A Word From David
When I was a bored adolescent living through the years of Gerald Ford’s presidency I can recall longing to live in interesting times. If I could speak to my 15-year-old self I’d tell him to be careful what he hopes for.
This morning I've been looking back through things that I wrote eight years ago, wondering if 57-year-old me felt any more hopeful following the 2016 election than almost-65-year-old-me feels this morning. The short answer: not really.
On the morning after in 2016 I wrote, “I will recommit to the work of justice, but on this drizzly morning it feels too soon to make even that small statement. The work goes on, but this election has made it so much more difficult.”
The only thing different is the weather. It’s one more beautiful autumn day in metro DC. I’m going to get out and enjoy that, even if it’s now been 35 days since it last rained here, and we’re in the midst of extreme weather cycles caused by a climate catastrophe that the U.S. will not address over the next four years with Donald Trump back in the White House.
In the face of the challenges this election poses to the work I value most, it feels right to pause for a moment. Breathe. Feel the disappointment, anger, fear, exhaustion, sadness and lament. Connect with one another. Tell your beloveds that you love them. Get outside, because it really is beautiful and being outside is good for you!
There is a time for every purpose under heaven, and this feels like a time to rest in lament. That is not the same as wallowing in despair, but, rather, a holy moment stepping outside of the crush of news cycles and rush of history to give voice to the tears that well up in prayers for the nation. In my lamentation, I pray.
I pray today for my friends in Palestine, whose lives will be even more at risk in the days to come. When they come for you, I will not be silent.
I pray for friends who are trans, who feel particularly targeted by fascist leaders. When they come for you, I will not be silent.
I pray today that an African-American friend, who last night wondered, “will I be safe,” some day lives in a country where black lives matter as much as white ones. When they come for you, I will not be silent.
I pray today that gay friends, who are wondering if their marriages will survive an ever-more reactionary Supreme Court, some day live in a country that believes that love is love is love is love is love. When they come for you, I will not be silent.
I pray today that friends who are federal employees (not to mention my wife who is one), and who today are fearful not only about their economic futures but also about their personal safety following a campaign in which they were casually vilified, some day live in a country that authentically values public service. When they come for you, I will not be silent.
I pray for the planet whose climate we have so deeply damaged, for the lands far distant where war wages and peace, today, seems even further out of reach, and for refugees who, today, know that they are not welcome in the country from whose shore shines a lamp that once proclaimed, “give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.” When they come for you, I will not be silent.
Finally, I pray today that our long experiment in self-government does not come apart at the seams, even though the fabric of the nation is fraying in frightening ways. We are in this together – all of us. We have to find a way through together or the great American song will be silenced.
In time, I trust, we will find hope for our hearts, strength for our hands, and ways to give feet to our prayers, but today it feels appropriate to sit in lamentation. Weep, beloved nation, and trust that though tears will linger for a while, there will again be a time of joy, of dancing, of building up, of love, and of peace. There will be a time to lift every voice and sing.
I hope 15-year-old me would approve of this message!