The celebration of Christmas revives our hope

 In 2007, Gracewing published  a collection of monastic conferences and homilies by the then Dom Hugh Gilbert, who at the time was the Abbot of Pluscarden Abbey. It was entitled Unfolding the Mystery (a more recently published set of reflections is entitled Living the Mystery). At the beginning of a conference for Christmas Eve, Dom Gilbert asks his brethren what it is that they might with justification expect from the celebration of the coming of Christ. 

We can expect, each of us can expect - through the celebration of Christ's Adventus - a revival of our faith and our hope and our love.

In addressing the subject of hope, he indicates three ways in which the celebration of Christmas revives our hope.

[The Christ child] revives, first, the hope of a better world here and now, of a change for the good. His birth coincides with the lengthening days. It gives fresh energy in the doing of good: ordinary, daily, mundane good. It sends us out to battle once again. Our sense of it all being somehow worth it finds itself strangely rekindled by that Mother and Child.

And secondly:

[The Christ child] revives the hope, looking higher, of the Kingdom to come. He's already a fulfilment, by way of cross and resurrection, of the hopes of the Chosen People: those hopes of God reigning and idols toppling, of a new covenant, of a gather people and Gentiles converted, of a new Presence, of a new purity and inward renewal, of the forgiveness of sins, of the Messianic king. All these promises have a first, unfinished but real, fulfilment in the Church and in her saints.

He revives our hope, thirdly, personally, for heaven. In the Collect for Christmas night, we pray to "enjoy in heaven the joys of him whose luminous mysteries we celebrate on earth". The best is yet to come, for each of us. 

"Hopes" and "Hope": Syria and Afghanistan

 Watching the scenes of rejoicing from Syria, and listening to some of the hopes being expressed by Syrians in conversations with news reporters, a reflection is prompted on the exact nature of the hopes being described. It is noteworthy that, after an initial expression of joy in achieving freedom after the fall of the previous regime, some of the hopes for the future of their country have been expressed with a tinge of uncertainty and caution. There is also the sadness of those who are searching for news of relatives imprisoned or killed during the previous regime.

Towards the end of the first of his lectures published in the short book Hope and History, Josef Pieper draws attention to a distinction that an author contemporary to him had made between specific "hopes", which linguistically are linked to identifiable possibilities in worldly life, and a more "fundamental hope", that looks beyond the immediate experience of life and is sustained without connection to a specifically stated object. This latter fundamental hope is more about what a person "is" rather than what a person might "have". The distinction was initially developed in the context of incurable illness, but Pieper extends it to a wider context.

The aspect of Plugge's finding that is really worth thinking about, if also likely to surprise at first, seems to me to be his observation that true hope does not emerge and show its face until the moment when one's various "hopes" are finally disappointed.... Every deep disappointment of some hope whose object was to be found in the worldly sphere potentially harbors an opportunity for hope per se to turn ... towards its true object and, in a process of liberation, for existence to expand, for the first time ever, into an atmosphere of wider dimensions. Precisely in disappointment, and perhaps in it alone, we are offered the challenge of entering into this broader existential realm of hope per se.

 It is possible to identify at least seeds of the more fundamental idea of hope in the use by Syrians of the word "freedom" to characterise the new situation in their country. The wish for democratic elections might be seen as a hope in the more restricted sense; and there is no certainty at the moment as to whether such elections will take place, and, if they do, the extent to which they will live up to the expectation that might be placed upon them. There is an inevitable eye towards events in Afghanistan, where the news this week that women would be barred from training as nurses or midwives appears to remove a last hope for women to play any part in the public life of the country.

In both countries, we might pray that a genuine hope be sustainable against the background of specific material hopes that might not be met.

"... a yearning for the treasures of Heaven"

Pope Francis' Jubilee Prayer seems an appropriate way to mark the forthcoming Jubilee 2025 in an everyday way. A particular phrase of that prayer is perhaps relevant to the early part of the Advent season, when the liturgy encourages us to look towards the Second Coming of Christ.

May the grace of the Jubilee awaken in us, Pilgrims of Hope, a yearning for the treasures of heaven.

A paragraph from the Bull of Indiction (n.20) echoes this phrase, suggesting that an appreciation of the gift of Baptism opens to us a perspective towards eternal life:

The reality of death, as a painful separation from those dearest to us, cannot be mitigated by empty rhetoric. The Jubilee, however, offers us the opportunity to appreciate anew, and with immense gratitude, the gift of the new life that we have received in Baptism, a life capable of transfiguring death’s drama. It is worth reflecting, in the context of the Jubilee, on how that mystery has been understood from the earliest centuries of the Church’s life. An example would be the tradition of building baptismal fonts in the shape of an octagon, as seen in many ancient baptisteries, like that of Saint John Lateran in Rome. This was intended to symbolize that Baptism is the dawn of the “eighth day”, the day of the resurrection, a day that transcends the normal, weekly passage of time, opening it to the dimension of eternity and to life everlasting: the goal to which we tend on our earthly pilgrimage (cf. Rom 6:22). 

 According to the Compendium of the Catechism of the Catholic Church (n.387):

Hope is the theological virtue by which we desire and await from God eternal life as our happiness, placing our trust in Christ's promises and relying on the help of the grace of the Holy Spirit to merit it and to persevere to the end of our earthly life.

