An Plea for Mercy

The word mercy is central to the season of Lent. In many churches, Lenten services start with a recitation of the decalogue (the ten commandments) with the words "Lord have mercy" after each. 

In many, the Kyrie Elsison is sung: 

Lord have mercy, 
Christ have mercy,
Lord have mercy. 

That word, "mercy", captured national attention this winter in the wake of Bishop Mariann Budde's homily at President Trump's inaugural prayer service at Washington National Cathedral on January 22. She spoke of the foundations of unity: honoring the inherent dignity of every human being; honesty in both private conversation and public discourse; and humility. 

And she closed with a short, gentle plea for mercy: 

Let me make one final plea, Mr. President. Millions have put their trust in you. As you told the nation yesterday, you have felt the providential hand of a loving God. In the name of our God, I ask you to have mercy upon the people in our country who are scared now. There are transgender children in both Republican and Democrat families who fear for their lives.

And the people who pick our crops and clean our office buildings; who labor in our poultry farms and meat-packing plants; who wash the dishes after we eat in restaurants and work the night shift in hospitals—they may not be citizens or have the proper documentation, but the vast majority of immigrants are not criminals. They pay taxes, and are good neighbors. They are faithful members of our churches, mosques and synagogues, gurdwara, and temples.

Have mercy, Mr. President, on those in our communities whose children fear that their parents will be taken away. Help those who are fleeing war zones and persecution in their own lands to find compassion and welcome here. Our God teaches us that we are to be merciful to the stranger, for we were once strangers in this land.

Some who heard Bishop Budde's words were outraged, as was the president himself. Some members of the US House of Representatives even introduced a resolution of condemnation. 

Some church leaders, including Catholic priests, the United Church of Christ president, and the Presbyterian Church (USA) praised her for her courageous witness and fidelity to the words of Jesus. The  United Methodist Church Committee on Faith and Order sent her an official letter of support:

In The United Methodist Church we encourage our bishops to live out “a prophetic commitment for the transformation of the Church and the world.” We say, “the role of the bishop is to be a prophetic voice for justice in a suffering and conflicted world” (The Book of Discipline ¶403.1.d). We believe this is in keeping with the prophetic tradition of Amos who encouraged us to “let justice roll down like waters and righteousness like an everflowing stream” and Micah who told us that what the Lord requires is justice, kindness and humility before God. We believe this is in keeping with the ministry of Jesus who took special care for the least. We witnessed such episcopal leadership in you this week. You inspired and encouraged us. As a committee we found your sermon profoundly rooted in the prophetic tradition of our shared Christian faith, while being delivered with gentleness and respect. We are pleased to call you a friend in Christ and offer our prayers.

Some from Episcopal backgrounds found Bishop Budde's words unremarkable:

If you have ever attended an Episcopal Church ordination service, Bishop Budde’s sermon would not have been surprising or different. The Prayer service was, in essence, like an ordination.

The request Bishop Budde made to President Trump at the end of her sermon was not a political one. It was a request made directly from the Holy Bible in which God charges, first the leaders of the Jewish people and then also Christians, to Love God and in so doing, care for the alien resident, widows, children, the homeless, the hungry, to clothe the naked, and, yes, visit the prisoner.

Asking the President of the United States of America to consider these biblical commands in the course of carrying out the duties of his office was not a political nor disrespectful action. It was an act of recognizing his position.

Voices from the pews are more difficult to document, but I know from my own conversations with friends that some life-long followers of Christ heard Bishop Budde lambasted from pulpits in their own churches and quietly resolved not to return. And I know from social media posts and reports from Episcopal and national press that some Christians who left their increasingly right-wing politicized churches have since visited or are considering joining Episcopal churches.

I also know there are others, in Episcopal and other churches, who urged church leaders to rebuke Bishop Budde and her use of the pulpit in implying criticism of God's chosen leader or using the inaugural homily to say anything that could be interpreted as critical of the president-elect.

While it's been two months since that inaugural homily, it continues to echo through social media, church communities and quiet conversations. In a sense, that sermon has become a Rorschach inkblot test: an assessment tool that reveals our partisan leanings, our view of scripture, what it means to obey God's call and our understanding of the role of faith in political discourse. 

In the questions raised and the swirl of responses, I find myself praying for mercy. 

For our nation. For our world. 

For our churches. For our fractured Christian witness. 

I'll be writing more about the word "mercy" and about Christian witness in this divided political season.  

