by Faith Hakesley January 3, 2023 at Our Sunday Visitor
There’s a lot going on in the Catholic Church and in the world around us that may cause many of us to throw our hands up in frustration and maybe even despair. However, we have the assurance of God’s presence and of his promises and, much like other virtues, hope is something that we have to choose to cling to in spite of our pain and uncertainty.
There have been many times over the course of my own life when I have been on the brink of despair. I suffered months of sexual abuse at the hands of a trusted parish priest when I was 15 years old, lost my oldest brother unexpectedly due to a heart condition a year later, and have endured numerous health scares including cancer and a heart condition that nearly took my life. There have been many times when my faith has been very weak and, as a result, hope has been difficult to hold on to. That changed in April 2008 when, along with four other victims of clergy abuse from the Archdiocese of Boston, I was given the life-changing opportunity to meet with Pope Benedict XVI during his apostolic trip to the United States.
At the time of this meeting, five years had passed since a criminal trial had put my rapist behind bars. I had made leaps and bounds on my healing journey, but I was still struggling in more ways than one. A piece of advice from my mother had kept me going since a time of particular struggle and uncertainty before the trial. She encouraged me to look for God’s “glimmers of grace.” These are his little gifts to us that bring us joy, reassure us of his love and lead us to hope. Sometimes, God sends certain individuals into our lives to be glimmers of grace; for me, Pope Benedict XVI became one such glimmer.
I listened intently to Pope Benedict’s homily at a packed Washington Nationals Stadium in Washington, D.C., on April 17, 2008. He spoke of the sex abuse scandal and of hope, love, forgiveness and of keeping God’s children safe. He asked Catholics to love their priests and to affirm them, and he encouraged all to pray to the Holy Spirit for guidance and conversion. At that point in time, I had still not forgiven my rapist, and in that moment, I felt as though the Holy Father was speaking directly to me. Perhaps his words were not what I wanted to hear, but they were what I needed to hear. The closing words of his homily particularly struck me: “Those who have hope must live different lives! By your prayers, by the witness of your faith, by the fruitfulness of your charity, may you point the way toward that vast horizon of hope which God is even now opening up to his Church, and indeed to all humanity: the vision of a world reconciled and renewed in Christ Jesus, our Savior.”
Despite the good that had come into my life, hope was something that still did not come easily. Pope Benedict’s words were of great encouragement to me. I knew that choosing to live the hope-filled kind of life the pope described wasn’t going to come easy. Just as healing wasn’t going to happen overnight, neither would hope be restored overnight, but hope was possible.
Later that afternoon, as I knelt in the chapel at the apostolic nunciature preparing for the Holy Father to arrive, I struggled to think of the right words to say when my time with him came. With tears welling up in my eyes, I gave myself over to God as I prayed for the courage to say whatever needed to be said. As I recalled the pope’s words from his Mass earlier that day, there was a peaceful reassurance deep within my heart that I was not alone.
When I heard the door at the back of the room open, I turned around just as the pontiff entered. I couldn’t take my eyes off the slight, old, humble-looking man. Pope Benedict smiled as he walked toward the front of the chapel where he knelt and led us in prayer. When the Holy Father arose, Cardinal Seán P. O’Malley of Boston presented him with a large book containing the names of 1,476 known victims of abuse from the Archdiocese of Boston. Pope Benedict was visibly moved. His eyes teared up, and his face suddenly bore on it such pain and anguish that I had a sudden desire to run up to him and hug and comfort him.
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