Sometimes I write reflections that do not go out in Newsletters. I direct readers to the pieces and believe those who are interested will find them. I mostly write these reflections to myself.
It has been quite the week hasn’t it? I did not have outrage over a plea for mercy on my bingo card for January. There are so many things—including my husband’s illness that were not on my card, but here we are.
I appreciate those who have spoken in defense of the powerless this week. I follow several writers here and on other social media platforms. I have followed them long enough to know their heart. I also understand their viewpoints and how those who lean in other directions perceive what they write differently than I do. I read comments on social media posts because that is the best place to see varying perspectives. I appreciate civil conversations!
The Uselessness of Debate
Debating is a useless approach right now, especially since a legitimate debate requires that two people (or teams) have access to facts (evidence) to support their views and agree on what is a trusted source of information. Two people who do not trust the other person’s sources of information cannot hold a legitimate debate. We have moved into an era where we only trust what we believe is true. Observing the comments tells me what each individual believes is true and if I am to be the official judge for the debate, then the one that aligns most closely with my beliefs will always win. That isn’t how judging a debate works by the way and when I do this confirmation bias is involved. I own his human tendency and it is the reason I do not step into social media debates.
The Thing about Politicians
The one thing I am certain of is that any facts I bring to the table of diverse opinions and political leanings will be discounted immediately by those who do not trust my sources. I reserve my right to do the same. I also realize that every politician driven by power is counting on one thing—that we do not trust one another.
I find Merriam-Webster’s definition of a politician interesting:
1: a person experienced in the art or science of government. Especially: one actively engaged in conducting the business of a government
2: a: a person engaged in party politics as a profession b: often disparaging—a person primarily interested in political office for selfish or other narrow usually short-sighted reasons
The bolded sentence is what both sides believe about the other side’s politicians but seldom their own. I dislike the tendency to throw out “both-isms” to deal with this. Instead of doing the work to determine if there is some truth to what is being said about our candidate, we merely push the other person away with this tactic. This is unfortunate because there are always real differences between what “both of them” are doing.
Admitting when our favored politicians make decisions that do not serve the greater good of our nation is healthy. So many voted for what they believed was the lesser of two evils. Now, let us not divide ourselves by what we weren’t sure of anyway. Some were sure and it is unlikely those who were not want to be thrown in the same pot with them.
What I Believe to Be True
Unlike some, I believe most Christians, if placed in a completely different scenario than what our country has dissolved into, would truly desire to love their neighbor—ALL neighbors. We may disagree on what that looks like, but the spewing of hatred toward anyone who lives, thinks, teaches, preaches, believes, worships, or votes differently is not the go-to for most Christians that I know. I am completely befuddled with so much, but I still believe in the goodness of the people I know and love and, might I add, often disagree with them on many issues.
The lens through which I view my world will always lean in the direction of not controlling people’s choices that do not harm others. I also stand strongly on the belief that our Christian outrage should be directed at all forms of abuse, including religious and sexual abuse. For this to be smoothed over, ignored, or hidden in our churches and nation while outrage is expressed over . . . a sermon calling for mercy is painful.
The Sermon
When the posts about the sermon began to flood social media. I attempted to sit in the seats of those experiencing outrage because they believed their chosen political leader was wrongly confronted from the pulpit. The words seemed more like a plea than a confrontation; I was confused.
Side Note: It needs to be said that it matters that it was a woman who spoke. Generally, when men confront from the pulpit it is better accepted. (See my Wednesday Substack Post which speaks to this—I wrote it before this happened.)
I thought maybe the problem was in the tone of the entire message so I listened to the Right Rev. Mariann Edgar Budde’s sermon. You can do that here. Yes, the ending is direct, but it is important to listen to the entire message to understand the tone. There are styles of preaching that differ greatly from church to church, preacher to preacher. I could not help but feel like I was listening to my dad preach. My week has been incredibly stressful and the sermon felt like a healing balm.
What Was Said and Not Said
I jotted down the three main points Bishop Budde posed before she called for the powerful to have mercy on the powerless. She addressed these points as foundations for unity, which she carefully distinguished from conformity.
Honoring the inherent dignity of every human being
Honesty in both private conversation and public discourse
Humility and openness to one another across our differences
By the time the sermon ended, I was even more confused. She said what I have tried to say here so much more concisely—and ever so gently. For many she is a hero because she confronted power—yes, she did. Yet, it is important to listen to the sermon, not simply accept the outrage—either toward her or for her. Check me here, but I did not hear her attack character or demand that decisions be changed. Her plea was on behalf of those who are afraid. She asked that the President lead with mercy.
It is important to allow what the Bishop said to stand on its own merits. She is being asked to apologize not based on what was said, but on how it was interpreted by those with a different bias.
I doubt what she said was any different than what she says in every sermon. I recognized the tone as that of my father who often addressed hard truths in gentle ways—from the pulpit. She stayed true to all of her foundational principles and spoke in a way that honored the dignity of both those who fear and those who have the power to be merciful.
There was one thing that gave me misgivings. Addressing the President directly was, in my mind, an unnecessary choice—but not worthy of the outrage since she was respectfully expressing her plea. Even without this, there was no question about who was being asked to show mercy—but the decision-makers in the room also needed the plea. The call to show mercy to the powerless applies to everyone—including those who jumped feet first into the outrage or the outrage caused the outrage—including me.
A Plea of My Own
I regret that the intent of the message seems to have been lost—both by those who agree and those who disagree. So, I end with a plea of my own and am convicted to do a better job of showing mercy when I speak the truth and hold the church accountable when those they are called to serve are harmed.
Who can we respect as a human being who may need mercy today? (Foundation #1)
Refusing to be merciful makes us neither right nor righteous. It also doesn’t mean that we agree. It is possible to agree in respectful ways. (Foundation #2)
Our greatest accomplishment will always be having the humility and openness to admit when we are wrong or have used the wrong approach even when still believing we were right. (Foundation #3)
Unity can happen but it begins with us, not the politicians.
Power over the powerless is achieved by dividing those called to show mercy.
Dividing people is dependent on outrage and contempt.
When a plea for mercy results in outrage, we have completely lost our way.