In Praise of the Sewer Rat

hope comes in many forms

I’ve been serving on a part-time interim basis at Trinity Presbyterian Church in Herndon, where one of the Sunday School classes has been studying Hope: A User’s Manual this fall. Last week I guest taught the class, and began our time by sharing two poems, the first one familiar to many of us, the second one a direct response to the first.

First:

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -

(Emily Dickinson. See more here)

And second:  

Hope Is Not a Bird, Emily, It’s a Sewer Rat

Hope is not the thing with feathers
That comes home to roost
When you need it most.
Hope is an ugly thing
With teeth and claws and
Patchy fur that’s seen some shit.

It’s what thrives in the discards
And survives in the ugliest parts of our world,
Able to find a way to go on
When nothing else can even find a way in.

(Caitlin Seida. See more here… if you dare.) 

I asked for reactions to these dueling symbols of hope. Some folks rejected the either-or binary in favor of a both-and: sometimes we need the soft flutter of wings and the trill of birdsong; other times, a rodent’s survivalist determination.

A few people recoiled at hope as a sewer rat: There’s enough ugliness as it is; why would we put more of it into the world with our rhetoric around hope? One participant was blunt: I just don’t like it. (She reads The Blue Room. Hello, J.)

They’re not wrong. Beauty is not just aesthetically pleasing; beauty is also useful, edifying. Beauty spurs us to action. Remember that line from Antoine de Saint-Exupery: “If you want to build a ship, don’t drum up people to collect wood and don’t assign them tasks and work, but rather teach them to long for the endless immensity of the sea.” The last chapter of God, Improv, and the Art of Living is “fight back with beauty,” and the idea shows up in Hope as well. 

All of that is true. But too often we mistake niceness for beauty. Beauty can save us from the despair of the world, but niceness is no match for it. 

Emily Dickinson did not have an easy life, which gives her some credibility to talk about hope. But I love the sewer rat. I love it so much. The sewer rat visits the places where hope is most needed. It’s not cuddly, but it’s constant. It persists despite everything. It finds its way into places where other creatures dare not go.

Birdsong hope can stir our souls, yes, but it can also lull us to sleep–not restorative sleep, but a pacified sleep that checks out on the world, because what difference could I possibly make? 

This week I read an analysis of the recent protests in China by Yang Zhang, a professor at American University. He called the multi-site demonstrations “spontaneous, novel, and epic” and said, “People are dissatisfied with the Zero Covid policy… There seems no exit, no end, & no hope... citizens can spontaneously & surprisingly self-mobilize if no other way out” (emphasis mine). Professor Zhang’s read seems to be that the people don’t protest out of an expectation that things will change. They protest because they feel backed into a corner. They protest because they’re out of options.

The next day, I watched episode 9 of Andor, the Disney+ series that is, no exaggeration, the best Star Wars franchise I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen a lot. [Spoilers follow] In this episode, Cassian Andor (who will later help lead the Rebellion against the Empire) has been unjustly imprisoned by the Empire and is sentenced to years of hard labor in a work camp. From the moment he arrives he’s looking for a way to escape. He asks the foreman, another prisoner named Kino Loy, how many guards are overseeing them. Kino doesn’t answer, telling him repeatedly to give up his schemes, to keep his head down and get his work done and he’ll be released eventually. Over time, the two of them discover that no one gets out of the prison alive. You can see the hope drain from Kino’s face as he realizes what Cassian has somehow always known–that there is no way out, no reward for good behavior. At the end of the episode, Cassian asks one more time, “How many guards on each level?” This time, Kino’s answer comes instantly and resolutely: “Never more than twelve.” (The next episode is an all-timer.) 

Only when conventional hope disappears are the desperate moved to daring action.

When hope stops singing, the sewer rat gets to work. 

Addendum: Turns out there’s a team of rats hard at work throughout the world, saving lives. Through our Service and Mission Team, Trinity is sponsoring three rats doing landmine detection and tuberculosis detection. These amazing animals are specially trained and work faster and more accurately than conventional methods. You can read more about the incredible work of APOPO here. 

Looks like hope to me.

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What I’m Up To

I’m preaching Sunday at Trinity Presbyterian at 10:15 am Eastern. Livestream here.

I always love talking to David Dault of Things Not Seen Radio. Our most recent conversation is here.

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Link Love

Several of you shared this with me: applying the rules of improv to everyday life.

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