Papal Visit Day 2 – ¡Adelante!

 

              Today certainly was a busy day for Pope Francis in Washington, DC.  He started off the day with an official state welcome at the White House, followed by a meeting with the President, a little parade around the Ellipse, Mid-day Prayer at Saint Matthew’s Cathedral with the U.S. bishops, and finally the canonization Mass for Saint Junipero Serra.

 

                Two things in particular struck me during today’s events.  First, I found it interesting how comfortable people are with Pope Francis.  There used to be a day when regular old folks would never touch the Pope.  Today, people couldn’t seem to keep their paws off him - shaking his hand, patting his shoulder, giving him warm embraces.  To me, this familiarity is wonderful, and it speaks volumes about the man that Pope Francis is – warm, approachable, Christ-like.  He is a pastor who loves his sheep, and his sheep love him back.

                The second thing that struck me was the theme of Pope Francis’ homily during the canonization Mass:  ¡Adelante!  In Spanish, adelante is a command that means “forward,” as in “Move forward!”  Pope Francis attributed Saint Junipero’s success in bringing the Word of God to the native peoples of California to the fact that he just kept going forward.  Nothing stopped him in his efforts to evangelize.  Pope Francis invited us to join him, saying:  “Let’s keep moving forward.”  I think this message is particularly important in the United States as our country struggles to reconcile our deep religious roots with a growing move to secularize our society.  It’s a long-term struggle, but if we keep moving forward, I am confident that we will remain, One Nation Under God.  ¡Adelante!

Papal Visit – Day 1

          With Pope Francis gracing the shores of the United States for the first time, I thought I’d provide a little commentary on whatever may strike me as interesting during his visit. Since the Pope just arrived, and he had no official events or public comments, today was a slow news day. So I’d like to kick off this series by responding to a question I saw posted on the internet:

Question: When politicians state that the Pope should stay out of politics and science, isn't that a pretty absurd position, regardless of a person's religion?

Response: Yes and no. The Catholic Church and, therefore, the Pope and Bishops, claim teaching authority in the areas of faith and morals only. The Church claims no expertise in the areas of politics, economics, science, literature, the arts, etc. That said, faith and morals touch on all aspects of human existence, including politics, economics, science, literature, the arts, etc. For example, Pope Francis recently has been critical of certain aspects of capitalism and communism. His criticism has been based upon the dogma of the dignity of the human person and the moral imperative that arises from it, which requires that we give preferential treatment to the poor. When a political or economic system, law or other government act fails to respect and promote the dignity of the human person, the Church will speak out against it. While this may look like dabbling in politics or economics, the Pope is speaking about a moral issue that’s arising out of a politico-economic system. The Pope and Bishops are careful (most of them) not to make pronouncements that are outside of the Church’s areas of expertise – they don’t tell governments how to achieve their political ends, but they will comment on whether the means and ends chosen are moral. It’s not an absurd position to say that the Pope should stay out of politics and science because these are not the Church’s areas of expertise. However, it is an absurd position to expect that the Church’s teachings would not have ramifications on the other disciplines Such as politics and science because faith and morals touch all aspects of human existence.

The Three-Ply Cord

          A wedding homily for a wonderful couple who tied the knot today.

          It was about a year ago that I first met Victoria and Spencer for our first marriage preparation session.  I distinctly remember that Victoria was very nervous.  Perhaps it was wedding jitters; perhaps it was standing in the presence of such a charismatic deacon – I don’t know – but I do know that she was very nervous.  By stark contrast, Spencer was completely at ease, cool as a cucumber.  While Victoria sat upright, with perfect posture and her hands clenched crisply in her lap, Spencer melted into his chair, leaned back and rested his elbows comfortably on the arm rests.  I found it interesting how two people who had such different reactions to the same situation, could find in each other the perfect partner for marriage.  The readings that Victoria and Spencer chose for us today explain how.

