Which story?

I haven’t known what to say. Where to begin. So many times I’ve gone to share articles on Facebook, hoping that the facts and world history and the warnings will do what they need to do to wake everyone up. I’ve drafted posts and scribbled in my journal. I’ve felt my heart break in two, as it did when the sob erupted from my throat after seeing the image of a noose hanging on a gallows at the Capitol, and thought of the trauma that image inflicts on my black brothers and sisters. And later that night I awoke from a nightmare that neighbors were turning against neighbors. I’ve cried, like today while walking my dog, inconsolable, angry, and aching tears, that the Jesus I was introduced to as a child, the one who stood up to religious hypocrites and stood beside the outcasts and the needy, the one who never tried to create a Christian nation and never even asked to be worshipped, has been drug into violent conflicts, slapped onto bracelets and bumper stickers, and wielded like a weapon for the past 2000 years. I keep reviewing these last four years, like a long dark movie, remembering back to all I had feared slowly come to be when D.T. was elected in 2016. I’ve feared and I’ve mourned for my Muslim, black, Latinx, refugee, and immigrant brothers and sisters, especially my sisters. I feel the strong temptation to shame those who have allowed some of their revered religious leaders to convince them that if a bully dresses himself with a Bible or a Jesus flag, that he can be trusted. How many good sheep have I solemnly watched following a wolf? 

I have had many people tell me, “thank you for your positive posts,” but I am not feeling very positive these days. I want to say something unifying, something hopeful, but I won’t say something insincerely. And I don’t believe that now is a time for cute sayings and shallow promises.

I am also not despairing. I do not believe that all is lost. I am looking as hard and straight and honestly as I can to what is happening. What happened on January 6^th was not shocking. It is what many of us knew was a possibility as white hate groups have been emboldened by D.T. since his campaign days. White supremacy is an old, old story. So is patriarchy, abuse of power, and worship of fame and money. So is fear-mongering and scape-goating. These are the weapons and results of these old stories, and they will get louder as their systems are threatened. 

But the reason I do not despair is that I also believe in another story. A story that is happening simultaneously, and one that is far more ancient than even those old stories. It is the story of creation, of birth, of love, of LIFE. It so often looks to be losing, because it doesn’t fight with the weapons of patriarchy and power. No. Its weapons are imagination, co-creation, nurturing, sheltering, bridge-building, love. These “weapons” may sound weak, but they are immeasurably strong and those who choose them are most courageous. They look at evil in the face and don’t turn away and hide. They reach out to those who are suffering. They take care of the most vulnerable. They speak truth to power, even when it lands them in prison, or worse. They tend to the wounded. They create networks of community and caring. They make music that calms and poetry that inspires. They are the children of creation, and they believe everyone belongs.

I do not despair because this story of creation is still at work, and always has been, even as the stories of destruction rise and fall. I also do not offer blind optimism that everything will get better tomorrow. There have always been, and always will be two stories happening. The question right now is not “which one is going to win?” The question is, which story do you and I want to be a part of? I choose the latter.