Dear Incarnation,
The American people have spoken decisively, and Donald Trump has been elected our 47th president. However you voted and however you feel about this outcome, change always brings uncertainty. That uncertainty is magnified in a community like ours, where our everyday lives are entwined with the federal government in so many ways.
Writing a pastoral letter to a church outside DC the day after an election is, well, a challenge. You've probably heard me say, "I'm a slow processor," and I am. So I will refrain from commenting on news that's still fresh while I'm still processing myself. Instead, I will simply point us to a few things that are unchangeably true about God, ourselves, our church, and our world, in no particular order:
Christians can faithfully follow Jesus under every kind of political and governmental system. But we are supremely privileged to live in a democratic state where we can freely vote our leaders into office without fear or coercion. I am grateful for the many ways you stewarded this privilege yesterday: voting; working the polls; caring for children who were home from schools-turned-polling-places; tending to your daily lives while trying to trust God amidst uncertainty; praying for our nation, its leaders, and your neighbors. You have been faithful in the small and ordinary, and God sees.
As I wrote to you yesterday: we do not put our trust in princes or presidents, but in the Lord our God who will reign forever with perfect justice (from Psalm 146, providentially our lectionary psalm for Sunday.) Our ultimate hope is in Jesus, and he will one day set the world right.
No leader, no administration, no legislation, no election outcome can stop us from loving God and loving our neighbors.
I believe the days ahead will uniquely call upon us to be peacemakers. We can practice now by confessing our sins, forgiving our enemies, and repairing wrongs.
If the news or social media heightens your political anxiety (and there's ample evidence it does), consider adopting habits of restraint. Pause, pray, wait before going online. Almost nothing is as urgent as our digital overlords would have us believe. Look for ways to live in the embodied world of living, breathing, beyond-our-control things (pets, trees, old books, big skies, friends, children, the Spirit of God) rather than in curated online spaces.
We see now through a glass dimly. There is so much we do not understand.
Church must not become another place that feeds the perpetual outrage machine, but the place we go to have our outrage healed, together, at the table of Jesus.
I am reminded of a vestry member's description of Incarnation's worship as "joyful gentleness" — and I believe our world is aching for the joyful gentleness of Jesus. (I am also reminded of Wendell Berry's great line: "Be joyful / though you have considered all the facts.")
Now is the time (it is always the time) to become the kind of people Jesus has been calling us to be all throughout Mark's gospel: disciples ready to drink the cup and throw off our cloaks and follow Jesus on his way of cruciform love.
Sometimes following Jesus is incredibly lonely. The road is narrow, friends. But we walk it together, and God walks with us.
God loves you.
Last night we gathered on Zoom to pray. Near the end of our time, I invited everyone to unmute themselves and pray the Lord's Prayer together. This is not how Zoom audio is intended to work, and as expected, our voices overlapped and cut in and out to create a jumbled cacophony as we prayed the words Jesus taught us. I loved hearing Weber chuckle "oh my . . . oh my" as our voices settled into the final Amen. Oh my indeed. To this pastor's ears, it was beautiful.
When the world is uncertain, the people of God pray. Not as a polished performance, but as an expression of our oneness in Christ and a cry of our collective hearts that long for God's kingdom to come. Oh my . . . oh my.
With love,
Amy
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