            In our first reading from Genesis, we hear that the creation of woman arises out of God’s loving concern that it’s not good for man to be alone.  (Genesis 2: 18)  Our second reading from Ecclesiastes explains God’s rationale quite simply:  “Two are better than one.”  (Ecclesiastes 4: 9)  A litany of proof follows:  If one falls, the other will help the fallen; if two sleep together they will keep each other warm.   But did you notice that this passage from Ecclesiastes has a curious ending?  Listen to it again:  “Where one alone may be overcome, two together can resist.  A three-ply cord is not easily broken.”  Weren’t we just talking about two being better than one?  Where did three come from?  Well, our Gospel makes that clear.  When two come together in love, nothing can break them.  “Love is the golden thread that binds Jesus, his followers, and the Father, who is love itself.”[1]

            God is love, and Jesus tells us that if we remain in God’s love, our joy will be complete.  “In Christianity, love is the reason, the means, and the end of life.”[2]  We are meant to love.  So while two are better than one, two with love – two with God – can endure all things.  A successful marriage, therefore, needs God; it needs love.

          Now, I don’t want to sound too icky sweet about love because love isn’t always easy.  “Love, as distinct from ‘being in love’ is not merely a feeling.  It is a deep unity, maintained by the will and deliberately strengthened by habit.”[3]  We have to work at it.  Victoria and Spencer, I’m sure you’ve heard many people say that you have to work at marriage (all of the married couples are nodding their heads – some more enthusiastically than others); well, that’s because you have to work at love.

 

Let’s face it, we’re not always loving, and we’re not always lovable.  But remaining in God’s love, bringing God’s love into your marriage, means that you’ll love anyway.  Remaining in God’s love will mean maintaining a constant contact with him and with each other, arranging life, arranging prayer, arranging silence in such a way that there is never a day when you give yourself a chance to forget God or each other.[4]  It will mean that you’ll accept each other, flaws and all, in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, in snoring at night and in bad breath in the morning.  If you remain in God, love will be the tie that binds you.

                    It was about a month ago that I met with Victoria and Spencer for our last marriage preparation session.  I distinctly remember that Spencer was very nervous.  Perhaps it was wedding jitters; perhaps it was standing in the presence of such a charismatic deacon – I don’t know – but I do know that he was very nervous.  By stark contrast, Victoria was completely at ease, cool as a cucumber.  Victoria sat back comfortably in her chair, still with perfect posture and her hands folded gently in her lap, while Spencer leaned forward with his forearms on his knees, wringing his hands and worrying about what I was going to do to him today.  (You ain’t seen nothing, yet).  I still find it interesting how two people who had such different reactions to the same situation could find in each other the perfect partner for marriage.  But Victoria and Spencer, I know how, because during the past year, I’ve seen how much you love each other.  I’ve seen it in the smiles and the laughs you exchange; I’ve seen it in the reassurances and the compromises you offer each other; and I’ve seen it in the way you comfort each other when one of you is nervous.  Two are better than one, but you two are the best because you’ve invited God, you’ve invited love, into your marriage.  If you remain in God’s love, your joy will be complete, and your marriage will be as strong as a three-ply cord.

Readings: Genesis 2: 18-24; Psalm 103;Ecclesiastes 4: 9-12; John 15: 9-12

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[1] Scott M. Lewis, “The Gospel According to John,” New Collegeville Bible Commentary: New Testament, Daniel Durkin, ed. (Collegeville, Liturgical Press, 2009) at 350.

[2] Michael Patella, Angels and Demons: A Christian Primer of the Spiritual World (Collegeville, Liturgical Press, 2010) at 81.

[3] C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity (New York, Harper Collins, 2001) at 109.

[4] See William Barclay, The Gospel of John, vol. 2 (Louisville, Westminster John Knox Press, 1975) at 176.     

