Several people have pointed out that I seem to dislike our current president and I want to clear up a few things: I do not simply dislike him or merely think he has an unpleasant personality. As a survivor of sexual abuse, I hate that our president is an abuser and that this fact did not disqualify him in the minds of so many.

Regardless of what you may want to be true, someone who so willingly violates another person and shows no remorse, but rather brags about it, is not a fit leader. Such a person will willingly violate other moral standards and not lose any sleep over doing so. And when he does violate all manner of other principles of decency and ethics with impunity, the response should not be to fall back on conspiracies, but rather to deal with reality.

His administration’s cruel treatment of immigrant children, poor and homeless children, protesters, and families struggling due to the pandemic should show you that he does not care about your children or some hypothetical trafficked children or unborn babies. All he cares about are his own polls and ratings and advantage.

Regardless of what television shows tell you to trust him or what other public figures of questionable standards you invoke to support him, I will not betray myself by taking up his cause. If you support him, I will probably be able to find it in my heart to give you the benefit of the doubt and see you as someone whose conditioning and life experience have made it difficult for you to see him as he really is, but I will never willingly accept the authority of an abuser.

And as for his farcical attempt to convince evangelical Christians that he is one of them, I remind you that actions speak louder than words. A wise friend once told me that if I’m struggling to discern if something or someone is of God, I should look for the fruit of the Spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness, and self-control. The president displays none of these.

I assure you that what you may perceive in me as partisan dislike for the man or an embrace of liberal media rhetoric, is nothing of the sort. It is anger that an abuser has been given such a platform and grief that so many people who identify as Christian have convinced themselves that he is someone they should support and follow. And, admittedly, I struggle with how many of his supporters would rather tell me “Fuck your feelings, libtard!” than care at all about the women he has abused and violated and what this says about the kind of person he really is. Comparing him to other people who have also done things that are wrong in no way absolves him of his own behavior.

I, too, hate the division politics are causing these days. I hate that I do not feel comfortable or safe engaging with many people who I consider friends. I hate that I have lost friends over expressing my views of the president or my support for people suffering injustice. But I spent too many years betraying myself by accepting abusive behavior in leaders because I was taught falsities about grace and forgiveness and my own worth as a woman. And I have put way too much time into unlearning and healing and dealing with what I survived. I cannot and will not go backward.

All or nothing.
Take it or leave.
Of course, only
all and take it
earn me keys.

It’s clear-cut,
cut and dried,
cutting, cutting crosswise
across my nature.
Close your eyes,
swallow ideology
wholesale.

Conform
and consume
and follow the lead.
Choke back questions.
Ignore contradictions.
Come as you are
if you’re like us.

Such slow exhaustion
living perpetually outside the fold.
Or in it,
but outside myself.

I once was trying,
but now I see

I would never be shaped
into that vessel
or any vessel
at all.
I am not clay,
it turns out.

I am wind
and sunlight

And leaves
budding
unfurling
changing
falling,
nourishing new roots.

I am space for unknowing
and uncertainty.

I am choosing nothing
and leaving
and astonishment at
what blooms.

I am myself and
my questions and
seeing all the contradictions.

I am other possibilities
beyond either/or.

Moored too long
in patrimonial shroud
to one-size-all,
monoculture wasteland.

Groping, gasping,
I caught a spark–
“Love is kind”–
and fanned it into flame.

Flame, turned roaring fire,
burned it all to ashes.

What is God?
Or who?
Can I still want God to be?
If God is love and love is kind,
perhaps.
If God is man’s image,
guns and flags,
domination,
subjugation,
exploitation,
then

No.

I cannot want that.

Now I wait,
lying fallow,
losing track of seasons.
Scorched foundation,
Nothing

nothing was mine to give.

Sifting ash through fingers,
asking

can sooty remnants grow something true?

