Finding grace in a time of gracelessness
What a difference a couple of days make. But isn't that always the case?
On Friday, I was buoyed by the news breaking concerning Donald Trump. I along with all of you was riding high. But I knew it wouldn't last, because such moments are transitory in a world where people continue to make execrable decisions.
Yesterday I returned to work, after being bedridden last week due to stress and exhaustion. And there it was again: the never-ending cases, the vile and wretched excuses for not getting vaccinated, the utter sociopathy of too many of my fellow human beings. Add to that other problems, including with people I love, and my cup of bitterness ran over.
As one problem led to another, I stopped and asked myself: Why am I doing this? Why am I bothering? None of it matters. So many people are mired in selfishness that it's hard to have empathy, or even sympathy. I've taken to calling those of us on the COVID frontlines as "Guadalcanal Marines". We've been left on an island facing a relentless enemy, with seemingly no hope of salvation or succor.
Of course, those marines did eventually receive help, and they did defeat a relentless enemy. But the cost. I take every refusal to get vaccinated, every refusal to grant a contact tracing interview, as a personal attack, as a stab in the back. My anger bubbles up; I begin to despair. I understand why so many of us are at our wits' end. The effort seems futile, a Sisyphean struggle in pointlessness.
This is the problem at the heart of theodicy, of explaining why a loving and omnipotent God allows such calamities to occur. It's why I turned away from God early on; first out of a sense of rebellion; later out of the utter impossibility of finding an answer for that question. We're on our own; we can expect no deus ex machina as in Restoration comedy, where an ancient god descends at the end of the play or opera and sets tragedy to rights.
The strain of nihilism now festering in the developed world is impossible to ignore. It's not relegated to this country; you can find it in varying degrees all across the rich nations, peace and plenty being supremely unsatisfying to a terrifyingly large segment of the population. Some people really do want to see it all burn, confident that they'll be the ones to sift through the ashes of the fallen world.
This is when I stop. This is when I breathe. This is when I reorient. This is when I look for grace, and to give grace.
If we're all we have, with no expectation of divine intervention, then we have to find purpose and meaning in our lives. And that's hard. It's easier to find meaning in something external, in a religion or political ideology. Being part of a mass absolves you of many crimes. Being responsible for your own thoughts and actions is terrifying. You are left naked before the universe, trembling before that place where God should be.
But here's the secret: We are all naked and trembling. We are all faced with this existential choice. This is the one group to which we all belong, no matter how we deceive ourselves by saying "No, I'm bathed in the blood of the saints," or "If I work for revolution I will help usher in utopia." How can you usher in anything when your soul is caked in mud? How can you "help", when you yourself don't realize the depth of your helplessness?
What we have is each other. I'm not arguing against a belief in the divine, or against political action. What I'm saying is that those aren't enough unless we fine wholeness in ourselves. Unless we find that grace which is one of the mysteries of the universe. Unless we bestow grace upon those we encounter in the world.
What do I mean by "grace"? That realization that we're all fallible, fumbling human beings. The realization that perfection will never be something we will achieve. Such things are not for mortals. But the realization that it's the journey that ultimately matters, the day-by-day steps, one foot in front of another, trying to do the best for those around us. It, like hope, is hard. It's the hardest part of being a human being. And I don't mean accepting the failings of others; we always can see the mote in another's eye. But we disregard the log in ours.
Grace isn't something we solely bestow upon others. We must bestow it upon ourselves. Real grace, not a mere affirmation that "Hey, I'm great". The grace we bestow upon ourselves is one that acknowledges our failings. By doing so we see the logs in our eyes, and have a better understanding of our brothers and sisters.
I may not believe in God, but like all the great men and women of God on whose shoulders I stand, we all struggle to define meaning in life. What works for you, works for you, and I'm not one to gainsay it. Like the Jewish mystics, we seek to put back together the Shekinah, the world's original perfection. We never will, but in the attempt we make the world better, more decent, more divine. We seek and give grace because we see each other in each other. Making the world more whole is the only real human work worth anything. And when I'm at the end of my tether, that's what I return to, if only in my small way.