The philosopher and writer Henry David Thoreau wrote, “The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. What is called resignation is confirmed desperation.” I’ve been thinking a lot about this idea this week. Doesn’t it feel like a lot of people are surviving, but not really living? As I’ve interacted with people I’ve come to recognize that many people who seem fine on the surface are actually barely holding on by their fingernails.
The issues people deal with are myriad: health, financial, emotional, family, and societal. They can seem small to others, but to the individual dealing with them they often loom large, blocking out other parts of life. For them, just getting by day-by-day is a challenge.
Some of these folks are easy to recognize. They don’t have housing, they suffer from addiction(s), or they have other very identifiable markers. But most people who are living these lives of “quiet desperation” aren’t so easily found. They are hiding amongst us.
I am a church music lady, as many of you know, and as such I sit in front of the congregation every Sunday and can see the faces of those in attendance. (Quick aside: years ago a young man I dated asked if I was that kind of music lady who held out notes longer than anyone else or sang louder than those around me. I assured him I wasn’t. He came to church and afterwards called me a liar and never called again, hahaha.) ANYWAY, sitting on the stand every week I look out and wonder what’s going on behind the Sunday masks sitting in front of me. Who is hurting? Who is struggling? Who needs a loving word or an outreached hand? Sometimes I can tell, but the truth is that we put on the Sunday public mask and it’s hard to tell real emotions.
I believe that often we ignore people’s desperation by misidentifying it as something else. Someone who is perpetually cranky or on edge will get the reputation of being impossible to deal with, when in reality they are struggling to hang on. Take my step-grandmother. Jennie was a crab. I mean, she seemed annoyed with everything anyone did and our visits to see her and grandpa weren’t very fun. I was fortunate to avoid the bulk of her censure, but it still wasn’t pleasant to hear her snap at my sister or speak with great annoyance to my parents. The drives to and from their home were not happy with anticipation, I can assure you! On one visit, however, Grandma Jennie told me more about her past. As a child she watched her stepfather set her mother on fire in an attempt to kill her. She and her sisters were sent to live first with an aunt and then an older sister. Jennie married and her was pregnant when her husband (not my grandfather) threw her down the stairs. She lost the baby and lost her opportunity to bear children in the future. She divorced him and married my grandpa, who was definitely not easy to live with. She worked hard as a telephone operator to pay the child support my grandfather didn’t want to pay and she spent weekends with her two stepsons — who had been taught to resent her. There were more hardships and disappointments in the following years. Jennie was barely hanging on emotionally. She smoked as a release from her stress, but that smoking led to judgmental comments and not being invited to a family wedding. She had a hard life; is it any wonder that she met the world with curt words and sharp tones?
Other people hide their struggles behind a bon vivant lifestyle. Thoreau addresses this, however, when he wrote, “A stereotyped but unconscious despair is concealed even under what are called the games and amusements of a kind.” Obviously not all who seem to live to play are living lives of desperation, but many are. I could give examples of people who have shared their hearts and souls with me, but to those around them they seem always playful, always cheerful, and always looking for external outlets of fun.
Then there is the category of person who just kind of disappears in the room. If asked, people would say that the near-invisible person was nice, though quiet. Again, some people thrive on being in the background, but some in the background are yearning for help and hope.
Fine. I’ve explained that people living lives of quiet desperation look vastly different from one another – there’s not a formula to it – but how do we recognize these struggling individuals in our midst and how do we help them? Should we help them?
First of all, as I’ve written a million times (make it a million and one, now), we need to be proximate with people. We need to talk to them, get to know them, and show that we care. We met a woman in Munich this spring who was someone I will never forget. She was elderly and came up to us asking if we were tourists. We said we were, and she told us about her favorite garden a few blocks away and encouraged us to visit. We chose to chat with her for a bit and learned that she had had a very difficult life that included being abused by occupying soldiers. She had lived during World War II and through the dark Cold War years. Here was a woman who had borne deep pain for decades and needed a listening ear to help her feel loved. I was grateful we were there. Another couple we met on that trip were Syrian Kurdish refugees. At first I was annoyed at them for what seemed like a demanding attitude (they had sideswiped our car), but then when I talked to them I gained an understanding of what they had endured and what they continued to endure.
Another way to find and serve those who are struggling to hang on is to be observant. Look around. Get out of the bubble of family and closest friends at church or social events and see who is needing a friend. Observation can definitely help, though as shown above, quiet desperation isn’t always seen due to our various masks.
I think the best way to find those who are suffering is to pray for guidance. I knew a woman who prayed every single day to be led to someone who needed her, and sure enough she was!
Once found, what is our obligation towards those who are feeling like they are barely surviving? For each person the specific answer will be different, but one thing fits all molds: do no judge. That is the very least that we can do for those in trouble. It is the fear of being judged that often keeps people behind their masks and keeps them from seeking help. It’s scary for someone who struggles financially to seek help when the worst sin is financial irresponsibility. It’s frightening to seek help with wayward children when we feel we’ll be judged as poor parents or our children will be blacklisted. It’s hard to talk about debilitating health problems when we frequently hear complaints about those who always demand help for every little thing. A woman I admire has a son who is in prison, is mentally ill, and suffers from addictions. The judgments heaped upon this woman are horrible, and the judgments against her son are just as vile. This young man didn’t take his first drug or drink because he was feeling in control of his life – he did it because he was miserable. It’s now known that he was struggling in so many ways because of real mental health problems. To judge him, or to judge his parents, is absolutely opposite of what the Savior taught.
We see desperation in the lives of refugees, as well, and I would argue that the best way to help them is to welcome and love them. Each person is a child of God, but many people don’t believe they are seen that way. Reaching out with love and compassion – instead of criticism – will help them find their way.
Finally, I would say that the other best way to help someone clinging to survival is to listen and care. You don’t need to solve their problems, you just need to care. Burdens of desperation are lifted as loving arms reach out and encircle the lost and struggling individual.
No one should have to feel both desperate and alone. Reaching out to find those living their lives of quiet desperation and then loving them unconditionally and wholeheartedly will do more than anything else could to bring peace to the hearts of those around us.
Look to God and Live... Joyfully! 