August 7, 19th Sunday in Ordinary Time: Hebrews 11:1-3, 8-16; Genesis 15:1-6; Luke 12:32-40

Faith may be the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. But hope, then, is the content of faith.

Hope is the girl you kissed at 17, before electrical current lost its salience, before you knew how far you could take this, before you knew you were gay or perhaps exactly because you did. Hope is the fear mingled with thrill at taking your place among the adults. She writes you three letters before she even leaves town. You would gladly give up everything for her. Your treasure is in heaven and heaven is in her.

Hope is another spring. The fullness of creation’s generosity pushes out on the ash tree leaves that shudder in the warm sun. Hope is the worms that digest the soil, over eons breaking mountains down into hills and hills into plains. The haze rises. The world shimmers and awaits the first thunderstorm of summer. Hope is the lake seen from the top of the hill.