Now That the Confetti is Gone

     Donald Trump lost the 2020 election. I say this upfront because I don’t want you to think I imagine millions of “Trump ballots” are hidden in the basement of the DNC. (Though, I suppose, Democrats being such keen environmentalists, the ballots would have been recycled by now.)

    Joe Biden won the 2020 election. Across the nation and around the world people celebrated. Frigid Duluth and humble Lewis Center had fireworks. The Texas county where I live went “blue” for the first time in decades—I don’t recall fireworks but I’m sure there were not a few quiet (and much safer) fist-pumps in the privacy of happy voters’ homes. Of course, the celebration wasn’t limited to the United States. A friend from Down Under sent a brief video/cartoon produced by a fellow Aussie; it depicted the Statue of Liberty boogieing, Lincoln jumping down from his chair at the memorial to do a jazz dance, and Martin Luther King’s statue break-dancing—all to celebrate Trump’s loss and Biden’s ascendency. 

    When Biden was inaugurated, many people hung on his words as if his speech was the Sermon on the Mount. No, wait, the Sermon probably had more critics.

    As I observed my small coterie of friends respond to Biden’s victory, one word kept coming to mind: Joy. 

    If my rejoicing friends noticed my reticence, they were too gracious to mention it. I didn’t jump onto the conga line, didn’t don a party hat and toss confetti.  No, I wasn’t being a sore loser. I didn’t vote for Trump. And I sincerely hope Biden is a better president.

     And no, my reticence wasn’t because too much hope was being placed in the new president—even though I think those celebrating his presidency are asking too much of him.

    I kept remembering one thing: Though he lost, Donald Trump received more votes in 2020 than he did in 2016. Surely, when the echoes of the fireworks fade and the confetti is swept away, some of those celebrating will notice how deeply divided our nation remains. 

    A friend who passed a few years ago used to say, “We’re headed toward a civil war.” I listened politely and inwardly thought he was overstating the case. Now, I’m not so sure.

    During the past couple years, I’ve been reading a lot about the late-antebellum period in American history 

    America was deeply divided. Each presidential election seemed more rancorous than the last. Armed citizens seized federal facilities, hoping to foment insurrection. Private groups covertly provided guns to those they hoped would join their cause. Elected official engaged in name-calling and occasional acts of violence against one another. Parts of the nation threatened to secede. The media spread rumors and falsehoods, increasing the hostility and suspicion. Evangelicals were divided over the most heated moral issue of the day: Abolition. (Incredibly, each side believed its position was the Biblical position.) 

    Then came Fort Sumter.

    Do I believe we are headed to another war on the scale of the American civil war? Not really. Do I believe we have seen the last attack on the government? No. 

    The Evangelical Left (yes, there is one) has spent four years shaming the Evangelical Right (doubtless, you’ve heard of them) for how they voted in 2016. The Evangelical Right has responded with “Nanny, Nanny, Boo, Boo, we beat you” and an occasional reasoned explanation why Trump was the only alternative to Clinton. In all of this, evangelicals at both ends of the political spectrum failed to mention one of the historic hallmarks of evangelicalism. Evangelicals have always been identified by their call for conversion. They believe people need to be born again, converted, fundamentally changed by the power of God.

    In the mid-nineteenth century, ardent abolitionist Charles Finney became concerned about how focused some of his fellow evangelicals had become on ending slavery. He wanted to see it end as well. He wrote and preached against the institution. Yet, he feared some evangelicals were dampening their ardor for evangelism, forgetting changed hearts lead to changed behavior, individually and socially.

    Nineteenth century evangelicals never completely forgot the importance of evangelism; nor, despite rumors to the contrary, did they completely forget the social aspects of the gospel.

    As I’ve followed today’s evangelicals debating about Trump, I’ve sometimes wondered if either the left or the right remembers the importance of changed hearts. Each side labors relentlessly for changed laws, changed policies, changed leadership. But maybe we need changed lives. Just a thought.

