When you have the power, or are on top, or when everything is going your way, it’s only natural to want to strut. You don’t want to think about a time when you might be powerless, on the bottom, or have the world against you.
That’s a downer, isn’t it?
But that’s exactly where religion urges us to go, to think about the world from other perspectives, to consider what life is like for people without your privilege, to have empathy with the unfortunate. Because, after all, if you were in their shoes, wouldn’t you hope they would look out for you?
Have you ever had a conversation where what you have to say doesn’t even seem to be part of the conversation? Someone can ask you how you are, and you reply, and they just go on talking about whatever is on their mind as if you’ve not said anything? It’s really more a monologue than a dialogue, since only their concerns are discussed.
It’s frustrating. And lonely to be in that kind of conversation.
Listening is such an easy way to show concern and care for someone else. Responding to what they say, being engaged, asking questions, actually including them in the conversation rather than treating them like they’re only there to hear what you have to say.
In this world of increasing narcissism, self-absorption, and loneliness, listening needs to make a comeback. Not just listening while you’re thinking up what your response will be or how you can divert the conversation back to you and your concerns, but listening. Real listening.
Perhaps the person you’re talking to could really use an opportunity to be heard.
Miep Gies was a young office worker when she hid and supported Anne Frank and her family, protecting them from Nazis and the danger of being sent to a concentration camp. After Anne and her family were betrayed and captured, Miep collected Anne’s diaries and eventually returned them to Anne’s father, Otto, who survived the war. That diary has been read by millions of people now, inspiring acts of heroism and showing, in a very intimate way, the horror of WWII as viewed through the eyes of an innocent, complex, lovely, vibrant girl, Anne.
Miep wasn’t famous or rich or particularly accomplished, yet she managed through her actions to shine a very bright light on hate and replace it with a more powerful portrait of love. Anne, too, wasn’t famous or rich or accomplished, although we can see now how she was a gifted author, but her words have been inspiring and a powerful force against evil in the world.
No matter our position or age or wealth or gender, we each can make a contribution that makes the world more bright.
The world existed before us and will go on after us. That’s a hard thing to wrap our minds around because we see things from our point of view. It’s hard to picture a scenario without ourselves in it. And yet, that day will come. Our chance to make our mark will end. While it seems at first like a very sobering thought, it can be uplifting because it reminds us that we are here now; this is our time to dance, to love, to give, to celebrate, to reach out to the other dust particles like ourselves and do our bit. This is our moment. Let’s make the most of it.
One of the greatest frustrations of life is not being able to change the past, whether it is to remedy that stupid thing you just said or the larger elements of fractures in society leading to war. The only things we can really do with the past are to live with it, learn from it, and figure out how to move forward. For those who study history, seeing ugly patterns reemerge and take shape can be horrifying.
And yet, it is not all gloom and doom. Indeed, we are not helpless:
One of the curses of history is that we cannot go back and change the course leading to disasters, no matter how much we might wish to. The past has its own terrible inevitability. But it is never too late to change the future.”
― Heather Cox Richardson
We can learn from history what it takes to resist. We can remember who the real heroes were in dark times and emulate them. We can draw on community and coalitions to fight for the common good. We can continue to believe that integrity counts, that honesty and fidelity and honor matter, that kindness will always heal, and that love is, not only good, but the answer to any question.
We can fight. With whatever tools we have: words, money, presence, we can take a stand, doing our little bit of good.
As Desmond Tutu said:
Do your little bit of good where you are; it’s those little bits of good put together that overwhelm the world.
In 2016, Pope Francis sainted Mother Teresa. She was a beloved paragon of a selfless life, ministering to the poor and dying, shining a light on the importance of the little things and the love of family. After her death, her diaries showed her struggles with doubt. Once feeling clearly called to her mission, in the last several decades of her life she felt God’s absence. She said,
Lord, my God, who am I that You should forsake me? The Child of your Love–and now become as the most hated one–the one–You have thrown away as unwanted–unloved. I call, I cling, I want–and there is no One to answer–no One on Whom I can cling–no, No One.–Alone … Where is my Faith–even deep down right in there is nothing, but emptiness & darkness–My God–how painful is this unknown pain–I have no Faith–I dare not utter the words & thoughts that crowd in my heart–& make me suffer untold agony.
So many unanswered questions live within me afraid to uncover them–because of the blasphemy–If there be God –please forgive me–When I try to raise my thoughts to Heaven–there is such convicting emptiness that those very thoughts return like sharp knives & hurt my very soul.–I am told God loves me–and yet the reality of darkness & coldness & emptiness is so great that nothing touches my soul. Did I make a mistake in surrendering blindly to the Call of the Sacred Heart?
And on until her death, she felt God’s absence, rather than his presence. And yet she persisted doing the work to which she had been called, living a life of faith.
Some may call her a hypocrite to have an outward smile of peace and an inner crisis of faith, but isn’t her struggle every one’s struggle? Who among us doesn’t struggle with doubt? Don’t we all rely on faith when our paths grow dark and twisting?
St. Teresa of Calcutta inspires us to hang on during the dark nights of the soul, to continue to walk the walk, to be faithful and steadfast, and to shine light in the dark places. She can aptly be considered the Patron Saint of Doubters.
Sometimes, when we feel down, we need to evaluate the input coming into our lives. Are we steeped in negativity? Maybe not just news, but the vitriol that follows it in the comments? The political back and forth can get ugly and pull us down. And then we can think about the friends we surround ourselves with. Are they upbeat, trying to make things better, or always complaining?
And, while we don’t want to retreat from fighting the good fight or the friends who are going through a rough patch, it’s so easy for people to tear things down, to find the flaws, to make a conflict, and, when we are around that kind of energy constantly, we can feel beaten down.
But, there is good news to be had, and there are positive people and opportunities to be found. Sometimes we need to focus our attention there, if only for a break from the storm.
Bless the comforters, those who reach out and see others hurting and grief stricken, and offer them solace. Who sit with those going through difficult times, and give of their presence. Who offer kind, comforting words.
We sometimes think those who are good at comforting don’t know loss of their own, but the opposite is probably true.
As said by Rainer Maria Rilke:
Do not assume that he who seeks to comfort you now lives untroubled among the simple and quiet words that sometimes do you good. His life may also have much sadness and difficulty, that remains far beyond yours. Were it otherwise, he would never have been able to find such words.
Perhaps the only good to come of great loss is the ability to recognize it in others and offer them comfort and companionship.
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