Homily

Yesterday we served the Liturgy and Panachida for the 4th of the All Souls Saturdays, and the epistle that was read is the same epistle that is used for funerals, 1 Thessalonians 4:13-17. It begins like this, "We do not want you to be unaware, brothers, about those who have fallen asleep, so that you may not grieve like the rest who have no hope." I've heard those words read many times over the years but you know how it is—sometimes a word or a phrase suddenly jumps out at you, and yesterday it was the phrase, "those who have no hope." Who are those people who have no hope? What does it mean for them, how does it affect their lives? And then back to me, what do I hope in? What are my hopes, and of all of them which is my greatest hope?

I can't say that I hope for many things for myself. I guess most of my hopes are short term and revolve around things that are temporary and not of great importance. "I hope it won't rain today. I hope I'm not getting sick. I hope this fix works." And then I was thinking about other hopes, not for myself, but for you: "I hope it's not cancer. I hope that works out for them. I hope they will find peace." And while I have never thought this about any of you, is it not strange that when we think, "I hope you get what you deserve," it is never a good thing for the other person? When we use the term, "what you deserve," it is usually not winning the lottery or having a grand vacation. Why is it when we appeal to a hope that someone gets what they deserve, we usually mean that they deserve that something bad should happen to them, or maybe something really, really bad?

For myself, would I ever say I hope I get what I deserve? What I may sometimes wish for others who I think have done harm or evil, is never something I hope for myself. I don't think I have ever said, "I hope I get what I deserve," because I don't believe I could survive the consequences.

A few years back, and I don't want to bring up a memory that is painful for all of us, but a few years back when I faced my life-altering surgery, it was, of course, a time to think about what might go wrong. Not only was I going to have to live with the loss of a semi-vital organ, but I had to put my life into the hands of others. I was quite surprised to find myself so much at peace when the moment came, and truly a great sense of hope that no matter what, it would be fine. I had that hope. I do suspect that I was flooded with an unexpected and underserved grace by Christ our Lord, because it would be unseemly and a little scandalous for a priest to be seen weeping uncontrollably in a Catholic hospital bed.

And yet, somehow after that time, the certainty of my hope seemed to fade away to some degree, along with the faith that came with it, and the confidence in our Savior. I am afraid I let that hope fade. I did not protect it; I didn't nourish it nor care for it. I know this because when I think of what I hope for the very first thought was not the mercy of Christ, it was, "Well, I need to think about that, hmmmm . . . ." If Christ is not clearly my first hope without any doubt, without any judging of values between different kinds of hope in different kinds of things, then surely I am not living as I am called to live, nor am I at that place where I want to be, or need to be.

What is your hope? Today's reading from Hebrews is that we ought to have a hope that acts as an anchor for our souls. It is a hope that keeps us from drifting this way and that way as any good anchor does, and it keeps us from being lost at sea, carried away by doubts, or sin or the evil of the world. It is hope in the promises of God, hope in Jesus Christ, our Lord, that stabilized our lives so that we can grow in faith and increase in our love for God and our neighbor. Faith, hope and love can never be separated in the life of a Christian.

If hope is a sure and firm anchor for our souls, as we heard today, the more solid and substantial our hope becomes, the less we will drift this way or that. For myself, I wonder what is a way to know how solid an anchor my hope is? And I think the answer is found in the question, "Am I ready to die today?" Perhaps that is a good way to judge the strength of my hope and to see what kind of anchor my soul is depending on.

My friends, I believe, as I have been thinking, how very important it is that we consider the gift of hope we have been given, and that we nourish it and protect it and ask the Lord to increase its strength in our lives. Because it is only if it serves as an anchor for our lives in Christ while we live, that it will serve to keep us safe at the time when He calls us home.

Let us be encouraged by the words of St. Basil in the Anaphora today when we pray, "For You, O Lord, are a Help to the helpless, a Hope to the hopeless, a Savior for those in peril for storms at sea . . . ."