Just after I sent money to the American Civil Liberties Union This Morning, I Found This:
E******N 2016
Jesus Wept: How Can You Call Yourself a Christian If You V**ed for Donald Trump?
Christian faith means many things to many people. But I'm confused about how "love thy neighbor" led us here.
By Lily Burana / Salon November 19, 2016
One of the hallmarks of Christian faith is charity, which is unfortunate for me, because, as a cradle Christian (and, lately, a recovering agnostic), I’ve been feeling less than charitable since Donald T***p w*n the p**********l e******n. I don’t mean that I’m not in the spirit of giving to charities — I’ll be writing out a whopper of a check to the American Civil Liberties Union presently.
I am, however, having trouble giving the gift of slack to Christians who v**ed for Trump. According to a preliminary study of exit poll data by Pew Research Group, T***p w*n 52 percent of the Catholic v**e, 58 percent of the Protestant v**e, and, broken down further by race, a whopping 81 percent of the white evangelical Christian v**e.
If you’re a Christian who v**ed for Trump, I understand your concerns — jobs, the economy, health care, national security, frustration with the political status quo. What I don’t understand is your heart. All factors considered, were Trump’s calls for massive deportation of immigrants, along with his anti-Semitic dog whistling, r****t commentary, documented history of misogyny and his mocking of the vulnerable, worth overlooking in favor of his shaky promises to make things better in your world? If, as Christians, we’re supposed to love our neighbor, a v**e for Trump seems a little suspect. Am I wrong? If so, tell me how.
When asked whether he thought his incendiary campaign rhetoric had gone too far, Trump responded, “No. I won.” What a guy. Now he’s staffing up with his own (unqualified) family and a website publisher who’s been accused of beating his wife and channeling white-s*********t ideology. In the space of two weeks, it feels as if we’ve shifted from a democracy to a triage center. Jesus wept.
Not all Christians were pro-Trump, of course. My sister, who has been a Presbyterian minister for almost 30 years, texted me when she found out in the wee morning hours of Nov. 9 that Trump had won, “God help us.” The New York Times feature last Sunday on post-e******n sermons features more than one pastor in clear distress. Minister Mihee Kim-Kort wrote on her blog, “We lost something on November 9th. More than an e******n. Something – call it humanity, compassion, hope – faltered and perished, and something in me, too.”
Still, to put it in theological terms, I’m pissed. I can’t stand the poste******n suffering around me — more than one person I know has broken out in shingles from stress. Migraines and insomnia are the norm. Virtually everyone I know is walking around in a state of panic, dread and low-level rage. Including me.
Things that have made me angry: People smiling and saying, “Everything will be OK.” Anyone who suggests that we “get over it” or “wait and see what he does.” I was even angry at Anne Lamott because I thought her heartfelt poste******n Facebook message was too soft. Our wise, comforting, radical-caregiving sister Annie! Being mad at Anne Lamott is like drop kicking a teddy bear. I need to get a grip.
It helps to maintain awareness that even among us huggy, lovey, Jesus-y types, resistance is afoot. In The Washington Post, Sarah Pulliam Bailey reported on a deepening divide within the evangelical Christian community, exacerbated by the e******n. She quoted Eugene Cho, the pastor of an evangelical church in Seattle: “The e******n has made things more hostile or given permission to people to be more aggressive on both sides.”
She also reported that Cho, who pledged to never endorse a candidate from the pulpit, joined a group of evangelicals who condemning Trump, arguing that his campaign “affirms r****t elements in white culture.” The letter, which was also backed by about 80 other pastors and faith leaders, Pulliam wrote, “decried Trump’s comments on women, Muslims, immigrants, refugees and the disabled.”
Some evangelicals, disheartened by the strong turnout for Trump among their purported fellow believers, are prepared to jump ship entirely. Writer and activist Preston Yancey tweeted on e******n night: “So I guess I’m not an evangelical. Because I’m not wh**ever the hell this is.”
If it reassures me, perhaps it’s similarly comforting to nonreligious folk to know that while some Christians see Trump as America’s Great White Hope, the rest of us see an Anglo-Saxon pharisee with a spray tan. The fantastic tweet stream of the Rev. Broderick Greer, an Episcopalian priest, is a glorious model of righteous fire: “If it’s not good news for refugees, L***Q folks, and women — and people living at all of those intersections — it’s not the gospel of Jesus,” reads one tweet. Another declares, “To plaster ‘Jesus’ on heterosexism, sexism, r****m, classism, militarism, or t***santagonism is to betray all that he did and is.”
Calls to conformity are among the great pitfalls of organized religion, and it didn’t take more than a day after Trump’s win for a number of Christians on social media to issue a mandate to seek unity. Aristotle Papanikolaou, co-director of the Orthodox Christian Studies Center at Fordham University, issued a thoughtful rebuttal to the exhortation to blindly unite. “What Christians must avoid most is . . . a politics of dualism, a politics of us vs. them, a politics of demonization,” he wrote.