For now, if you haven't watched the sermon, please take a few minutes to do so. 

What do you hear? What do you see? What do you pray?

Lord have mercy. 

The Time We're Given

We live in an unusual time, a time we’re not well prepared for.
It’s been 250 years since the start of the Revolutionary War, rejecting the autocratic dictates of a distant king. It’s 236 years since the US Constitution was ratified, now the oldest written and codified national constitution still in use.

Too many of us have taken the constitution for granted, failing to understand and value the balancing of power and protection of rights it offers. It was never perfect, but the 27 amendments, approved across two centuries, strengthened the underlying principles. As a US Senate webpage says:

For over two centuries the Constitution has remained in force because its framers successfully separated and balanced governmental powers to safeguard the interests of majority rule and minority rights, of liberty and equality, and of the federal and state governments.

Failure to understand and affirm the separate, balanced powers is now putting us all at risk.

Can a presidential appointee disband an agency instituted by an act of Congress?

Legally, no.

Can a president allocate millions for his own created agency, bypassing laws regarding security clearances, federal oversight, conflict of interest and freedom of information?

Legally, no.

Can a presidential executive order reverse legislation passed by a state’s General Assembly, or suspend funding approved by the US Congress?

Legally, no.

What happens when one part of the government insists on power over others, despite constitutional language making clear that’s not the case?

What happens when a president declares himself king on the White House social media page, and admirers celebrate with thumbs-up emojis?

We’re in the middle of that experiment.

In the few weeks since Donald Trump took office, the US has signaled friendship with Russia in opposition to NATO and freedom-loving allies. Long-standing European partnerships are in disarray. Shared work against global disease has stalled. Long-standing US safeguards against discrimination, disease, weather disasters and more are disappearing quickly.

We don’t choose the times we live in.

What we choose is how we’ll live in them.

In J. R. R. Tolkien’s Fellowship of the Ring (volume 2 in the Lord of the Rings trilogy),  Frodo, a small hobbit caught in the middle of a history-shaking drama, says: “I wish it need not have happened in my time”. 

Gandalf’s  response, “So do I, and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us”. 

Scripture gives many examples of times of trouble, and courageous responses. Joseph in Pharaoh’s court, Daniel in the lion’s den, Elijah facing down the hundreds of false prophets of King Ahab, John the Baptist beheaded by Herod’s henchmen.

I’ve been listening to podcasts from a mix of sources, trying to understand where we are, wondering what it means to be faithful, kind and courageous in such a strange, disorienting time.

Here are three I’ve found helpful this week:

From the Good Faith Podcast, a project of Redeeming Babylon:

• Adam Kinzinger Defends Democracy and Embraces Biblical Hope: A conversation with former Congressman Adam Kinzinger about the moral dilemmas facing political leaders and strategies for staying politically engaged without succumbing to rage or giving up in exhaustion.
• Checks, Balances, and the New Trump Era: A discussion with New York Times columnist David French and host Curtis Chang about the erosion of checks and balances and the importance of community and worship in confronting authoritarianism.

From The Bulletin, a weekly podcast from Christianity Today exploring current events from a Christian perspective:

• Extremism and the Path to Peace with Elizabeth Neumann. Neumann is a national security expert, conservative Republican and lifelong Christian. She worked in Homeland Security under George W. Bush and Barack Obama, and as Homeland Security’s Deputy Chief of Staff and assistant secretary for counterterrorism and threat prevention in the first Trump administration. She offers a security perspective on extremism, rage, grievance, and misinformation, and explores the challenge of loving our neighbor in this present political season. 

In all the discussions, there’s a thread of concern about Christian formation. We are never fully prepared for unexpected challenges. Yet, if we’ve read scripture carefully, if we’ve developed a life of prayer and spiritual practice, we have the tools we need. 

As the narratives of Old and New Testament remind us: power-hungry rulers are nothing new. Lies and cruelty are as old as humankind. Without wisdom and discernment we are easily held captive in ways that destroy community and peace.
How do we escape? That’s the challenge we’re facing.

Here’s what I know for sure:

Prayer is essential. Every day. All day.

For ourselves, our leaders, those we agree with and those we don’t.

Prayer for wisdom, courage, repentance.

Open eyes, listening ears, tender hearts.

Prayer for those hurt most by sudden shifts in funding, by sudden dismantling of jobs, protections, programs.

Prayer for provision, protection, restoration.