Mob of 1500 Attacks Evangelical Church (Revised)

     Chances are you missed this story, even though it took place in one of the nation’s largest cities, New York City.

    The Chatham Street Chapel was a well-known evangelical church in the city; well-known, in part, because its pastor was famous nationwide (or infamous, depending on your perspective). The church was known for its strong position on a moral issue. And that angered many people in the city.

    During a church-sponsored meeting to explore ways to better organize the fight for the church’s position, a mob of some 1500 protestors attacked the church. Fortunately, the church’s leaders escaped out the back door just as the mob was coming in the front door. The sanctuary was left a mess, but no one was injured. This was the first of two mob attacks on the church. On another occasion, protestors took over the church balcony during a meeting and threw hymnals down onto the congregation.

    When did this brazen assault on a house of worship take place? What stand did this band of evangelicals take that so inflamed their neighbors?

    The attacks took place during the spring and summer of 1833. And the mob was angered over the church’s support for the abolition of slavery. Fearing for their financial well-being, these Northern protestors were willing to allow millions to be enslaved.

    While Chatham Street Chapel’s pastor, Charles G. Finney, would wrestle with the question of how involved in causes like abolition a church should be, he never wavered in his opposition to slavery. Only his concern that a church might promote the cause of abolition to the detriment of its mission to save souls troubled him. Since Finney believed evidence for true conversion would include commitment to abolition, he made that cause second to the cause of evangelism. This stance and his discomfort with “amalgamation,” what we would call integration, troubled some of Finney’s wealthy supporters, like Arthur and Lewis Tappan. They believed commitment to anything less than abolition and integration was morally inadequate. Finney, like most men and women, was sometimes subject to the ethos of his society.

    But make no mistake, though he seemed personally uncomfortable with “amalgamation,” he believed slavery was clearly wrong. In his Lectures on Revivals, he called it “the sin of the church,” and castigated any church, north or south, which failed to denounce the institution. And, when he became part of the first faculty at Ohio’s Oberlin College, he endorsed the school’s intention to prepare ministers who were proponents both of revival and abolition. 

    While Finney and other evangelical leaders, like the school’s first President Asa Mahon, were at Oberlin, the school continued to be one of the most progressive in the nation. Finney, who became Oberlin’s president in 1851, continued to encourage equality for blacks and women students. (The number of black students was never large in these days, but that it existed at all is significant.) Only when Finney’s generation passed on and evangelicalism’s influence waned did Oberlin begin to practice segregation within its student body. 

    Opposition to slavery and support for emancipation are parts of American evangelicalism’s heritage that shouldn’t be forgotten.

Mixed Feelings About a Silenced Trump

    A man who attained national fame with just two words, “You’re fired,” knows the power of words. (Okay, to please the pedantic, two and a half words, and he was, I suppose, reattaining national fame.) Nonetheless, Donald Trump knows the power of words. I’ve never used Twitter because I believe I’d never have much to say. Trump who tweeted some 57,000 times while in the White House obviously believed he had a lot to say. Now his Twitter account has been permanently closed. And I have mixed feelings.

   His words have always been provocative; but, since losing the election, they have been dangerously provocative. That’s a good reason to stop his tweets.

   On the other hand, closing his account won’t shut him up. He will find other ways to incite his followers. Members of the MOD (Minions of Donald) Squad will happily relay his words to thousands. Can Twitter close the account of anyone who merely quotes the soon to be former president? Who decides which words are provocative and not simply flamboyant or hyperbolic? 

   Of course, it’s a tough call. When Henry II angrily tweeted, “Will no one rid me of this turbulent priest,” the king could have claimed he was just letting off steam, never dreamed a handful of his followers would read the tweet as instructions to assassinate Becket. Plausible deniability and all that. In any case, I suspect that will be Trump’s claim should any of his tweets be said to have provoked anarchy and rebellion.

   While I’m a proponent of free speech, I think it may be proper for Twitter to say, “You have the right to say whatever you want, but not here.”

