As I have watched the news, written, prayed and moved about my life during this summer in which tyrants and evil seem to be “getting their way,” my first instinct is to rely on my heavily pragmatic Protestant upbringing. What can I do when the world is burning?
I turn off my flood lights to reduce light pollution and help the lightning bugs. I call my senators and representatives. I listen to my friend as she tells me she can’t sleep without having nightmares about Palestinian children.
Another friend describes making sure she has the appropriate paperwork in her car in case she is racially profiled. I try to learn anti-consumption/under-consumption habits. I boycott various companies like Starbucks, Amazon and Target to the best of my ability.
But while bolstering myself with practical and necessary tasks, I had a terrifying flashback to a Sunday School morning, nine years ago. I was a young adult, and the teacher—who also happened to be a prominent North Carolina politician—passed out a paper with around 100 companies we should boycott because they didn’t support Christian values. Hilariously enough, Starbucks was also on that list for its sin of the red Christmas cups.
I also remembered, with a measure of chagrin, the days leading up to the Supreme Court’s decision on the Affordable Care Act (Obamacare). During that time, I was told that if it were upheld, it would bring the downfall of American democracy.
In terrifying clarity, it occurred to me that although the issues I care about have changed for the better (in my opinion), still, in many ways, I have only moved from one side to another: a lateral transference. I am still just as scared as ever.
Fear, anger and hopelessness are valid emotions. They alert us to dangers and the need for action.
But to stay in the place of black-versus-white, good-versus-evil, us-versus-them, leaves me prone to burnout, at best. At worst, it leaves me vulnerable to manipulation and indoctrination.
Furthermore, even though I still believe I’m trying to live in ways that reduce harm, living with fear and holding on to control, anger, and hopelessness isn’t sustainable—and it doesn’t lead to real change. I have forgotten that the model is action and contemplation.
I have forgotten that to be a witness to the world’s suffering also requires me to be a witness to the world’s joy. I have forgotten that with action comes rest.
I have been deluded into believing the lie that my power in the world is through my money, votes or phone calls rather than the dignity and divinity of my soul and the souls of all I encounter. Our collective power is in our ability to create resilient communities, not in waiting for our elected representatives to decide between doing the president’s bidding or caring for their constituents.
Tracy Chapman’s lyrics have been following me around from reading headlines to floating in rivers to deacon board meetings: “Don’t give or sell your soul away/ ‘cause all that you have is your soul.”
Her prophetic lyrics continue, “Don’t be tempted by the shiny apple/ Don’t you eat of a bitter fruit/ Hunger only for a taste of justice/ Hunger only for a world of truth.”
As I root into the dignity, sacredness and stillness of my soul, I root into the memory of truth. Evil things keep happening. We watch the Trump administration take steps that chillingly remind us of Hitler and Nazi Germany.
We must refuse to be silent. But we must also refuse to forget that there was an end and justice to their cruelty.
We must hunger for justice. But we cannot eat the bitter fruit of fear and hopelessness.
Bad things are happening all the time, but so are wonderfully good things. Evil and injustice will always be ours to oppose, but we cannot resist well or long unless we have rooted and rested in our deepest truth and power.
This truth is not new or groundbreaking. It has come through liberation movements and leaders from across the world and through history.
You can read it in the scriptures. You may hear it echo in the writings of the mystics and prophets.
The blueprint of resistance and opposition is already before us. Humanity has already walked this path.
As I ask myself and my friends, “What do we do now?” The answer comes to me from Tracy Chapman’s discography.
She sings about the whispers of revolution, about God cooking in the kitchen, and giving the president her regards for disregarding her. And mostly she reminds me that as I go about all my actions, to protect my soul, to refuse the bitter fruit, and only hunger for justice and truth.
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Erin is a current student at Campbell Divinity School, attending night classes for the Master of Arts in Christian Ministry. During the day, she participates in the holy work of teaching public school teenagers how to cook as a Family and Consumer Science teacher (formally known as Home Economics). A self-proclaimed Jack of all trades, Erin dabbles in an array of hobbies when school allows, including knitting, crocheting, spinning yarn, sewing, gardening, reading, writing, and, of course, cooking.