Truth is also essential. That means looking past the partisan sound bites and simplistic messaging. There’s no way we can know for sure what’s taking place. No way we can follow all the twists and turns and complications.

But we can refuse to repeat inflammatory, dangerous language. We can refuse to bear false witness against entire groups of people. We can dig a little deeper, ask for sources, speak out against obvious misinformation or hateful accusations. 

We are all, also, called to do something. That something will be different for each of us, different each day. Some days it might mean befriending someone who has lost a job. Some days it might mean donating to an aide organization that is struggling to carry the weight of care while budgets are frozen and key contacts vanished. Some days it might mean listening patiently, while at other times it might mean speaking out clearly.

For me, today: I’m joining the 24 Hour Economic Blackout, loosely organized by The People’s Union.  I’m also, today, posting this blogpost.

Tomorrow? I’ll be praying about that tomorrow morning. None of us can change the course of history. All of us are called to play a part. 

How am I doing in all this? It's a question I'm asked, and one we probably all need to ask ourselves.

How are our hearts? How's our mental health? How's our spiritual health? I’ll answer with a song I’ve discovered on my Porter’s Gate Pandora station. It’s by an independent singer-songwriter, John Lucas Kovasckitz, from the hills of North Carolina.

The song, Time, was included in his first  go-fund-me album, Promised Land, released in 2017.

These lines catch me every time I listen:

There is a time to dance on sorrow
And a time to kiss her cheek
There is a time to mourn in silence
But justice aches to hear you speak. 

And I don’t know the end, or tomorrow’s story
But I have found the one who gives me rest
And I will make my bed in His promises
For He holds true when nothing’s left.

The song echoes Ecclesiastes 3: a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance. But it also echoes the format of many psalms of lament: statement of a hard reality, then a reminder that God is our rest, and worthy of praise.

So crown Him in your mourning
And crown Him in your laughter
And crown Him when it all turns dark
Crown Him when you bury
And crown Him when you marry
And crown Him when your faith finds a spark 

Crown Him for He’s faithful
And crown Him for He’s worthy
And crown Him for He is good
Crown Him for His promises
Cut through the blindness
Of children that have barely understood 

The beauty that has come
And the beauty yet to come
And the beauty that is yours and that is mine
And that death produces life
And that we are made alive
By the King who paints beauty with time.

I don’t know the end, or tomorrow’s story
But I have found the one who gives me rest
And I will make my bed in His promises
For He holds true when nothing’s left...When nothing’s left.

False Witness

I memorized the ten commandments when I was in 3rd grade, about the time I memorized the books of the Bible to earn my first Bible in Sunday School. It was all King James Version at the time, so I have etched in my brain: "Thou shalt not bear false witness." Sometime later I read Proverbs 6:

There are six things the Lord hates – no, seven things he detests: haughty eyes, a lying tongue, hands that kill the innocent, a heart that plots evil, feet that race to do wrong, a false witness who pours out lies, a person who sows discord in a family.

I remember marveling that a lying tongue and a false witness were included in the same list as hands that kill the innocent. Since then I've seen how lies can kill.

Bearing false witness is not just originating lies. It includes repeating them. Maliciously, carelessly, casually, fervently ... The harm is done no matter the motive.
I've always taken that seriously, so seriously I won't even write something in my morning prayer journal unless I'm sure it's true. I sometimes catch myself about to record a grievance or complaint. I pause, pray, consider.

To me, truth is a precious treasure, and false witness a danger that destroys trust, damages community and endangers lives.

That's why I'm alarmed when people I once respected casually repeat lies. It's also why I have a deep distrust of President Donald Trump. No, Haitian immigrants have not been eating people's pets. No, USAID did not pay millions of dollars to distribute condoms in Gaza.

I know politicians sometimes misspeak. I know sometimes they stretch the truth. I also know Trump's flagrant lies led to the nickname "Liar in Chief" (repeated in well-researched books, film and too many articles to document).

Wikipedia has a page titled "False or misleading statements by Donald Trump." It's by far the longest page I've seen on Wikipedia, and has a little note to volunteer editors:

This article may be too long to read and navigate comfortably. Consider splitting content into sub-articles, condensing it, or adding subheadings. Please discuss this issue on the article's talk page. (September 2024)

 

The page provides 595 sources (as of this writing, with more added daily). Text under the graphic on the right notes it only covers a window from 2018 to 2021:

Fact-checkers from The Washington Post^[1] (top, monthly), the Toronto Star^[2] and CNN^[3][4] (bottom, weekly) compiled data on "false or misleading claims", and "false claims", respectively. The peaks corresponded in late 2018 to the midterm elections, in late 2019 to his impeachment inquiry, and in late 2020 to the presidential election. The Post reported 30,573 false or misleading claims in four years,^[1] an average of more than 20.9 per day.