"Care given to them is a hymn to human dignity"

 The following extract from Pope Francis' Bull of Indiction for the 2025 Holy Year (n.11)appears particularly relevant following Friday's vote in favour of assisted dying in the House of Commons. I have added the italics to the last sentence. I was particularly struck by its reference to the part to be played by society as a whole, in addition to that of the individuals or teams who might be immediate care givers.

Signs of hope should also be shown to the sick, at home or in hospital. Their sufferings can be allayed by the closeness and affection of those who visit them. Works of mercy are also works of hope that give rise to immense gratitude. Gratitude should likewise be shown to all those healthcare workers who, often in precarious conditions, carry out their mission with constant care and concern for the sick and for those who are most vulnerable.

Inclusive attention should also be given to all those in particularly difficult situations, who experience their own weaknesses and limitations, especially those affected by illnesses or disabilities that severely restrict their personal independence and freedom. Care given to them is a hymn to human dignity, a song of hope that calls for the choral participation of society as a whole.

The urgency of the question about the meaning and justification of human hope

 Many years ago now, I recall being part of a conversation in which we reflected on how, in some Catholic families, the children grew up to continue practicing their faith into adult life whilst in other families this did not happen. A particular issue that came up was that of how an irregular marriage situation would lead to someone ceasing to take part in the life of the Church. It therefore struck me at the time of the Extraordinary and Ordinary meetings of the Synod of Bishops dedicated to the family, and the subsequent Apostolic Exhortation Amoris Laetitia, that Pope Francis had drawn attention to a very significant question for the life of the Church. The theme of the Extraordinary Synod appeared particularly relevant in this context: The Pastoral Challenges of the Family in the Context of Evangelisation.

Looking forward to the Jubilee Year 2025, with its theme of hope, I recently dipped into the first section of Josef Pieper's short book Hope and History, first published in German in 1967, the text of lectures delivered the year before, and published in English translation by Ignatius Press in 1994. He opens the first section by referring to Immanuel Kant's three possible answers to the question of whether or not the human race is progressing towards the better.

Considered quite abstractly, he says, there are obviously three possible answers to the question: (1) "constant ascent", (2) "continual decline", and (3) persistence at a given level, advancement on a more or less unvarying plane.

Kant acknowledges that the second of these possibilities exists in the abstract, but excludes it in the concrete reality of human existence as it would at a certain point lead to the human race wiping itself out. In the time of nuclear weapons and the stand-off between East and West that was the Cold War, Pieper points out that the self destruction of the human race that was inconceivable to Kant and his times, was now very much a concrete possibility. 

Confronting the three possible forms of the course of history that were formulated by Kant, we would be simply incapable of excluding the one - the negative one - from the very start.

 Pieper's lectures were dedicated to the theme of hope and history, and so he ends the first section with the following passage:

...here we encounter, with almost provocative effect, the first of the two basic terms that are conceptually linked in the subject of these lectures on "hope and history". No matter what concrete implications might happen to follow from the question thus formulated, it is at least clear from the start that the mere linkage of these two concepts is of unparalleled relevance in our present-day situation. Here, too, we could speak of unprecedentedness - for the first time, never before, it seems, has it been possible to ask the question about the meaning and justification of human hope with such acute urgency.

In 2024 and 2025, with conflicts raging that justify Pope Francis' description of a Third World War being fought piecemeal, the question of hope for the future is raised once again with an acute urgency. Pope Francis, with the keen pastoral sense shown earlier in his addressing of the challenges to the family, draws the attention of the Church to this question as he asks us to be pilgrims of hope in the coming Jubilee Year.

Things Fell Apart

In recent months I was able to listen to some of the episodes in the second series of Jon Ronson's Radio 4 broadcasts/podcasts Things Fell Apart. I haven't listened to all of them, and I haven't listened to the first series. All the episodes from both series can be found on BBC Sounds: Things Fell Apart. The episodes I have listened to suggest that they are all worth hearing. The stories are unexpected and told in a way that holds attention throughout - sometimes it is only in the last moments that the full import of the story's starting point becomes clear.

There are some clear lessons:

posting something to a blog or to Twitter/X that is not true can, down the line, have unpredictable and serious consequences

posting something that is in itself true, but forms only part of a story, can have the same consequences as above

re-tweeting or re-posting without due care and attention is a potentially hazardous game, as it can propagate something that is not true - see above

beware of taking an idea in one context, with its intended meaning in that context, and transferring it into a new context which gives the idea a completely different and potentially damaging meaning

it is easy, both in the ether and in the real world, to hang on to a discredited story and keep repeating it, again with the risk of unpredictable and serious consequences

if you are someone in a position of public influence, you need to be careful not to pick up a part story and use it to your own purposes/ideological intent

we should be careful not to think of ourselves as heroes (see last episode of Series 2).

Things Fell Apart does not address Catholic subjects, at least not in the episodes I have heard (though Episode 7 should be compulsory listening for those who have bought in to Great Resetting), but its lessons have clear application to Catholics who post to the ether.

My blog does indeed have an example of an unpredictable consequence following a post. The post involved is entitled If You Knew SUSY, posted way back in 2010. Looking at blog statistics at the time, there appeared to be a regular appearance of visits from Maryland in the USA which I couldn't understand. In 2013 a comment to the post explained what was happening. The author of the original article about which I had posted appears to have seen my post and was, I think, referring to it in discussions with his students/colleagues at the University of Maryland. See here: Superstring Theoretical Physicist on Codes of Reality.