“What Christians need to struggle to realize, and this is an ascetic struggle demanding spiritual commitment and discipline, is a politics of empathy,” Papanikolaou continued.
“A politics of empathy calls all Christians to attempt to imagine what it would be like to be in the body of a woman who has been physically assaulted; what it would be like to be in the body of a Muslim afraid to wear the hijab in public; what it would be like to be in the body of someone who is fearful of a h**e crime because of their sexuality; what it is like to be in the body of someone whose disability might subject them to mockery; what it is like to be in the body of a person of color who lives in a country where s***ery is its original sin and who endures continual suspicion in this country due to the color of their skin,” Papanikolaou added.
Others greeted the call to unity with irreverence — among them, the great Christian writer Diana Butler Bass, author of “Grounded: Finding God in the World” and other books. She responded with a tweet calling Nov. 9, “The day ‘unity’ becomes code for ‘shut up.’”
Christians are mobilizing, too, putting their beliefs into action. Lia Scholl, pastor at Wake Forest Baptist Church in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, has offered to waive her fees and honoraria for L***Q couples who want to wed before the next administration takes over. Should couples from outside the area wish to get married, she has pledged to help them find an officiant.
As a layperson, I’m not sure how best to channel my dismay and stay calm while I figure it out. I can listen yet again to Mary Gauthier’s splendid “Mercy Now,” which has emerged as one of our great secular hymns. (“I love my church and country — they could use some mercy now.”)
That holds me for about six minutes. Then what? I’ve tried it all: hot baths, yoga, healthy food, junk food, talks with friends, hours spent in contemplative silence. On Saturday night, I stress ate an entire bag of butter and garlic croutons. As our democracy falters, I am prepared to fight, with the heart of a patriot and the breath of a d**gon.
I used to rely on corny Christian pop songs for solace, logging lots of road hours tuned in to SiriusXM radio’s “praise music” channel. Now I listen to all these praise artists and wonder who they v**ed for. (I’m assured by Christian singer Nichole Nordeman, who tweeted on e******n night, “Heartsick. Help us, Jesus. Ready to love louder. Goodnight.”)
More than anything I do to comfort and steady myself, I need to keep true to the message, hard as it may be. As Christian author and HGTV personality Jen Hatmaker posted on Facebook: “Our marching orders are the same. We are still about the same things we’ve always been about, Christian(s). We will still love our neighbors and resist fear. We will stick up for the marginalized and protect the vulnerable. ”
Hatmaker continued, “We will show up for the hard work of good citizenship and remain faithful to God and each other. We will insist on bringing hope and grace and strength and love to this busted up world. We will not malign people out of fear or confusion. We will love God and love people and that is the same basic plan it has always been.”
I suspect that Jen’s a much nicer person than I am because apart from, or perhaps in addition to, following that basic plan, I am looking forward to expressing some serious, anger-fueled dissent — not just in the name of God, but also in the name of democracy and basic human decency.
The force of my fury scares me. I put up a good front, but I’m deeply conflict averse, somewhere between approval-seeking lickspittle and scaredy cat. I’d much prefer to shrink back, posting hand-holdy memes and reassuring people that things will smooth over if we just pray enough and show compassion. But I’m not that good of a liar, and I’ve never felt panic and belief more firmly wedded. If I don’t act, I’ll implode.
This statement of discomfiture may well incite h**e mail and angry tweets about what an ugly, washed-up, failure-as-a-Christian femin**i c****e ho-bag I am. But I can’t let reticence be misconstrued as consent, so I’ll take my chances with the potential consequences of speaking out. Onward, Christian troll-diers.
If you don’t understand that faith and fear oft go hand in hand, what Bible have you been reading? That’s the drill. The realities of spiritual life, where the rubber meets the road, are complex. The requirements are numerous, and to follow Jesus most authentically, one is called to be a lover and a fighter both. One must be willing to court what Georgia Rep. and civil rights pioneer John Lewis calls “necessary trouble.”
The only thing that’s not permitted is quitting, even amid waves of terror and dread. That’s what “acting in good faith” means in a Christian context and always has. It’s time for devotion to put on its work boots. And should you presume this means either silence or complicity, honey, you haven’t got a prayer.
Richard94611 wrote:
Just after I sent money to the American Civil Liberties Union This Morning, I Found This:
E******N 2016
Jesus Wept: How Can You Call Yourself a Christian If You V**ed for Donald Trump?
Christian faith means many things to many people. But I'm confused about how "love thy neighbor" led us here.
By Lily Burana / Salon November 19, 2016
One of the hallmarks of Christian faith is charity, which is unfortunate for me, because, as a cradle Christian (and, lately, a recovering agnostic), I’ve been feeling less than charitable since Donald T***p w*n the p**********l e******n. I don’t mean that I’m not in the spirit of giving to charities — I’ll be writing out a whopper of a check to the American Civil Liberties Union presently.
I am, however, having trouble giving the gift of slack to Christians who v**ed for Trump. According to a preliminary study of exit poll data by Pew Research Group, T***p w*n 52 percent of the Catholic v**e, 58 percent of the Protestant v**e, and, broken down further by race, a whopping 81 percent of the white evangelical Christian v**e.
