The world’s a mess! At least that’s what my heart, and my social media, keeps telling me. It feels like every turn for the last few years has brought crisis after madness after chaos. Whether its storms and fires or Trump and Putin or cost of living and NHS frustration or the rise in racial tension it seems like a somewhat despairing time to be alive. I’d imagine every generation thinks this of their time, yet there seems to be something of a heightened hopelessness, of a “where on earth do we go from here” floating around in the air we currently breathe. I’m not one given often to defeat or to pessimism, where there’s an engineer there’s a way, but I’ve definitely found myself recently drifting more often towards despair.

I look back at the world I grew up in, no doubt with a heavy dose of rose tinted, nostalgia, and think for all our “progress” how far have we actually come? After almost 20 years walking alongside those that our city would rather not own, those experiencing homelessness, those caught in cycles of poverty and addiction, those fleeing violence and abuse and seeking safety and refuge, it’s tempting to say – is any of this getting any better? Is anyone freer or more whole or safer or in anyway more alive? The stories of seeming failure stack high against the supposed “wins” and the stats of poverty and inequality in our city keep on climbing. To feel despair knocking at the door seems perfectly reasonable and yet to admit it seems like a laying down of arms or an admission of defeat. My soul was strangely encouraged when I read Philip Powell’s words in his section in Jesus and Justice

“There is something prophetic about despair. It’s better than being indifferent.”

Reminding myself of this truth allows me to breathe a little freer and a little deeper. There is something truly holy about a deep discontent with the way things are. The problem is not the sense of despair we all, if we’re brave enough to be honest, feel from time to time. The problem is what we do with it.

If we squash it into indifference or numb it with our poison/distraction of choice we deform ourselves, shutting off the part of us that is connected to all of humanity, designed and intended to feel a sense of belonging to, and responsibility for, the world around us. On the other hand, if we allow it to become a consuming anger, actively seeking a recipient, individual, group or ism, to heap the blame for our despair (and all our self-righteous indignation) upon we succeed in deforming and dehumanising not only ourselves, but those we villainise as well.

Don’t get me wrong, there are evils that need called out and anger is by no means sin, in fact sometimes our lack of anger is deeply sinful, but a lashing out with anger fuelled vitriol and unchecked keyboard warrioring will bring nothing constructive to bear in a broken world. Our despair, for a moment, may be assuaged, we may feel productive or involved or in the fight but the likelihood is we’ll succeed only in furthering the distance between the poles. Hardening hearts, firming positions on opposing sides and continuing to shout (type) loudly over the top of those most hurt, most damaged, most vulnerable, in our culture wars.

There is another way.

When despair tugs on our coattails that’s actually a sign that we care. That something isn’t right, isn’t as it should be and something within us isn’t ok with that. Of course, as followers of Jesus, we are never without hope, never given to despair but to truly follow Jesus is to allow ourselves to feel the brokenness and pain of the world around us. To own it. To allow it to be personal. To acknowledge both our own faults and failures, making us somehow culpable in the injustices of the world around us and our own hurt and pain as the victims of violence, oppression and sin. To bring the despair, with its swirl of emotions and sources to the foot of the cross and to prayerfully partner with the incarnate Jesus. To follow his lead as he chose to own the sin that wasn’t his and broke its power, buying hope for the sake of a world that didn’t deserve it. To honestly and courageously ask “how do I need to change?” so that despair loses ground to hope in the places I inhabit.

Before anything can be powerful, it must be personal.

Photo by Gary Meulemans on Unsplash