When I went to bed Tuesday night around 10:30 I wasn’t in a good mood. It seemed like things in the election were starting to lean in a direction that I definitely did not want them to be leaning.
I also knew that, regardless of which way it went, my life would likely be different when I woke up the next morning. Either there would be a new beginning, where there would be fresh pastures in which our nation could gallop, and in those sweet grasses we could begin to heal.
Or, in my perception, we’d be taking a giant step back, into what felt like an abyss of not only uncertainty, but downright danger.
My life would change because of this external exercise in democracy known as an election outcome.
When I awoke around 5:00am and learned the results, my mood went from edgy from the night before to deep sadness. It didn’t take long for me, still steeped in grief and dismay, to think of and feel for you. I wanted to send you a message of solace, something to perhaps provide balm to your aching hearts.
[I want to pause for a moment to acknowledge the possibility that not all of us had achy breaky hearts that morning. If any of you didn’t, my apologies for this reflection not speaking so much to you.
Given the likelihood that a vast majority of us were, and of the likelihood of the depth of that ache, my words this morning will be geared with the admitted assumption that I’m addressing the experience most of us.]
And so, that morning, in my desire to reach out, I sent a message reminding you that we have each other. It was accompanied by a poem about the way leading on, despite us maybe not wanting to be on the road as we see it.
It wasn’t long before some of you responded, in those early morning hours. One such response was both playful and not at all playful. It said…
Two questions:
Is it too early to start drinking?
When did we become such a mean country?
The question about becoming such a mean country resonated with me. Yeah, when??
Most mornings I meet Lisa’s sister Donnelle at the gym, so l made my morning trek to Planet Fitness. Usually at the time I’m making that commute up Veterans Parkway the sun’s orange light is just starting to glow over the eastern horizon. Without exception it gives me a “It’s a new day!” feeling, however small.
Not that morning. Wednesday morning was a When did we become such a mean country? morning.
At the gym I became tearful again, this time with the younger Batz sister, as we shared our profound disappointment.
By the time we got to the elliptical machines, Donnelle was telling me about her partner Dave, a staunch republican, who earlier that morning had gently spoken to her about the coal miners who live check to check, and that the needs of those people were probably heard in the outcome of the vote.
At first I had none of it. My mind went to rugged individualism.
“I think this has to do with rugged individualism. Everybody, including the coal miner, is looking out for #1, and doesn’t see the bigger picture of the needs of the group.
This country was founded on rugged individualism, with everybody’s bottom line being self interest…it’s in our DNA and this is where it’s gotten us. And that probably partly answers my congregant’s question of how we got to be such a mean country.”
In those moments I was a bit pleased with my sociological prowess.
But then, out of nowhere it seemed, another question occurred to me.
How can that coal miner be expected to be thinking about the greater good and how intact democracy is in his country, when he’s wondering if his meager pay check is going to cover next month’s rent for him, his wife, and his three kids?
The ‘take the oxygen mask to assist yourself in breathing first, before you can take on the rest of the group’ adage came to mind.
The miner has trouble breathing (probably literally and financially) every month.
Of course he’s going to support the candidate that he perceives as giving him the most oxygen. He’s thinking about realities of daily bread, not the ideologies of democracy.
And then this horizon of dawning light of understanding was turned more specifically toward me.
In my privilege as a cognitively and physically abled, higher education degree-holding white person, I have the luxury of not wondering about where the money is going to come from for my next rent payment.
Let me be clear that, now that we’ve lost, I don’t think that my position, my candidate, my ideologies are wrong.
Am I sad? Yes, still. If I had the chance to do it again, and could personally decide the outcome of the election, would I, with these new insights, choose for the election to go the way it went? No, I would not.
But I’m a maker of lemonade…it’s central in my spiritual life.
Technically I’m a minister, but really I make lemonade for a living.
This is born of the ongoing effort to take the sometimes sour circumstances in life, and come forth with something sweeter that we can ultimately not only withstand, but even enjoy, or at least benefit from.
The sweetness that makes the lemon-y situation better is the possibility of grace – the workings of a perfect Universe, a loving God, a master chess player who is always making the next move for our greater good.
Again, I would not have put an order in for the outcome of this election, but what I want even more than a prescribed outcome is true understanding and deep connection, and a higher order of love.
And if that includes the well-est-meaning folks like you and me moving into a deeper understanding about our coal miner brother, then bring it on.
If we are so divided in this country partly because my privilege gets in the way of me really getting it, then let the results of this election be what they will be.
Then, day by day, may my grief act as fuel that spurs my heart to continue to be cracked open, that my eyes see more clearly.
Day by day.
Yes, dear Lord, three things I pray
To see your ways more clearly
Love you and others more dearly
Follow your way, the way of Jesus, more nearly
Day by day.
If we mean that prayer, and if we take to heart the prayer that Jesus lived and taught, which includes…
-thy kingdom come (a realm of grace and love here and now),
-thy will be done (wisdom for the big picture that sometimes even we enlightened liberals may miss)…
If we mean these things, then we become makers of lemonade, because the sweetness for which our soul longs comes as our hearts expand in ways they might not have had the lemons not come on the scene – had our horse won the race.
Needless to say, life isn’t all lemons, not by a long shot. Sometimes the circumstances come sweet, and it’s easier, faster… like pre-sweetened Countrytime powder mix.
But sometimes the lemonade needs to be homemade, in the home of our soul. The lemons come, and if we’re going to have refreshment for that soul, we need to add the sweetness of love.