If you’re a Christian who v**ed for Trump, I understand your concerns — jobs, the economy, health care, national security, frustration with the political status quo. What I don’t understand is your heart. All factors considered, were Trump’s calls for massive deportation of immigrants, along with his anti-Semitic dog whistling, r****t commentary, documented history of misogyny and his mocking of the vulnerable, worth overlooking in favor of his shaky promises to make things better in your world? If, as Christians, we’re supposed to love our neighbor, a v**e for Trump seems a little suspect. Am I wrong? If so, tell me how.
When asked whether he thought his incendiary campaign rhetoric had gone too far, Trump responded, “No. I won.” What a guy. Now he’s staffing up with his own (unqualified) family and a website publisher who’s been accused of beating his wife and channeling white-s*********t ideology. In the space of two weeks, it feels as if we’ve shifted from a democracy to a triage center. Jesus wept.
Not all Christians were pro-Trump, of course. My sister, who has been a Presbyterian minister for almost 30 years, texted me when she found out in the wee morning hours of Nov. 9 that Trump had won, “God help us.” The New York Times feature last Sunday on post-e******n sermons features more than one pastor in clear distress. Minister Mihee Kim-Kort wrote on her blog, “We lost something on November 9th. More than an e******n. Something – call it humanity, compassion, hope – faltered and perished, and something in me, too.”
Still, to put it in theological terms, I’m pissed. I can’t stand the poste******n suffering around me — more than one person I know has broken out in shingles from stress. Migraines and insomnia are the norm. Virtually everyone I know is walking around in a state of panic, dread and low-level rage. Including me.
Things that have made me angry: People smiling and saying, “Everything will be OK.” Anyone who suggests that we “get over it” or “wait and see what he does.” I was even angry at Anne Lamott because I thought her heartfelt poste******n Facebook message was too soft. Our wise, comforting, radical-caregiving sister Annie! Being mad at Anne Lamott is like drop kicking a teddy bear. I need to get a grip.
It helps to maintain awareness that even among us huggy, lovey, Jesus-y types, resistance is afoot. In The Washington Post, Sarah Pulliam Bailey reported on a deepening divide within the evangelical Christian community, exacerbated by the e******n. She quoted Eugene Cho, the pastor of an evangelical church in Seattle: “The e******n has made things more hostile or given permission to people to be more aggressive on both sides.”
She also reported that Cho, who pledged to never endorse a candidate from the pulpit, joined a group of evangelicals who condemning Trump, arguing that his campaign “affirms r****t elements in white culture.” The letter, which was also backed by about 80 other pastors and faith leaders, Pulliam wrote, “decried Trump’s comments on women, Muslims, immigrants, refugees and the disabled.”
Some evangelicals, disheartened by the strong turnout for Trump among their purported fellow believers, are prepared to jump ship entirely. Writer and activist Preston Yancey tweeted on e******n night: “So I guess I’m not an evangelical. Because I’m not wh**ever the hell this is.”
If it reassures me, perhaps it’s similarly comforting to nonreligious folk to know that while some Christians see Trump as America’s Great White Hope, the rest of us see an Anglo-Saxon pharisee with a spray tan. The fantastic tweet stream of the Rev. Broderick Greer, an Episcopalian priest, is a glorious model of righteous fire: “If it’s not good news for refugees, L***Q folks, and women — and people living at all of those intersections — it’s not the gospel of Jesus,” reads one tweet. Another declares, “To plaster ‘Jesus’ on heterosexism, sexism, r****m, classism, militarism, or t***santagonism is to betray all that he did and is.”
Calls to conformity are among the great pitfalls of organized religion, and it didn’t take more than a day after Trump’s win for a number of Christians on social media to issue a mandate to seek unity. Aristotle Papanikolaou, co-director of the Orthodox Christian Studies Center at Fordham University, issued a thoughtful rebuttal to the exhortation to blindly unite. “What Christians must avoid most is . . . a politics of dualism, a politics of us vs. them, a politics of demonization,” he wrote.
“What Christians need to struggle to realize, and this is an ascetic struggle demanding spiritual commitment and discipline, is a politics of empathy,” Papanikolaou continued.
“A politics of empathy calls all Christians to attempt to imagine what it would be like to be in the body of a woman who has been physically assaulted; what it would be like to be in the body of a Muslim afraid to wear the hijab in public; what it would be like to be in the body of someone who is fearful of a h**e crime because of their sexuality; what it is like to be in the body of someone whose disability might subject them to mockery; what it is like to be in the body of a person of color who lives in a country where s***ery is its original sin and who endures continual suspicion in this country due to the color of their skin,” Papanikolaou added.
Others greeted the call to unity with irreverence — among them, the great Christian writer Diana Butler Bass, author of “Grounded: Finding God in the World” and other books. She responded with a tweet calling Nov. 9, “The day ‘unity’ becomes code for ‘shut up.’”
