In the weeks following September 11, New York City sank into a silent depression. America’s comedy capital didn’t crack a smile for two weeks. After this hiatus, Saturday Night Live returned to the air. Rudy Giuliani joined police officers and firefighters on the stage of Studio 8H, where they stood together to grieve and to steady the nation.
Then the camera turned toward the musical stage, where Paul Simon—SNL’s most beloved guest—stood with his guitar. Everyone assumed they knew what he would play. After all, Simon had written America’s great hymn of comfort, “Bridge Over Troubled Water.” We leaned forward, waiting for that familiar line: “When you’re weary, feeling small…”
But he didn’t play that song.
Instead, he began “The Boxer.”
It’s the story of a young man who is cold, poor, and lonely. He takes beatings and bruises. He wants to run away and escape the pain. Yet the final line of the song says, “The fighter still remains.”
It’s a chorus of courage. An anthem of resilience.
The song acknowledges the hurt, injustice, and weariness of life—but insists that we keep moving forward, despite the blows.
Decadence and self-pity were not the answers. This was no time to put on sweatpants, curl up with a pint of Jeni’s, and binge Law & Order reruns. We needed to learn resilience.
America wanted to hear “Bridge Over Troubled Water.”
America needed to hear “The Boxer.”
Michelle Obama reminds us that “grief and resilience live together.” Hardship can shape us into people who stand taller, wake earlier, and take responsibility for our lives. We cannot control what happens to us, but we can control how we respond.
Paul’s letter to the Romans shows how hardship and discipleship mix. The persecuted are called to bless their persecutors (12:14). Those who mourn will find companions in their sorrow (12:15). Believers are to associate with the lowly (12:16). Vengeance is not ours—so feed and refresh your enemies instead (12:20).
Too often, we expect others to become “The Boxer” while we wish for a “Bridge Over Troubled Water” for ourselves. But that’s not how grace works. We receive comfort and resilience through our own struggles, so that we may offer them to others. We become the boxer for the people who need a bridge.
The scriptures remind us that “God consoles us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to console those who are in any affliction with the consolation with which we ourselves are consoled by God” (2 Cor. 1:4).
Doris Kearns Goodwin defines resilience as the “ability to sustain ambition in the face of frustration.” Resilience is not a way of getting over our pain; it is working through it. We even learn from it. We learn to persevere and start experiencing the formation of our character. “And not only that, but we also boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope” (Romans 5:3-4).
We must choose vulnerability without succumbing to victimization. Our pain can produce something greater. We visit our pain; but we don’t retire there. Vulnerability opens us up to what we need to hear in the moment: What is God teaching me right now? What is my role in this? What is mine to carry?
We learn habits of resilience and form a rule of life. We practice spiritual disciplines of prayer, solitude, and fasting. We set our alarm. We brush our teeth and tuck in our shirts. We take responsibility for our actions. We stop blaming others. We confess our sins and tell others how much they mean to us.
We start flourishing.
We rediscover our mission.
We start experiencing joy.
We might even begin to laugh again.