I like pickleball. I’m no fanatic, but once every few weeks or so I play for a few hours with a group of friends. This mixed group of “seasoned” adults rents two indoor courts every Monday and I sub in as needed. This is a great group of people with just the right mix of whimsey and competitive spirit. No one exemplifies this more than Molly. She was a soccer player growing up so when she is on the court she can’t help but to give her most competitive effort, yet she delights in long rallies and other’s good shots - laughing and celebrating even when the opposing team wins the point. Molly was a year ahead of me school-wise though I knew of her and our paths would occasionally cross in younger days. During the next stage of life, two sets of our kids attended grade school together. She has always seemed to be a person whose feet are firmly planted in the moment which is something I admire - noting that this is routinely a shortcoming of mine. (I’m trying to get better.)
Not surprisingly at our age, there are always little aches and pains the pickleball group brings to the courts. A few weeks back, however, I noticed Molly noticeably wincing, and though she continued to play, it was apparent that her racquet hand was really bothering her. The early stages of arthritis have begun settling in and this was a particularly bad day. As we walked out of the facility that evening, I asked her how she was doing. After a brief moment of thought, she acknowledged the pain, but then went on to say how fortunate she was to still be able to get out and to be active, noting what a great life she has been able to lead.
Her simple reflection struck me in a most authentic way, and it brought me back to a previous experience over 15 years removed - my last visit with Fr. Mark Nieman, SJ. He was dying of cancer and I went to see him in hospice care in an attempt to brighten his day ever so slightly. I hope I had that effect, because what he provided me that day was so much more. He was at such a profound level of peace that it elevated my spirits. He provided me with the gift of an example for how to encounter death that I hope to someday emulate.
Referencing diminishment, pain, and death seems a strange way of beginning an Advent reflection. After all, hope is generally associated with the opposite: that somehow if we just hold on everything will turn in our favor - at least that’s the lesson of every Hallmark holiday movie. The truth, however, is that pain is real, and loss and death are unavoidable. Sure, an occasional Hallmark moment occurs, but more often we live our lives in anticipation of our miracle moment only to have it never materialize (at least not in the way we imagined). So is hope really worth it? More importantly, is it fair or honest to peddle in hope as a lever we use to assuage the distress of others in their difficult times?
For me, the answer is an unequivocal and resounding “yes!” so long as we recognize the significant difference between hope (grounds for believing in the eventuality of desirable outcomes), grace (being bestowed an underserved desirable outcome), and anticipation (expecting a certain outcome based on probabilities). Hope requires our participation. In its simplest form, think of the person who “hopes” to win the lottery. The sensation of hope isn’t activated until the person actually buys a ticket: no ticket, no chance of the desirable outcome. Conversely, think of how deflated you feel after the defeat of your favorite sports team. For most of us, those feelings go away after a good night’s sleep as we come to recognize that we had no real influence on the outcome and, though it would have been great, we weren’t graced with a win. Based on their preparation, the players on the underdog team had earned the right to hope, while those on the favored team likely anticipated a victory. We fans really didn't have a dog in the hunt.
Why the semantics? Because too often we fail to recognize that hope isn’t some ethereal wisp we attempt to grasp, rather it is embedded in the raw energy of our work-a-day lives. Recently, America Media published an article by Jason Blakely reflecting on his journey from atheism to being a person of faith where he states, “We are storytelling animals already living inside our stories—not stories that we command autonomously, but that we already find in midpoint in our families, cities, societies and worlds…[T]he actual human situation up to the present day is that meanings and stories cannot be eliminated from the world. Human existence does not seem to permit the subtraction or elimination of stories and meanings.”
Rightly oriented hope, then, is our search for meaning within our unfolding stories. Our role in this search is to openly receive the events of our lives with dignity and gratitude, giving hope the opportunity to take hold. Though I have often previously referenced the Ignatian Daily Examen as a valuable tool for reflection, until Molly’s comment that triggered my memory regarding Fr. Nieman, I don’t think I fully grasped how gratitude is really supposed to work in this context. The Examan provides us an opportunity to consider the entirety of our day with gratitude, not just the moments that went our way. This helps us more fully understand our deepest, most cherished desires and to refocus our hopes accordingly.
In this way, hope is like the flame of a candle, providing light and warmth. I like this imagery because the strength of a candle’s flame is dependent on so many external factors (wind, moisture, oxygen…) that it can be hard at times to keep the candle lit. Life gets hard, and for some of us, it stays that way for so long that one’s flame can get snuffed out. One of my greatest fascinations with candles though is how a smoldering candle can be relit from the presence of a separate fire source. This only happens because there are lingering wax vapors present in the smoke from the smoldering candle that serve as enough of an accelerant to enable a nearby flame to travel back down the smoke and find purchase. The key then, even in our moments of great despair, is to keep the candle smoldering. Somehow, some way, be grateful.
While this does require surrendering, it doesn’t mean giving up! If anything, gratitude requires our greatest levels of resolve, but because we are targeting our energies so acutely, the burden feels a bit lighter. So the next time this Holiday Season you hear an ad telling you how grateful you should feel and it makes you want to scream instead, take a deep breath and get back to living. It's there that your hope is present.
For me, I think I’m going to add the Serenity Prayer to my daily Examen routine…God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.
CONTRIBUTOR: Jeff Hausman, AVLI President
vol 7 issue 1