Grace, Beauty and Courage
Building Community
On a sub-zero day, something more than anger is needed to get one to leave the warm comfort of home and join hundreds of protesters standing together by the steps of the State Capitol. Billed as a National Protest, with gatherings in all 50 states, this President’s Day event was both a rejection of the perceived authoritarianism of recent Presidential executive orders and an embrace of constitutional democracy. In his book, “Dare We Speak of Hope?,” Allan Boesak, South African theologian and a leader of the anti-apartheid movement, offers a quote from St. Augustine who said, “Hope has two beautiful daughters. Their names are Anger and Courage. Anger at the way things are, and courage to see that they do not remain the same.”
The temperature was four below zero with wind chills driving it down further still and yet here we were with our signs and our voices. Most were covered head to toe, eyes visible between the layers of fabric protecting us from the elements, holding signs with various words of protest or affirmation. Perhaps because I am a retired clergy, I was offered a sign that read, “What would Jesus do? Not this!” There were other signs that were much more confrontational, including a couple signs that read simply “F…. Trump.”
I get the desire to put the F…. word front and center. It is a pure expression of anger at what is taking place. When one hears about the horrific murder of Sam Nordquist, a transgender man from Oakdale, Minnesota, it is understandable if the immediate response is F… leaders who target the most vulnerable among us with their hatred and discrimination. The F… word is an easy shorthand for that which we oppose or reject. It frees us from the troubling thought of the personhood existing within the recipient of our anger. We let it go like an arrow from a bow, no longer responsible for where the arrow lands. At one point during the gathering we came to a silent moment between speakers, one of the event organizers decided to invite the crowd into a uniform chant of F… Trump. Some participated.
If we are honest, we will admit the F… word, whether uttered or not, represents the type of anger that can show up in our home lives, our congregations, our communities, anywhere that we engage people and situations that run counter to our desires and beliefs. In her book, “Pilgrim at Tinker Creek,” Annie Dillard describes the reality of this world in which brutal directness prevails and is readily observed among the most basic of creatures, like a giant water bug, consuming a frog for its own survival. F…. Trump, or F…. anyone for that matter, is a signal the stakes are high. It marks a point of clarity, eliminating any ambiguity or unwelcome compromises. St. Augustine is right. Anger with the way things are has its place. So, why did an invitation to chant F…. Trump, leave me feeling empty?
Most of us know from our personal relationships, from involvement within our community, or any place we come together, anger by itself is insufficient as a resource in moving us to a space and place that we truly wish to live. In the same book, Annie Dillard also observes, “Unless all ages and races of men have been deluded by the same mass hypnotist (who?), there seems to be such a thing as beauty, a grace wholly gratuitous.” Beyond our anger and a brutally transactional world in which the loudest, angriest, generally male voices often dominate, there exists graciousness and a beauty that can give us courage, lift our spirits and bring us hope. No doubt this is why the Civil Rights movement was grounded in song.
We stood together in the cold on a sub-zero day feeling anger at the way things presently are. But I am confident that I was far from alone in also wishing for courage touched by joy and a spirit lifted by a holistic vision of inclusion and justice. Several of the speakers offered such a vision of grace and beauty. I give thanks for their voices. If there is a gift in this moment, it is that we are pushed to clarify who we are and how we will be present in our world.
