Looking for the Helpers

Part of my work as a hospital chaplain is leading spirituality groups on the behavioral health units.  A theme we regularly discuss in these groups is hope.

We discuss the trite, and often cheesy, ways hope is talked about. “Don’t worry, just have hope! It’s all gonna be ok!” Or “I have God, so I have nothing to worry about!” A patient once referred to this as “Hobby Lobby wall art hope.”

This sugary-sweet idea of hope is empty and impossible to connect with, especially when one is in the midst of a mental health crisis. It does not hold up when deep suffering enters our lives. We talk about what it means to have real hope, as opposed to a false projection of optimism, or a denial of our present suffering. Folks share about their families, their pets, art, music, and all sorts of things that give them glimmers of hope.

Occasionally, I am asked, in the face of all the suffering I bear witness to every day, how do I find hope?

I often think about a quote from one of the greatest ministers of the 20th century, Mr. Rogers. In an interview, he was asked how to talk about tragic events with children. He says “When I was a boy, and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Always look for the helpers. . . because if you look for the helpers, you will know that there is hope.”

Some say that this quote is unhelpful for adults because it can deepen a sense of passivity, or the belief that someone else is already stepping up so I don’t have to (See the article in the Atlantic by Ian Bogost).

I find the opposite to be true for myself. In times when I am feeling completely overwhelmed by the immensity of suffering, violence, and calamity in this world, ‘looking for the helpers’ keeps me from giving in to despair, and, in turn, giving up on trying to make the world better. When I see brave aid workers entering war zones, or scientists who are creating ways to combat climate change, or people who invest in the well being of their neighborhoods that have been neglected by governments and leaders, I feel just a little less overwhelmed. It helps me to remember that there are people who want good for the world and who are willing to work for it. I find when I see the other helpers, I can get back to being a helper myself. 

In our group discussions, we talk about holding our hope and our suffering in both hands. We acknowledge fully what is hard, painful, unjust, and wrong, and we hold on to the glimmers that keep us going to help us to live the kinds of lives we want to live.

Real hope demands that we are honest about what is not yet right, and that we look forward to what could be. In Christian theological circles, this is often referred to as “the already and the not yet.” We have hope that God will bring healing, restoration, and shalom, while living in the painful reality of this time where we still suffer. Hope is already among us, even as it is not yet fulfilled.

In my most hopeful moments, I believe that this earth will one day be renewed by God, and that all the wrongs of human history will be made right. On days when I don’t believe it, I look for the helpers.