she had experienced. The Apostola Apostolorum – the apostle to the apostles. Her hope is rooted in that encounter with the risen Christ, and that encounter which changes everything, begins with her name; it is personal.
She teaches us that in times of woe and in times of abandonment we must turn to the risen Christ who calls us by our name, he knows us by name; he looks at us; he waits for us; he forgives us; he is patient with us. Each of us experiences this. Jesus is not one who adapts to the world, but one who transforms the world in the mystery of the Resurrection. And this is our hope; “But our citizenship is in heaven, and from it we await a Saviour, the Lord Jesus Christ, who will transform our lowly body to be like his glorious body, by the power that enables him even to subject all things to himself. (Phil. 3:20-21)
That very day two of them were going to a village named Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem, and they were talking with each other about all these things that had happened. While they were talking and discussing together, Jesus himself drew near and went with them. But their eyes were kept from recognising him. And he said to them, “What is this conversation that you are having with each other as you walk?” And they stood still, looking sad. Then one of them, named Cleopas, answered him, “Are you the only visitor to Jerusalem who does not know the things that have happened there in these days?” And he said to them, “What things?” And they said to him, “Concerning Jesus of Nazareth, a man who was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people, and how our chief priests and rulers delivered him up to be condemned to death, and crucified him. But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel. Yes, and besides all this, it is now the third day since these things happened. Moreover, some women of our company amazed us. They were at the tomb early in the morning, and when they did not find his body, they came back saying that they had even seen a vision of angels, who said that he was alive. Some of those who were with us went to the tomb and found it just as the women had said, but him they did not see.” And he said to them, “O foolish ones, and slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have spoken! Was it not necessary that the Christ should suffer these things and enter into his glory?” And beginning with Moses and all the Prophets, he interpreted to them in all the Scriptures the things concerning himself.
So they drew near to the village to which they were going. He acted as if he were going farther, but they urged him strongly, saying, “Stay with us, for it is toward evening and the day is now far spent.” So he went in to stay with them. When he was at table with them, he took the bread and blessed and broke it and gave it to them. And their eyes were opened, and they recognised him. And he vanished from their sight. They said to each other, “Did not our hearts burn within us while he talked to us on the road, while he opened to us the Scriptures?” And they rose that same hour and returned to Jerusalem. And they found the eleven and those who were with them gathered together, saying, “The Lord has risen indeed, and has appeared to Simon!” Then they told what had happened on the road, and how he was known to them in the breaking of the bread. (Luke 24:13-35)
The Emmaus story is one which we know well. We can well imagine the scene with these two men walking away from Jerusalem, disappointed, sad, convinced that they are leaving behind them the bitterness of an event which ended in disaster. Before these recent days, they had been full of enthusiasm, convinced that change was on the way. Jesus had been hailed as a King entering his own city and the hopes of the whole people were high. Yet it all came crumbling down with the crucifixion and his burial. The two disciples had been nurturing a uniquely human hope which was now falling to pieces.
So on that morning of the first day of the week, whilst the disciples were in hiding, and the women were on their way to the tomb, these two walk away from Jerusalem, walk away from it all; all their hopes had been dashed.
Jesus’ encounter with those two disciples appears to be completely by accident, but as we know, there are no accidents with God’s plan. It appears to be one of those chance meetings that happen in life. The two disciples are walking, almost arguing with each other about the recent events, and a stranger comes up alongside them. It is Jesus, but their eyes are not able to recognise him.
First, he asks and listens. God is not an intrusive God. Even though he knows the reason for the disappointment of those two men, he gives them time to be able to fathom the bitterness which has overcome them. They key moment is often overlooked: “And they stood still, looking sad.” In order to really allow the power of events into our lives we have to stop and reflect. The question forces the travellers to stop and to reflect back to Jesus the power of the events which were moving into a deep experience for the travellers.
Out of this comes a confession that is often heard in our human lives: “But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel.” Here is the moment of conversion. No longer are the events at the level of intellect, now they have penetrated the heart, and the experience touches their core. They have lost hope. In our world of today, this is so common an experience. We can feel blessed and valued, and yet we are only one step away from disappointment. But we need to recognise that Jesus continues to walk with us. And walking with them in a gentle way, he is able to restore hope.
