2 May

Dear Friends,

Over the past few weeks, we have explored what living hope looks like in the First Letter of Peter. We considered hope amid suffering as being accompanied by her two daughters, Anger and Courage. Last Sunday, we suggested that Endurance could be seen as the third daughter of hope.

This week I received an encouraging text from someone who attended our Green Service on the 19th of April. That service was also centred around hope. The organisers had the wonderful idea of printing the liturgy sheets for that service on seeded paper. That is, paper laced with seeds so that, once you had finished using it, you could simply plant it in the ground and, as the paper decomposes, wildflowers begin to grow. It is a lovely idea, but what we did not realise is that it is apparently quite difficult to print on this sort of paper. The print shop’s printers kept jamming, and eventually they only managed to print 40 sheets. I was quite stressed about it all. 

So, this week I received a text: someone, quite unfamiliar with church, planted their liturgy sheet and little green sprouts started to appear. Isn’t that wonderful? Those words and hymns did not remain locked up in the church after the service had ended. They continued to grow, not only physically, but also in the hearts and minds of those who attended. 

It also made me think of something else: hope always grows in vulnerability. Just as a seed that bursts forth into new life at its most vulnerable moment, so too hope grows within us when we are at our most vulnerable. Hope is not just a passing sensation of joy when all is well; rather, it is what takes root and grows when everything appears lost or abandoned. Cynthia Bourgeault says it this way: “Hope’s home is at the innermost point in us, and in all things. It is a quality of aliveness. It does not come at the end, as the feeling that results from a happy outcome. Rather, it lies at the beginning, as a pulse of truth that sends us forth. When our innermost being is attuned to this pulse it will send us forth in hope, regardless of the physical circumstances of our lives. Hope fills us with the strength to stay present, to abide in the flow of the Mercy no matter what outer storms assail us. It is entered always and only through surrender; that is, through the willingness to let go of everything we are presently clinging to. And yet when we enter it, it enters us and fills us with its own life—a quiet strength beyond anything we have ever known.”

Marius Louw