The other morning I was reading an essay by a very erudite and masterful spiritual writer named bishop Erik Varden from Norway. Something he wrote really struck me. He was speaking about how the present culture desperately desires hope and that, because of this desire for hope, the culture often tries to provide imitations of hope. The line that struck me was this: “Yet hope cannot be decreed as strategy. It must be born.” There is a temptation in all of us to manufacture hope with a command. “Everything will be fine. It will all work out.” That is not hope. That is just wishful thinking. Instead of instilling hope, manufactured imitations merely mask the hopelessness. We all know from experience that everything does not always work out the way we wish. Does that mean that in those situations there is no hope? This is why hope “must be born,” not decreed or manufactured. True hope is something that enters into the world (into our heart) and takes root and grows almost imperceptibly. It is something that awakens in the heart and is able to grow in the midst of hardship, frailty, and darkness. True hope does not deny or gloss over the pain that is present in one’s heart. In every human heart there is present, in some form or another, the regrets of the past, the pains of the present, and the fear of the future. Simply decreeing that “everything will be fine,” is not a sufficient substitute for hope. Also, true hope is not the result of something that we construct and implement. Just as artificial intelligence is not “life,” so artificial attempts to replicate hope fall short. Hope is rather something that springs up in the midst of the harshness of the surroundings. If the meteorologist came on the television and decreed, “Winter is now over,” it would do little to satisfy us. We would look out our window on March 22nd and it would still be cold, dark, and snowy perhaps. But, when we see those first greens beginning to push up from the earth, even though all around us there is still present the harsh realities of winter, our hearts are already beginning to live as though summer were here. In each one of us there are still the effects of the winter. To deny or to ignore this, or to decree it to be otherwise, is not in conformity with what we know to be true. The Church, instead, seeks to be a sign of hope in the midst of these realities. When we live the friendship of the Church together, something begins to awaken in our hearts and begins to grow, even in the midst of our afflictions. This is what hope is. When the dawn begins to break, it does so while the darkness still surrounds us. In those moments, we live differently. We live in the full expectation that what has only just begun will indeed come to fulfillment. Hope helps us here and now, relying upon God’s strength, to seek an arduous but possible good. Hope exists in, what one hymn refers to as, the valley of tears. Manufactured hope tries to compel us to believe what we know deep down to be untrue. True hope always seems to surprise us. It is born of a certain simplicity. For example, I see a parishioner in her nineties showing up for Mass on Sunday. Unexpectedly, I am surprised by hope. Her witness awakens something in me and I think, “Christ is true.” Or, I see a young person who somehow–in the midst of today’s culture–has encountered Christ and is striving toward living as Christ’s disciple. This awakens a deeper hope in me. It is not something I give myself. Instead, Christ’s Presence at work in these persons awakens within me a deeper certitude. What we live together does not offer a quick fix to every broken heart. Instead, what I see in our life together is that–even in the midst of this world’s real travails–we are already beginning to live in that New Creation that Christ came to establish. When I look at all of you and see you striving to grow in holiness, living together in friendship in Christ, and loving one another, I see the signs of that New Creation, the New Day. When we allow Christ into our lives and we live together as his friends, something surprisingly new, alive, and indomitable begins to grow in our midst. That is hope. Your Brother in Christ, Fr. David Barnes

One of the things I really enjoyed about my seven years at the Boston University Catholic Center is that the Catholic Center was physically located in the center of campus life. It was a place where students hung out, ate, studied, socialized, prayed, served, and grew in friendship and faith together. In times past, the parish church was something like that. It stood in the midst of the neighborhood where people lived, worked, socialized, and raised their families. The parish was the hub of people’s lives. Today, unless one is very intentional, the hub of people’s lives can be located in an online world that often only gives the appearance of community. It was not unusual to hear graduating seniors express fear that when they left the Catholic Center, it would be difficult to find a parish experience that replicated the intense community life they had been sharing with one another. They were going to miss having a place where they could just “hang out” in the middle of their day with other young Catholics who were on fire for their Faith. They also worried that they would not be able to find a parish where there were other young adults. The answer we would often give to those graduating students was this: Go and build it. Truth to be told, many of these young people were experts in building community. They cared for one another and worked to draw others into their friendship; a friendship that always was rooted in Christ. In fact, I’m so happy that some of those former students are parishioners here and they are still building community. Why do I mention all of this? Sometimes, as I’ve said many times before, Catholics can have a “consumerist” kind of mentality. You hear things like, “Know what this parish should have?” What that usually means is, “Know what someone else in this parish ought to do for me?” There can be an attitude that because I drop a few bucks in the collection, I expect to be served, entertained, and placated. One of the things I most appreciate about the parish community at St. Patrick’s is that people here are dedicated to building the parish that they want. Last week’s parish cookout was a great example of that. A few men from the parish did not say, “Know what we should have? We should have a parish cookout.” Instead, they said, “We would like to organize, advertise, shop, set up, host, cook, and clean up.” And that is exactly what they did. Even though it rained in the middle of it, I don’t think anybody minded. It was just a wonderful, fun-filled, day of friendship. Even the scramble to get all the chairs inside when the rain poured down became a visible sign of community. It was a sight behold; an army of folks getting hundreds of chairs from the lot to the inside in under a couple of minutes! I thank all of those who put so much into providing such an extraordinary day for us. Building community does not always require such a massive undertaking. It does not even require something to take place here at the parish building. It happens when people meet each other at Mass and have a meal together. It happens when two or three parishioners meet up for coffee. It happens when an elderly or infirm parishioner receives a visit from another parishioner. Building up a strong Catholic community is not rocket science. It does, however, take intentionality, boldness, and a certain ingenuity. It means one family noticing a new family at Mass and saying, “Oh, who are you guys? Nice to meet you. After Mass, we bring our kids out to play at the playground if you’d like to join us.” And just like that, our community has been strengthened. There are certainly differences between a Catholic Center on a campus and a parish church. There, kids stopped by in between classes to visit the Chapel, grab a cup of coffee, take a nap, or to play with my dog (Finbar, my German Short-haired Pointer who was the best dog ever!). Once a student found the Catholic Center and courageously crossed its threshold, I’d say there was a 95% chance they’d wind up making that community their home for their college years. The love and faith they experienced there would win them over. I’d say for us, our big day is Sunday. It is the primary day when all of us are here together. It is the moment for us to engage one another. But, what happens here on Sundays should then overflow into other moments to build up our community. Some of those moments may happen on the parish grounds, but they shouldn’t be limited to that. Friendship is a real key to evangelization and to building community. I am grateful that so many of you are not sitting around waiting for others to provide something. Instead, by the grace of Christ, you are intentionally and charitably building a place for others to encounter the friendship of Christ. Your Brother in Christ, Fr. David Barnes