THE FRUITS OF A HOLY YEAR: WALKING THE FOURTEEN STATIONS OF HOPE

Introduction

As this Jubilee year draws to a close on the Solemnity of the Epiphany on 6 January 2026, we are most interested in the fruits of this journey. Working at the Centre for Applied Carmelite Spirituality in Oxford already predisposes me to integrate insights into actionable steps. Thus, the conclusion of a Jubilee is not an end but a harvest. It is a time to gather the spiritual fruits cultivated in the soul through prayer, penance, pilgrimage, and the overarching dialogue with reality. It is a moment to ask what new light has dawned, what new understanding, and what new path has been illuminated by this Jubilee year of Hope. This outcome is of staggering importance for understanding the logic of the Letter to the Hebrews on Jesus the Messianic King, whose reign is a “present reality” that resolves the seeming scandal of the cross.

From the Fertile Ground of a Receptive Church

This article is an attempt to share one such fruit, born from the fertile ground where the Church’s universal call to hope intersects with the particular path of Carmel. In a prayerful reflection on the “Moments of Hope” in the life and ministry of Christ, one cannot help but be inspired. The result is a podcast on the “Fourteen Stations of Hope”—a prayer devotion and litany of hope forged from the spiritual pilgrimage we have all undertaken over the past year.[1] This is a modest attempt to articulate the profound and resilient hope that has been renewed and deepened during this sacred time, expressed not in avoiding suffering, but in navigating through it with Christ, our embodiment of Hope.

To understand the genesis of this project, one must first sit with the profound theological vision that animated the Jubilee Year. In his Bull of Indiction, Spes non confundit (“Hope does not disappoint”), Pope Francis grounded the Jubilee not in a fleeting feeling of optimism, but in theological certainty.[2] [3] Quoting St. Paul, he reminded us that “hope does not disappoint, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us” (Rom 5:5). This hope is a virtue whose object is the Reign of God, with eternal life as its happiness, founded on the certain promises of Christ.

This divine promise of restoration has resounded through the ages. The very concept of a Jubilee is rooted in the Old Testament command for a Yobel year, announced by the sounding of a ram’s horn.[4] This was a sacred time, occurring every fifty years, dedicated to the liberation of slaves, the remission of debts, and the return of ancestral lands.⁶ It was a radical social and spiritual “reset” button designed to restore justice to its rightful place in society. This finds its ultimate and definitive fulfilment in the person of Jesus Christ. When He stood in the synagogue at Nazareth and read from the prophet Isaiah, proclaiming “a year of the Lord,” He announced that He Himself was the great Jubilee—the one who brings true liberation from all that militates against Hope (Cf. Lk 4:18–21). So, where else can we begin other than in the body of Christ—the Church, which guarantees a just and peaceful world through grace.

Pope Francis explicitly framed the 2025 Jubilee as a necessary spiritual remedy for our specific crisis in the aftermath of the pandemics, wars, insecurity, poverty, and other social maladies.[5] He acknowledged the collective trauma of these realities, which forced us to confront “the uncertainty and fleetingness of existence” that altered the very fibre of mutual coexistence. It is therefore vital to initiate a journey of conversion, reconciliation, and a renewed commitment to pilgrimage alongside others to rediscover the hope set before us.

Transformed by Hope, a Lived Witness

Specifically, for Carmelites, this spiritual pilgrimage resonates with a particular depth and clarity. The Carmelite vocation is, in its very essence, a pilgrimage. It is a lifelong ascent of the holy mountain of Carmel, a journey whose destination is not a geographical location but a transformative, personal union with the living God. This interior disposition offers a profound spiritual corollary to the Jubilee’s external practices. While the Holy Year encourages physical pilgrimage to the great basilicas of Rome and other designated holy sites, the Carmelite tradition radically internalises this practice. It becomes a constant invitation to re-consecrate the cell of the heart as the primary site of grace by walking these fourteen stations, making the fruits of the Jubilee Year accessible to everyone, regardless of their ability to travel.

On this interior pilgrimage, we are not without guides. We look first to our spiritual father, the Prophet Elijah. His journey into the desert, his courageous challenge to the injustices of his day, and his radical encounter with God not in the earthquake or fire but in a “sound of a gentle breeze” provide the archetypal model for being transformed by God in even the most unlikely moments (Cf. 1 Kings 19:12–14). Thus, the pilgrimage of hope requires both the solitude of the cave to “listen again” and the contemplative action to bear fruit in prophetic witness for the good of humanity.

