What Would Love Do?

We are living in unprecedented times. Not only has the COVID-19 pandemic refused to go silently into that good night, but we are now living in some liminal time in which an election has decided who the next President of the United States will be, while the current president refuses to concede the election, continues to hamper—if not downright halt—efforts for a peaceful transition of power.

We are on the razor’s edge, poised between anarchy and the beginning of the healing of our nation. Muddying the waters further is the fact that the election wasn’t a Blue Wave tsunami signaling the end not only of this current regime but of the systemic issues that landed him in the White Office to begin with.

It was a victory, to be sure, of a socio-political ideal of greater equity, inclusion, protection for our lands and water and air, but it wasn’t a mandate. And even as we celebrate a record number of voter turnout with President-elect Joe Biden winning more votes than any other candidate in history, we also have to contend with the fact that Trump won the most votes for a defeated candidate. As I drove across the nation following the election, it was striking how many homes and businesses are still proudly flying flags supporting Trump.

While I am celebrating the change in administration and looking forward to the future with hope I have been missing for the past four years, I am also left with the question of how we can use this singular moment in time to bring about the beginning of true healing in our nation. The healing of our nation begins not with ousting Trump from office; it begins not with jeering “Hah! Crawl back beneath the rock whence you came,” to his ardent base. 

It begins with telling the truth about ourselves; about how we’ve used the narrative of progressive values to turn away from our own complicity in not denying privilege and power. The healing of the nation begins with recognizing that the wound is vast and deep; it was thrust into the heart of this nation at its birth and has been festering ever since.

In her book, Caste: The Origins of Our Discontent, Isabel Wilkerson says we can say we didn’t do it. We didn’t own slaves; we didn’t fight for the confederacy; it’s not our fault. But, she says, being citizens of the United States is like being the heirs of an ancient, crumbling house. The foundation wasn’t laid properly; the plaster and lathe is not adequate to keep the house warm; there are cracks in the walls and bulges in the ceilings.

It’s not enough to say, It’s not my fault; I didn’t build it. If we want to continue to claim this house, we have to be responsible for the repairs and the upkeep of it. If we want to create a home where we can live safely and comfortably, we have to make it safe and comfortable for all. Until we do this, all we’ve done this election is to cover up the gaping wound with a “flesh colored” band aid.

One question I’ve been pondering over the past several days since the election was decided for Joe Biden and Kamala Harris is how can we not only reclaim a political landscape that sees the moral arc of the universe bending toward justice but also how can we reach out to the 70+ million people who voted to maintain instead the downward spiral of our nation into moral and ethical decay? We ignore those voters at our peril, paving the way for an ongoing pendulum of values being favored every four years.

The people still waving Trump flags and crying voter fraud are not just an anonymous part of the census of our nation; they are our families and friends, our neighbors and the person who bags our groceries. Just as it was immoral and inaccurate for the current regime to paint entire communities in colors of intolerance, bigotry and otherness, it is wrong for us to do the same to those who may have voted differently from us.

As I wonder what path leads to peace and wholeness for our nation, I am drawn to a question I’ve been pondering for my personal life. 

What would love do?

During my recent travels, I’ve had plenty of road time to think about the paths I’ve taken in my own life that have led to where I am now, physically, emotionally, relationally. I’ve been thinking of times I’ve had knee-jerk reactions to the choices or limitations life has placed before me. I have been remembering times when I acted out of fear, of not wanting to seem vulnerable, of defensiveness. I imagine that many of the people waving Trump flags alongside signs that read “pray for our nation” are also responding from those same places: fear of their world changing in ways that seem threatening to them; watching others from marginalized groups suddenly being afforded the rights they’ve had all along, making them feel vulnerable. Privilege and power are powerful aphrodisiacs; it's hard to imagine life without them. 

How do we respond to our families and friends, neighbors and co-workers now?

What would love do? 

How would love listen?

Not that we need to mollycoddle racists; it is to wonder aloud how can love open their eyes to a wider vista than the narrow one they’ve been myopically clinging to, the one that makes them feel important? How can love show them that the more diverse we are, the stronger we are; the more people invited to the table of justice, the more food there is for all?

This much I know is true: ignoring their fears and vulnerabilities amid our euphoria will not bring healing; calling them the new snowflakes and jeering at them is not the way forward. They will still be there at the mid-term elections, and in four years, with more anger and angst and fear than ever.

The coming months will be challenging for us all. One thing this election has taught us is that a vote is a voice singing a single note in the anthem of this nation, but unless that note is sustained, supported by others who join in so we can all take a breath when needed, the song soon dies.  The past four years we have been subject to discordant voices that have been blaring over the loudspeaker of our nation, creating a cacophony of distorted notes and chords. It’s our turn to conduct the choir now. We must keep singing songs of joy, inclusion, diversity, hope. We must keep singing in such a compelling way that others will change their tune, join in. We must use love as the tuning fork to make sure our notes are clear and strong, that we are singing in the key of Life.