When I was twelve, on the edge of adolescence, I found myself walking alone around my neighborhood, overcome with melancholy, contemplating the uselessness of all human activity, and feeling a longing for death. “What is the purpose of life?” I asked myself. Although I was not religious at the time, I heard what seemed a distinct and separate voice in my thought: “You may not ever know the purpose of life. But life is hard for everyone, and you can help make it easier for other people.”
From that point on, I had a clearer sense of purpose. In whatever I did, it was my role to be of service—to ease suffering and not contribute to it.
After college, I went into teaching, first in a traditional high school and then in an alternative high school for teenagers who were at risk for dropping out of school. I was satisfied with my work. One group of students, however, forced me to understand more deeply what it means to be of service.
The majority of these students regularly used and sold hard drugs. As the school year wore on, they became more haggard, temperamental, withdrawn, and less responsive to the adults who were trying to help them.
In previous years, when I had students with drug problems, I had turned to my study of Christian Science. I had reasoned that because we are all the image, the idea, of God, Spirit, rather than physical beings, drugs can have no effect, no control, and no power to addict. As the manifestation of God’s pure being, we are all innocent.
In the past, I had seen many students make dramatic turnarounds. But this time, in spite of my consecrated hours of prayer and study, I saw no change in my students’ behaviors. My sense of helplessness led me into a deeper and humbler exploration of what it means to be of genuine help to others.
I learned a lesson one weekend when my husband and I took a drive in an area where people often abandon their unwanted pets. On the dirt road near a pond, we spotted a box turtle crossing the road. Eager to rescue it, we put the turtle in our truck and drove it home, where it promptly, in seeming turtle-terror, crawled under our carpet and wouldn’t come out.
How can we be wiser helpers? Like Jesus, we must use our spiritual sense to discern the true, underlying need.
After a few phone calls to turtle experts, we discovered that our “pet” was actually native to the area. We quickly drove him back and set him down near the pond in the direction he had been walking when we had decided to “save” him. This incident stayed with me as a metaphor. Sometimes my earnest human efforts at helping can be, at best, ineffective and, at worst, damaging.
I kept stumbling upon passages in Mary Baker Eddy’s writings that shook some of my notions of what it means to be of service. They seemed to be implying that I should be less helpful. Mrs. Eddy describes an “unwise helper” as one who “undertakes to carry [another’s] burden and do his work . . .” (Retrospection and Introspection, p. 86). And she pointed out that “the only personal help required in this Science is for each one to do his own work well, and never try to hinder others from doing theirs thus” (Miscellaneous Writings 1883–1896, pp. 283–284).
In an allegory in Miscellaneous Writings, Mrs. Eddy tells the story of “the Stranger,” whom she later identifies as the Christ, leading his followers up a long, winding hill. The more spiritually-minded folks travel lightly, while the more worldly-minded, unwilling to leave behind their pleasures, carry much baggage. As a result, they grumble, fight, and fall down on jagged rocks and injure themselves. Addressing what seems the “unwise helper,” Mrs. Eddy writes, “. . . he who has no baggage goes back and kindly binds up their wounds, wipes away the blood stains, and would help them on; but suddenly the Stranger [Christ] shouts, ‘Let them alone; they must learn from the things they suffer. Make thine own way; . . . ’ ” (Miscellaneous Writings, pp. 327–328).
This idea that we sometimes help people by doing less for them surprised me. Is it not Christ-like to bind up others’ wounds? Doesn’t the Bible implore us to “visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction” (James 1:27)? Did this mean I was to do nothing for my students or other people who were suffering in my community?
In my study, I began to notice the ways in which Jesus did and did not help others. A man “sick of the palsy” was brought to him (see Matthew 9:2–8). Jesus did not physically lift him and help him walk. Instead, he said, “Thy sins be forgiven thee,” and then, “Arise, take up thy bed, and go unto thine house.” Then the man took up his bed and walked. Jesus did not look at the outward situation—a man in need of physical aid—but used his spiritual sense to discern the true need: A sense of sinfulness needed to be lifted from this man. And afterward, the man arose with a sense of his own health and strength.
