In this wrecked world, how do we have hope?

How can we fight the systems designed to make us miserable?

Sunlight through a ravaged forest, post-derecho 2020

Tell me if this sounds familiar.

You wake up to the alarm on your phone. After hitting snooze a few times, you’re conscious enough to look at the screen as a way to ease yourself into the land of the living.

If you’re like me, you might scroll through the news or social media, even though you know it’s probably going to make you feel worse. The news reinforces to you just how terrible people are, detailing the vast array of depravity and cruelty waiting for you out there: the senseless murder among teenagers a mile away or the genocide on the other side of the world; the rampant inequality; the narcissism, fascism, racism, sexism, and every other -ism that only seems to be getting worse these days; the climate change, plastic-filled oceans, and increasing frequency of natural disasters fueled by our constant need to consume without apology or restraint.

Speaking of consumption, your social media feed is now at least 50% ads or spammy posts from “suggested groups”. One of the articles you read recently described how the main way tech companies plan to use AI now is the creation of more sophisticated ads. Go figure. The greatest technological advancement of the 21st century so far will primarily be used to get us to buy more crap we don’t need.

When you do finally manage to see pictures from a friend—the only reason you even wanted social media in the first place—you waffle between being annoyed by their self-absorption or jealous of how good they look. How are they always so damned photogenic? You start wondering what you can post to make your life look more desirable.

Then you remember that incredibly fit, fashionable couple you saw on vacation who spent 15 minutes blocking everyone’s view of the scenic overlook so they could take turns posing for portraits they might use on their “influencer” page.

Fucking social media influencers! Just one more perfect example of why this world is going to hell in a handbasket.

Okay, maybe that’s not you. But it was me the other morning.

My outlook on the world was, to say the least, bleak.

Disgusted, I put down my phone and looked over toward my wife, who was still sleeping peacefully. Hm. Wish I was still asleep.

But then…I get caught up in watching her for a minute.

The soft morning light gracing her skin. I always think she’s absolutely beautiful when she sleeps. (I feel that way about our children, too.) Her messy hair, the little moles and wrinkles around her eyes, her half-open mouth as she breathes the deep, peaceful breaths of sleep, the little crinkle she gets between her eyebrows when she’s dreaming. I know her face as well as my own. I love all of it.

I calm down and remember that this life’s not so bad. We have each other to love, which is no small thing. We have our children and our extended family. We have enough resources to be comfortably sheltered, well-fed, healthy, and even get to take some pretty good vacations. We both have interesting nonprofit jobs where we can do work that hopefully makes the world a little better. And many of the other people we work alongside are great examples of how generous and caring human beings can be.

In this wrecked world, how do we have hope?

Everywhere I look these days, things seem so hopelessly broken, so disastrously corrupted. I honestly believe that, in sum, human beings have become an ever-increasing blight on this world. Ask yourself, as a species what do we offer the rest of creation other than exploitation, enslavement, or destruction? Sure, there are exceptions, but as a rule? The world suffers more with us in it than it would without us.

And yet, it is our home. For better or worse, we exist. This is where humanity was birthed, and this is where we belong. In spite of all our shortcomings, all our disastrous failings, we will probably be here for a very long time. And guess what: I actually genuinely like people. Usually. There are a few I don’t. But overall, I want them to stick around.

On top of that, I’m also pretty much an optimist. I can honestly say I start most days with a positive outlook. That gloomy morning I described above is unusual. Ask my wife and daughters. Generally I am what they would describe as annoyingly happy in the morning. (Before supper is my grouchy time.)

What makes us resilient?

I was talking to my daughter Anyssa about this as we ate lunch together the other day. I wondered, is it just my privilege, my luck, that allows me to be happy in a world where so many systems seemed designed to make us miserable? She agreed that privilege is probably part of it. But she also pointed out that there are other ways people can be resilient.

Whenever I think of resilience in the face of oppressive circumstances, I remember a story I heard a long time ago. I’m not even sure of its original source, and I’m using my imagination in its retelling, but the way it goes is this. Once upon a time someone asked a Black preacher why Black church is so different from White church. (By that they meant “mainstream” American denominations.) Why does Black church last so long? Why is it so loud and energetic?

And the preacher answered something like, “Listen, all week long my people are out there being told that they’re nothing special. They’re told that everything they have to offer this world exists for the sole purpose of serving White people. They’re taught that their lot in life is to be used up and spit out by someone more powerful than them. This crushing message is pounded into them relentlessly in so many ways, big and small. They hear it so often it can’t help but sink in at some point, where they start to wonder if it’s true.”

“So when we get them in church on Sunday, we need to set them right again, to remind them that they are beautiful, beloved children of God. They need to be pumped back up after being dumped on all week long. Because what American society is telling them is just wrong. And they need to hear the truth as many times as it takes until that Good News sinks deep down into their soul. Deep enough that they can resist what the world is telling them. So they can push back and change the story. That sort of work takes time, and it take energy!”

When I was in seminary, I learned the term “dominant narrative”.

