Break the Silent Madness

Oh, blinking cursor of death. How I’ve not seen you in a while. Thanks for gracing my blank WordPress canvas tonight.

Sometimes the blogs come easily; sometimes they do not. Sometimes I feel as if I’ve nothing to say; other times, I have too much material to choose from.

Sometimes it’s all safe stuff; sometimes it’s riskier.

Take politics, for one. Oh the riskiness. Is that shudder from the wind or within?

I’m finding it increasingly difficult these days to remain silent about politics while the insanity rages. Not that every tweet or every blog or every anything I put on the Internet needs to be political.

But shouldn’t some percentage of those political things be posted if they matter deeply to me? Or if I feel those who follow me should give them a second glance, a second thought, a second (or a first) prayerful reconsidering?

I don’t have a huge “voice” or anything, but I certainly have a voice in super conservative religious circles. So, if I can shine even a little light on the carnival happening, the racism happening, the religious hypocrisy happening, the fear and evil happening, shouldn’t I shine?

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve started and discarded an anti-Trump tweet.

Or the number of times this month an extensive political blog has bounced around my head about why this good little white Christian conservative kid can’t take it anymore, why he’s voting for Democrats this November.

Oh, God. It’s happening. I can’t hold it in anymore.

I’m aware this isn’t my strength — winning others over, or “WOO,” as it’s called in Strengths Finder circles. I’m not an arguer; I’m a storyteller. I don’t get a thrill from debate. I hate debate. I just shrunk in my seat even thinking about it.

I want my actions to speak louder than my words because, dear reader, my words feel utterly feeble in these times.

If nobody else has been able to awaken fellow Christians who will follow Donald Trump to the ends of the earth, who the eff am I to be the one to say the right thing?

Whenever someone disagrees with something I tweet or post online — which, honestly, isn’t that often — I’m fine to let it stand; rarely do I respond with the rigorous back-and-forth that never goes anywhere on the Internet.

So, if those types of conversations go nowhere on the Internet, why this sudden burden or inclination to spout my feelings on the Internet? What is driving me toward this fractured digital medium wholly unfit for healthy dialogue?

Perhaps the reason for my angst is twofold. For one, I’m seeing previously thought “political” things as not really political at all anymore.

“Black Lives Matter” used to be political to me; now, it’s common sense. Black people deserve to live; of course, they do. Why do so many white Christians disagree with these three words? Why the childish need to replace “black” with “all” when the original three words will do — are so obviously, decidedly true?

Maybe the answer is right in my own story.

Here’s a hard confession: I used to assume the angry black people on TV were exaggerating their experiences. Their experiences with law enforcement, their experiences with white people. White Christians, especially.

Then I started listening to people of color’s stories. I stopped skipping over their repetitive tweets and video clips. I stopped the convenient urge to ignore them and assume I knew their story, a story they weren’t telling.

I saw their hearts. Their befuddled, broken, and, yes, often angry hearts.

I’ve started realizing the obvious truth that I do not know another person’s story without first hearing it and learning it, and I’m hearing and learning more everyday. I never want to stop hearing and learning, despite the convenient urges to live in ignorance.

I recently joined a group with my church and have learned even more about people of color, their history, our very nation’s history — rated R stories swept onto other pages of other history books that my super white, super Republican Christian high school dared not tell me.

Stories. Amazing how those will be the things that ultimately win people over, not debates, and certainly not Internet debates.

People’s stories have won me over this year, more than any other year of my life, and my empathy-jar from an autoimmune disease, among other reasons, continues to overflow.

The second reason I find myself wanting to rant (i.e. am already ranting) on previously unrantable things is the overall restlessness of these times. I just feel

s

t

u

c

k.

Can I get an amen from the quicksand?

I’m stuck in a pandemic. I’m stuck with an autoimmune disease. I’m stuck in an apartment and stuck in a city.

I’m stuck with a broken body in a broken world, stuck in my head and my heart while the country metaphorically and literally burns, and I’m told over and over by the side in power that the best is already here and also yet to come and that it’s going to get really bad if the other guy wins; meanwhile, the other guy says we’re all doomed for generations if the status quo continues beyond next January.

Can you feel the fear tonight? Happy voting!

Amidst the stuckness, amidst this swirling political angst, I encountered a couple tweets from people of faith that gave me some of the greatest sighs of relief I’ve found in the Land of Internet lately (probably a sign I shouldn’t be spending nearly as much time in said Land).

It does great harm to the gospel when Christians deny, downplay, or excuse the sins of their political candidate in order to promote a political party or defend their vote.

Do what you must, in wisdom & prayer, on election day. But do not lie.

— Rachel Joy Welcher (@racheljwelcher) August 24, 2020

Christian, if you feel politically homeless you’re probably right where God wants you. This world is not our home, we serve a greater ruler, and we’re to represent His kingdom here. And it looks nothing, not a bit, like our present political power structures and parties.

— Barnabas Piper (@BarnabasPiper) August 28, 2020

Praise God. Praise God for these fellow Christian perspectives and that I am not alone.

I suppose that’s where a lot of my angst originated: from this ludicrous notion that I am alone.

Surely I am not the only Christian with significant problems with this president?! Why are so many Christians denying, downplaying, or excusing his words and actions?

Oh. Right. I’m not alone.

Surely I am not the only Christian drifting away on an island from both major political parties? Why are so many Christians fiercely on one team or another, adopting 100% of their candidates’ positions with no disturbance to their faith?

Oh. Right. I’m not alone.

If nothing else, writing about all this angst tonight, risky though it feels, is a healthy release for what’s been bubbling and curdling inside for weeks, months.

But if nothing else-else, hopefully my words can affirm someone else reading, somewhere, anywhere, in America or abroad, that s/he isn’t alone either. I certainly don’t expect these feeble words to convince someone previously planning on voting for Donald Trump this November to (seriously) reconsider.

If I’m going to walk the empathic talk, I’m (begrudgingly) convicted to listen to Trump voters’ stories, too. That even though I believe any pros in his policies are completely overweighed by the cons of his character, I want to better hear and listen to my fellow man. Period.

Ultimately, if my words can resound with some other white Christian conservative kid, or an older liberal one, for that matter, who desperately needs someone to say something, anything, to break the silent madness, then praise God for our newly shared connection, our new story.

Dear God, save us from this madness. Send us a new collective story to tell.