When Hope is Hard
I wrote recently about the Jubilee Year of Hope that the Universal Church is observing in 2025. In this year, the Holy Father expressed his desire that we may all be renewed in hope. Pope Francis exclaimed, “Let us even now be drawn to this hope!” He calls on Christians to live a life in keeping with their faith, as a witness and an invitation to all to “hope in the Lord.”
Hope is one of the three theological virtues, along with faith and love. A theological virtue is one that is oriented towards God and is a gift from God. We can’t “work on” the virtue of hope like we can on patience or fortitude. We must pray for it and seek it from God himself.
Many people consider hope to be nothing more than wishful thinking, but in fact hope is so much more. According to the Catechism of the Catholic Church #1817, hope is a “desire for the kingdom of heaven and eternal life as our happiness, placing our trust in Christ's promises and relying not on our own strength, but on the help of the grace of the Holy Spirit”. In Spe Salve, Pope Benedict XVI writes:
“The one who has hope lives differently; the one who hopes has been granted the gift of a new life.” (p.2)
What does this mean for those of us who mourn a child? How do we hope when the “gift of new life” has been ripped from our arms? What does hope look like in a broken heart?
Hope doesn’t mean you don’t hurt, but hope is the belief that healing is possible and you won’t always hurt this badly.
Hope isn’t easy. In fact, it may feel impossible, but hope promises that your relationship with your child has changed, not ended.
Other people will casually offer hope without realizing that from the trenches of grief, hope takes heroic faith.
Hope invites lament. Hope means I have enough faith to believe that God is listening, that He loves me, and that He cares about my broken heart.
The opposite of hope is despair – a suffering with no end and no purpose. Hope is the promise that your suffering matters. Hope and lament remind us that our suffering can be redemptive when we unite it to Jesus’ suffering on the cross.
What Hope is Not:
Hope is not pretending that everything is fine and you are okay. You can hope and still hurt.
Hope does not mean everything is “back to normal” (whatever that means) or that you have “moved on” (whatever that means too).
Hope is not a quick fix or a solution to your grief. It is a promise that your grief is not the end of the story.
To help each of us during the Jubilee of Hope, here are 5 strategies for when hope is hard:
Lean on your community to help remind you of what is true.
One of the graces of our Red Bird community is hearing the stories of other men and women who have experienced the same horrific, extraordinary pain as you have but who are further along on their grief journey. As we get to know them, we realize there is more to their lives than just their grief. Their grief remains, but there is also goodness, beauty, and purpose. We can give each other hope that in time, there will be a new way of being in the world that isn’t just pain.
2. Surround yourself with beauty.
The sheer magnitude of pain and loss after the death of your child can block out your whole view of the world. It is like the eclipse of the sun at the moment of Jesus’ death. The whole world went dark. When your heart feels this way, you can find hope by trying to immerse yourself in something bigger than your grief. Spiritually, this means doing everything you can to fill yourself with Jesus. But physically, be intentional about seeking beauty: a grand vista, the beauty of creation, the intricacy of a leaf, a magnificent work of art or music. Beauty helps remind us that our enormous grief isn’t everything. The goal of beauty isn’t to take your grief away, but to give you hope that there is more than just grief in the world. In time, you will learn to hold beauty and grief together, and perhaps even discover they are both love.
3. Start small. Look for hope in tiny moments.
When we are hurting, it can be so hard to find anything good. Be intentional about looking for one lovely moment, one beautiful thing, one instance of gratitude: a bud on a branch, an exquisite melody, a good night’s sleep, a connection with a friend, a good cry, or a day without tears. Ask the Lord for the grace to have eyes to see more than just your pain.
4. Ground yourself in the truth
When hope is hard, go to the source of hope. Scripture. Sacraments. Adoration. Lament. Throw yourself at the foot of the cross and pour all your agony on Jesus. Let him love you and hold you. You don’t have to feel his love for it to still be there. He promised He would always be with you and He is.
5. As time goes on, look for ways to make meaning out of your loss.
For many people, this process can take years. When you are further along in your grief journey, using your suffering to help others can give you hope that “it’s not for nothing”. Perhaps your grief will compel you to write or create art in your child’s name. Maybe you will start a non-profit or share your story to offer encouragement to another hurting mother or father. Any way you allow your grief to lead you to connect with others is a way of making meaning out of your child’s death. It doesn’t mean you are okay that they died, but realizing that there is beauty and purpose from their death is a way of experiencing hope.
