On Dec. 24, Pope Francis opened the Holy Door of St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome. In so doing, he inaugurated the Jubilee Year of 2025, dedicated to hope. In opening the Holy Door, Pope Francis symbolically opened the door of hope for the Church and for the whole human family.
The pilgrims who pass through the Holy Door at St. Peter’s will enter a most magnificent church. Their eye will be drawn to its beautifully restored baldacchino, a structure that rises nearly 10 stories above the papal altar, the focal point of the entire basilica. Behind the baldacchino, under the famed window of the Holy Spirit, they will see the Altar of the Chair — that is, the Chair of Peter — gleaming with renewed splendor.
Centuries of grime and dirt have been removed from both masterpieces so that their beauty might shine forth anew. These restorations, accomplished through the generosity of the Knights of Columbus, stand as a metaphor for what the Holy Father desires as the fruit of this Jubilee Year: a restoration of hope — in our hearts, in the Church, and in the world.
But what is hope? Is it wishful thinking? Does it rely on optimistic predictions too good to be true? Is it a belief that somehow everything will turn out fine? No, hope is not airy optimism. It does not mean that we will be spared illness, financial hardship, rejection, or even having our worst fears come true. Rather, amid life’s joys and sorrows, its aspirations and anxieties, the virtue of hope fixes our gaze upon something that appears at the forefront of our minds and in the depths of our hearts: something so good that it could not be better.
Hope is our deepest yearning for that reality, enabling us to receive it and to discover at length that it has a name, a face, an identity: Jesus, the Son of God and the Son of Mary, the One “who loved us and handed himself over for us” (Eph 5:2). If this is who God is, and if this God is on our side, who and what can be against us? (cf. Rom 8:31).
The Holy Door that the Lord wants most to open is the door of our hearts — hearts that are sometimes shut tight because of sin, anger, fear or discouragement. But no matter how many times we ignore him, the Lord continues to knock at the door of our hearts (cf. Rev 3:20). When we perceive that the Lord is knocking, let us hasten to open our hearts. He will not necessarily grant our wishes, but he will satisfy our yearning to see his face and to be loved infinitely, even amid our frailty.
Hope is our deepest yearning for that reality, enabling us to receive it and to discover at length that it has a name, a face, an identity: Jesus, the Son of God and the Son of Mary.
Could it be that the door to the confessional is also the door of hope? So many people, fearful of this great sacrament of mercy, hesitate to open that door, to enter, and to make a good unburdening confession of their sins. Yet, when we do this, we profess our hope in God’s love and mercy, so powerful that it can wipe away our sins. If God loves us while we are yet sinners (cf. Rom 5:8), should that not fill us with hope and joy? Going to confession is something like wiping away the grime and dirt that had accumulated on the baldacchino. When we are cleansed of sin, we shine forth with the splendor of hope — hope of life eternal.
Finally, it is when hope overtakes us that we begin opening doors of hope for others. As the family of the Knights of Columbus, we know something about this. Our first principle is charity, which is the key to hope. When we love, and when we experience love, our hearts are opened. That is why the service we render to the widow, the orphan, and to those in need opens doors of hope every day.
In this Holy Year, may you experience the “hope [that] does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out into our hearts” (Rom 5:5).