Christians are mobilizing, too, putting their beliefs into action. Lia Scholl, pastor at Wake Forest Baptist Church in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, has offered to waive her fees and honoraria for L***Q couples who want to wed before the next administration takes over. Should couples from outside the area wish to get married, she has pledged to help them find an officiant.
As a layperson, I’m not sure how best to channel my dismay and stay calm while I figure it out. I can listen yet again to Mary Gauthier’s splendid “Mercy Now,” which has emerged as one of our great secular hymns. (“I love my church and country — they could use some mercy now.”)
That holds me for about six minutes. Then what? I’ve tried it all: hot baths, yoga, healthy food, junk food, talks with friends, hours spent in contemplative silence. On Saturday night, I stress ate an entire bag of butter and garlic croutons. As our democracy falters, I am prepared to fight, with the heart of a patriot and the breath of a d**gon.
I used to rely on corny Christian pop songs for solace, logging lots of road hours tuned in to SiriusXM radio’s “praise music” channel. Now I listen to all these praise artists and wonder who they v**ed for. (I’m assured by Christian singer Nichole Nordeman, who tweeted on e******n night, “Heartsick. Help us, Jesus. Ready to love louder. Goodnight.”)
More than anything I do to comfort and steady myself, I need to keep true to the message, hard as it may be. As Christian author and HGTV personality Jen Hatmaker posted on Facebook: “Our marching orders are the same. We are still about the same things we’ve always been about, Christian(s). We will still love our neighbors and resist fear. We will stick up for the marginalized and protect the vulnerable. ”
Hatmaker continued, “We will show up for the hard work of good citizenship and remain faithful to God and each other. We will insist on bringing hope and grace and strength and love to this busted up world. We will not malign people out of fear or confusion. We will love God and love people and that is the same basic plan it has always been.”
I suspect that Jen’s a much nicer person than I am because apart from, or perhaps in addition to, following that basic plan, I am looking forward to expressing some serious, anger-fueled dissent — not just in the name of God, but also in the name of democracy and basic human decency.
The force of my fury scares me. I put up a good front, but I’m deeply conflict averse, somewhere between approval-seeking lickspittle and scaredy cat. I’d much prefer to shrink back, posting hand-holdy memes and reassuring people that things will smooth over if we just pray enough and show compassion. But I’m not that good of a liar, and I’ve never felt panic and belief more firmly wedded. If I don’t act, I’ll implode.
This statement of discomfiture may well incite h**e mail and angry tweets about what an ugly, washed-up, failure-as-a-Christian femin**i c****e ho-bag I am. But I can’t let reticence be misconstrued as consent, so I’ll take my chances with the potential consequences of speaking out. Onward, Christian troll-diers.
If you don’t understand that faith and fear oft go hand in hand, what Bible have you been reading? That’s the drill. The realities of spiritual life, where the rubber meets the road, are complex. The requirements are numerous, and to follow Jesus most authentically, one is called to be a lover and a fighter both. One must be willing to court what Georgia Rep. and civil rights pioneer John Lewis calls “necessary trouble.”
The only thing that’s not permitted is quitting, even amid waves of terror and dread. That’s what “acting in good faith” means in a Christian context and always has. It’s time for devotion to put on its work boots. And should you presume this means either silence or complicity, honey, you haven’t got a prayer.
b Just after I sent money to the American Civil L... (
show quote)
I am a Christian and I v**ed for Donald Trump. his comments of Hispanics was a foot in mouth statement. he generalized instead of being specific. I do think that there should be a wall built to help stop the flow of i******s coming into this country. he has said go back and come back properly. as for a restriction of Islamic imagrents? I know that there is a long prosess for them to go through. is it enough to help weed out isis members? I don't think so. he wants to do more, to make sure. if you think he is pro-life , well I think he is and hope that he does something about it. a woman does have the right to choose . keep your legs crossed and quit whoring around or pay the piper. the cells growing in her IS a life not a ball of slime. no he is not a politition , thet is one of the main reasons I v**ed for him. he doesn't care if your a dumo. or a rino. he will work for this country. not a bunch of lobbyist. so miss hitlary lost! whoopy, whoopy doooooooo. she is was and will be a CRIMINAL and should be put in PRISON, for her crimes. unprotected private server while working as the secretary of state, crime. processing classified e-mails on a unprotected private server , a CRIME. lying about classified e-mails on her private personal server, a CRIME. lying to the investigating comity about her private personal server, a CRIME. denial of extra security for our LATE Ambassador and the death of those Marines, in B******i. she let them people be k**led. why we will never know. I think it was to advance some personal agenda. which will never be known or proven. she is for the k*****g of babies even into the last trimester. but I guess that you would rather of had a LYING desietful dumocrate, as our next President, instead of some one who will do what is NEEDED to help this country out of it's rut that we are in and heading for the cliff, and uncertain of where the bottom is. todalo buckaroo get a real life. quit v****g for lying criminals.
Richard94611 wrote:
Just after I sent money to the American Civil Liberties Union This Morning, I Found This:
E******N 2016
Jesus Wept: How Can You Call Yourself a Christian If You V**ed for Donald Trump?