We also turn to our sister and mother, Mary, Queen and Beauty of Carmel. She is the exemplar for Carmelites—one who, hearing the word, holds it fast in an honest and good heart, and bears fruit with patience (Lk 8:15). At the Annunciation, her fiat—“Let it be with me according to your Word”—is the ultimate act of hopeful surrender to the will of God. She models receptivity for us by transforming her “How will this come about?” to attentive listening to the “Moments of Hope.”

St. Teresa of Ávila teaches us a patient hope. In a world that demands instant gratification, her wisdom reminds us that spiritual growth is a slow, demanding process that requires immense perseverance. She urges a “strong and determined resolution, not to stop till we arrive at the fourth water [of union with God].”[6] Her moments of hope endured long periods of dryness in prayer and did not disappoint because that hope was not placed in spiritual consolations, which come and go, but in God Himself, who “never changes” and who “alone suffices.”

St. John of the Cross guides us through a purifying hope. His teaching on the Dark Night of the Soul is perhaps the most radical exploration of Christian hope ever written. While the Dark Night is a painful purgation where God strips the soul of all its attachments and consolations, it is also a moment of profound hope.[7] John calls this a “happy night” – for the endurance of darkness in preparation for great light.[8] John calls this a “happy night,” for it is the endurance of darkness in preparation for great light. This is a hope that survives the death of all lesser hopes. The soul learns to trust not in feelings or spiritual experiences, but in the sure light of faith.

St. Thérèse of Lisieux offers us a childlike hope. Her “Little Way” is a path of radical trust and absolute self-surrender. It is the hope of a child who knows that even if they fall, the loving arms of the Father are there to lift them up.[9]Pope Francis, in his apostolic exhortation on St. Thérèse, highlights this core message of trust and love. Thérèse rejoiced in her weakness, seeing it as the very space where God’s power could be made manifest.[10]  Thérèse offers powerful insights to tap into the wisdom of St. Paul: “‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me” (2 Cor 12:9).

St. Teresa Benedicta of the Cross (Edith Stein) embodies a crucified hope. A martyr of the Holocaust, she lived in one of history’s darkest nights. From her Jewish heritage and philosophical search for truth, she came to understand and teach that the cross is not an obstacle to hope, but its only true source. With all her heart, she could say, “Ave, Crux, Spes unica” (Hail, O Cross, our only hope). For her, to love Christ was to accept communion in hope with the beloved.[11] Faced with the danger of the Nazi gas chamber, along with her sister Rosa, she gave a wonderful profession of hope that conquers the hatred of man.

St. Titus Brandsma, another martyr of the Nazis, lived a joyful hope in the face of utter despair. In the hell of the Dachau concentration camp, he lived out his moment of hope by vehemently opposing the Nazi ideology and inspiring his fellow prisoners, meeting “hate with love.” His hope was not a denial of reality, but a profound vision that saw beyond it. “We are here in a dark tunnel,” he told them, “but we have to go on. At the end, an eternal light is shining for us.”[12] His prayers for his captors were all fruits of a hope so deeply anchored in Christ’s sacrifice for a better world that it could not be extinguished by torture or starvation. His life proves that the love of God, when truly received, makes a hope that does not disappoint possible even in crisis.

Like our forebears, we too are invited to step into these “Fourteen stations of Hope,” carrying the Word deeply seated in our hearts with the keen intuition of the Spirit, received through a prayerful pondering on our present reality in the light of God’s Word. As St. John of the Cross writes, “Well and good if all things change, O Lord God, provided we are rooted in You.” It is valuable to recognise that through our individual journeys, we showcase how this hope is experienced, even ridiculed and challenged, and ultimately affirmed in every aspect of life, as long as we remain anchored in Christ.[13]

The Royal Priest: Hope’s Anchor in the Heavenly Sanctuary

To fully grasp the foundation upon which our Christian hope is built, we must turn to the central mystery of the New Testament, one that provides the theological bedrock for our confidence. The early Christians, faced with the apparent contradiction of a crucified Messiah, found the key to understanding in the Scriptures, particularly in the royal priesthood of Psalm 110. This Psalm, quoted more than any other Old Testament passage by the New Testament authors, becomes the interpretive key through which the entire mystery of Christ is understood.