And that adding isn’t always a good ole country-time. Sometimes it’s not so easy, not so fast…like childbirth.
New life is coming, but not before the painful broadening of the birth canal.
This calls to mind a prayer written by Valerie Kaur. It’s entitled A Sikh Prayer for America, and was written on Nov. 9, 2016, just after our new President-elect won the first time.
In our tears and agony, we hold our children close and confront the truth: The future is dark. But my faith dares me to ask:
What if this darkness is not the darkness of the tomb, but the darkness of the womb?
What if our America is not dead but a country still waiting to be born? What if the story of America is one long labor?
What if all the mothers who came before us, who survived genocide and occupation, slavery and Jim Crow, racism and xenophobia and Islamophobia, political oppression and sexual assault, are standing behind us now, whispering in our ear: You are brave? What if this is our Great Contraction before we birth a new future?
Remember the wisdom of the midwife: “Breathe,” she says. Then: “Push.”
Now it is time to breathe. But soon it will be time to push; soon it will be time to fight — for those we love — Muslim father, Sikh son, trans daughter, indigenous brother, immigrant sister, white worker, the poor and forgotten, and the ones who cast their vote out of resentment and fear.
Let us make an oath to fight for the soul of America — “The land [as Langston Hughes said] that never has been yet— And yet must be” — with Revolutionary Love and relentless optimism. And so I pray this prayer:
In the name of the Divine within us and around us, we find everlasting optimism.
Within your will, may there be grace for all of humanity.
There’s a noteworthy word in there toward the end….revolutionary.
Not conventional or cautious. In the analysis of the campaign and election processes, before and after election day, people with actual sociological prowess said that the Democratic candidate ran a cautious race.
Some say that the Democrats kept their horse reined in throughout the race. Some are now saying maybe a little too much.
Maybe part of the takeaway – a sweetener, a bittersweet sweetener – in all of this, is more clarity that now in our nation’s history is not a time for caution.
Maybe the starkness and seeming darkness of these days calls for more abandon/less restraint, more thoughtful examination, stepping across the aisle – including within ourselves.
Stepping across the aisle within myself. Now what would that look like?
Well, I decided to try on a MAGA hat, in my head (not ON my head). Make America Great Again.
I asked myself to personally unpack it.
Do you love your country? Yes. Do you want America to be great again? Yes. I don’t think that we’ve ever really reached a stature of ‘greatness,’ given on whose backs this country was built, and the ensuing issues thereof ever since.
So I don’t know about the ‘again’ part. But yes, I want my country tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, to be great.
Next question (it’s the tough one): What are you going to do to make it great? Right here, right now, election results and all, what are you willing to do?
Some of you have asked about moving past gnashing of teeth, and figuring out next steps.
On Wednesday morning, when I was looking at a beautiful sunrise, and instead of seeing the warm glow of hope and potential, it was the fiery representation of disgust and distain.
While that was happening, Venice Williams was writing this, when as What Do We Do Now?
You are awakening to the same country you fell asleep to.
The very same country. Pull yourself together.
And, when you see me, do not ask me “What do we do now?
How do we get through the next four years?”
My Ancestors dealt with at least 400 years of this under worse conditions.
Continue to do the good work. Continue to build bridges not walls.
Continue to lead with compassion. Continue the demanding work of liberation for all.
Continue to dismantle broken systems, large and small.
Continue to set the best example for the children.
Continue to be a vessel of nourishing joy.
Continue right where you are.
Right where you live into your days.
Do so in the name of The Creator who expects nothing less from each of us.
And if you are not “continuing” ALL of the above,
in community, partnership, collaboration?
What is it you have been doing?
What is it you are waiting for?
“Continue to dismantle broken systems, large and small.”
Because of the feeling of lack of control here, and while my heart is still hurting, and my head is still in dismay, I’ll start small, and with what I do have control over. I’ll take a look within, at my well-meaning but imperfect self.
This is what I choose to do now…
- Recognize that my countrymen and women have spoken.
- Ask myself if I’m willing to listen to what they had to say (especially if I’m so interested in their well-being as I say I am).
- Look honestly enough at myself to recognize that my privilege has limited my view.
- Stop spending my energy calling the other voters stupid (“How can they not be?” I’ve thought many a day). To stop and actually engage with people who think differently.
- Stop waiting to be approached and become more proactive about it.
I’ll bet each of us here knows at least one person who is generally reasonable, who voted the other way. Is it in you to reach out to him or her, to ask open-ended questions, and be genuinely curious?
I referenced in this week’s newsletter Love Note that I haven’t done that, and the opportunity has been only an arm’s length away this whole time.
Donnelle’s partner Dave, who spoke of the aforementioned coal miner, is someone I see a couple times a week. I love and trust him.
Admittedly I don’t embrace his political leanings, but nor have I invited him to help me understand them.
This week Kamala said two things that I’ve taken to heart that speak to this:
‘Roll up your sleeves instead of throwing up your hands’, and ‘Sometimes the fight takes a while.’
Rolling up my sleeves and remaining in the fight…yes. Work and trust and watch and work some more…yes again.
But let us not overlook the internal fight, the personal hill to climb that brings us to higher ground to see more clearly, love more dearly, and follow more nearly.
At the top of your hill you just might be inclined to build a lemonade stand, from which the living you make and take render you very rich indeed.
As you now have an opportunity to offer your own reflections, I invite you to speak about the concept of looking internally as well as externally for answers to the question “Where do we go from here?”
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