   If, as some experts suggest, Trump suffers from Narcissistic Personality Disorder (actually, we’re the ones suffering from his condition), no amount of reasoning with him or appealing to his conscience will dissuade him from voicing his divisive, destructive opinions. But if his access to various social platforms is limited, so may his capacity to do harm be limited. 

   But this gives rise to another facet of my mixed feelings. Closing Trump’s account may eliminate one source of sparks, it will not put the lid on the powder keg. A silenced Trump may simply make way for others to strike steel against flint.

   Trump’s characterization of the coronavirus as a phony issue may have influenced many people to put their health at risk. Yet, I do not recall a single instance in the months just past when the president was accused of ripping a mask off anyone. Nor did he, so far as I can recall, snatch men and women off the streets and force them to congregate mask-less, and shoulder to shoulder. In short, as reckless as Trump’s tweets concerning the virus may have been, each man and woman who ignored the CDC guidelines made the decision to do so on their own. 

   I live in a blue county in a red state, adjacent to what is likely the bluest county in Texas. Yet it is commonplace to see pro-Trump flags flying from pick-up trucks. Just last Sunday, protestors stood on the city square with sign declaring, “My Face, My Choice.” Like many of those who stormed Congress, these protestors were to be in their 30s and 40s, likely the beneficiaries of a tax-supported school system in a state where independent thinking is touted as a virtue. Yet, they have listened to the unscientific rantings of a narcissist only concerned with his poll numbers. Why? I’m not sure.

   Toward the middle of the last century (the 20th, if you’re keeping count) some began to embrace what is called “young earth creationism,” that is, they believe the earth is no more than about 10,000 years old. Most American evangelicals reject this notion. Believing the earth is only a few thousand years old may be bad science, not to mention deriving more from the Bible than can be legitimately derived, but it is a basically harmless belief. You can confidently tell your teenaged neighbor, “Sure, when your dad or grandfather declares his young-earth convictions while you and your friends are cramming for the biology exam, it’s embarrassing but you’ll get over it.” But if you ignore the corona-related science, your life could be forfeit. Maybe people don’t believe the warnings about COVID because they want to shake a fist at science, to say we know better.

   In an apparent effort to demonstrate his science acumen, Trump offered a rambling scenario to one of his science advisors—at a press briefing last April. The president wondered if the virus could be killed if shining ultraviolet light deep inside the body or if drinking or injecting a disinfectant like bleach or Lysol could kill the virus. Dr. Deborah Birx, White House coronavirus response coordinator, was sitting next to the president and quickly tried to defuse his musings, but it was too late. Across the nation people began trying the bleach cure. In North Texas alone, more than four-dozen people drank bleach to try to kill the virus. As late as August, people were still drinking bleach in an effort to counteract the virus. Fortunately, few were seriously injured by their self-medicating. 

   Again, the president did not recommend drinking disinfectant of any kind. But his words are so powerful, at least some of his followers drank or injected the fluid. No, it wasn’t cyanide-laced Kool-Aid, but the mindless response suggests a severe failure to think for themselves, to ask simple questions like, “What would my doctor say about this,” or “Does the Internet recommend this cure,” or “What does Mom think about it;” or even, “If this works, why don’t I inhale bleach when I have a sinus infection?”  

   Okay, maybe Trump was talking to hear his own voice—a sound he likes. Maybe he hated the scientists getting all the attention. Maybe he says whatever pops into his head, never bothering to filter it because knows he’s so smart. Who knows? Ultimately, the bleach-cure episode is emblematic of the entire Trump syndrome. It’s a syndrome explained in these words: Otherwise sane people (I assume they’re sane since most of them hold jobs and know how to tweet—something I can’t do) surrender critical thinking skills when Trump speaks or tweets.

   No, not everyone who voted for Trump is so afflicted; and we’re beginning to hear from those who experienced spontaneous remission last Wednesday. Moreover, at the risk of stating the obvious, something similar to this syndrome can be found on both ends of the political spectrum. Fortunately, the solution is the same.

   So, if any of you know how to get people to think for themselves, notify the proper authorities immediately.

