Donald J. Trump was inaugurated as the 47th President of the United States this week, solidifying one of the most remarkable political comebacks in American history. Almost immediately after being sworn into office, Trump signed several regressive executive orders and pardoned most of the January 6 insurrectionists.
He also withdrew the United States from the Paris Climate Agreement and restricted Diversity, Equity and Inclusion policies within the federal government. Trump basically unleashed his Project 2025 agenda. For those who have been sounding the warning about Project 2025 and its regressive policies, a feeling of darkness descending across the country instantly began.
Pardoning almost all of the January 6th insurrectionists demonstrated Trump’s lack of respect for police and the rule of law. When pressed about Trump’s pardon of the most violent insurrectionists, Republican lawmakers’ hypocrisy was on full display as they attempted to vocalize their support for police and, simultaneously, Trump’s pardons of their attackers.
As I waded through the president’s flurry of regressive acts, I remembered and reflected upon the words I wrote last week as the country stood at the threshold of a second Trump presidency:
“While Trump will move into the White House on Monday, I am evicting him from my head and heart today. My eviction of Trump does not mean I will stop offering critiques of him and his policies, but it means I can no longer afford to fixate constantly.”
As I watched the coverage this week, I felt a familiar frustration and anger begin to burn within my soul. The same overwhelming feeling began consuming me during Trump’s first term. While resisting Trump’s policies, I quickly realized I needed to resist the reappearing despair creeping into my head and heart. “Not this time!” I convinced myself.
As easy as it could have been to fall back into the pattern of responding to Trump’s egregious actions, I stopped, breathed, and listened. When I did, I heard the sermon from the Episcopal Bishop of Washington D.C., Mariann Edgar Budde.
In her sermon at the National Cathedral after the inauguration, Budde genuinely and humbly asked the president to show mercy to immigrants and the LGBTQ+ community. While Budde’s words paralleled those of Jesus, her delivery was challenging.
Speaking to the world’s most powerful person, the bishop respectfully and directly addressed Trump. She did not try to scold or insult him but simply asked for mercy on behalf of others. The bishop’s soft-spoken demeanor echoed through the cathedral and across the country.
Budde taught America a valuable lesson: resistance means standing firm while being civil and kind. Budde’s action this week reminded me of Jesus’ lesson on nonviolent restraint.
Jesus taught, “When someone strikes you on the cheek, offer them the other.” Offering the other cheek was a defiant and nonviolent act to counter violence.
Jesus–and Budde–showed us how to gracefully and firmly resist while keeping light and love as the catalyst to resistance.
For me, Budde became the public voice for many remarkable individuals and organizations attempting to stand firm without losing their souls. Budde’s words were hers alone, but her sentences were filled with the thoughts and emotions of millions now worried about the incoming administration.
Individuals and organizations are working diligently to counter the Trump administration’s newly implemented policies. People of faith are praying, preachers are preaching, lawyers are filing lawsuits, and advocates are working to undermine unjust and harmful policies.
While these first few weeks will be a flurry of activity from the Trump administration, I return to Budde and the need for a resistance movement using kindness and directness. After visiting Los Angeles and interviewing the pastor of First Baptist Church of Pasadena, Rev. John Jay Alvaro, I was recently reminded about the importance of kindness.
When wildfires erupted in Alvaro’s community, the flames did not ask to see anyone’s voter registration cards or church membership records. They simply swept through neighborhoods, causing as much devastation as possible.
Years before the fires, the church worked hard to ensure everyone felt welcome and comfortable in its congregation. The church knew a day would arrive when their community would need them.
When the church opened its doors as a shelter for the community, neighbors knew the church was safe because they had previously demonstrated kindness and mercy.
As Donald Trump continues to issue executive orders and Congress passes regressive legislation, I am reminded that humility, kindness, and mercy can be powerful weapons against injustice. The executive orders and future bills are mere matches being lit today, but they will spark wildfires tomorrow.
As a person of faith committed to inclusion and justice, I know those wildfires will harm people—even people supporting President Trump. People will soon be victims of these regressive policies and laws, so the kindness and mercy we demonstrate today may help tomorrow.
This week’s flurry of activity could have sent me into a dark, despairing trance, but I refused to follow that path. While I am as outraged and frustrated as others, I also want to focus on the future when the country realizes the consequences of putting Trump back in office.
When that time comes, I want the victims of regressive policies to know they will find a kind and merciful person willing to help. Dark days are upon us, but I refuse to give into the darkness.
I am a child of the light, so I am choosing to let my light shine for those who will one day need a safe harbor.
Resisting Using Directness and Kindness
(Credit: National Cathedral, Washington DC)
