A pilgrim of hope

Pope Leo - Papal Audience

During our Pilgrimage of Hope, Leisha and I escaped the Florentine rain to pray a rosary in Santa Maria del Fiore. We had completed the first decade when a pilgrim group from Texas entered and prepared to offer a Mass in English, an unanticipated blessing!

​In his homily, Rev. Jean-Oscar Nlandu said: “The journey of faith goes through struggle. What is hope? Hope is a refusal to let suffering have the last word.”
 
My faith life flashed before my eyes.
 
When I was 16, I immaturely understood faith as a series of impossible propositions, like the Apostle’s Creed we had made to start the rosary. We believe in a Creator of Heaven and Earth who sent His only Son to be immaculately conceived, crucified, and buried. The Son descended into Hell and rose on the third day. We also believe in the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and life in a world to come. At 16, faith was a checklist, and I didn’t believe in everything on the list, so I didn’t have faith.
 
I then left my Father’s house and ventured into the wilderness. Years later, when I found myself eating pig slop and became curious about returning to my Father’s house, faith became a precious commodity. My main concern became figuring out what spiritual payment I needed to make to acquire this thing called faith?
 
Then, during marriage preparation 18 years ago, Deacon Botari said to me, “I don’t know any priest or deacon who doesn’t have a problem with aspects of the faith; that’s where they concentrate their prayer and contemplation.”
 
Precisely. Because the journey of faith goes through struggle. 
 
Here’s how I now understand that journey. Faith and hope work together like two wings lifting the soul toward divine union. Faith is propelled by God's revealed truths—the eternal reality whispered through Scripture. Faith soars beyond reason’s doubts to pierce the veil of the unseen, but (to mix metaphors) this is a turbulent flight, evidenced in Mark 9:24: "Lord, I believe; help my unbelief.” Faith does not eliminate doubt but places trust in the story of salvation already revealed — the Incarnation, the Resurrection, and the sacraments that continue to pulse with Christ's Blood. Faith enables me to struggle with the divine mysteries I don’t and will never fully understand. Prayer and contemplation are the tools of struggle that allow me to embrace the divine IS. I do not need to delay my trust. I can completely trust now, even if I don’t completely get it. 
 
If faith is the intellect’s assent to revelation, then hope is its active will. Hope is the irresistible longing that lifts me from the now to the not yet. Faith accepts truth, and hope yearns for the fullness of truth in the heavenly homeland amid and beyond our earthly trials. Hope, according to the Catechism, “sustains him during times of abandonment” (1818). When God feels absent, when the effort doesn’t seem worthwhile, hope continues to pull me toward the narrow gate. Hope resides, not in wishful thinking, but in actions that align with faith’s acceptance of the promise.
 
Here’s how this plays out in discipleship: I find the resurrection of Jesus easy to believe. My faith comes from core facts about Jesus that almost all scholars agree on. Jesus was crucified, and His tomb was found empty. His followers believed they had experiences with Christ after his death, proven by their willingness to suffer death for their belief that they had met the risen Christ. Not one of Jesus’s early disciples ever recanted, and as Beckwith suggests in Return to Rome, Jesus’s resurrection is the ONLY explanation that makes sense for the saints’ behaviour and the endurance of the persecuted church.
 
Jesus’s resurrection revealed the reasonable basis for faith when Doubting Thomas placed his fingers in Jesus’s wounds. After Jesus ascended, however, and the Apostles were alone on their pilgrim journeys in hostile lands, hope gave St. Bartholomew the willingness to be skinned alive, and St. Simon the Zealot the courage to be sawed in half. And just like the irony of exalting the cross, Michelangelo depicts a glorious Bartholomew carrying his skin like a tattered old costume, and a muscular St. Simon is the patron saint of lumberjacks. That’s what hope looks like; winking at the suffering involved in discipleship because suffering is not the last word.
 
I have struggled in my diaconal journey, but hope has kept my pilgrim feet keep walking. As the pilgrim’s scallop shell models, our individual journeys will eventually converge at that place where we are completely united to God and each other in love. No matter how far I walk, I always arrive at the beginning, and in the beginning was the Word. 

Saint Mary of the Flower, Florence

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Written by Jason Openo for Faithfully. Photos courtesy of Jason Openo.