Breaking the Rules

    Last night, at nearly midnight, Pat and I stood on our deck looking eastward. From this vantage point we can see for miles, almost to the edge of Austin some fifteen miles away. Across the darkened horizon we could see ten or more fireworks displays, some so close we could hear the rockets explode, some so distant only a colorful burst of light gave evidence of people celebrating the end of one year and the beginning of another. Quite likely, if we had stood on our roof, we would have had a 360-degree view of how people were welcoming 2021. It was exciting to watch what in many cases were declarations of hope, and in just as many cases acts of disobedience. Most, if not all, of those fireworks displays were in violation of local laws. 

    All in all, I’m a law-and-order kind of guy. Out in the Panhandle, when I was driving on one of those FM (Farm to Market) roads and came upon a four-way stop, I stopped, even if I could see no other cars in sight. Yet, I agree with Pat’s assessment of last night’s illegal activities. “This is good. People need this.” The past year, 2020, with its acrimonious election, seemingly endless investigations of the president, civil unrest, and pandemic-related crises, is a candidate for the worst year ever. (Historians and some older folks suggest a couple years from the 1930s are also contenders.) The hope that 2021 will be better is grasped tenaciously. 

   So, while no one will ever suggest I’ve entered my “outlaw years,” I’ll suggest we all resolve to break a few rules this year. Here are a few we should break:

   --Let’s all break the rule requiring us to see supporters of one Party as amoral, supporters of the other Party as idiots (the pejoratives are inter-changeable). Instead, let’s try to understand and respect one another. The infamous election of 2016 demonstrated that each political party is quite capable of demonizing the opposing party’s candidates and supporters. Historically, that might be an American way, but let’s not make it the American way. 

   --Let’s all break the rule saying you can judge a person by their skin-color and accent. I read an essay by a woman who opined that black children are confused when the symbol of Christmas, Santa Claus, is portrayed as a white man, an old white man, by the way. (Really, Santa is the symbol of Christmas? But I digress.) Instead, we should replace Santa with a penguin. Really, a bird that kidnaps other penguin’s chicks and abandons them to die, bird so ill-tempered that you risk injury if you get too close, should replace that “jolly old elf?” How about saying, “When you get older, you’ll understand that the Santa you see at the mall is an advertising ploy, so sometimes he will be white, sometimes black, sometimes Asian.”  Not a good approach to a five-year-old? Maybe, it would be a great opportunity to just say, “That Santa is a reminder there are good white men.” 

   Seriously, I know systemic racism feeds an expectation of whiteness when we imagine our heroes, but while blacks, Latinos, and Asians face the brunt of racism, whites do not have a monopoly on prejudice. Let’s all refuse to stereotype and make assumptions about others. 

   --Let’s all break any rule that insists the past inevitably limits our present and future. No one can deny our childhood experiences, the mistakes we made as young adults, or our failures can impact us. But need they rule us? Psychologists and counselors are asking if the long months of isolation during 2020 will permanently mar our capacity to interact and to enjoy life. Doubtless, we won’t quickly forget the past year, but need its pain always be with us like the ache of an unrepaired tooth?   I don’t think so. 

   Remember, Naomi, Ruth’s mother-in-law? She, her husband, and their two sons had moved to Moab to escape a famine. Both boys married, then Naomi’s husband and her sons all died. Returning to Israel, she told her friends, “Do not call me Naomi. Call me Mara, because the Almighty has made me very bitter.” She was so convinced her past would control her future she changed her name to reflect her profound sadness. But she would learn that trusting God could give a new hope. Naomi would become the great-grandmother of Israel’s most famous king.

   We don’t have to let the dark days of the past year, darken our new days. We can embrace hope. We don’t have to let the hurts of the past dominate our present. We can practice forgiveness. A Chinese Christian whose father had been persecuted under the Maoist regime refused to remain bitter, saying “we Christians forgive the sinner and move on to the future.” 

   Maybe you can think of some other "rules" you need to break.