Woke this morning to watch Trump’s farewell—the usual emptiness and soul-deadening banality that pretends to have some reality because surrounded by saluting soldiers and waving flags; in other words, our daily diet for the past 4 years. And then followed the Inauguration. . .
Conversation
an abrupt shift to a different America, a different reality. I had expected tears, but not to be convulsed by uncontrollable sobs. Not until today did I realize how much I had been holding inside—keeping my feelings in check through anger or satire (#TolstoysTalesofTrump).
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After years when biblical faith was cynically exploited for the sake of power, to foment division, in service of nationalism and white supremacy, to hear instead prophetic faith invoked in the spirit of healing, justice, hope, and compassion, was like rain after a long drought.
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There is much work to be done--reckoning, repair, and renewal--but as I listened to the songs, speeches, and the extraordinary poem of Amanda Gorman, on--I felt the beginning of healing in my own heart, and hope for the country and the work that lies ahead.
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Perhaps some are so coarsened and calloused by the past 4 yrs that they can’t respond to the opportunity of this moment or tell the difference between fake and real patriotism. But perhaps for others it was a reminder....
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... one that will inspire renewed belief, as Pope Francis says, that “another way of writing history is possible.” May it be so.
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