God’s Ways

Get Thee Behind Me Satan, James Tissot

          In Go Set a Watchman, the recently-released novel by Harper Lee, Jean Louise Finch is devastated when she learns that her father, the noble Atticus Finch, is a racist.  Everything she knew about him, every childhood memory she had of him was shattered and suddenly reconfigured in light of that terrible discovery.  She felt that her life had been a lie, that a part of her had just died.  What really upset her was that Atticus wasn’t the man she wanted him to be; his ways weren’t her ways, and Atticus refused to conform.  That’s exactly why Peter got upset with Jesus and why Jesus got upset with Peter in today’s Gospel.

          In our Gospel passage, we hear Peter’s great profession of faith that Jesus is the Messiah.  But when Jesus starts to explain what it means to be the Messiah – that he will suffer, be rejected and be killed – Peter rebukes him.  Jesus wasn’t the Messiah that Peter wanted him to be.  Jesus’ ways weren’t Peter’s ways.  But Jesus refuses to conform.  He rebukes Peter because Peter’s ways aren’t God’s ways, telling him that he’s “thinking not as God does, but as human beings do.”

So what did Peter expect Jesus to be?  While there was no agreed understanding of what the Messiah would be like in Jesus’ time, most people envisioned the Messiah as a warrior who would vanquish Israel’s enemies and usher in an era of peace for the Jews.  Like many in his time, Peter understood the Messiah in terms of power, not suffering, rejection and death.  “He wanted Jesus to be a conquering hero so that he might share in his glory.”[1]  But that’s not who Jesus is.  Jesus is the suffering servant described by Isaiah in our first reading.  He’s one who humbles himself, who conforms himself to God’s ways even though he’ll suffer rejection and death as a result.  “The key to understanding Jesus properly will turn out to be the mystery of the cross:  Jesus the healer and teacher is the suffering Messiah.”[2]  To follow him means to conform our ways to God’s ways.  That’s the key to our eternal peace; that’s the key to our salvation. 

          So what are God’s ways?  Well, we don’t know completely.  “God is that strange and disturbing reality whose love and power and goodness infinitely surpass our puny capacity to understand or our pathetic attempts to control.”[3]  But through his loving revelation, especially through Jesus Christ, we learn that God is all-powerful and all-knowing, that God is tirelessly loving and endlessly merciful, that God humbled himself to take on our humanity, to suffer and die for our sins so that we could be united with him for all eternity.

Well, that is strange.  How in the world do we reconcile an all-powerful God with humiliation, suffering and death on a cross?  That’s what Peter couldn’t understand.  We want a God who conquers our enemies and hates evildoers.  Well, “[we] can safely assume that [we]’ve created God in [our] own image when it turns out that God hates all the same people [we] do.”[4]  God’s not like us.  God’s ways aren’t our ways.  God’s “omnipotence isn’t expressed in violence and destruction but rather through love, mercy, and forgiveness.”[5]

No, God’s ways aren’t our ways, and God will not, God cannot conform his ways to our ways.  We need to conform our ways to God’s ways.  Jesus came to divinize us, to give us a share in his divine nature, to make us like God.  That’s what we pray for in the Liturgy of the Eucharist – to become what we eat.  Listen to the words the priest or deacon prays as he prepares the cup for consecration:  “By the mystery of this water and wine may we come to share in the divinity of Christ who humbled himself to share in our humanity.”  It’s our goal to share in Christ’s divinity, to live in God’s love and peace now and forever.  It’s our goal to be like God. 

But to be God-like, we have to conform our ways to God’s ways.  To receive a share in Christ’s divinity, we have to say no to ourselves and yes to Christ; we have to say no to our love of ease and comfort; we have to say no to every course of action based on self-seeking and self-will.[6]  We have to accept suffering and rejection, take up our cross and follow him.  Saint James tells us in our second reading that our faith has to be manifested in our actions, so to follow Jesus, to be like God, we have to love our enemies, extend mercy to those we hate, and forgive all who hurt us. 