Jesus speaks to them, above all through the Scriptures. The stories about him from the Old Testament, the trials of the prophets, the faithful and fickle people, all of these are tinged with defeat. Yet the promises of the presence of God with his people are like a golden thread knitting these events into an experience of blessedness that is there, but so often hidden in human experience. This recalling of the human story burns within the travellers, but they still do not recognise him.
Jesus makes to go on and leave these two, but they invite him into their home. Here is another requirement for hope – to invite God into our place, into our hearts. It is here that the transformation takes place, from despair to hope. He repeats for the travellers the fundamental gesture of every Eucharist. He takes bread, blesses it, breaks it and gives it. In these simple four gestures, he is revealed as he was with the nascent Church in the upper room, crucified on the cross for our salvation and now risen and glorified in the world. This revelation animates the two in hope. They return to Jerusalem and they recall the events on the road, filled with joy. And their joy is met with the acclamation from the others: “The Lord has risen indeed, and has appeared to Simon!”
Jesus’ encounter with the two disciples of Emmaus is brief, but the entire destiny of the Church is contained within it. It tells us that the Christian community is not enclosed within a fortified citadel, locked behind doors, but rather journeys along its most essential environment, which is the road. And there, it encounters people with their hopes and disappointments, their joys and their struggles. The Church listens to everyone’s stories as they emerge from their own individual experiences in order to then offer the Word of Life, the witness of love, a love that is faithful until the end. And thus, the hearts of people are reignited with hope.
The secret of the road that leads to Emmaus is simply this: despite appearances to the contrary, we continue to be loved and God will never stop loving us. God will walk with us always, even in the most painful moments of life. That is where the Lord is. And this is our hope.
Therefore, since we have been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ. Through him we have also obtained access by faith into this grace in which we stand, and we rejoice in hope of the glory of God. Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us. (Rom 5:1-5)
The title of the Bull of Indiction, Spes non confundit, comes from St Paul’s letter to the Romans. The full passage sings of the intimate joy that comes from his confidence in God. The peace that is spoken about here comes from faith in a God that has come so close, so intimate with us through the power of the incarnation. God knows the human heart because he has lived and walked amongst us.
Through Jesus, says Paul, “we obtain access by faith into this grace in which we stand.” There is a beautiful image here which is hidden from us in translation. The access is not by our own merits, but we are literally welcomed or ushered into the presence of God by Jesus himself. And what we find beyond the door is the presence of the compassionate and loving God who desires nothing but our love in return.
There is also another image of the “graced in which we stand.” It is the image of a harbour or safe haven. If we think about this, it means that as long as we rely on our own efforts, we will always be storm-tossed by the world (just like the disciples in the Gospel of Mark). But since we depend on the Lord, literally lean on him, we reach the safe haven of grace and we know the peace and calm of knowing what God has done for us, not what we do ourselves.
But we all know that such peace is a precious gift, and often scarce in the world in which we live. That is why Paul continues to say that “sufferings produce endurance” – pressure produces fortitude – which comes as a gift from God. “Endurance produces character” and the understanding of character is like metal which has been passed through the fire so that everything base has been purged out of it. When suffering is met with endurance, out of the battle we emerge stronger, and purer, and better, and nearer to God.
And “character produces hope” because the character which stays the test always emerges with that new panorama, stronger and ready to continue. Hope does not disappoint because it is founded on the love of God. When our hope is in God, it cannot turn to dust and ashes or be disappointed. When our hope is in the love of God, it can never be an illusion, for God loves us with an everlasting love backed by an everlasting power.
With these thoughts in mind we can see why the Holy Father has called this Holy Jubilee Year, Pilgrims of Hope. It is his desire that we “recover a confident trust in the Church and society, in our interpersonal relationships, in international relationships and in our task of promoting the dignity of all persons and respect for God’s gift of creation.” (Bull, §25).
May our own journey of hope be accompanied by the characters of hope we have looked at today, and we always remember that when the storms come and we feel tossed about, we must always turn to Jesus our anchor, who is our joy and our hope.
