I started writing to you eight days ago in the blur of pre-election week, where no amount of polls or pundits could tell us the outcome on November 5. It was consuming and aggravating, the not-knowing, the in between, the purgatory of a liminal space. My social media feeds were clogged with non-news of speculation and the latest horrifying thing Trump or one of his followers spewed about one group or another.
Today, I write to you knowing the results of the election.
I’m so angry.
Unsure where this anger will or should take me, I think of little else besides the anger clinging to my chest. I’m angry about the lies people believe, even when facts stare us all in the face. I’m angry that we can’t all agree what truth means. I’m angry that Trump threatens and bullies, and his followers defend him and even love him for it. I’m angry and sad for the path our country saunters down and all who will be hurt, or worse, along the way. All this anger and grief reside inside me, raging and twisting, looking for a place to escape. It feels righteous, though, and maybe that’s why I want it all to stick around.
Once I’ve rested and grieved the choice our country made, I want to use my anger to fight back, to not let the injustices in our nation hold me down for long or shut me up. I want my anger to move me into action.
But then I think about the pathway to changing hearts and minds with countless in-person discussions, reading numerous books and articles, volunteering consistently in my community, and building relationships with prior strangers. All of this is so good and right and holy…
But it’s also exhausting. Especially when positive change is not guaranteed.
And anger and grief are already exhausting.
I spend most of my days working, making myself three meals a day, and tending to relationships and friendships in my life. In between, I scroll on social media, learning and furthering my anger with reports of the terrible atrocities happening in our country and beyond, wishing that I could find more hours in the day to make a noticeable impact and change in the world.
And maybe that’s my issue. I spend my extra hours online where it’s familiar, controllable, and I know what I’ll get (angry), instead of moving into even a small action to help someone in my direct community. While voting was and is a worthwhile and needed action, sometimes I behave as though it’s my only option to raise my voice and lend a hand.
Even a small action can make a difference. Especially when that action becomes consistent. As Coretta Scott King said, “The greatness of a community is most accurately measured by the compassionate actions of its members.” We exist in community, and it’s our duty and joy to care for one another. This is not a revelation, but an urgent reminder. I can’t just sit at home, doom-scrolling, and wishing for a better world. That’s no way to build love.
James Davison Hunter noted in his book To Change the World, “To be Christian is to be obliged to engage the world, pursuing God’s restorative purposes over all of life.” Engaging the world is preceded by hope.
Hope for a better world is not a forgotten feather, to be brushed off your shoulder. It is “the thing with feathers,” as Emily Dickinson said. It is real, it is gritty, and it is ready to act. Maybe you’ve seen this quote from Matthew @CrowsFault, “People speak of hope as if it is this delicate, ephemeral thing made of whispers and spider’s webs. It’s not. Hope has dirt on her face, blood on her knuckles, the grit of the cobblestones in her hair, and just spat out a tooth as she rises for another go.”
Hope lives in large spaces but it grows in the miniscule. I think what Jesus said about the Kingdom of God applies to hope: it starts as a small seed. And this can, for a few moments, ease the exhausting business of anger. Knowing that I can do more, and it can start as small as a flicker of hope and a kind word to a friend.
As much as I fear how the outcome of this election will affect countless individuals in and outside our man-made border lines, and as much as our country needs a rest, a breath, a break — hope can endure. And, when we’re ready, hope will become action.
Header photo by Marcus Dall Col on Unsplash
In the road to Emmaus story, the two disciples are confused, tired, exhausted and angry. Sound familiar? Luke 24:21, contains the statement “but we had hoped that he was the one who was going to redeem Israel.”-past tense, completed action.
It has been one of my “go to” verses lately because of its irony. The two disciples are explaining to the risen Christ their dashed hopes, “we had hoped”. And then He chose to let them see Him in a simple act of community and kindness.
One answer to the question is how do we see the reality of Christ in very confusing circumstances is by inviting him to spend time with you in a simple act of community and kindness.
All of this discussion is like a warm rain (of hope?) falling on my soul. Thank you!
Václav Havel, the dissident Czech writer who became his country’s president after the fall of the iron curtain, wrote about the difference between hope and optimism:
Hope, he said, “is not prognostication. It is an orientation of the spirit, and orientation of the heart; it transcends the world that is immediately experienced, and is anchored somewhere beyond its horizons. . . . It is an ability to work for something because it is good, not just because it stands a chance to succeed. . . . [Hope] is not the conviction that something will turn out well, but the certainty that something makes sense, regardless of how it turns out”
Beautiful.
Hope is strong. Hope is fierce. Hope is brave.
Nick Cave gave me some: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=cFM4GVl-WqI
Thank you, Amelia.
I’ve been trying to write a prayer or two or more in the midst of our context. The words haven’t come yet. Mostly I’ve been listening to the responses and feelings of friends who are filled with grief and fear, with sadness and shock, and, yes, with anger. Thank you for these reflections, Aemelia. As we tell our church’s kids in worship every week, “You are God’s dearly loved child. God takes great delight in you. Be who you are. And may you be blessed in all that you are.”
Thanks so much, Aemelia! In my freshman seminar course called “Be the Change,” we read and talk a lot about hope. Part of that discussion is centered around hope even when things don’t work out the way we want, or when we move from hope to hopelessness. Even when that happens, there is some good. As one of our authors said, “We are consoled and strengthened by being hopeless together. We don’t need specific outcomes. We need each other.” I want the outcomes, too, but I am happy to have good friendships with others. Also, thank you for the Dickenson and Matthew @CrowsFault quotes. I will share these and your piece with my class!