For me, once someone has demonstrated repeated, determined disregard for the truth, that person is not to be trusted, unless there's confession, apology for harm, and even then, anything such a person says needs to be carefully weighed against other, more reliable testimony.

Yet I know Christians who consider Donald Trump a trusted source and repeat what he says, regularly breaking one of the ten commandments and doing a thing scripture says God hates. I also know preachers, far too many, who brazenly, emphatically repeat Trump's lies, stirring their congregants' emotions and sowing anger, fear and discord in families and communities.

Both cases undermine and compromise Christian witness and regard for truth. Here's an interesting challenge: spend some time on Bible Gateway, checking how much scripture says about lies, repeating lies, aligning with liars. I promise, there's plenty. Not nearly as much as about caring for the poor, or the stranger, or creation, but enough to make clear: God really really hates falsehoods and those who align themselves with liars. How to avoid the snare of misinformation? How to avoid repeating lies? One quick rule: don't repeat a source that has lied in the past. Even if he's the president. For a more in-depth approach, there are plenty of resources online offering fact-checks, assessing media bias, giving step-by-step instructions on countering misinformation. I like this thorough guide provided by the Austin Community College Library Resources. It's worth sharing some of their resources, or links they provide. And worth reading the page about why misinformation is harmful. The reality, though, is that most folks bearing false witness and sharing rumors and lies will not be convinced by fact or fact-checking websites. There's a whole body of research on why that's the case, a post for another day. NPR offers a thoughtful discussion of connection, not correction. I've tried much of what the article suggests. I'm not sure it works. From what I can see, once someone has given their loyalty to a liar, truth has a hard time breaking through, and the torrent of accusation and misinformation from Trump loyalists can be wearying, even dangerous.

I know friends who have gone silent rather than run the risk of constant friction or personal attack. I know politicians who go along with lies rather than risk their political careers by insisting on the truth.

Silence in the face of lies is rarely a lasting option. A quote attributed to Dietrich Bonhoeffer, killed for his resistance in the final days of World War 2, is a grim reminder that most German Christians were actively complicit, while others were silent in the face of Nazi brutality: “Silence in the face of evil is itself evil. God will not hold us guiltless. Not to speak is to speak. Not to act is to act.” We can pray that God will change hearts and minds, that God will intervene as policy is shaped by distortions and deception. But sometimes the call of justice, mercy and righteousness demands words, from us. A first step is to refuse to repeat, affirm, or stay silent in the presence of false witness.

Drain the Swamp? Beware!

We've been hearing for years about draining the swamp. It's a metaphor for dismantling government as we know it, but the metaphor itself should have warned us. 

A swamp is a priceless treasure, according to one National Geographic article: "one of the most valuable ecosystems on earth." Swamps serve as sponges, protecting coasts and inland areas from flooding. They also serve as filters, cleaning water that flows through them, capturing pollutants, absorbing toxins or trapping them at the bottom, "buried in sand and sediment."

Swamps provide rich habitat for fish, birds and other creatures. Recent research also shows they're far more effective in capturing and storing carbon than even the most mature forest. Acre for acre, swamps are among the most effective ecosystems in combating climate change and preserving biodiversity, but also the most at risk of vanishing. 

Globally, wetlands (including swamps) are disappearing three times faster than forest. In the US, the rate of loss of wetlands doubled between 2009 and 2019. 

Before draining a swamp, it's worth stopping to wonder: who will benefit? for how long? At what cost?

Swamps and other wetlands can take thousands of years to form. Fill them in and their benefits vanish. Attempts to reclaim them are expensive, time consuming, and never fully effective. 

So - do we really want to drain swamps? Not if we understand what they are, what they do, and what we've lost when they're gone. 

But swamps are not really on the top of my mind. The Drain the Swamp battle cry was about government. Not just government corruption, but government as we know it. Checks and balances, regulations, administrative procedures.

How do you drain a swamp? You bulldoze it. 

That appears to be the plan for the US government as we know it. 

Ethics rules? Reverse them. 

Commitments to non-partisan entities, support for longstanding programs, respect for international neighbors, treaties and laws? 

According to President Trump, there's nothing in place he can't overturn with a hasty executive order. 

