Somewhere over the rainbow, blue birds fly
Birds fly over the rainbow
Oh why, oh why can't I? 
--Harold Arlen, E. Y. Harburg

Over the rainbow, into the glorious field of sunflowers–somewhere, anywhere beyond. This is our collective dream: to leave the current fear and pain of Covid19, racial and economic struggle, violence, wild fires, hurricanes, and derecho winds, public and private shaming of all sorts from any and all sources. To transport ourselves to the Great Beyond, to the sunnier days of life after the virus, after the protests, after the destruction of lives, livelihoods, reputations, and after the horrors of natural disasters. Somewhere beyond all of this there must be something better. Right?

Franklin Delano Roosevelt wrote that [w]e have always held to the hope, the belief, the conviction that there is a better life, a better world, beyond the horizon. Like many, I remember thinking that beyond the challenges and sleepless nights of adolescence, I would finally reach adulthood, that shining city on the hill of life, that splendid destination that made all the angst and acne worth it. As a teacher, I remember clinging to the promise of summer, of days beyond school bells, beyond 20-minute lunches and piles of student papers that covered my desk and grew exponentially, eager to consume every inch and minute of my life. If I could just make it until Memorial Day, then I could sleep and read any book I wanted to read. Then I could bury my watch in the bottom of a drawer and take a 2-hour lunch–in a quiet place that serves adult food–with a good friend. The lure of beyond is the proverbial carrot in the great race of life. It’s just in front of you. It tempts you with rewards that have eluded you. It’s out there somewhere.

I’ve heard and read inspirational words that are intended to sustain us and pull us through these trials. This, too, shall pass. This can’t last forever, so keep your eyes on the prize. After we have a vaccine for this virus, everyone can return to work, to school, to life as we’ve known it. When we elect new leaders, they will solve all our problems. After we destroy the terrible systems of our past and establish better systems, the current pain and strife will disappear. These are battle cries of sorts, words of those like Scottish warrior William Wallace as he led his countrymen and women to rebel against the tyrannous King Edward I. Or the words of Winston Churchill who rallied the Brits to defend their country, to never, never surrender.

After reading a recent biography of Churchill, it struck me that Churchill’s voice, like Wallace’s, was largely a single, unifying voice. Times were desperate, and yet one rallying cry lifted the British people from devastating nightly bomb raids and paralyzing fear of burgeoning Nazi forces. Carried into homes through radio waves, one voice rallied the country to stay the course because the very future of what could–and must–lie beyond this horror was at stake.

I’ve thought a lot about the power of this kind of unifying voice. Churchill was brutally honest. He didn’t offer platitudes or sugar-coat the dire reality of Nazi power. He spoke to the British people as adults capable of hearing of the truth and then he asked them to think and act beyond what they believed they were capable of. He warned, he cajoled, he encouraged and inspired. In the end after much great sacrifice, Churchill’s vision and voice helped moved Britain–and the world–beyond the death and destruction of WWII.

Today, however, our nation has no Churchill or Wallace, no single unifying voice to lead us through the wilderness. In truth, we have many voices, and the chasm between these voices and visions of how to make our nation better is growing just as quickly and awfully as my piles of student essays to be graded. It’s a Grand Canyon division. With each passing day, it becomes more and more impossible to see the other side or to even begin to imagine a Great Beyond.

People are hunkering down and digging in. They may have once believed that a visionary warrior would ride his horse up and down the batttle lines, unifying our nation to responsible and right action. They may have hoped beyond hope that one such figure would emerge and that, one day, we’d all hold hands and sing Kum-Bah-Ya. They may have risen each day with the hope that life would return to normal as their mantra. But not so much these days. These days, more and more people find themselves in survival mode driven solely by what they need to do to get through this day. Their dreams may be smaller: eating indoors in a favorite restaurant or going to work or school in person, maskless. When you’re in survival mode, you drool over small pleasures and normalcies. When we get beyond the threat of the coronavirus, I’ll order the largest plate of appetizers at Applebees and eat them all with my best friend as we sit in a corner booth for hours and visit.

And all this begs the question of what life beyond our current pain and challenges offers. There are many who argue that there will be a new normal, one that is, at least, different than the old normal and at best, much better. They maintain that what lies beyond all of this is not a comfortable return to life-as-we-knew-it, but nonetheless, they offer hope for the Great Beyond. There are others who believe that what lies beyond is forbidding. The Great Beyond, they warn, will be a darker age. Systems will necessarily crash and burn, and we will muck around in the rubble for a long time.

I don’t want to be one who sticks her head in the sand or one who unnecessarily borrows trouble. I would be lying if I said that I don’t lie in bed at night and worry about what lies beyond. At times, I distract myself with over-the-rainbow fantasies. I imagine myself standing in a field of sunflowers, my face to the sun, the day stretching gloriously before me. At other times, I imagine myself in some kind of dystopian world, hoarding toilet paper and fearful to say or write anything that may get me canceled for good, the remants of my life being literally flushed away.

I realize the urgency of addressing those things that threaten to undo us–personally, nationally, and globally. If our Great Beyond is to be a place of health, unity, and general well-being, I understand that this will not come without a cost. The greatest leaders have always understood that the world is–and would always be–a troubled place in which all people would struggle in one way or another. Churchill knew and refused to ignore this. As their cities were nightly bombed, the British held fast to the knowledge that their leader truly saw their sacrifice and pain and that their fellow countrymen and women were also sacrificing and suffering. They were not alone.

More and more, I’ve realized that I, too, rest in the comfort and promise that I’m never alone and that, in the midst of trouble, I can find peace and joy. Jesus told his followers:

I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world. John 16:33.

The chasm between our current selves and our best selves may be great. Our troubles may seem insurmountable and our pain too chronic. We may not have a political or military leader whose voice can successfully rally and unify the people. Ultimately, though, a better beyond begins when, amidst all the trouble, those who’ve found genuine peace and joy reach across the chasm and work relentlessly to bring everyone to the table. And then, even if the food intolerable or the place settings mismatched, all will leave knowing that the fellowship was good, that the fellowship was everything, and that beyond this meal, an endless number of invitations and opportunities lies before them.