Now when Job’s three friends heard of all these troubles that had come upon him, each of them set out from his home—Eliphaz the Temanite, Bildad the Shuhite, and Zophar the Naamathite. They met together to go and console and comfort him. When they saw him from a distance, they did not recognize him, and they raised their voices and wept aloud; they tore their robes and threw dust in the air upon their heads. They sat with him on the ground seven days and seven nights, and no one spoke a word to him, for they saw that his suffering was very great.

Job 2:11-13, NRSV

I cannot read Job these days without wondering if white churchgoers are Job’s friends.
Becoming aware of suffering, setting out with good intentions to console and comfort.
Loss, injustice, brutality, disproportionately levied against our Black and Brown neighbors.
Unsure of what to do, our silent solidarity turns to silence. Or worse.

Does God see Eliphas, Bildad, and Zophar in our initial distress turning to silent bystanding?
In our sitting for days and nights without speaking a word?
Without moving to ameliorate or defend?
In our thoughts turning from dismay to evasion and pontification?

In our blaming, “if they had not looked wrong, done wrong, moved wrong, this would not have happened,”
Does God hear Eliphaz telling Job, “Think now, who that was innocent ever perished? Or where were the upright cut off? as I have seen, those who plow iniquity and sow trouble reap the same.”
We soothe our own discomfort.
Our self-assured innocence will protect us while claiming their outcome imputes guilt.

In our justifying, “We also experience violence and hardship. Your suffering is not worse, not systemic, not disproportionate,”
Does God hear Bildad arrogantly claiming, “Does God pervert justice?
Or does the Almighty pervert the right?
If your children sinned against him,
he delivered them into the power of their transgression.
If you will seek God and make supplication to the Almighty,
if you are pure and upright,
surely then he will rouse himself for you and restore to you your rightful place.”
We convince ourselves that people get what they deserve, thus absolving us of responsibility to comfort and protect.
We claim only the first and last words of “Love your neighbor as yourself.”

In our our appeals to higher authority, conflating man-made systems with God’s will, in our insisting “God is in control, things are as God wants,”
Does God hear Zophar telling Job,
“Know then that God exacts of you less than your guilt deserves.
Can you find out the deep things of God?
Can you find out the limit of the Almighty?
If he passes through, and imprisons,
and assembles for judgment, who can hinder him?
For he knows those who are worthless;
when he sees iniquity, will he not consider it?”
We refuse to question inherited beliefs, structures, lies.
Law and order is God’s design, right? Who are we to interfere?

Daily we hear the echo of Job’s words, “Even when I cry out, ‘Violence!’ I am not answered; I call aloud, but there is no justice.”
There is no safe walking,
no safe sleeping,
no safe driving,
no safe breathing.
Rage and grief spill over,
filling streets,
disturbing peace,
cars on fire,
voices raising.

What does God think when, with Eliphaz, we respond,
“What do you know that we do not know?
What do you understand that is not clear to us?
The gray-haired and the aged are on our side, those older than your father. Are the consolations of God too small for you?”
We look only at outlier symptoms, ignoring the roots of oppression and pain growing for generations.
What will we reap for our continued blaming, denying, justifying?

God had words for Eliphaz and his friends:
“My wrath is kindled against you and against your two friends;
for you have not spoken of me what is right, as my servant Job has.
Now…my servant Job shall pray for you,
for I will accept his prayer not to deal with you according to your folly;
for you have not spoken of me what is right,
as my servant Job has done.”

Let us put aside this folly of blaming our neighbors for their suffering.
Let us see our own complicity.
Let us listen and learn and be humble.
Let us speak the words that are right.
Let us take the actions that are right.
Let us work for restoration and be a blessing to each other.

Note: all quotes from Job are NRSV

This isn’t a post for everyone. Anyone is certainly welcome to read it, but the intended audience is me now, my younger self, people out there like us, and any white Christian who has ever thought that a political party represented their faith. This is part lament, part permission slip*, part love letter.