He signed 37 executive orders in his first week in office.

At least one is clearly unconstitutional: 

“Protecting the Meaning and Value of American Citizenship” purports to revoke citizenship for children born to undocumented immigrants, despite the 14th Amendment's promise that "all persons born or naturalized in the United States, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States and of the State wherein they reside.". 

The National Immigration Law Center, commenting on another order, "Realigning the United States Refugee Admissions Program”, states; 

This Order does not appear to provide any exceptions for people being trafficked into the United States, unaccompanied children, or those whose deportation would send them back to persecution or torture. The Order thus stands in clear violation of U.S. federal law and the United States’ obligations under the international Refugee Convention, which prevents countries from deporting refugees back to harm. 

"Withdrawing the United States from the World Health Organization," "effective immediately", in reality by law requires a year to take effect. Lawrence Gostin, professor of global health law at Georgetown University and director of WHO's Center on Global Health Law, calls the order "the most cataclysmic decision . . . .  a grave wound to American national interests and our national security." Another infectious disease expert said "“This represents one of the darkest days of public health that I can recall.”

Every order so far raises questions, so many that it's a challenge to say which is most alarming and bizarre. Every one of them suggests a deep lack of understanding about how systems work and the harm that results when systems are bulldozed without caution or review. 

“Reevaluating and Realigning United States Foreign Aid” "places a 90-day pause on foreign aid or assistance to U.S. allies while the administration evaluates current aid programs." What happens to aid workers, hospitals, children on life support during that 90 day pause? "Those workers were told to stop working and “please head home.”

A ProPublica article describes the challenge facing aide workers in Sudan: Defy President Trump’s order to immediately stop operations or let up to 100 babies and toddlers die. 

“I’ve been an infectious disease doctor for 30 years, and I’ve never seen anything that scares me as much as this,” said Dr. Jennifer Furin, a Harvard Medical School physician who received a stop-work order for a program designing treatment plans for people with the most drug-resistant forms of tuberculosis. Infectious diseases do not know borders, she pointed out. “It’s terrifying.” . . .

Critics say the past week has also undermined US security by opening a vacuum for international adversaries to fill, while putting millions of the world's most vulnerable at immediate and long-term risk.

“A chaotic, unexplained and abrupt pause with no guidance has left all our partners around the world high and dry and America looking like a severely unreliable actor to do business with,” a USAID official told ProPublica, adding that other countries will now have good reason to look to China or Russia for the help they’re no longer getting from the U.S. “There’s nothing that was left untouched.”

The actions of the Trump administration suggest a deep disinterest in the rule of law and a dangerous lack of understanding about how government works and what happens when structures and protections, developed across decades, are cavalierly ignored. 

I lived for fourteen years in Northern Virginia, where many friends and neighbors worked for the federal government. I knew people who worked in environmental regulation, international aide, security for US embassies, protection of US currency, intelligence, defense. All underwent lengthy security clearances. All had strict standards for conduct and communications. All were dedicated, caring, hard-working civil servants who cared deeply for our nation. 

It's painful to me to see leaders who would never pass those clearance reviews stepping into leadership in roles they don't understand, without respect for the laws that govern those roles or the conscientious career experts they're attempting to remove. When those people are gone, when the laws are dismantled, we will all be in a more dangerous world. 

Of course there are needed reforms. Of course there are ways to streamline and save funds. But a bulldozer is not the right tool for evaluating what works and what doesn't and ensuring careful reform.

And like swamps, governments, once dismantled, are very hard to rebuild. 

Twelve years ago, I helped start a group called Friends of Exton Park to protect fragile habitat, including a small wetland, in a park a few miles from my home. We convinced the township that owned the land that over-development would create more flooding at a library just downstream. Since then we've helped expand riparian buffers and supported work on a new master plan with less ball fields and pavement and more passive open space. On that scale, activism was successful.

Nine years ago, I helped start Fair Districts PA, an organization dedicated to ending gerrymandering in Pennsylvania and changing the PA constitution to create an independent citizen redistricting commission. The bills we supported weren't passed in time for the 2021 redistricting, but citizen action and advocacy helped yield better maps for this decade. This past week I was part of a press conference announcing co-sponsor memos on new bills, House Bill 31 and Senate Bill 131. On the statewide scale, activism is hard, but attention can make a difference.

On the national scale? On a global scale? Is there anything one citizen can do?

I'll be writing more on this in the weeks ahead.