The Myth of “It’s Always Been That Way”
“It’s always been that way.”
I wonder how often those words have kept us from asking whether the way things are is the way things ought to be.
Recently, I was scrolling through Facebook and saw a post discussing the growing disparity between the rich and the poor in our country. Someone had casually dismissed wealth inequality by suggesting that it has simply always been that way.
My friend called it “evil” how easily some people blow off the tragedy of this massive gap in income and wealth.
This logic is a cousin to the argument we’ve all heard when people quote Jesus to justify poverty. They remind us that Jesus said, “The poor you will always have with you” (Matthew 26:11).
But that quotation is usually stopped too soon. Jesus continues, “but you will not always have me.” He isn't offering poverty as an excuse for indifference.
I agree with my friend; no, it hasn't always been this hard to make it. It hasn't always been this difficult for our children to simply have the opportunity to buy their first home and build a secure life.
But there is something larger bothering me about the phrase “it’s always been that way.”
Sometimes hopelessness doesn't announce itself as hopelessness. Sometimes it sounds like realism.
Nothing is ever going to change.
The problem is too big.
That's just the way the world works.
And eventually, without even realizing it, we can move from acknowledging that a problem exists to accepting that nothing can—or should—be done about it.
It seems to me that faithful citizenship ought to challenge that resignation. It begins by asking: Has it indeed always been this way? Do I have a moral or ethical responsibility here? And am I willing to be vulnerable and open to the heart of God by asking, “Is there a bigger-picture response expected of me?”
Has It Always Been This Way?
I bought my first home when I was 26 years old. It wasn’t anything lavish; it was a one-bedroom half-duplex with a one-car garage. I was the same age that my daughter is today, and I know that buying a home isn’t the first thing that’s on her mind or on the minds of most in her generation.
According to the National Association of Realtors' 2025 report:
The median first-time homebuyer is now 40 years old—up from the late 20s in the 1980s.
First-time buyers account for only 21% of all homebuyers, the lowest share since the NAR began tracking in 1981. Before the Great Recession, they typically made up about 40%.
So I would challenge the thinking that things haven’t changed much, because they have. And it makes me sad when I think about the sacrifices our parents’ generation made to leave a better life to us. We should not so easily accept the way things are.
There is a moral difference between recognizing that inequality has always existed—and probably always will—and deciding that nothing could—or should—be done about it.
Why are we so quick to accept systemic economic inequality as a permanent reality rather than a problem we can address together—or at least weaken its impact?
When the disparity between the rich and the working class grows so wide, the very fabric of our communities begins to fray. A healthy democracy requires a foundation where families can build stable lives; true neighborliness is difficult to sustain when people are constantly struggling just to survive.
How Does God Feel About This Issue?
Apathy and hopelessness can make us feel defeated and victimized. They can leave us with a scarcity mindset and the idea that we’re left alone with our struggles. When it comes to the rising cost of life's basic necessities, it’s easy to forget about the one who cares most about our predicament.
When Jesus—in Matthew 26:11—said, “The poor you will always have with you, but you will not always have me,” he echoed Deuteronomy 15:11, which proceeds to say, “Therefore, open your hand to your poor and needy neighbor.”
Notice the movement there.
The biblical writer acknowledges the persistence of poverty and then says, in effect: therefore, respond.
The existence of the problem doesn't relieve God's people of responsibility. It creates an opportunity to exercise it.
Jesus understood the anxiety that comes when life's basic necessities feel insecure. In the Sermon on the Mount, he speaks about food and clothing—the ordinary things people need to live—and reminds his listeners, “your heavenly Father knows that you need them” (Matthew 6:32).
But Jesus doesn't stop with reassurance. He points toward the kingdom of God—a different ordering of our priorities. If God knows and cares about what people need to live, shouldn't God's people care about the economic conditions in which our neighbors are trying to live?
What Does Politics Have To Do With It?
Let’s face it: Underlying the issue confronting my friend on Facebook—the one who had to deal with the “Things Have Always Been This Way” reasoning—is the assumption that we live in the land of opportunity and all you have to do to get ahead is to work harder.
The truth of the matter, though, is that the gap between the haves and the have-nots is widening, and the opportunities for many to improve their circumstance are dwindling. Researchers at Harvard's Opportunity Insights found that 92% of Americans born in 1940 grew up to earn more than their parents. For those born in 1984, that figure had fallen to just 50%. In other words, something that was once true for nearly every American child is now little better than a coin toss.
Of course there are remarkable stories of people who overcome enormous obstacles. We should celebrate them.
Hard work matters.
Personal responsibility matters.
Wise choices matter.
But the existence of people who overcome the odds doesn't tell us whether the odds themselves are fair.
And that, it seems to me, is where faith and citizenship meet.
As people of faith, we are called to open our hands to our neighbors rather than simply explain why their struggles are inevitable. As citizens, we have another responsibility as well: we get to help shape the conditions under which our neighbors live.
That doesn't mean there is one obvious policy solution to economic inequality—or to most of the difficult problems confronting us.
Good people can disagree about taxes, housing policy, wages, immigration, health care, gun violence, education, government assistance, and the proper role of government. Those are important arguments to have.
But I wonder if our political divisions have conditioned us to begin with the wrong questions, like:
Whose fault is this?
Which side is right?
Who is winning?
What if we became more interested in another question:
Who is actually trying to solve the problem?
Look for the people who listen. Look for people willing to work with others with whom they don't agree about everything. Look for people who acknowledge difficult facts, search for common ground where it exists, and are willing to accept progress even when their side doesn't get everything it wants.
Find the people more committed to solving the problem than exploiting the division surrounding it.
And then support them.
That might mean our vote. It might mean our money. It might mean volunteering our time or contributing professional expertise. It might mean joining an organization, attending a meeting, making a phone call, introducing two people who ought to know each other—or simply learning enough about an issue to recognize the people who are doing good work.
None of us can solve every problem.
Candy Lightner couldn't end drunk driving. Ryan White couldn't cure AIDS. And the people working today on housing, health care, immigration, gun violence and countless other problems don't know how their stories will end either.
Neither do we.
Hopelessness tells us that we do.
“It’s always been that way” may sometimes be a statement about history. It should never become our excuse for the future.
Maybe the question isn't whether I can change the world. Maybe the question is much smaller—and much more demanding:
What is mine to do?
QUESTIONS FOR THE READER
Where have I mistaken resignation for realism?
What problem have I decided is simply too big to change?
Who is doing constructive work on that problem—and am I paying attention?
What do I have to give—my time, experience, resources, relationships, voice, vote, or talents—that might help?
What is mine to do?
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