That can be a pretty tall order, especially at this time of year when we remember all who died in the 9/11 terrorist attacks.  Inevitably at this time of year, I’m asked a difficult question:  “Are the 9/11 hijackers and Osama Bin Laden in heaven?”  Most people don’t like my answer, which is – “I don’t know, but they could be because there’s no limit to God’s love, God’s mercy or God’s forgiveness.”  It’s hard for us to think that God might welcome the perpetrators of such heinous crimes into his heavenly kingdom, and even harder to accept that we’re called to be like God and to extend the same love, mercy and forgiveness to them that he does.  Faced with such incomprehensible demands, we may lash out in anger, and some may even turn away from God.  But in the end, if we conform our ways to God’s ways, we will share in the peace of the divine life, even in the most challenging circumstances.

          Jean Louise Finch lashed out at her father in anger and frustration when he refused to conform to her ways.  But once she got it out of her system, she accepted Atticus for who he was and found inner peace with him.  When we accept God and all his strange ways, especially when his ways don’t conform to our ways, we, too, will find inner peace with him and in him.  If we want a share in the divinity of Christ, we have to accept that God’s ways aren’t our ways, and that it’s our duty, it’s our salvation, it’s our eternal peace to conform our ways to God’s ways.

Readings:  Isaiah 50: 4c-9a; Psalm 116; James 2: 14-18; Mark 8: 27-35

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[1] Jude Winkler, New St. Joseph Handbook for Proclaimers of the Word, Liturgical Year B, 2015 (New Jersey, Catholic Book Publishing Corp., 2014) at 332.

[2] John R. Donahue, Daniel J. Harrington, Sacra Pagina: The Gospel of Mark (Collegeville, The Liturgical Press, 2002) at 17.

[3] Robert Barron, Thomas Aquinas: Spiritual Master (New York, Crossroad Publishing, 2008) at 186.

[4] Anne LaMott, Traveling Mercies (New York, Anchor Books, 2000).

[5] Pope Benedict XVI, Wednesday Catechesis (January 29, 2013).

[6] William Barclay, The Gospel of Mark (Louisville, Westminster John Knox Press, 2001) at 235.

Be Opened!

I didn't preach today, but here's the homily I gave on the Twenty-third Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year B) in 2012.

          In “Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves,” Ali Baba stumbles across a band of thieves as they prepare to unload their stolen treasure in a hidden cave.  The captain of the thieves approaches a rock wall and utters these strange words, “Open Sesame!”  And immediately, a wide doorway appears in the face of the rock.[1]  Secret words open the entrance to that cave in “Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves.”  But in today’s Gospel there’s no secret at all.  Jesus shows us plain and simple that our healing rests in him and our willingness to “Be Opened!”

          In our Gospel passage Jesus opens the ears and loosens the tongue of a man suffering from deafness and a speech impediment.  Now, in the Gospels we usually find Jesus’ healing miracles being accomplished through words.  But this miracle is different.  It’s very physical.  “As God incarnate, [Jesus] shows [God’s] love in an incarnational way – physically, through intimacy and touch, through sound and spoken word.”[2]  With your indulgence, I’d like to talk about each of these elements.

          First, Jesus puts his fingers in the man’s ears.  Now, as you might imagine, the Meyer family often engages in deep theological discussions at the dinner table.  Well, when I mentioned to my daughters that I was preaching on this Gospel passage, we pondered together whether this is the first recorded instance of a Wet Willy.  Father Robert Baron, however, has a much more lofty explanation.  He tells us that by inserting his fingers in the man’s ears, Jesus establishes, so to speak, “an electric current running from the Father, through the Son, into the suffering man.”[3]  This is exactly what Jesus came to do for us.  Jesus is the conduit between heaven and earth, humanity and divinity.  Jesus plugs us into God, his boundless grace and his healing power.

          Next, Jesus spits and touches the man’s tongue.  OK, so it sounds pretty gross to us, but to the people of the first century – Gentiles and Jews alike – it was a powerful gesture.  Spittle was understood to have healing properties:[4]  you’ll recall that Jesus healed the man born blind by mixing his spit with dirt and applying the mud to the man’s eyes.  (John 9:6)  In fact, Jesus’ contemporaries would have understood this act as an intimate, loving gesture – perhaps somewhat like a mother who dabs a little of her spit on a tissue to clean her child’s face.  By this act, Jesus is crossing boundaries to establish an intimate relationship with the suffering man.

