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You took one on the chin earlier this month. No, let me back up in order to be more honest. We took one on the chin earlier this month. As someone who works (and values working) with a wide diversity of peoples / churches / dioceses / organizations, I’m not inclined to make my own personal voting record public. But if you have been reading what I have been writing the past ten years about truth as the necessary foundation of living a Christian life; the importance of building unity rather than escalating division; and why we must be committed to the healthy use of power for the common good… well, you have surely figured out by now that I would sooner lose a limb than vote Donald Trump into the presidency.
I pray for Mr. Trump’s conversion to decency every day and that God might heal him of his many ills—both visible and hidden. I mean that. I am not saying this facetiously. But even as I pray for him, I would never put him into a position of leadership, especially such an important one with the capacity to do sooooo much harm. (As one of my friends from South Africa said to me, “When America sneezes the whole world catches cold.”)
So, when I awoke the morning of November 7th, it was a shock to me to find that over half the voters in the U.S. would put him in such a leadership position.
Many have said to me that it should not have been a shock. But painful as it is to receive such shocks—kinda like grabbing a live wire and feel fire course through one’s veins—I want it to remain a shock. Because if it wasn’t a shock, it would mean that I’d become a cynic and begun to think less of my fellow citizens. And I don’t want to do that. I don’t think you do either. I want to believe my fellow citizens are people like myself—who, if not good, at least want to be good and love their neighbor. I do see goodness in so many of my friends who voted for Trump. Many of them are the kind of people who would give you the coat off their back and are more pleasant to be around than me.
And it is because of that goodness that their choice not only disappoints but confuses me at a very profound level. The fact that many of these friends are Catholic and that we profess to share the same faith and love the same Lord adds an even deeper level of disappointment and confusion. I recognize that a few of them might this very moment be saying the same thing of me. It suggests that we need to sit down and have some deep, long conversations about why we see this soooo differently because this ain’t going away and shouldn’t be swept under the rug. We need to talk about:
- Where are we each getting our information?
- Whose voices are informing our consciences?
- Have we each considered long and hard what is at stake for the other, and what the impact of our choices will be on each other?
- What are we each hearing as we listen to the Gospel in our lives?
- What does “love God and love neighbor” mean to each of us?
- How do we want to be with one another given that we understand the fundamentals of Christianity and what it means to be an American in such different ways?
Yes, I feel angry, which is why I’ve been careful to say so little publicly for the past two weeks. But that anger is a thin shiny layer of ice atop a mountain of sadness, disappointment, and confusion. What I’ve heard from many of you, fellow Harris voters, is the same. Maybe there are some who voted for Harris who are expressing rage and a desire for some kind of revenge. But I’m not running in those circles, if they are out there. In the circles I run in, I just hear just mountain after mountain of sadness… disappointment… confusion. Yet, that is not all. I see more than I hear. And I see the kindness and care of words so many of you are trying to exercise right now. The great effort that you are making not to blame and not to despair. The strength you are calling on from deep within yourself to continue to act justly, love tenderly, and walk humbly. And I find that so edifying. Like I am a better person for watching you right now.
Many years ago I proofread an article that one of my mentors in life—Fr. Don Goergen—had written on the virtue of hope. When I handed it back to him, I said, “Don, that is the most depressing article on hope I’ve ever read.” In the article Don had carefully distinguished between optimism, which is thinking everything is going to be all right, and hope, which is the strength to keep longing for the common good (or we might say, the Reign of God) even when things are not all right. Hope isn’t a feeling. It is a way of being in the world, and I’m seeing that in you. Thank you for that. I hope you can also see it in me.
What now? What next? I did an interview with Heidi Schlumpf of The Francis Effect today on that topic. I won’t say more about what I think we should do here in print because I think I probably said it better on the podcast. It is 1 hr 14 min long and you are welcome to listen to the whole thing, but know that the interview with me doesn't come in till minute 47.
And then I’ll leave you with a song that crushes my heart each time I listen to it, but also fills me with a feisty kind of hope. I think it is the best response to the moment and am moved to share it with you, just as it was shared with me. Makes me happy just to think of you clapping along with it.
(photo credit - Taylor Smith)