This line from Sunday’s Second Reading gave me pause. What is the reason for my hope? And, if I get really honest, do I always have hope? I consider myself to be a hopeful person, but then again, I sometimes mistake hope for optimism, which is not the same thing. There are a lot of difficult and even painful things happening around us right now, and there’s no real cause for optimism, no reason to believe that without a lot of work and intervention things might change. However, even amidst all of this, I believe there’s cause for hope. So, if hope is more than a feeling, what is it?

We’re not in Sunday School, but I’m going to throw in a little catechism anyway, just to remind myself what the Catholic faith teaches about hope. (And if you’re not Catholic, maybe you could share with me a bit about what your denomination or faith tradition teaches?) So, the Catholicism teaches that hope, along with faith and charity, are theological virtues that are “infused by God into the souls of the faithful.” They’re the “pledge of the presence and action of the Holy Spirit” (CCC 1813).* Hope, along with faith and charity, orient us toward God and assure us that the Holy Spirit is present and acting within us. The Catechism goes on to say that “the virtue of hope responds to the aspiration to happiness which God has placed in the heart of every [person].” So, God has placed within the human heart a longing to be happy, and hope responds to that longing. I’m guessing the longing toward happiness is the same one that moves us toward God, who ultimately makes us happy — and hopeful. The gift of hope pulls us toward the virtue of charity, too, because, like being close to God, being good to other people makes us happy (1818). God has instilled within us the gift of hope, which moves us toward God, happiness, and care for each other.

I love the word “infused” when reflecting on hope. It makes me think of making a cocktail, which might seem weird, but just go with me for a second. Years ago, on a local radio show called Amy’s Table with Amy Tobin, I heard an interview with a local mixologist. ** She described how to make a simple syrup to add to a cocktail to infuse it with that flavor. The infusion didn’t take over the taste of the drink, but it added just a subtle note to every sip of it.

I’m a little to basic to be into cocktails (or even no alcohol mocktails), but I think it’s an apt metaphor for the virtue of hope. I might think I’m drinking life straight up, but like a fancy cocktail, there’s a subtle infusion of hope with every sip. It might be indistinct at times, but it underlies every part of me. And God, the skillful mixologist, is the one who infuses hope into my soul. I find this deeply reassuring. If hope is a gift and not a feeling, something that comes from God and not from my own strength, I can trust that hope is somewhere in me even if I don’t feel it. I might cover it with other flavors, like discouragement, fear, or worry, but it doesn’t matter. Hope is still there, permeated all through me.

Moving away from Sunday School to the fields of psychology and social work, researcher Brené Brown also has some helpful things to say about hope. She confirms that hope is not an emotion. In her book on emotions, Atlas of the Heart, she names hope as a cognitive process, not a feeling. She writes that “hope is forged when our goals, pathways, and agency are tested and when change is actually possible” (101). She asserts that hope can be learned. It develops within us when we struggle. “Hope is a function of struggle — we develop hope not during the easy or comfortable times, but through adversity and discomfort” (101).

Brené Brown also addresses the flip side of hope. Hopelessness happens when people don’t feel like they have agency, any ability to change circumstances, or when they don’t have achievable goals that can move them forward (102). I think she’s right, and what she says alarms me because I see a sense of hopelessness and despair creeping around a lot these days. I find it particularly troubling in younger people who are known for their soaring aspirations and wide goals. And I want soaring aspirations and wide goals for them, a sense that anything is possible and achievable. I want that for all of us. And yet, here we are with a lot of despair.

And, for me, that’s why it’s helpful to know that hope is both a gift and a practice. I try to dig down deep and trust that somewhere in me is a God-given aspiration to be happy and fulfilled, and not only that, but God will direct me toward that happiness and fulfillment. Nowhere does God say that I won’t struggle. In fact, as optimistic as I might often sound, I have plenty of struggles. There’s just so much uncertainty about the future, and that stresses me out and moves me into a kind of activated, worried state. I know God is somewhere in this, and I trust God (cognitively if not emotionally). So, this is where I take comfort in what Brene Brown says of hope. It comes from struggle. If I’m struggling, at least I’m building up hope, right?

Also, although I can’t predict the future, I do have some agency in how I respond now. I can stay in the present moment and not fling my thoughts into an unknown future. I can do the things that help me to stay grounded — prayer, exercise, gardening, connecting with friends and community. I can be kind to myself and others. I can seek God’s presence in my life, and God, who wants to be found, does tend to show up. I can acknowledge that everyone goes through times of difficulty and know that it’s normal. Actually, it’s optimism that tells me I “should” feel good all the time, but hope reassures me that it’s okay to struggle; rather than shaking my hope, challenge builds it. Somehow that does help me to recognize the hope that’s within me.

God is the source of my hope, and God, my teacher and guide, shows me how to make a practice of hope. That’s not the same as trying to manufacture hope within myself; it’s more like seeking out the hope that God has already infused within me. I might not always taste it, but maybe I just need to refine my palate so I can identify the flavor of hope. Also, I need to do the things that stir up the hope that’s in me. Despair and anxiety don’t come from God and that when I drink those in, I’m not able to taste hope. It’s there, though. Underneath whatever I dump into my glass, hope is still there. So, that’s the reason for my hope; God is the reason for my hope. And I notice hope in my life, full of everything it brings, both struggle and joy.

So, cheers to hope, my friends. May we open ourselves to it, drink it in, savor it, and enjoy this gift. Sláinte! Santé! Prost! And amen! To your health and to your hope!

For Reflection:  

• What is the flavor of hope like for you?

• What covers up your hope or pulls you away from it? When hope feels far away, how do you stir it back up again?

• What helps you notice the gift of hope? What makes you happy?

* Catechism of the Catholic Church, 2nd ed., 1824-1818, accessed May 14, 2020, https://www.vatican.va/archive/ccc_css/archive/catechism/p3s1c1a7.htm

** Amy's Table. Cincinnati, OH: WKRQ-FM, n.d. https://www.wkrq.com/shows/amys-table/

*** Brown, Brené. Atlas of the heart. New York, New York: Penguin Random House, 2021.

By Sister Leslie Keener, CDP

Sister Leslie Keener, CDP is the director of God Space, a community-building spirituality ministry in Cincinnati and Northern Kentucky. She’s a Sister of Divine Providence with a Masters in Ministry and a Certificate in Spiritual Direction and Retreats from Creighton University. She directs retreats, meets with people for spiritual direction, and serves as the vocation director for her community. She also serves on the Coordinating Council of Spiritual Directors International. She enjoys music, dancing, meaningful conversations, and lavender (maybe more in the garden than a drink).