SUSTAINING HOPE IN UNCERTAIN TIMES
At the end of September, I participated in a Gathering of Passionate Preachers, sisters from different Dominican congregations, with the theme “Hopeful Women.” From that space of reflection and encounter, I was inspired to write about how to sustain hope, especially in times of uncertainty, and about how to live it not only as a feeling, but as an active vocation that calls us to embody mercy and compassion in our daily lives.
Sustaining hope today is not a naive or sentimental act; it is a profound spiritual decision, an existential stance born from the very core of the Gospel.
The hope we need is not evasive or cosmetic. It is not a pretty phrase in difficult times, nor a sedative to lull consciences. True Christian hope is not an anesthetic: it mobilizes. It does not deny pain: it passes through it. She doesn’t shy away from reality: she embraces it with the certainty that God continues to work in the midst of history, even when everything seems in ruins.
We are MDRs, women called to live with passion and compassion, and that word, compassion, reveals an essential secret: it is not just feeling pity for those who suffer, but burning with them, carrying the weight of life together.
The only intolerance we are allowed as believers is against suffering that can be avoided. Everything else can wait. The pain of the people cannot.
Therefore, the path of hope does not begin with speeches, but with listening ears and moved hearts. When we allow the cries of humanity to enter our prayer, something ignites within our hearts. This is how Saint Dominic lived it: at night, with tears, he repeated: “What will become of those who suffer?” His preaching was not born of ideas or theories, but of groans. He spoke to God and of God… from God. Because when the heart has been touched, pierced, by the God of Life, one cannot speak superficially. Because it displaces one’s entire life.
The God I believe in is not distant. He is the God of the Bush that burns without being consumed. The God who calls us by name and reveals to us that life is not destined to be extinguished. God heard the cries of the enslaved people and said: “I have heard the cry of my people… go, be my answer now.” That word resonates today with new strength. To be a consecrated woman today, to be a MDR, is to understand that prayer is not an escape, but an encounter with the living God who groans, suffers, and celebrates in the lives of the men and women of our time. When we truly remain silent, when we allow the groaning of the world to penetrate to our very bones, the heart rebounds… and that rebound becomes a mission.
I deeply believe that we are called to “give birth to a new humanity.” God is Rahamim, the depths of mercy, and we are those depths of God within history.
Bringing forth hope is not easy: it hurts, it tires, it wears out, it tears us apart. But it is the only way for life to continue. In the midst of this prophetic task, the words of Pedro Casaldáliga resonate powerfully: “Hope is possible, but… hope is also necessary. It is as urgent as our daily bread.” And we cannot save that bread: it must be broken and shared. Hope is not declared, it is shared. It is not enough to believe in it: we must knead it with our hands, sustain it with our prayers, and offer it with concrete gestures, even if they are small. Sometimes sharing hope is simply truly listening. Sometimes it is even sharing “shoes,” as if to say: “You walk now in my shoes, I have already walked this path.” Sometimes it is embracing when words are unnecessary. Sometimes it is crying in company. Sometimes it is prophetically crying out in the face of injustice, even when you are beaten.
How can we sustain hope?
Contemplating history from the Gospel perspective, not to flee, but to allow ourselves to be ignited. Listening to the cry of the poor until it becomes an inner mandate. They are present, not only on social media, but in bodies and in eyes, because no “like” replaces the warmth of a helping hand.
We must be midwives of the Kingdom, gently supporting the birth of life where everything seems dead. Making our vocation a new word to be heard amid the noise of the world.
Today more than ever, the world needs voices with the accent of the Gospel and the fire of their hearts. Voices that do not deny pain, but draw hope from pain.
May our life be that tender and courageous cry that proclaims: we do not accept that war and death have the last word. We do not resign ourselves to injustice. We still believe that God’s love triumphs, not the tyrants and despots that exist in so many parts of the world and sometimes also in our hearts. May our steps be flames, our hands be cradles, our voices be the Gospel. And whatever happens, let us hold on to hope… until hope, one day, fails us.
Hna. Marcela Zamora
Cdad. Acogida-Madrid