          Jesus next looks up to the heavens.  Looking heavenward is a sign of prayer.  Jesus knows that “the heavens are permanently opened; God is available; the Holy Spirit is always descending with love.”[5]  But he also knows that we need everything that heaven has to offer.  So he opens himself to the divine loving presence – and he does that with a sigh.

          Now in our Gospel, we hear that Jesus “groaned.”  The difference in wording is a matter of translation of the word estanaxen in the original Greek text.  Estanaxen means to sigh deeply or to groan.  So what’s Jesus doing here?  He’s letting go.  He’s emptying himself so that he can be united with the man’s anguish and thereby the perfect conduit of God’s healing love. 

          Then, finally, Jesus speaks.  He says, Ephphatha (Be Opened)!  Throughout history we find incantations, spells, healings and exorcisms that rely on foreign words or gibberish to elicit magical powers – words like Abracadabra, Presto Changeo, or even Open Sesame.  But that’s not what’s happening here.  Ephphatha may sound strange to us, but Mark is quoting Jesus in the language he spoke on the streets – Aramaic.  Anyone around would know exactly what Jesus said and what he meant.  And Mark makes sure that his audience understands by giving a translation:  “Be Opened!”   Crystal clear, this word “serves as a word of power that frees the man from his infirmity rather than as a mysterious incantation.”[6]  There are no magic words.  “Be Opened” is not addressed to the ears.  It is a command to the heart to be open to the love of God that it is experiencing by being united to Jesus.”[7]

          Now, in my view a Gospel that portrays a very physical healing deserves a very physical response.  So let’s do what Jesus did (we’ll skip sticking our fingers in each other’s ears and mouths, though).  If you’re able to do so comfortably, please stand for a moment.  Together, let’s look to the heavens, sigh and say, “Ephphatha!”  That feels pretty good, doesn’t it?  You might even say – it’s healing.  You may be seated for the remaining 40 minutes of my homily.  How about trying that as a spiritual exercise at the beginning of each day?  If we allow ourselves to be opened by God, our ears will be unplugged, our tongues will be loosened, and we will experience the Kingdom of God right here on earth. 

          You know, Ali Baba’s brother Kasim was captured and killed inside that cave because he couldn’t remember the magic words to get out.[8]  But Jesus couldn’t have made it easier for us to remember.  If we accept that we need the healing power of Jesus we’ll soon find out that “our God does not deal with our infirmities from a distance.”[9]  Through Jesus, the divine physician comes intimately close to us.  Our healing rests in him.  All we have to do is look to the heavens, sigh and – Be Opened!

Readings:  Isaiah 35: 4-7; James 2:1-5; Mark 7:31-37

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[1] “Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves,” Arabian Nights (Norwalk, Easton Press, 1981) at 150. 

[2] Lectionary Guide, at 218.

[3] Robert Baron, Word on Fire (New York, The Crossroad Publishing Company, 2008) at 221.

[4] John R. Donahue, S.J., Daniel Harrington, S.J., Sacra Pagina:  The Gospel of Mark (Collegeville, Liturgical Press, 2002) at 240.

[5] John Shea, Eating with the Bridegroom:  The Spiritual Wisdom of the Gospels for Christian Preachers and Teachers, Mark Year B (Collegeville, Liturgical Press, 2005) at 222.

[6] Sacra Pagina, at 240.

[7] Eating with the Bridegroom, at 222.

[8] Arabian Nights, at 152.

[9] Father Paul J. Fasano

Why Do I Remain A Catholic?