It was in a course titled “Race, Gender, Class”, taught by husband and wife “Tink” Tinker and Loring Abeyta. They had very different teaching styles, but both deepened my understanding of the world.

The idea of dominant narrative is that people in power tell a story that justifies and reinforces their dominant position. When these stories are repeated enough, they feel true and inevitable. “This is the way it has always been.” Manifest Destiny. The way God intended it to be. It’s the given, conventional wisdom; not even really debatable.

That dominant narrative might be shared on the news, in advertisements or social media posts, in the tv shows and movies we watch. Anywhere stories are told or lessons are taught, it reflects and reinforces systems of oppression. People teach it to their children, not even necessarily on purpose. They behave in ways the dominant narrative expects them to behave. Of course you want a nicer car, a bigger house, a more desirable body. Of course you would take the position that offers more money or more authority, even if it kills your soul a little. Of course we need prisons and military and things like nuclear bombs. Of course America is the greatest nation on earth. Of course capitalism is the only system that really works.

Is it unfortunate that some people have less or suffer more than others? Of course, but that’s the way the world’s always been. What can you do about it? Maybe someone—the Avengers? Jesus?—can right the wrongs of this world. But it’s too big of a job for us.

Later, I learned the term “restorative narrative”.

A few years after my career took a shift into storytelling, I woke up one night and thought, I want to focus my work on redemptive narratives. I Googled the term to see if there were organizations or media outlets with this specific focus, and after several clicks happened upon one called Images and Voices of Hope (since renamed to Peace Studio). At that time, they were talking a lot about this thing called “restorative narrative”.

You can read more about restorative narratives in this link, but the basic idea is that instead of news media and other narrative creators only telling stories of tragedy—the narratives that reinforce our fear and isolation—they could spend some time documenting what happens after tragedies. How do people put their lives and their communities back together—how do they restore themselves—after all hell breaks loose? Wouldn’t those stories be more helpful?

Well, no, not if your main goal as a media conglomerate is to attract as many eyeballs as possible to the advertising space you call a news channel. “If it bleeds, it leads,” is a common saying in journalism. Tragedy sells. So, if you only care about money, that’s what you produce.

Why should we limit ourselves to the stories that sell ads!

One thing I have learned in my life is that the stories we tell ourselves matter a great deal. For instance, let’s go back to that church we were talking about earlier. Now, I’ll be the first to admit that many Christian churches have done more than enough to warp the story of Jesus into an oppressive dominant narrative. Power will corrupt human beings no matter where they find it.

But one thing I have always been impressed with is how many Christians have used the story of Jesus as a tool for liberation in countless places for thousands of years. Turning Jesus into a story is what made the movement survive right from the very beginning.

Think about this for a minute. Their leader was arrested, and after a brief sham trial, Jesus was sentenced to a brutal state execution by Roman authorities. If it were up to Rome, that’s where the report on Jesus of Nazareth would have ended.

But it didn’t. In fact—I’m sure many thought this was a crazy move—his followers flat out denied that Jesus was even dead! They ripped the story back from Rome, and changed it to give new life to their movement.

Personally, I have a hard time believing the resurrection actually happened. But even if it was pure make believe, it worked! It worked because it reassured that ragtag community of misfits that even if Jesus was gone, God had not forgotten them. God was taking this power that they witnessed in Jesus and putting it into their hands. God was expecting them to do even greater things than Jesus had done. Their vision for a better world was not finished, in spite of the odds appearing to be so utterly stacked against them.

None of it works without relationships, without a community.

The stories we tell ourselves are important, but when I think back to the other morning when I was in that dark mood, it wasn’t narrative that pulled me out of it. It was a relationship.

There was that moment when I rejected the narrative presented to me, when I unglued my eyes from the screen and put down my phone. But right after that, it was the feeling and sight of my wife lying next to me that really gave me something good to hold onto. Her presence is what changed my outlook.

The preacher from the story above wasn’t doing that restorative work by himself. He had a whole church engaged in it together. The choir, the pianist, the members clapping along to the music and the sermon. The people lifting up their prayers together.

Real-life human connections are critical. There is undeniable power found in relationships and community. I don’t go to church much anymore, but I have been lucky enough to be part of: a happy marriage that has lasted 24 years so far; a loving and supportive family, both immediate and extended; the dedicated community of people who work for and contribute to Matthew 25; the creators and artists I rub elbows with in various circles. Those relationships give me palpable energy along with a sense of security and hope. As human beings, it’s very difficult to feel hopeful when we’re lonely.

I don’t have all the answers, but…

I’m not sure exactly how we fix all the things that are broken in this world. I doubt it’s even possible. But we can fix some of the things that are wrong, more than we’re led to believe. We don’t have to simply give in and let the billionaires write our story for us. We can—especially if we do it together—create our own stories, ones that light us up and give us life and power.

What about you? Who are the people in your life who give you hope? Who do you hang out with when you need to change your frame of mind? Do you have a community that gives you energy? If so, can you tell us what it is??? What stories have you been writing or reading (or listening to or watching) that have helped you push aside the dominant narrative? My readers and I would really like to know!