Likewise, the man at the pool of Bethesda, who had been disabled for years, believed the local lore that the first person who stepped in the water after it was “troubled” would be healed of his or her ailment (see John 5:2–9). However, because the man was without friends and was too frail to move, someone else always jumped in the water before him.
Peace, peace be unto thee, and peace be to thine helpers; for thy God helpeth thee.
— First Chronicles 12:18
A good-intentioned yet “unwise” helper might have stayed with this man until the next troubling, and then lifted him into the water. But Jesus discerned a different need. “Wilt thou be made whole?” Jesus asked. In other words, “Will you accept your spiritual wholeness and take responsibility for the demands that such an understanding places on you?” Then Jesus said, “Rise, take up thy bed, and walk.” And the man did, fully healed. Jesus helped, not by carrying him to the water, but by offering him the opportunity to lift his perception of himself higher.
The transforming help that Jesus offered seemed to be, not so much in what he did, but in how he saw others. In Jesus’ eyes, the sick of the palsy could be freed from sin; the man at the pool of Bethesda was already whole.
But an “unwise helper” might try to do more. Sometimes we are unwise helpers because we do not have a big enough trust in God’s ability to govern and guide His own creation. We may imagine that the people in our lives need our constant intervention to stay on the “right” path. We may not trust God’s timing, and if we don’t see our own predetermined outcome in someone else’s life, we may think that our prayers have not yet been answered. Sometimes, though, the greatest help we can offer is to give up our opinions, planning, and efforts to control others.
How can we be wiser helpers? Like Jesus, we must use our spiritual sense to discern the true, underlying need. The development of this intuition demands regular prayer, study, and active communion with God.
We must also remember to begin by praying for ourselves, instead of devoting the majority of our prayers to the problems of others. For example, during the time I was working with the drug-addicted students, my prayer and study were focused almost entirely on them and their issues.
While that sort of prayer is noble and often necessary, we are at the risk of being an unwise helper if we do not begin our prayers by devoting a good portion of our prayerful time to first establishing, cherishing, and understanding our own relationship to our Maker. This sort of prayer brings us closer to God, purifies our motives, and activates our rightly guided intuition and wisdom.
So, what happened with my students? After months of fretful praying and efforts at spiritual affirmation, sprinkled with gradual revelations about what it means to be a true helper, I discovered a reassuring passage by Mrs. Eddy: “Divine Love . . . will waken the dreamer—the sinner, dreaming of pleasure in sin; the sick, dreaming of suffering matter; the slothful, satisfied to sleep and dream. Divine Love is our only physician, and never loses a case. It binds up the broken-hearted; heals the poor body, whose whole head is sick and whose whole heart is faint; comforts such as mourn, wipes away the unavailing, tired tear, brings back the wanderer to the Father’s house in which are many mansions, many welcomes, many pardons for the penitent” (The First Church of Christ, Scientist, and Miscellany, pp. 132–133).
I felt my sense of struggle melt away. I realized that indeed, divine Love never loses a case. It didn’t matter whether or not I ever saw the healing in my brief time with these students. At some point in their eternal journey, they would be healed. I felt Love’s tender love for them and trusted Love to take care of them.
I continued my practice of actively seeing the students as spiritually innocent, but I focused more on my teaching, and no longer watched for or felt wearied by the symptoms of drug use and abuse. I was not responsible for their healing. Love was present and active. I did not need to check up on God’s work or desperately try to make it happen. Toward the end of the year, I noticed that the students were doing more homework and were more focused in class. And at the very end of the year, all students had the opportunity to dress up in their finest clothes and give a half-hour presentation to their teachers, counselors, and parents on their academic and personal progress. To my great surprise, at the end of each session, almost every student announced that although they had been addicted to drugs, they had entirely stopped using them.
Divine Love, the wisest helper, had never really lost them.