A few months ago, Elizabeth Scalia (aka the Anchoress) challenged fellow bloggers to “tell the world why you are remaining a Catholic in an era where doing so seems not only counter-cultural, but also counter-intuitive and even, perhaps, a bit risky.”[1]  Although a little late to the game, I hereby take up her challenge.

          In the beginning of Fiddler on the Roof, Tevye philosophizes that every one of us, in our own way, is a fiddler on the roof – trying to scratch out a simple tune without breaking our necks.  The key, he tells us, is to keep our balance.  Why do I remain a Catholic?  To keep my balance.  How does Catholicism keep me balanced?  I can explain that in one word – Tradition!

If I had to define tradition in my own words, I’d say that tradition consists of significant practices and beliefs that are passed on to us by our ancestors so we can live them in the present and share them with our descendants.  Traditions are the special things in life that are so important that our ancestors saw fit to share them with us so we can appreciate them and pass them along to future generations.  I love traditions.  Whether it’s baking date nut bread for Christmas (thank you Aunt Etta) or Easter Pizza at Easter (thank you Dad and Aunt Mary), buying a Christmas ornament at each place we vacation, or singing the Topnotcher song, traditions make my past a present that I can give to my daughters for them to share with their children.  On the seesaw of life, traditions balance my present with my past and my future.

    

Catholicism is filled with traditions, so much so that the Church teaches that Apostolic Tradition (along with Sacred Scripture and the Magisterium of the Church) is one of the means by which Divine Revelation is transmitted to us.[2]  Through oral tradition, Jews and Christians passed on the stories that their ancestors understood to be divinely inspired.  After they were written down, they were later codified into what we know as the Bible, relying, in part, on Tradition as a way to determine which books should be included.  Catholic liturgies, which have been passed down to us from the earliest days of the Church, are based on the Jewish traditions of prayer and synagogue worship complete with readings from Sacred Scripture and the breaking of bread.  Catholic Tradition has been preserved and passed on to us from the time of Christ through Apostolic succession – the handing on of preaching, teaching and governance from the Apostles to their successors the bishops through the laying on of hands.[3]  It gives me a tremendous sense of continuity, history and communion to know that my ordination at the hands of Bishop Bootkoski can be traced back through Apostolic succession to Cardinals McCarrick, Cooke and Spellman, to Popes Pius XII, Benedict XV, St. Pius X and Clement XIII, and ultimately back to an Apostle.

     

So how does Catholic Tradition keep me balanced?  Here are a few examples:

-          Catholicism requires that I rely on both faith and reason – “the two wings on which the human spirit rises to the contemplation of the truth”[4] – to understand God and the wonderful world he created; 

-          Catholic worship is the same worldwide.  I’ve attended Mass on almost every continent, always knowing exactly where we were and what was coming next, no matter what language was spoken;   

-          Catholic Tradition engages all of my senses to motivate me to engage with my neighbors from every walk of life: 

We see beautiful icons and images in Church that inspire us to see the face of God in our fellow man; we hear the tolling of bells that compel us to hear the cry of the poor; we anoint ourselves with holy water and the sign of the cross so that we can touch our neighbor with the sign of peace; we taste the elements of bread and wine as we receive our Lord in Holy Communion to strengthen us for our mission to bring food to the hungry and drink to the thirsty; and we smell the fragrant aroma of incense that lifts our prayers for all who suffer in squalor and stench;[5]

-          Catholic Tradition connects me with my family, past, present and future – with my mother, my grandparents, my great grandparents and ancestors untold, all of whom knelt in the pews, prayed the prayers and received our Lord in Communion, just like I do with my daughters today and perhaps will do with my grandchildren in the future.

           The living transmission of the faith that we call Tradition is accomplished in the Holy Spirit, the Spirit of counsel, wisdom, fortitude, knowledge, piety, understanding and fear of the Lord.  Armed with these gifts and anchored in Tradition, we have all we need to live as God intended us to live – loving God, loving our neighbor and eternally loved.  Catholic Tradition has given me strength, comfort and balance, especially in tough times.  Without Catholic Tradition, I’d be “as shaky as a fiddler on the roof.”  That’s why I remain a Catholic.