Christian faith means many things to many people. But I'm confused about how "love thy neighbor" led us here.
By Lily Burana / Salon November 19, 2016
One of the hallmarks of Christian faith is charity, which is unfortunate for me, because, as a cradle Christian (and, lately, a recovering agnostic), I’ve been feeling less than charitable since Donald T***p w*n the p**********l e******n. I don’t mean that I’m not in the spirit of giving to charities — I’ll be writing out a whopper of a check to the American Civil Liberties Union presently.
I am, however, having trouble giving the gift of slack to Christians who v**ed for Trump. According to a preliminary study of exit poll data by Pew Research Group, T***p w*n 52 percent of the Catholic v**e, 58 percent of the Protestant v**e, and, broken down further by race, a whopping 81 percent of the white evangelical Christian v**e.
If you’re a Christian who v**ed for Trump, I understand your concerns — jobs, the economy, health care, national security, frustration with the political status quo. What I don’t understand is your heart. All factors considered, were Trump’s calls for massive deportation of immigrants, along with his anti-Semitic dog whistling, r****t commentary, documented history of misogyny and his mocking of the vulnerable, worth overlooking in favor of his shaky promises to make things better in your world? If, as Christians, we’re supposed to love our neighbor, a v**e for Trump seems a little suspect. Am I wrong? If so, tell me how.
When asked whether he thought his incendiary campaign rhetoric had gone too far, Trump responded, “No. I won.” What a guy. Now he’s staffing up with his own (unqualified) family and a website publisher who’s been accused of beating his wife and channeling white-s*********t ideology. In the space of two weeks, it feels as if we’ve shifted from a democracy to a triage center. Jesus wept.
Not all Christians were pro-Trump, of course. My sister, who has been a Presbyterian minister for almost 30 years, texted me when she found out in the wee morning hours of Nov. 9 that Trump had won, “God help us.” The New York Times feature last Sunday on post-e******n sermons features more than one pastor in clear distress. Minister Mihee Kim-Kort wrote on her blog, “We lost something on November 9th. More than an e******n. Something – call it humanity, compassion, hope – faltered and perished, and something in me, too.”
Still, to put it in theological terms, I’m pissed. I can’t stand the poste******n suffering around me — more than one person I know has broken out in shingles from stress. Migraines and insomnia are the norm. Virtually everyone I know is walking around in a state of panic, dread and low-level rage. Including me.
Things that have made me angry: People smiling and saying, “Everything will be OK.” Anyone who suggests that we “get over it” or “wait and see what he does.” I was even angry at Anne Lamott because I thought her heartfelt poste******n Facebook message was too soft. Our wise, comforting, radical-caregiving sister Annie! Being mad at Anne Lamott is like drop kicking a teddy bear. I need to get a grip.
It helps to maintain awareness that even among us huggy, lovey, Jesus-y types, resistance is afoot. In The Washington Post, Sarah Pulliam Bailey reported on a deepening divide within the evangelical Christian community, exacerbated by the e******n. She quoted Eugene Cho, the pastor of an evangelical church in Seattle: “The e******n has made things more hostile or given permission to people to be more aggressive on both sides.”
She also reported that Cho, who pledged to never endorse a candidate from the pulpit, joined a group of evangelicals who condemning Trump, arguing that his campaign “affirms r****t elements in white culture.” The letter, which was also backed by about 80 other pastors and faith leaders, Pulliam wrote, “decried Trump’s comments on women, Muslims, immigrants, refugees and the disabled.”
Some evangelicals, disheartened by the strong turnout for Trump among their purported fellow believers, are prepared to jump ship entirely. Writer and activist Preston Yancey tweeted on e******n night: “So I guess I’m not an evangelical. Because I’m not wh**ever the hell this is.”
If it reassures me, perhaps it’s similarly comforting to nonreligious folk to know that while some Christians see Trump as America’s Great White Hope, the rest of us see an Anglo-Saxon pharisee with a spray tan. The fantastic tweet stream of the Rev. Broderick Greer, an Episcopalian priest, is a glorious model of righteous fire: “If it’s not good news for refugees, L***Q folks, and women — and people living at all of those intersections — it’s not the gospel of Jesus,” reads one tweet. Another declares, “To plaster ‘Jesus’ on heterosexism, sexism, r****m, classism, militarism, or t***santagonism is to betray all that he did and is.”
Calls to conformity are among the great pitfalls of organized religion, and it didn’t take more than a day after Trump’s win for a number of Christians on social media to issue a mandate to seek unity. Aristotle Papanikolaou, co-director of the Orthodox Christian Studies Center at Fordham University, issued a thoughtful rebuttal to the exhortation to blindly unite. “What Christians must avoid most is . . . a politics of dualism, a politics of us vs. them, a politics of demonization,” he wrote.
“What Christians need to struggle to realize, and this is an ascetic struggle demanding spiritual commitment and discipline, is a politics of empathy,” Papanikolaou continued.
