Hell in a Hand-Basket

“What is the world coming to?” She asked and looked up at me with deadpan eyes. The woman was an acquaintance of mine from work. The question caught me off guard, and we were standing in a crowded place not conducive to prolonged conversation.

“The world is an interesting place, isn’t it?” I replied.

But that wasn’t enough. “It’s getting worse,” She blinked once, but continued to stare at my face, waiting for me to possibly validate her perspective. I did the best I could in the moments we had.

“It is indeed a difficult time for many.”

And that was all. More words could be said, but the river of people drew each of us along our respective currents. She went her way, I went mine. But I took her words with me.

The shabby State of the World is something people like to talk about with clergy. And make no mistake, the shabbiness of the world is what the “what is the world coming to” question is obliquely referencing. The assumption is that this world is going to hell in a hand basket. “Don’t you agree, Reverend?”

I wish we could have talked more, because if I take the question at face value, I’m not sure I do agree. I’m tempted to push back on the assumption that things are “getting worse.” In a long view of history, we might find that there have been times that would make today’s ills look like a cakewalk. The exception to this might be those living in tremendous poverty. A living hell today probably doesn't feel too differently than a living hell one thousand years ago. Certainly the world hasn't looked very good for the people of Haiti, whose lives were already desperate, when they were subjected to devastating earthquakes. And what about those living in areas of perpetual conflict? Whether ethnically or religiously driven, the unending violence forces them to know a staggering, chronic misery. So yes, some people live in hell. What is the world coming to? Well, for them, it can’t get much worse.

But if I was magically transported back to the First Crusade, and I find myself in a burning Jerusalem where knights in chain mail are bashing the heads of infants against walls, raping and murdering and robbing with every step… or I was sent back to Cherokee “trail of tears,” or to the witch trials in Salem, or Nazi concentration camps and Soviet gulags… or I were a black person in pre-Rosa Parks America (though it’s not like blacks in America today are living in King’s dream)… or a woman of most cultures throughout most of human history and thereby disempowered and dismissed… Well, and the terrible list could go on. Frankly, any period of history without aspirin or antibiotics seems worse than anything I deal with. When I think about that, it’s hard for me to complain.

Of course, there is another place we can go with this question of where this world is going. Certainly, for me as an educated, white, male in the middle class, life is reasonably comfortable. But what if I am a teenager faced with bullying? What if I am an abused woman or child (or man, though that’s less the case), and I don’t see any way out? What if I get cancer? There’s a lot of suffering an injustice across the globe… and across the street. Many of us nurse invisible wounds. The person sitting beside you likely does too.

So yeah, the world is getting worse for some people. Our individual worlds are volatile. I notice within me the urge to keep things safe and steady. I don’t like to think about friends or family members leaving… getting sick… or dying. But things fall apart. Things break down and decay. People do. Our jobs do. Our relationships do. Our lives do.

But instead of sinking into my own fear, could the shakiness of the ground itself not remind me to be more compassionate? Our time with one another... on planet Earth, is delicate and short. Life should come with a tag that reads: Handle with care!

In a world where God loves every living thing, I have to recognize that God is as concerned for the mentally ill homeless woman as God is for me. If I say I am a Christ-follower… I am bound to pay attention to the pain of others. To simply walk by every time I see another’s hurt is just not compatible with an authentic life of faith. That’s a hard pill to swallow. Because I hate having my peace disturbed. God knows, all too well, my love of my comforts.

Of course, when my acquaintance asked me about where the world was heading, she might not have been thinking of the world at all. My hunch is that her comments were a commentary on how she was doing at that moment. What would have happened if we had found a quiet place to talk? I could have said, “How is your world today?” Because maybe for her, it IS going straight down the toilet bowl. And you know what? As her chaplain, and as a human being, I care about that.

When we are hurting, the glass will likely seem half-empty. I wonder what would happen if when we felt overwhelmed with the world’s shabbiness we could stop for a moment, and look into our own hearts. Maybe if we tended to the wounds we carry, we would be better equipped to respond to the needs of others. If we love ourselves and our neighbors, I can’t help but believe we’ll be creating a better world. I think it’s worth a try. In any case, I might have to catch up with my acquaintance soon.