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[1] Elizabeth Scalia, Dear Catholic World: Why Do You Remain A Catholic? (June 3, 2015), http://www.patheos.com/blogs/theanchoress.

[2] Catechism of the Catholic Church at 75.

[3] Catechism of the Catholic Church at 77.

[4] John Paul II, Fides et Ratio (Vatican City, Libreria Editrice Vaticana, 1998)

[5] Michael A. Meyer, It Just Makes Sense (August 9, 2015), www.ramblingsfromtheambo.blogspot.com.  

We Can Only Hope

I love to fish, which is pretty surprising since I never catch any fish.  By never, I mean never – the never-ever kind of never.  As a young boy, I fished off a dock at Lake Wallenpaupack with my grandfather’s fishing gear and got pretty good at landing sunnies.  In my teens, I occasionally trolled the wild waters of Verona Park Lake, where ginormous carp were the catch of almost any day.  Nowadays, I spend as much time as I can angling the icy rivers and streams that cascade down and around the Catskill Mountains and the deep-water reservoirs they feed.  They’re loaded with rainbow trout, brown trout and large and small mouth bass, or so I hear.  I’ve been fishing there for five years and haven’t caught a single fish.  It seems that somewhere between my teens and my forties, I lost my fishing finesse.  That is, until last week, when I hauled in eight – that’s right, count ‘em – eight mackerel in one day off the craggy shores of Spruce Point, Maine.  Perhaps my luck is changing.  We can only hope.

                Hope is an interesting emotion.  Google defines hope as “a feeling of expectation and desire for a certain thing to happen.”  I like this definition because it emphasizes that hope consists of both expectation and desire.  When we hope, we don’t just want something to happen; we expect it to happen, too.  Hope is an optimistic wish for future happiness that’s grounded in our steadfast belief that our wish will come true.  Hope carries us through disappointments and gives us the strength to persevere until we achieve our desired goal.  If “hope” doesn’t sum up my fishing career, I don’t know what does.

                This bipartite, secular definition of hope is useful in understanding the religious sense of the word as well.  For Catholics, hope is a theological virtue – a habitual disposition to do good that’s infused in the soul by God.[1]   While we usually think of virtues as good habits that we acquire through perseverance – habits we practice to make perfect – we can’t obtain the theological virtues (faith, hope and love) on our own.  They’re given to us by God.   The theological virtues are written on our hearts by God to animate our moral lives so we can merit eternal life.[2]  So it is with hope.  “Hope is the theological virtue by which we desire the kingdom of heaven and eternal life as our happiness.”[3]  Hope opens our hearts to the expectation of eternal blessing.[4]  Through the virtue of hope, we not only desire eternal happiness with God; we expect it.

                It should be no surprise, then, that people who live in hope of eternal life generally are happier and healthier than their areligious counterparts: they’re resilient; they overcome illness and setbacks quicker; and they’re calmer and more stable when adversity strikes.  I’ve seen it with my own eyes and experienced it for myself.  It’s no wonder that the anchor is the symbol of hope.  While the seas of life rise and fall around us, hope anchors us with the sure expectation that eternally fair skies and calm seas are always around the bend.

                A few weeks back, my youngest daughter asked me why I keep fishing when I never catch any fish.  I explained to her that fishing is an exercise of hope; if I didn’t go fishing with the desire and expectation that I would catch a fish, it would be pointless.  Now she knows that if I had given up on fishing during those dry years, I wouldn’t have had the thrill of catching eight mackerel last week.  It’s the same with life.  Without hope, life would be pointless.  Tremendous kindness, generosity and love run deep.  So as we cast our lines into the murky waters of life, we should always expect and desire an abundant catch of the wonderful things this life and the next have to offer.  We can only hope.

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[1] See Catechism of the Catholic Church at 1803.

[2] Id. at 1813.

[3] Id.at 1817.

[4] Id. at 1818.