Tuesday, May 23, 2017

Not My President (?)

On any given day since November 8th, I am not sure which emotion is going to beat out all of the others for top position. Outrage, anger, depression, and terror have all been top contenders, but today I mostly feel embarrassed.

The president of the United States commented that he had just left the Middle East while he was in Israel. His official statement on the Manchester terrorism event  called the attackers "evil losers," and his note at Yad Vashem, a Holocaust memorial in Israel, read like the note of a school field tripper who was just glad to have an excuse to ditch class: "It's so great to be here with all of my friends. So amazing!" At best, everything this man says and does sounds like an adolescent schoolyard bully, but he's not a child. He is just too intellectually lazy and emotionally incurious to care about anything but his own popularity and power. It embarrasses me. I am ashamed that this man leads my country and I worry about what the rest of the world now things about us. How could anyone elect this man to lead a nation?

But here's the thing: I didn't vote for him. He's "not my president," right? Why am I so embarrassed? It's not like he represents me or my values. I did everything I could to prevent his election. Why am I wracked with embarrassment while his supporters are incapable of being shamed by his actions?

I think part of the answer to these questions is that, though he does not represent my values or my beliefs, I come from the community that widely endorse this man. I am white and Christian. Growing up, I never heard the terms "evangelical" or "mainline." I was just a Christian. I had no familiarity with denominations or with these labels, but I grew up in non-denominational churches that were non-affirming of queer people, that denied any scriptural authority to women, and denied the possibility of evolution. The churches I attended did not always scream their conservatism from the roof tops. In fact I only realized some of their stances from noticing what was taught and not taught, how certain scriptural passages were interpreted, who was allowed to speak on Sunday mornings. In the current political climate, these stances have become more boldly stated. I was recently Facebook stalking a former pastor and I found out he is now involved with what I would label a truly nutjob church. Their statement of faith denies the validity of psychology and counseling, labeling it anti-biblical because it robs God of his authority. Really. When I think about the damage that that position could cause, especially when you consider that the church is non-affirming of queer existence. Queer Christians have the highest suicide rate in the nation and you want to deny them the counseling that could be life saving? It disgusts me. And I was a bit horrified that this man used to deliver sermons to me every Sunday. What other sorts of dangerous ideologies did he have that I never knew about? When I look at all of this, I understand how people in these churches could be convinced to vote for Trump in droves.

Now, I do not want to sound ungrateful for my childhood and adolescent churches. I wouldn't trade away my summers at church camps or the personal faith that often sustained me in adolescence. I still find solace in many of the worship songs I sang in these churches. My siblings and I were all raised in this brand of Christianity, and we all became empathetic, balanced, and open-minded adults. There were also some things that I would change if I could--the sexist and damaging purity rhetoric that only targeted girls, and the youth group meeting where the pastor told us that a nuclear bomb had been launched towards us so that we would get right with God (really), for starters. While I can name the blessings of this faith tradition, I left this brand of Christianity several years ago.

The Christ in my gospels in on the margins. He stands by the vulnerable and he is not interested in rejecting outsiders from his presence. My Christianity is about recognizing the image of God in all of humanity, it's about defending human dignity. My Christianity is about realizing that we are all one, and anything that harms one individual is anti-Christ. This includes homophobia, racism, sexism, war, terrorism, hate crimes, etc. etc. etc. And while there are some evangelical churches that practice this type of Christianity, I have found this expression of faith in the Episcopal church.

So, I am a former Conservative Christian and because of this Trump is my president. The church that elected Donald Trump is in my blood, and perhaps that is why I feel a bit complicit and embarrassed. I also feel complicit (and complicit by the dictionary definition, not the Ivanka definition) because I failed to reach my people over 2016. My Facebook friends can all attest that my 2016 posts were largely addressed to White Christians. I spent the year desperately trying to appeal to our common faith. I was convinced that they could see that Christ's message was one of radical inclusion, that the gospel truth is that we should welcome the stranger, that all humans carry the image of God and so of course black lives matter. But I couldn't even convince people in my immediate family of this. I failed, and I suspect that I failed because I struggle to "speak the truth in love" instead of screaming the truth in outrage and frustration, and so I accept some responsibility for Trump's election.

Finally, when I started this blog I said I was going to address my tendencies to be an asshole. You perhaps noticed that my tone is a bit more vitriolic than my progressive profession of faith might suggest. Here, I say that when I look at the gospels I see a Christ that is interested in radical inclusion and yet, I love to say that what Trump supporters believes is not Christian. I say Christ includes everyone, but I still groan when my church prays for POTUS in our Prayers of the People every Sunday. And I would grimace if someone showed up to church in a MAGA hat. So, I am working on it. His supporters may support things that I see as purely anti-Christian, but they are still Christian. I do not know their relationship with Christ and I do not know the mind of God. Even though the Episcopal Church is more liberal than most, I am sure that when I take communion every Sunday I am at the table with Trump voters, which means we are one in Christ. And I am working on accepting that. I'll close with a passage from a prayer from St. Augustine's Prayer Book that I have to pray quite frequently since the election:

Grant, O Lord, that I may remember your rule and follow your example by loving my enemies and by speaking the truth in patience and love. Give me courage to work for what is right and just in all of my dealings. Temper any righteous indignation with patience and humility and keep me from any collusion with injustice. 

Amen.


No comments:

Post a Comment