How do we live in fearful times?
Despite publishing openly and widely about so much in my life, you may notice that I rarely write directly about two things: My Christian faith and my politics. I haven’t wanted these divisive topics to limit my opportunities to be in conversation across difference, something I dearly value.
That said, my writing career began with a clear call to address both. When the bare truth of my lived experience cracked open for me institutional falsehoods—when the tension between the created blessings of my bisexual identity and harmful church teachings became unbearable—I had to write a memoir. Writing and sharing Swinging on the Garden Gate [link here%%%%] took immense courage, but what my body taught me about sacredness of creation left me no choice: I had to bear witness.
I feel a similar pressure today.
I want to share two things I know to be true. First, the actions of our current administration are causing and will continue to cause mass suffering. People are hurting, including those I love. The disruption and threats to hard-working civil servants, artists, farmer, children, the elderly, immigrants, women, people of color, transgendered Americans, aid workers, the millions whose lives depend on USAID’s programs, the international relationships formed by those programs, our country’s neighbors, worthy social institutions, government offices, national parks, national security, our democracy, and our tender planet, are unnecessary. Cruel, even. As a deeply engaged Christian, I’m horrified when such policies are cloaked in moral righteousness. In an era when Jesus’s teachings are brutally misconstrued, I hope by speaking out I do them some small justice. The hurt being inflicted by this administration is wrong.
Yes, we need to stay aware of current events; yes, we need to not be swayed by money and power; yes, we need to protest, help our neighbors, and do whatever we can to stop this unfolding travesty. But the second thing I know to be true is this: The only person I’m capable of changing is myself. If I want more kindness in the world, I’m responsible for expanding my capacity for kindness. If I want less oppression in the world, I must deliberately examine and free myself from internalized oppression. I long for love and equity to be our country’s governing principles. The place I must begin, then, is by allowing love and justice to govern my heart.
This is why I practice Centering Prayer, a Christian manner of silent meditation that conditions me with Jesus’s form of consent. This is also why lean into the transformational dimensions of creative writing, give my energy to supporting others’ creative and contemplative practices, and foster communities where such work is valued. Inner release opens us to an agency no ego-directed act can match. The intractable problems of our country and climate need non-reactive, grounded, wise solutions. The rampant misinformation of this era needs stewards of lived reality. The atmosphere of fear we now inhabit needs beacons of peace.
Hard as it is, a daily, intentional practice makes these possible.
I’m terrified. Every day I struggle. Nonetheless, spiritual and creative practices anchor my terror and struggle in a steadying source beyond my small ego. There’s no way to peace, a tee-shirt I wore in the eighties proclaimed; peace is the way. Commitment to inner transformation is a radically political act. The path is the destination. The means are the ends.
What I most want for us during this tumultuous time is that we each become our best, beloved and loving self. I commit to walking this path with you. I believe our collective transformation depends on it.
Warmly,
Elizabeth
