living as resistance

At times it can seem as though the world has gone completely mad and awry. One needn't spend more than a few moments on social media to come to this glum conclusion. 

When tales of war, violence, authoritarianism, environmental degradation and injustice engulf the headlines, I am tempted to burrow myself into isolation and numbness. More scrolling, less connection. I suddenly feel as though the simple workings and pleasures of my ordered life are trite, unimportant. What's more, I feel guilty about them and the privilege they might represent. Deep down, I have this gnawing belief that it is wrong of me to go on living happily and peacefully when such overwhelming evil obscures our world. 

This posture is somewhat reminiscent of the words of King Solomon in the book of Ecclesiastes. In this book of wisdom, he beautifully wrestles with life's many struggles "under the sun," detailing the mysteries of burdensome work, injustice, death. He writes such things as: 

"All things are wearisome,

    more than one can say.

The eye never has enough of seeing,

    nor the ear its fill of hearing.

What has been will be again,

    what has been done will be done again;

                            there is nothing new under the sun." (Ecclesiastes 1:8-9, NIV)                         

And, later: 

"And I saw something else under the sun: 

In the place of judgment—wickedness was there, 

in the place of justice—wickedness was there." (Ecclesiastes 3: 16, NIV)

As King Solomon contemplates the troubles of life, and how it all inevitably ends in death, he repeats the same sentiment over and over.

"I denied myself nothing my eyes desired;

    I refused my heart no pleasure.

My heart took delight in all my labor,

    and this was the reward for all my toil.

Yet when I surveyed all that my hands had done

    and what I had toiled to achieve,

everything was meaningless, a chasing after the wind;

    nothing was gained under the sun." (Ecclesiastes 2: 10-11, NIV)

One word is threaded and echoed throughout the book of Ecclesiastes: meaninglessness. 

Of course, this nihilistic perspective is not where the book ends. Rather, Solomon ultimately discovers the purpose of life in the character of God, who infuses existence with meaning. He is in the business of redeeming all things, even though it might not always seem like it. 

Yet, in difficult times, I can't help but resonate with King Solomon's nearly hopeless and defeated mien. This is how I feel in face of the world's suffering and darkness. How can one go about working, and thinking their work means something, when the world is so fractured, so broken? I, too, resort to crying "everything is meaningless!" when delight fades, when strong men stoop, when street overflow with danger, when songbirds grow faint, when dust returns  (Ecclesiastes 12).  

As mentioned, the book of Ecclesiastes offers wisdom about this, pointing us to the God who created and sustains life. 

Ultimately, as I turn to Him, I discover that setting about my daily tasks faithfully—and joyfully—is an act of obedience. And, unlike withdrawal or sloth, living devotedly and fully is a way to defy the shadow of death and suffering of this world. 

Of course, I won't act as if this idea is my own. Many theologians and philosophers have argued this point over the years. And recently, I was struck by the words of a beloved writer, Sarah Clarkson, on this very subject. She stated:  

"Beauty is a defiance of war." 

In her post, Sarah Clarkson argues that we ought to continue ordering our world in times of despair. Ultimately, infusing our lives with beauty, and keeping faith in view of suffering, are acts of pure defiance of evil. We thus participate in the overcoming of evil by "[...] claiming and cultivating spaces that are opposite to war, defiant of evil, allowing Beauty to be at work in us to claim and renew this broken world." 

I can't tell you how impactful this was for me. 

Setting about our tasks faithfully and dutifully,  thus bringing order, joy and beauty to our small corners of the universe, is a way to resist the shadow of death & suffering around us. The process of cultivating peace—the very opposite of war—counteracts violence and injustice. It sustains pockets of goodness and renewal in this fractured world.

What if tending for our children, tackling our work responsibilities, homemaking, creating art, delighting in a novel, making good food, smelling the roses in our gardens and gathering with friends was not a sign of ignorance or denial amidst brokenness and evil? What if, paradoxically, these acts are a powerful response to it? A defiance of it? 

This isn’t to say political activism is not essential. There’s deft, crucial power in concreate action and the support of those who provide relief. But I fear I've often suspended faithfulness to the very places I’m called to, deeming it all trivial and meaningless in the face of chaos and destruction. However well-intentioned, this posture is misguided. The work I do between our four walls and in my ordinary work life may seem small, but it leads to some level of flourishing and order in the spaces I occupy. They’re an act of faith, claiming that justice will prevail and corruption will be confronted. That all things will be made new, beginning with our simple (read sacred) acts of resistance.

Today, as I write this, I lament the utter depravity seen in the war unfolding in Ukraine. I grieve the poverty on the streets of my city, the reality of bodies ridden with disease, the exploitation of image bearers of God. I am angered at the thought of violence against women and girls, the unjust treatment of the marginalized, and the abuse carried out by people who should be trusted. 

Too, rays of sunlight fall aslant the wooden floorboards of our home. Birds are perched on the chestnut tree right beyond the window, their song flooding my ears. I am delighting in new, exciting projects at work—grateful for a job that challenges me so. Laundry is tumbling, and I am roasting rosemary pork chops for lunch with my husband. A pile of books beckons me for later, as do plans with dear friends this week. The city brims with cherry blossoms, like bouquets at every corner. 

I deplore what is unjust in this broken world. How could I not? But I will continue to cultivate faithfulness right here. I will claim and nurture beauty and peace in the spaces God has me. This is my act of defiance.