When some friends from Switzerland visited Rome recently, I was standing in the Basilica shop at Saint Paul’s without the Walls waiting for them to finish buying ‘stuff’, when my eyes settled on the Jubilee Candle, part of the merchandising for the Holy Year 2025. Mysteriously, it costs €25, very expensive indeed for such a small candle. But it comes in a nice presentation box, which drew my eye to the Motto for the Jubilee Year, printed in green, probably because that is often the colour that represents hope.

I couldn’t help noticing that the Latin Motto has not been translated correctly. It is PEREGRINANTES IN SPEM, which does not mean “Pilgrims in Hope”, but literally “Pilgrims Into Hope”. There must be all sorts of creative ways of translating it which are faithful to the original meaning, for example “on a pilgrimage towards hope”, or “pilgrims on the way to hope”, or whatever brilliant idea you can come up with.

It’s not just a question of being pedantic. Those of you who know me well (or think you do) will probably agree that pedantry is right up my street, but there’s much more at stake here.

“Pilgrims in Hope” implies that we take up an attitude of hope and set off on pilgrimage, either by going to a place of pilgrimage or setting out a pilgrimage in our hearts – but the implication is that we already have hope or know what hope is.

“Pilgrims into Hope” is very different, and I think it’s a stroke of genius, a really inspired motto, so why lose the inspiration behind it?

People who set out on a Pilgrimage into Hope have recognised they have a lot to learn about hope, and they want to discover more. It’s a really dynamic idea of pilgrimage. I feel called to hope, and I would love to hope more, to have hope as a really firm anchor on my spiritual journey towards the heart of God.

I do hope, but I would love to hope more; I want to go on a pilgrimage of discovery in my heart in order to get closer to God’s heart. Is this the true meaning of “De profundis clamavi”? Is that real hope, when I realise, in the depths of despair, that I can still call on God and hope for a response of some kind?

On my Pilgrimage into hope,

  • I may find myself in the company of prisoners, whose experience of the need for hope is very different from mine,
  • or I may be stumbling along with my friends who have cancer, who have every reason to be scared but want to find a deeper hope than they have ever experienced before.
  • I may bump into women carrying new life inside them, whose imagination is running wild with thoughts about their unborn children: what will (s)he be like? Will (s)he be healthy? Will (s)he be happy? Will (s)he be my ride and joy, or will we not get on? I want to hope more and more that the answers to these questions will bring me and my unborn child joy and an ability to hope more and more every day in God’s loving care.
  • Maybe my friend Ged, who runs an organisation dedicated to young people tempted to end their lives, will be able to tell me what hope looks like for them; if they ever find it, how will they live it?
  • I hope the people who have come to me having lost all hope, who have been reconciled with God and the Church, never lose hope again. I would love to meet them again and hear their stories since the last time we met;

I have so much to learn about hope, and if I set off on a Pilgrimage into Hope, I know I will be one of thousands, hundreds of thousands, millions, of people who hope, but want to hope more.

I want God to hold my hand and lead me deeper and deeper into hope. Will you come, too?

Just a thought.

Mgr. Peter Fleetwood
Lecturer in Philosophy at the Pontifical Beda College, Rome