8th December

Hope, says Augustine of Hippo, Has two beautiful daughters; their names are Anger and Courage. Anger at the way things are, and Courage to see that they do not remain as they are.

I wanted to write this, this thing about bearing hope, because it is heavy. Bearing it can sometimes be unbearable. And because it is so unknown.

For a long time, I’ve been wondering about the definition of hope. When asked, most people (at least then ones I’ve asked) don’t have an answer. Certain we should have it, uncertain what it is.

Last night I held a wooden heart in my hand as I prayed. Felt its unyielding shape, and sharp point, digging into me. Maybe this gripping is one of the things hope is.

In May, I walked part of the Cumbria way, 64 miles of pilgrimage, some alone and some with others, bearing that same question - what is hope. I’ll write more about that another time. But in this advent season, the question is the same.

Last September, also in Cumbria, I began a pilgrimage called the Journey of Hope. A pilgrimage with others seeking to learn about peace and reconciliation. Seeking to somehow journey into and through and in conflict, bearing something called hope, whatever that might be.

That week, this quote was shared with us. Naming that a heart filled with wrestling anger and courage is a way to define hope. An unyielding heart bearing beauty and sharpness, squeezed tight, holds a shape of hope.

[Image description: a dark grey pebble in the shape of a heart, grains of sand still clinging to it, held in my hand, with the beach in the background.]