"I've realized something,"
he said,
"about myself, I mean--
something significant."
"Oh, what's that?" I asked,
noting the seriousness
with which he spoke.
"I have given up," he answered.
"Given up? On what?"
I felt slightly alarmed.
"Are you depressed? sick?"
"No, I'm not depressed...
well, maybe a little,
though actually,
once I gave up--
let go--
I felt better."
"I'm confused.
Explain, please."
"I've lost my hope
in humanity's future.
I can't keep caring;
it's destroying me.
It's too late to stop it.
All we can do is sit back
and watch it all implode."
"It what?
What's going to implode?"
"Civilization as we know it...
our nation, for sure...
humanity in general.
Hatred is too strong,
too widespread.
Gun violence, war, genocide--
we're not up to the challenge--
we haven't the tools--
or, more importantly,
the will--
to stop it.
Racism, xenophobia, greed, misogyny,
selfishness, addiction, bigotry, inequality,
environmental degradation--
it's all gone too far,
spinning out of control.
We're not up to the challenge,
and nobody in control seems to have a handle on it.
Trust me, the writing's on the wall:
we are doomed."
He took a breath,
then continued:
"I'm simply facing facts,
and, to maintain my sanity,
I'm giving up.
Can't stop it,
so I'm getting out of the way."
There was a pause.
"Wow," I said.
"that's...um...heavy stuff."
"Feels less heavy, really.
It's lots easier not caring any more."
"So no hope for us?"
"I don't see it...
or feel it.
Game over.
I'm glad I'm nearing 80;
I wouldn't want to live through
the next few decades.
It's all going up in smoke--
you'll see."
"But what about God?"
I asked.
"God?"
"Yes, God.
Don't you think, just maybe,
that God's in control?"
He snorted.
"Does it look like God's in control?
COVID is on the rise again,
economic disparity grows,
people focus on clothes, cars, status,
everything but what matters.
I think God has given up, too.
That story of the big flood
seems particularly relevant;
only this time,
we're the ones creating it,
and there's no ark to carry us
to humankind 2.0...
or 3.0...whatever."
"I admit things do look bleak."
"Understatement.
I'd say things are ending."
"The apocalypse?"
"That would be easy,
but I think we're not going out
with a big dramatic bang,
but rather through slow strangulation--
and it's our hands on our own throats."
Another pause,
and though I wanted to speak,
the words refused to come.
Truth was,
I was tempted by his logic:
What was the point?
Why did I keep caring?
Caring just brings confusion and pain,
and my small contributions
to justice, peace, equality,
saving God's creation
suddenly seemed ineffectively small.
"Just give up,"
he whispered,
sensing my struggle.
"I can't," I said,
though without conviction.
"I mean, I've worked my whole life
trying to make things better."
"And are they better?
Millions have tried
to make it better,
but many millions more
have decided to make it worse.
And they've won."
"But surely not intentionally!
Yes, some, but most, I believe,
would prefer a better world--
the world God envisions."
"Result's the same, is it not?
Intentionally or unintentionally,
we're pushing ourselves over the edge."
Now I felt depressed.
I had no answer--
only a desire to pray.
God, is there an answer?
Are we too far gone?
Has your plan for your world failed?
We moved to other topics,
but the mood--
at least for me--
was grim.
"Giving up" genuinely seemed to suit him;
would it also suit me?
I wanted to affirm
the basic goodness of humans,
created in God's image,
the love I believed was at the center of the universe,
God's desire for reconciliation, healing, equality,
the possibilities when empowered by the Spirit,
the good that people do...
but he'd shaken my usual optimistic confidence.
Giving up never looked so good--
or so sensible.
I left craving silence and solitude,
time to process,
and to be held in the arms of God.
Text and image © 2021 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.
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