“A politics of empathy calls all Christians to attempt to imagine what it would be like to be in the body of a woman who has been physically assaulted; what it would be like to be in the body of a Muslim afraid to wear the hijab in public; what it would be like to be in the body of someone who is fearful of a h**e crime because of their sexuality; what it is like to be in the body of someone whose disability might subject them to mockery; what it is like to be in the body of a person of color who lives in a country where s***ery is its original sin and who endures continual suspicion in this country due to the color of their skin,” Papanikolaou added.
Others greeted the call to unity with irreverence — among them, the great Christian writer Diana Butler Bass, author of “Grounded: Finding God in the World” and other books. She responded with a tweet calling Nov. 9, “The day ‘unity’ becomes code for ‘shut up.’”
Christians are mobilizing, too, putting their beliefs into action. Lia Scholl, pastor at Wake Forest Baptist Church in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, has offered to waive her fees and honoraria for L***Q couples who want to wed before the next administration takes over. Should couples from outside the area wish to get married, she has pledged to help them find an officiant.
As a layperson, I’m not sure how best to channel my dismay and stay calm while I figure it out. I can listen yet again to Mary Gauthier’s splendid “Mercy Now,” which has emerged as one of our great secular hymns. (“I love my church and country — they could use some mercy now.”)
That holds me for about six minutes. Then what? I’ve tried it all: hot baths, yoga, healthy food, junk food, talks with friends, hours spent in contemplative silence. On Saturday night, I stress ate an entire bag of butter and garlic croutons. As our democracy falters, I am prepared to fight, with the heart of a patriot and the breath of a d**gon.
I used to rely on corny Christian pop songs for solace, logging lots of road hours tuned in to SiriusXM radio’s “praise music” channel. Now I listen to all these praise artists and wonder who they v**ed for. (I’m assured by Christian singer Nichole Nordeman, who tweeted on e******n night, “Heartsick. Help us, Jesus. Ready to love louder. Goodnight.”)
More than anything I do to comfort and steady myself, I need to keep true to the message, hard as it may be. As Christian author and HGTV personality Jen Hatmaker posted on Facebook: “Our marching orders are the same. We are still about the same things we’ve always been about, Christian(s). We will still love our neighbors and resist fear. We will stick up for the marginalized and protect the vulnerable. ”
Hatmaker continued, “We will show up for the hard work of good citizenship and remain faithful to God and each other. We will insist on bringing hope and grace and strength and love to this busted up world. We will not malign people out of fear or confusion. We will love God and love people and that is the same basic plan it has always been.”
I suspect that Jen’s a much nicer person than I am because apart from, or perhaps in addition to, following that basic plan, I am looking forward to expressing some serious, anger-fueled dissent — not just in the name of God, but also in the name of democracy and basic human decency.
The force of my fury scares me. I put up a good front, but I’m deeply conflict averse, somewhere between approval-seeking lickspittle and scaredy cat. I’d much prefer to shrink back, posting hand-holdy memes and reassuring people that things will smooth over if we just pray enough and show compassion. But I’m not that good of a liar, and I’ve never felt panic and belief more firmly wedded. If I don’t act, I’ll implode.
This statement of discomfiture may well incite h**e mail and angry tweets about what an ugly, washed-up, failure-as-a-Christian femin**i c****e ho-bag I am. But I can’t let reticence be misconstrued as consent, so I’ll take my chances with the potential consequences of speaking out. Onward, Christian troll-diers.
If you don’t understand that faith and fear oft go hand in hand, what Bible have you been reading? That’s the drill. The realities of spiritual life, where the rubber meets the road, are complex. The requirements are numerous, and to follow Jesus most authentically, one is called to be a lover and a fighter both. One must be willing to court what Georgia Rep. and civil rights pioneer John Lewis calls “necessary trouble.”
The only thing that’s not permitted is quitting, even amid waves of terror and dread. That’s what “acting in good faith” means in a Christian context and always has. It’s time for devotion to put on its work boots. And should you presume this means either silence or complicity, honey, you haven’t got a prayer.
b Just after I sent money to the American Civil L... (
show quote)
Jesus wept and said “How can you not use the brain I gave you?”
How can I call myself Christian and agree with Donald Trump’s immigration policy?
I do primarily because I’m Christian. I’m not stupid enough to want to bring total destruction to myself, my family, my friends or fellow Americans.
Have you not read what is going on in other countries?
These lovable immigrants are taking Christian babies and having them crushed in a commercial bread kneader. They’re burning them to death in front of their parents who are then raped and murdered by having their heads cut off or burned to death. Some are crucified.
You see what is going on both in France and in Germany. They are at the point of being totally overwhelmed and don’t know what to do about it.
There are many wide open spacious countries with people of their own belief to which these people can immigrate but they do not. Why do they want to come here or to the European countries?
THINK!!! For God’s sake!!!
Richard94611 wrote:
Just after I sent money to the American Civil Liberties Union This Morning, I Found This:
E******N 2016
Jesus Wept: How Can You Call Yourself a Christian If You V**ed for Donald Trump?
