What To Do With That Hopeless Feeling

Catholic Confession, Tikkun Olam, and No Kings

I was raised profoundly Catholic. Think: mass every Sunday and holy days; weekly religious education and Vacation Bible Camp; singing/playing my flute in the church choir up until the day I went to college; Sunday family dinners with the parish priest as our special guest.

One of my earliest church memories was of going to confession, which Catholics begin around seven years old. My parents took us about once a month, and I often struggled to find things to say. I was a pretty quiet kid who didn’t get into trouble, so I didn’t have many bad behaviors to confess. So I’d often tell the priest if I was just thinking bad thoughts, or potentially “sinful” thoughts, or just big, complicated thoughts, like a more modern kid might tell her therapist.

One Saturday when I was maybe eleven or twelve, I entered the confessional and told the priest I was upset because I saw so much pain and suffering in the world and I wanted to help, but I didn’t know what to do about it. I was looking for advice, not absolution, but the priest didn’t understand that. He basically “oh honey-ed” me, saying, in essence, that I was too young to make a difference and it wasn’t my job to fix the world. It was a logical answer, but it wasn’t satisfying, and I immediately felt anger toward the priest. (Something I’d have to confess at a future session.) He didn’t understand. I wasn’t too young! I was smart and determined and I didn’t want to wait until I was a grownup. I could do something.

Despite the soothing words my parents poured on me when I exited that confessional, I was angry about the priest’s response for a long time without understanding why.

I stopped going to church in college, much to my parents’ chagrin. Later, I began identifying as Jewish, an inheritance from my maternal grandparents. It was an older Jewish mentor who first explained to me the concept of “tikkun olam,” which means “to heal the world.” Jewish folks believe that the world is broken, and it is our responsibility to repair it through social justice, acts of service, and kindness.

And finally, I had an explanation for my anger toward that priest.

Tikkun olam explained me to myself. It’s a belief and a desire tucked so deeply inside me that I didn’t question it or even understand it for most of my life.

Photo by Alexander Grey on Unsplash

Throughout my early forties I’ve been working on setting and maintaining boundaries for work, relationships, and household management. For example, although I work hard at my teaching job and strive for excellence, I understand when it’s time to end a project, or close off my tasks for the day, or let go of a conflict with a colleague. When the boundary is breached, I instinctively feel it and course-correct. In this way, I can cultivate a semblance of balance between all the areas of my life.

But when it comes to that feeling of tikkun olam, I don’t have a boundary— or maybe it’s more accurate to say that I can’t find it. The world contains so much endless need— how do I draw a line around it? How do I say that this much is under my control— that this is how much I will do— and when I’ve reached the end of that list, it’s enough?

Obviously, it’s impossible— but it’s a question I’ll never be able to stop asking.

This post isn’t going to end with a nice, neat conclusion, because I’ve only begun to scratch at something here. But I can, I think, identify the essential questions, which enables me (and you) to start pondering more deeply.

When the world’s need is endless, but my individual capacity is not, how do I identify the areas that I can make the most impact?

And: How do I celebrate the ways in which I already heal the world?

And: How do I live with the goodness of those actions alongside the grief that it will never be enough?

As far as answers go, I only have one piece of the puzzle solved: it’s going to take humility. I attended a No Kings protest this weekend, and raising my voice alongside the hundreds who attended my local gathering and the millions who protested across the country felt both powerful and humbling. I am only one of many, but I am also important. Each of us must feel that duality if we are to heal the world and foment positive change.

Some Good Actions, If You’re Able

In talking over these ideas with a friend last week, I was reminded that small actions matter. It’s not just about the big protest or calling your senator or donating to a cause. It’s also about taking a moment to converse kindly with a stranger, or paying attention when a child seems upset, or thinking ahead to make a task easier for a family member. And, just as importantly, it’s about taking care of yourself— physical exercise, sleep, positive self-talk and all— so that you can keep showing up and resisting the unjust actions, big and small, in your daily life.

So consider your smallest actions. Are they resisting injustice? Are they helping to heal, even just one person?

Take a moment to celebrate it all. And from me to you— thank you for your goodness.

Stuff You Might Like To Know

In a Flash is now closed for the theme of RESISTANCE, but we’re reopening for HOPE from July 1-15. Submit your true stories, under 500 words, according to the Submission Guidelines. We can’t wait to read your work!

I’m listening to JANE AND DAN AT THE END OF THE WORLD by Colleen Oakley and reading THE HAPPY HIGH ACHIEVER by Mary E. Anderson. I have so many books on my list for summer! And I haven’t forgotten about a potential Good Character book club— I’m working on how best to structure it.

Hey, everyone: if you made it to the end, thank you. You’re one of the good ones, and I’d love to hear what you think.

Keep hoping. Keep caring. Keep trying.