I don’t know where to start—not because I have nothing to say, but because there’s too much, and anything I say will be inadequate.
Do I start with the young woman sobbing after class, wanting to know what she can do? How can she connect to others whose hearts are also breaking? Or do I start with the night before, when, as votes are counted I cling to my rosary, praying myself into a troubled sleep? Or maybe I should start a couple of years ago when an undocumented teenager going through the Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults asks me to be their godparent? I so love that kid. Or maybe 18 years before that, when another undocumented and idealistic young man stepped into my brand-new faculty office to tell me his story, igniting my work to develop resources for undocumented students and their families. Or maybe I should start in a room at the Vatican a month ago, and my conversation with Pope Francis? No, not there; I will ponder that moment in my heart, especially the deep sadness in his eyes.
I have no interest in replaying this election. I believe any analysis of what has happened will take years to untangle. We might never understand how we got here, especially because history is written (and sanitized) by the winners. Yet as a person in the ministry of theological education and advocacy for the vulnerable, I have three immediate concerns: What are our young people learning? What will we do as people of faith to actively mitigate suffering? And, finally, what about the future?
Who are we?
For now, our young have learned that we live in a reality where there is no “we.” This is a destabilizing space in which to exist as a young person, and we need to soberly acknowledge this truth. The young of most species first learn from adults, and as they reach adolescence prioritize learning from their peers. Humans, like many of our fellow creatures, are inherently social. Yet we have just witnessed a catastrophic unraveling of our social fabric. Our young are learning (and perhaps will teach each other) that insults, ambition, bigotry and misogyny ultimately win. They are being taught through words and actions that the most fundamental of all Christian beliefs—that God is love and we must care for all of God’s creation—can be trampled without consequences in the pursuit of self-interest. They have witnessed that those seeking reconciliation and prioritizing the dignity of others will be mocked and defeated. They have seen with their own eyes that behavior that would not be tolerated in most homes can be in full display in front of cameras, cheered on and encouraged. It often seems the only value left standing today is the false glitter of wealth and power, and the permission to use any means to get there.
We’ve been here before
The history of Christianity is replete with times when instead of the Beatitudes, we chose thrones. The pursuit of profit and power is not a victimless crime. The limitless pursuit of profit requires a ruthless disregard for the needs of others, and power is what makes it possible. The United States has told itself many tales about its innocence and glory; none of them are entirely true. So, is it any wonder that we no longer know how to recognize lies? One of the most difficult things the early church had to do, which we see clearly in the writings of Paul and in Acts, was to wrestle publicly with wrongs and falsehoods. The early Christians had to deal with power struggles, manipulation, deceit and division and they did so by calling it out and pointing back to the promises Jesus had come to fulfill. There was another way to be human, another way to care for creation, another way to honor God’s dreams. The prophets had been crying this out for generations, asking for repentance and conversion. Sometimes their voices were heard; many more times they were silenced. What is happening in the United States right now will affect our entire planet, not just this country, for generations.
Will we be silent?
None of us can predict how many of the threats that have been made during this campaign will be carried out by the new administration, but we should take their possibility seriously. We’ve been told of plans to massively and violently deport immigrants, to end programs that support the poor, to dismantle public education, to ban teaching about our difficult history and to continue to burn our planet to a crisp to fuel all our materialistic vices. Prediction is a fool’s errand; preparation, on the other hand, is the work of the prudent.
Whatever way we voted or did not vote is irrelevant now. What matters is what happens from here forward. Our parishes, schools and neighborhoods have to prepare for difficult times. In particular, we must advocate for our immigrant brothers and sisters. We anticipate the forced separation of parents from children. We need to do the heartbreaking work of readying documents transferring the care of children to compassionate neighbors and friends. Our small businesses and farms have to be ready for repeated raids; for mothers and fathers, brothers and friends to disappear, and for widespread economic hardship to spread as harvests rot and essential work goes unfilled. We will need to feed each other. We have to prepare for the loss of health care and other safety nets for our elderly and sick. We will need to come together to bind each other’s wounds. Our schools, universities and libraries may become targets; our books may be banned and our journalists jailed. We will need to teach each other to remember what is true.
None of this is theoretical for me. I have already lived through a country’s society unraveling as a small child in Cuba. This desolate feeling is too painfully familiar. In my extended family we have had to flee from multiple places, multiple times. When she died, my mother-in-law had already experienced being displaced and seeking refuge twice in her life; tragically, so has my 91-year-old father.
What about the future?
Despite the results of this election, I still believe what I told my children: The world is full of good people ready to do the right thing. The future needs to nurture that innate goodness, bring us together and help us reorient ourselves in ways that give life. For this, we will need to face what is broken and imagine new ways to heal.
Let us focus on abundance. Abundance is very different from affluence. Abundance means that there is enough for all of us if we just learn to share. It is the multiplication of loaves and fishes, where none go hungry. This requires generosity and to turn the attention away from ourselves and toward the needs of others.
Let us overcome fear. The unfounded fear of strangers and their ways masks our real fear, which is that we will lose power and influence. Fear of our vulnerability is what fuels racism, sexism, nationalism and all of the attitudes that build walls, drop bombs and humiliate the weak. The “strongmen” of this world are the absolute antithesis of Christ on the cross; they sit in ornate palaces watching their cities burn while they divide up the world.
There’s much work to do. The reign of God is groaning under the weight of human egoism. Only its complete opposite—neighbor-carrying generosity grounded in love—can free it.