Christian faith means many things to many people. But I'm confused about how "love thy neighbor" led us here.
By Lily Burana / Salon November 19, 2016
One of the hallmarks of Christian faith is charity, which is unfortunate for me, because, as a cradle Christian (and, lately, a recovering agnostic), Iâve been feeling less than charitable since Donald T***p w*n the p**********l e******n. I donât mean that Iâm not in the spirit of giving to charities â Iâll be writing out a whopper of a check to the American Civil Liberties Union presently.
I am, however, having trouble giving the gift of slack to Christians who v**ed for Trump. According to a preliminary study of exit poll data by Pew Research Group, T***p w*n 52 percent of the Catholic v**e, 58 percent of the Protestant v**e, and, broken down further by race, a whopping 81 percent of the white evangelical Christian v**e.
If youâre a Christian who v**ed for Trump, I understand your concerns â jobs, the economy, health care, national security, frustration with the political status quo. What I donât understand is your heart. All factors considered, were Trumpâs calls for massive deportation of immigrants, along with his anti-Semitic dog whistling, r****t commentary, documented history of misogyny and his mocking of the vulnerable, worth overlooking in favor of his shaky promises to make things better in your world? If, as Christians, weâre supposed to love our neighbor, a v**e for Trump seems a little suspect. Am I wrong? If so, tell me how.
When asked whether he thought his incendiary campaign rhetoric had gone too far, Trump responded, âNo. I won.â What a guy. Now heâs staffing up with his own (unqualified) family and a website publisher whoâs been accused of beating his wife and channeling white-s*********t ideology. In the space of two weeks, it feels as if weâve shifted from a democracy to a triage center. Jesus wept.
Not all Christians were pro-Trump, of course. My sister, who has been a Presbyterian minister for almost 30 years, texted me when she found out in the wee morning hours of Nov. 9 that Trump had won, âGod help us.â The New York Times feature last Sunday on post-e******n sermons features more than one pastor in clear distress. Minister Mihee Kim-Kort wrote on her blog, âWe lost something on November 9th. More than an e******n. Something â call it humanity, compassion, hope â faltered and perished, and something in me, too.â
Still, to put it in theological terms, Iâm pissed. I canât stand the poste******n suffering around me â more than one person I know has broken out in shingles from stress. Migraines and insomnia are the norm. Virtually everyone I know is walking around in a state of panic, dread and low-level rage. Including me.
Things that have made me angry: People smiling and saying, âEverything will be OK.â Anyone who suggests that we âget over itâ or âwait and see what he does.â I was even angry at Anne Lamott because I thought her heartfelt poste******n Facebook message was too soft. Our wise, comforting, radical-caregiving sister Annie! Being mad at Anne Lamott is like drop kicking a teddy bear. I need to get a grip.
It helps to maintain awareness that even among us huggy, lovey, Jesus-y types, resistance is afoot. In The Washington Post, Sarah Pulliam Bailey reported on a deepening divide within the evangelical Christian community, exacerbated by the e******n. She quoted Eugene Cho, the pastor of an evangelical church in Seattle: âThe e******n has made things more hostile or given permission to people to be more aggressive on both sides.â
She also reported that Cho, who pledged to never endorse a candidate from the pulpit, joined a group of evangelicals who condemning Trump, arguing that his campaign âaffirms r****t elements in white culture.â The letter, which was also backed by about 80 other pastors and faith leaders, Pulliam wrote, âdecried Trumpâs comments on women, Muslims, immigrants, refugees and the disabled.â
Some evangelicals, disheartened by the strong turnout for Trump among their purported fellow believers, are prepared to jump ship entirely. Writer and activist Preston Yancey tweeted on e******n night: âSo I guess Iâm not an evangelical. Because Iâm not wh**ever the hell this is.â
If it reassures me, perhaps itâs similarly comforting to nonreligious folk to know that while some Christians see Trump as Americaâs Great White Hope, the rest of us see an Anglo-Saxon pharisee with a spray tan. The fantastic tweet stream of the Rev. Broderick Greer, an Episcopalian priest, is a glorious model of righteous fire: âIf itâs not good news for refugees, L***Q folks, and women â and people living at all of those intersections â itâs not the gospel of Jesus,â reads one tweet. Another declares, âTo plaster âJesusâ on heterosexism, sexism, r****m, classism, militarism, or t***santagonism is to betray all that he did and is.â
Calls to conformity are among the great pitfalls of organized religion, and it didnât take more than a day after Trumpâs win for a number of Christians on social media to issue a mandate to seek unity. Aristotle Papanikolaou, co-director of the Orthodox Christian Studies Center at Fordham University, issued a thoughtful rebuttal to the exhortation to blindly unite. âWhat Christians must avoid most is . . . a politics of dualism, a politics of us vs. them, a politics of demonization,â he wrote.
âWhat Christians need to struggle to realize, and this is an ascetic struggle demanding spiritual commitment and discipline, is a politics of empathy,â Papanikolaou continued.
