The aim of Christian hope is a gift, the gift of God's love, which we do not own but which is the most precious gift we will ever receive.

One of my mother's favorite poems was Alexander Pope's "An Essay on Man" which begins with the powerful affirmation that "hope springs eternal in the human breast." Whenever we were feeling "down in the dumps" (one of my father's expressions), Mom would remind us that hope springs eternal. 

But does it really--or is this just wishful thinking?

My mother's experience certainly validated hope's eternal quality. She suffered terribly from a disease that seemed hopeless, but by the grace of God (she would say), she was able to recover one day at a time and live a rich and rewarding life. One of the keys to life's mysteries (and my mother's story) lies in the rest of Pope's poem. "The soul, uneasy and confined from home, rests and expatriates in a life to come."

Our hearts are restless, Augustine says, until they rest in God. We are spiritual beings and our most profound longing is for union with God and one another. Perfect union can only be found "in a life to come." Until then, we are "uneasy and confined from home," strangers who constantly search for our true homeland which is Love. 

God is Love, but we forget this and search for Love in many other places none of which can truly satisfy our cravings. The result is disappointment, confusion and despair. 

And yet, hope springs eternal--calling us to seek and find Love in the humblest and most  unlikely places: including among the poor, the outcasts and strangers. As spiritual seekers (pilgrims, sojourners and migrants), we never "are" but we are always "to be." That is a great blessing. The gift of hope, which is the most precious gift we will ever receive, prevents us from being permanently "down in the dumps" or stuck in our sins. 

As the poet says:

Hope springs eternal in the human breast;

Man never is, but always to be blessed:

The soul, uneasy and confined from home,

Rests and expatiates in a life to come.

   Alexander Pope, An Essay on Man