The following is the opinion and analysis of the writer:
Carolyn Ancell
It is only early afternoon, but darkness descends, the temperature plummets, and a cold wind is rising. The rain comes and goes in brief torrents, trying to make up its mind. It is an outlier of a day in normally sunny Arizona.
The December holidays are now a distant memory. In the past several weeks, our hearts have been broken by events in our country initiated or condoned by a president who is, in the words of a recent Letter To The Editor: “the most powerful head of state in the world, and one of the most impulsive, rude, arrogant, ignorant, disorganized, chaotic, nihilistic, self-contradictory, childish, self-important, and self-serving." (I could add "cruel" and "dangerous.") Strong words. I didn’t dare write them, but dare to quote them.
It feels in our country like the quiet of that Christmas night, and the awe of the saving birth of the Lord of love is now — as in Scripture — followed by King Herod’s seeking to discover and destroy the innocents he fears. In recent days, a mother dropping her young child off at school was shot and killed by an Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agent. Herod and his minions do not wait for clarity or an investigation of the incident, but immediately set out to destroy the memory of this mom and her reputation, declaring her — evidence absent — a “domestic terrorist,” a threat to the kingdom, one to be feared and eliminated. No questions asked.
I do not recognize my nation anymore. I grew up bursting with pride that my country was a “melting pot” of cultures, languages and religions. I believed that our Statue of Liberty’s “bring me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free” meant that I lived where we honor humanity in its variety, and care for humanity in its need. When it seemed that my Christian faith in the Lord of Matthew 25 aligned with my faith in my country, its democracy, and its Constitution.
I do not recognize this national government that demeans, incarcerates and destroys human life, tears families apart, and fears every stranger among us whose skin is of a darker hue or who struggles to speak English. I do not understand so-called Christians who tolerate or support such a government. Jesus told us to pay our taxes, not sell our souls. Because so many Evangelical Christians have now torn the self-sacrificing, unconditional love part out of Jesus’ teaching, I am cautious about publicly proclaiming I am a Christian. (That is excruciatingly painful, but I’ve reached my limit of verbal attacks by people who now — for good reason — equate Christianity with Christian Nationalism, white superiority, and the Social Gospel of “Blessed are the comfortable and privileged for they have been favored by God.”)
If I sound sad and angry on this dark rainy day, I am. But I am not giving up. I am 81 years old, and in the words of the theologian Marcus Borg, an “extreme intuitive introvert,” not one prone to public display. Still, some months ago, I leveraged the courage to join a public protest for change, for justice, for equality, for kindness. I have now participated in 11 such protests. I write articles and letters for publication. I read with profound sadness of ICE raiding five Mexican restaurants here, threatening and terrifying their employees and clientele. I have ordered a package of whistles to wear and to share as a symbol of solidarity with those who seek justice. And use if needed!
My husband and I pray before every meal (a privilege for us, a struggle for many) for all those working in the trenches to incarnate the teachings of Jesus in our nation and world. We pray for the young people who will soon replace us.
It is a temptation on this dark and rainy day to be discouraged, to stop trying, to leave the work to others more suited for public words and action. But I will not. I will decide to dance in the rain, to shout and proclaim a message of justice, truth, and love without condition. I invite you to join me.
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