âA politics of empathy calls all Christians to attempt to imagine what it would be like to be in the body of a woman who has been physically assaulted; what it would be like to be in the body of a Muslim afraid to wear the hijab in public; what it would be like to be in the body of someone who is fearful of a h**e crime because of their sexuality; what it is like to be in the body of someone whose disability might subject them to mockery; what it is like to be in the body of a person of color who lives in a country where s***ery is its original sin and who endures continual suspicion in this country due to the color of their skin,â Papanikolaou added.
Others greeted the call to unity with irreverence â among them, the great Christian writer Diana Butler Bass, author of âGrounded: Finding God in the Worldâ and other books. She responded with a tweet calling Nov. 9, âThe day âunityâ becomes code for âshut up.ââ
Christians are mobilizing, too, putting their beliefs into action. Lia Scholl, pastor at Wake Forest Baptist Church in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, has offered to waive her fees and honoraria for L***Q couples who want to wed before the next administration takes over. Should couples from outside the area wish to get married, she has pledged to help them find an officiant.
As a layperson, Iâm not sure how best to channel my dismay and stay calm while I figure it out. I can listen yet again to Mary Gauthierâs splendid âMercy Now,â which has emerged as one of our great secular hymns. (âI love my church and country â they could use some mercy now.â)
That holds me for about six minutes. Then what? Iâve tried it all: hot baths, yoga, healthy food, junk food, talks with friends, hours spent in contemplative silence. On Saturday night, I stress ate an entire bag of butter and garlic croutons. As our democracy falters, I am prepared to fight, with the heart of a patriot and the breath of a d**gon.
I used to rely on corny Christian pop songs for solace, logging lots of road hours tuned in to SiriusXM radioâs âpraise musicâ channel. Now I listen to all these praise artists and wonder who they v**ed for. (Iâm assured by Christian singer Nichole Nordeman, who tweeted on e******n night, âHeartsick. Help us, Jesus. Ready to love louder. Goodnight.â)
More than anything I do to comfort and steady myself, I need to keep true to the message, hard as it may be. As Christian author and HGTV personality Jen Hatmaker posted on Facebook: âOur marching orders are the same. We are still about the same things weâve always been about, Christian(s). We will still love our neighbors and resist fear. We will stick up for the marginalized and protect the vulnerable. â
Hatmaker continued, âWe will show up for the hard work of good citizenship and remain faithful to God and each other. We will insist on bringing hope and grace and strength and love to this busted up world. We will not malign people out of fear or confusion. We will love God and love people and that is the same basic plan it has always been.â
I suspect that Jenâs a much nicer person than I am because apart from, or perhaps in addition to, following that basic plan, I am looking forward to expressing some serious, anger-fueled dissent â not just in the name of God, but also in the name of democracy and basic human decency.
The force of my fury scares me. I put up a good front, but Iâm deeply conflict averse, somewhere between approval-seeking lickspittle and scaredy cat. Iâd much prefer to shrink back, posting hand-holdy memes and reassuring people that things will smooth over if we just pray enough and show compassion. But Iâm not that good of a liar, and Iâve never felt panic and belief more firmly wedded. If I donât act, Iâll implode.
This statement of discomfiture may well incite h**e mail and angry tweets about what an ugly, washed-up, failure-as-a-Christian femin**i c****e ho-bag I am. But I canât let reticence be misconstrued as consent, so Iâll take my chances with the potential consequences of speaking out. Onward, Christian troll-diers.
If you donât understand that faith and fear oft go hand in hand, what Bible have you been reading? Thatâs the drill. The realities of spiritual life, where the rubber meets the road, are complex. The requirements are numerous, and to follow Jesus most authentically, one is called to be a lover and a fighter both. One must be willing to court what Georgia Rep. and civil rights pioneer John Lewis calls ânecessary trouble.â
The only thing thatâs not permitted is quitting, even amid waves of terror and dread. Thatâs what âacting in good faithâ means in a Christian context and always has. Itâs time for devotion to put on its work boots. And should you presume this means either silence or complicity, honey, you havenât got a prayer.
b Just after I sent money to the American Civil L... (
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Sometimes it's better for a fool to keep their mouth shut ,( bet you've never heard that before ) than open it and remove all doubt . you are just picking though , you got your sorry ass handed to you , oh well ,, dry your tears princes ,,
I am Christian and could not wait to get to the polls to v**e for President Trump. It makes me sick to think of the children being MURDERED in the name of choice in this country. The choice was made before the child was conceived now people don't want to deal with the consequence of their action. i can't get my mind wrapped around how as a fellow Christian you could support ANYONE that goes along with late term a******ns. That is out right murder and can in no way be justified. As for immigration, anyone who wants to go through the process and wants to be a contributor to this society, should be welcomed. Anyone else needs to be sent to their respective home. If you want open borders, go to Germany and let us know how it works out for you. Also as a Christian I was taught to turn the other cheek. No where does the Bible tell me to expose my neck. ISIS needs to be dealt with in the quickest way possible. Taking in refugees when you know nothing about them or their beliefs or their affiliations is just plain stupid.