On Doing Enough

My son asked me the other day if World War III is coming.  I, of course, do not know the answer, but did not consider him a fool for asking; most of the adults I know are wondering and worrying about the same question.  It is indeed a tenuous age, and many of us are struggling to find a middle path between numbness and panic. 

In my community, I see a variety of proactive responses to the sociopolitical stress of our times:  some people protest, or write letters, or donate money; others pray, educate their children, or volunteer.  There are an infinite number of ways to do good and contribute to the healing of the world.  But, regardless of their chosen approach, the question I keep hearing from friends, family, and directees is the same:  am I doing enough?

Our faith teaches us that we have an ethical and spiritual obligation to serve others, so it makes sense that when injustice reigns a person of integrity seeks reassurance that they are doing “enough” to combat it.  We want our efforts to have a significant impact, and we like to see concrete, tangible evidence that we have made a difference.  Ultimately, we all want to sleep easy at night knowing that we’ve done our part, and it was enough.   

The truth is, though, that none of us are doing enough to solve all the world’s problems.  And this is not because we are lazy, or apathetic, or indifferent, but rather because we simply cannot do that which only God himself can do; “fixing” the world is just beyond our capacity.  So there is an existential angst present in the question, “am I doing enough?”, because it causes us to confront our own insufficiency, our smallness, and look instead with hope to our God, the source of all that is powerful and good:

Remain in me, as I also remain in you.  No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me.  I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing.  (John 15: 4-5)

So no, our human “enough” is not enough to save the world from all its troubles, no matter how earnest or hardworking or selfless we are.  In our desperation for positive change, we might frantically keep doing more, protesting more, and donating more, but if it seems like our efforts make no tangible difference, even the most stouthearted among us can completely burn out.   

 I wonder if the question, “am I doing enough?” is maybe leading us down the wrong path; it asks for a concrete result that can never be realized and thus robs us of our peace.  Perhaps a better question, the real question, is, “am I doing what is mine to do?”

This reframes the question not as one of performance, but of discernment, because it demands that we ask God to reveal to us exactly who we are and exactly what our role is in the healing of the world.  It turns us away from our own sense of limited power and achievement and turns us towards what God is doing, how he is laboring in each individual person to bring about goodness and peace.  We’re not asked to go beyond our capacity but rather to pay attention to the particular way in which God is inviting us to collaborate with his vision for the world; and we can be assured that this contribution, not matter how small it seems, is indeed enough, because it is precisely what we were created for.  

Consider Jesus, who with one wave of his hand could have cured all the lepers, cast out all the demons, and healed all the sick at once, and yet did not do so.  He focused instead on personal encounters, curing particular lepers, casting out particular demons, showing that there was a careful and prayerful discernment that went into his decisions about where, when, and how to serve God.  Jesus never tried to fix everything, and he didn’t waste time worrying that he wasn’t “doing enough”.  Rather, Jesus trusted his Father to reveal to him the exact healing work that was his to do, and then he just got busy doing it. 

In this calamitous age it is a temptation to feel that only dramatic, grandiose actions have honor and value.  But Jesus models for us that there is great dignity in knowing exactly what we’re for, and then giving our gift—large or small—as beautifully and faithfully as we can.  While none of us as individuals can possibly “do enough” to save the world, perhaps millions of us together, lovingly discerning and responding to what God has given us to do, have a hope of changing things for the better.