The author of Hebrews masterfully weaves together insights from this psalm to reveal the dual identity of the risen Christ. This revelation of Jesus as the King-Priest solves the great “scandal of the cross.” This reinforces the claim that Christ’s suffering, and indeed our hope for a better world, is not a contradiction of His kingdom but the very path to it. His passion was the necessary trial through which He was made the “founder and perfecter of our faith” (Heb 12:1–2), “who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, disregarding its shame.” His hope, therefore, is what makes His priesthood effective and His kingship victorious. We, too, are invited to this fullness of Hope that resolves the fundamental tension of Christian hope: the “already” and the “not yet.” Christ is already enthroned in glory. The messianic age has already begun. Our hope, then, is anchored in the certainty of the “already.” We can endure the trials of the “not yet” because we know that our King-Priest reigns, interceding for us from the heavenly sanctuary. This is the unshakable foundation of the moments of patient, purifying, joyful, childlike, and crucified hope taught by our Carmelite saints.

Conclusion

The “Moments of Hope,” in the light of the profound logic of Hebrews, becomes a prayerful step on the interior journey that the Fourteen Stations of Hope represent. It rediscovers a deeper layer of meaning already present in the Paschal Mystery as a wellspring of hope for those who struggle with the plausibility of Christ’s coming. It takes us from the Annunciation of good tidings to our own transformation in hope, and finally to our commission to become harbingers of Hope. The conclusion of the Jubilee on the Solemnity of the Epiphany is indeed a commissioning. “Epiphany” means manifestation. We are now called to manifest—to make an epiphany of—this hope to a world starving for it. The formal journey of the Jubilee Year may be over, but for us, Pilgrims of Hope, whose gaze is fixed on Christ and the example of those holy prophets and saints, the true pilgrimage has just begun.

Footnotes:

[1] I benefited from interactions with Fr. Alex, who contributed to the first draft, and John Dalla Costa, who offered insightful concerns to shape this project.

^[2] Spes non Confundit – Bull of Indiction of the Ordinary Jubilee of the …, accessed September 17, 2025, https://www.vatican.va/content/francesco/en/bulls/documents/20240509_spes-non-confundit_bolla-giubileo2025.html

[3] Pope proclaims Jubilee: ‘May hope fill our days!’ – Vatican News, accessed September 17, 2025, https://www.vaticannews.va/en/pope/news/2024-05/pope-proclaims-jubilee-may-hope-fill-our-days.html

[4] Why is 2025 a Jubilee Year in the Catholic Church? – CAFOD, accessed September 17, 2025, https://cafod.org.uk/news/uk-news/why-is-2025-a-jubilee-year-in-the-catholic-church

[5] Pope’s Letter announcing the Jubilee Year 2025 | NRVC, accessed September 17, 2025, https://nrvc.net/547/publication/19455/article/28830-pope-s-letter-announcing-the-jubilee-year-2025

[6] Teresa of Avila, Teresa of Avila. “Life”, in Collected Works, Vol. 1, transl. by Kieran Kavanaugh, OCD and Otilio Rodriguez, OCD. (Kerala: Carmel Inc. Pub. House, Trivandrum, 2013), chap. 11. ar. 15,

[7] John of the Cross, The Dark Night of the Soul, in Collected Works. transl. by Kieran Kavanaugh, OCD and Otilio Rodriguez, OCD. (Kerala: Carmel Inc. Pub. House, Trivandrum, 2012) Bk 1, chap 2, 8

[8] John of the Cross, The Letters, 1 “To Catalina de Jesus, discalced Carmelite,” Baeza, July 6, 1581

[9] Cf. Thérèse of Lisieux, Story of a Soul: The Autobiography of Saint Thérèse of Lisieux, trans. John Clarke, 3rd ed. (Washington, DC: ICS Pub., 1996), p. 208.

[10] Cf. Thérèse of Lisieux, (1988) General Correspondence, Vol 2, Transl. John Clarke, OCD. (Washington: Washington province of Discalced Carmelites, Inc), p. 1000

[11] Cf. Edith Stein, The Science Of The Cross, Trans Josephine Koeppel, O.C.D. Edited by Dr. L. Gelber and Romaeus Leuven, O.C.D. (Washington: ICS Publications Institute of Carmelite Studies, 2002) p. 147

[12] Hugh Clarke, “Titus Brandsma”, in Victims of the Nazis, (London: The Incorporated Catholic Truth Society, 1997), p. 51

[13] John of the Cross, Sayings of Light and Love, no. 34, in Collected Works. transl. by Kieran Kavanaugh, OCD and Otilio Rodriguez, OCD. Kerala: Carmel Inc. Pub. House, Trivandrum, 2012