It’s become impossible to ignore the evidence that we are all part of a system that is structured to the advantage of a few (those with wealth and power), the comfort of some (mainly Whites), and the oppression and death of many (mainly Black people and other People of Color). I am not blaming any of us that this is the system we were born into, I am just reminding us that this is the reality. We have been told many things about the government, political figures, history, and truth that downplayed this reality, but it is no longer possible deny the system exists unless we are being purposely dishonest with ourselves.

In light of this, I’ve been thinking quite a bit about what it means to be a follower of Jesus and what his life and message are telling us during this time. Jesus taught us we must resist corrupt power, the way he resisted the leaders of his day who used religious law against their own people. When corrupt power uses the system to increase its own power at the expense of others, we cannot allow it. When corrupt power excludes, harms, and brutalizes, we must see it, speak up, and act for change.

We are not called to align ourselves with corrupt power and try to nudge it in the direction of our own pet moral victories. We are not called to be political party loyalists or single-issue voters. We are not called to look the other way when wrongs are being committed by those we supported. We are called to follow Jesus. And that means we see and listen to those who are being brutalized by injustice. It means that we see that the way of Jesus is not for the comfort of a few. It means we are compelled to call out injustice and work against it–even when that injustice is caused by people in power in our own institutions who we helped to gain that power.

We are called to see corrupt power for what it is and see everyone it hurts. In fact, we would do well to remember that Jesus was willing to die rather than align himself with corrupt power. There was no end-justifying-the-means in the way Jesus lived. He could have amassed enough support to claim worldly power for himself, but instead he went about talking to women and lepers and Samaritans about a love in which there was no dominance or exclusion or hierarchy. He healed the sick and taught his friends and loved so abundantly that it shocked everyone again and again. What Jesus taught us with his life was that the means are everything for those who follow him.

When we see people taking to the streets, turning over tables and burning down the halls of injustice because they cannot breathe, we should ask ourselves some very hard questions, rather than trying to impose our order on those gasping for air. We have to look at the leaders and institutions and officials we support and examine if our support of them made things worse for Black people and other minorities, even as we got some things we wanted. How do things continually get to the point that this becomes the only option left for so many? How have we allowed their pain and suffering to be ignored for so long?

I’m not attacking a side here. I am addressing every white Christian–myself included–who has turned a blind eye to the oppression, brutality, and suffering of our fellow humans, especially when it was caused by those we support and by the racist system we have refused to address. It’s on all of us who have idol-worshiped a candidate or cause, unquestioningly granting them our loyalty to get what we want, but never calling out when their decisions, words, or policies created or exacerbated conditions to the detriment of others. All of us need to look at the consequences of aligning with people who promise us political victories without ever examining how those leaders use their power against people who don’t look like us.

Fellow White Christians: this must stop. We must love better. We must examine how we have failed to hold ourselves and our leaders accountable. We must give ourselves permission to see this and to grieve and to do better. There is no shame in admitting that someone we thought deserved our support no longer does. There is courage in changing course when it is the right thing to do and we must allow ourselves to do it

Let’s not turn away and try to go back to the way things were. Let’s not push aside the doubts and questions that are bubbling up when we feel grief over what we have seen. Let’s give ourselves permission to follow the way of Jesus–not the way some other authority figure told us it had to be. Not the way that conflates our political affiliation with our faith. The way of Jesus. The way of resisting corrupt power, of a heart that breaks over injustice and lays down its very life for love of others.

This love is more wide and long and high and deep than we can even imagine. It will guide us if we open to it as we learn and change and grow. Let’s listen to those who are crying out for justice. Let’s learn from them and do our work to dismantle the unjust system–both inside our hearts and in the world. Let’s give ourselves permission to let the old be burned away like chaff and be made new.

*I love the way Brené Brown writes about writing permission slips for herself, and her work certainly inspired the thought of writing us all a permission slip. If you think you may find it helpful to write yourself some permission slips, you can find a little more about that practice here.