There is something almost magical about May. It’s a month so full of hope. Flowers burst from the ground and from tree branches in a proliferation of color where just a few short days ago there was nothing but brown. Darling little gap-toothed girls wearing sweet white dresses take their places with little boys dressed in miniature suits to receive Our Lord for the very first time, leaving parents and grandparents in the pews praying for a lifetime of grace and goodness for these dear children. Thoughtful young people take new names and lean into a commitment that seals them with grace. And then there is the swagger: caps and gowns on young adults so proud of themselves, so sure they are fully equipped to take on the world. It’s not so much magic that makes May sparkle brightly. It’s the wonder of a new beginning, the gorgeous optimism of hope.
How fitting that even in May, it is still Easter. The Easter season means that we continue our resurrection celebration, and our souls rise to a crescendo of glorious wonder. It catches us by surprise. How can this be? My Lord is not here? He has risen? We, too, will rise after death? Pure wonder ensues. This miracle moves us from even the most imaginative expectations and assumptions to something more.
In May, where the theme is “commencement” — of a new season of life in the church, of graduation from one academic state to another or into the big, bold world — it is hope that sings. Everything good seems possible in May. So many bright blessings, so many new beginnings. We need to carry the hope of May with us into the rest of the year. In the heat of July, the death of October and the darkness of January, it is wonder that will keep hope alive.
Faith is a gift freely given. There is nothing we can do to obtain it for ourselves. But growing in faith requires a commitment, a choice. God makes himself available to us; if we want to grow a deep and personal relationship with him, we are going to have to choose it. We are going to have to make time to hear his voice, to open ourselves to be filled with his presence.
Hope is a gift, too. And if we want to keep hope alive, we have to engage in wonder. Recognizing our limits with true humility, we lift our gazes and see all that is good. The gift of it all is clear and bright as a morning in May. So, we wonder. How is human life so full, so whole? Breathing in the goodness, we give thanks. In that moment of gratitude, we nurture the capacity to wonder. We give it our full assent. It waters our souls. With wonder, hope grows there.
The day comes when it’s not a glorious May morning of celebration anymore. It feels like all the hope and happiness have been clouded by the oppression of “real life.” The temptation is to sink into despair and abandon hope. We don’t give into that temptation. Like mature faith, mature hope can withstand the storm. It has been cultivated by the active engagement of wonder. The ability to see and sense and think about the goodness of God sustains us. It allows us to inhale the sweet flower-scented hopeful wonder of May even in the dark of winter.
Don’t waste the gift of May. Get out in it. Inhale the wonder of it. Grow hope.
Foss, whose website is Takeupandread.org, writes from Connecticut.
