How to Be a Person in Afflicted Times

A manifesto on remembering who we are and what we love

Due to (gestures wildly) all this, this week’s paid essay, which normally sits behind a pay wall, is free to everyone.

I’m in Nashville this week, recording the audio for I’ve Got Questions, which has been a lovely process, even though I have to be in Nashville (IYKYK). But the way it works is you record for four hours, and then rest your voice until the next day. I will say it was enormously cathartic to speak the words of my lament chapters out loud. Past Erin preached to Current Erin about the hard and holy work of loving broken people. I was reminded I’m not powerless, that the things I’ve always cared about and found purpose in are still needing to be cared for.

But when you’re not recording, there’s a lot of downtime to think. And it’s taken me a long time to figure out how I feel about the election.

Right now, a very loud part of me does not want to locate my humanity. It does not want to hear about the economy or border safety. I will probably shoot myself into the sun if I hear another person say “it’s about policies, not the person.” I know this is uncharitable, I know this isn’t who I am supposed to be. I can feel myself drifting from cynicism to apathy to unholy rage (there is a holy kind, and I assure that’s not what I’m feeling right now).

But I know hate only begets more hate, so I am actively working to not become the thing I rage against. It’s up to me not to lose heart, to decide who I will be and what I will stand for, no matter who is in the White House.

So I compiled a list. A sort of manifesto I can return to when I forget my core values in a frenzy of grief and the opacity of anger. I need to remember what I love, to affirm my morals, so I don’t lose sight of what’s important.

Photo by Luke Stackpoole on Unsplash

My unsoothed heart is still my most powerful weapon.

I keep my heart easily broken because the world is ruthless. This is not a weakness, or rather it’s the kind of weakness Jesus uses to shame the worldly strength of fake power. And I won’t be ashamed of that. No one can make me feel embarrassed or weak for being soft.

I am in charge of my own joy. I make my own peace.

I joyfully resist white Christian Nationalism, racism, misogyny, and misinformation, no matter who’s in charge. My tools are not forged in the halls of 1600 Pennsylvania Ave, so my work has not changed. Not one politician has ever been the one to tell me what’s important in my life, and that will not change.

There is work to be done.

I will work in my own spheres of influence, in my home, in my heart to see Imago Dei in everyone. I will remember who benefits from my fear. I am not a threat if I’m silent. And I plan on being an active threat to anyone who dehumanizes. I will wield any privilege I have to help any way I can.

I am not alone.

I do not grieve alone, and I do not fight alone. I will look to those who came before me, those committed to resisting evil in any form, and I will learn from their work. I will look to those alongside me for encouragement, and I will also encourage others.

I will choose where to spend my anger capital.

No one else gets to tell me that I’m overreacting or not seeing what’s plain in front of my face. I am mad. I am furious actually. I don’t have to get over anything, I won’t get over it. I will not get over that the rights of many will be revoked. I get to be mad about that, and I get to work like hell to ensure that doesn’t happen.

I will remember I cannot predict the future, but I must occupy the present.

I will not get tied up in knots over things I cannot control, or events that might happen. I simply must work in the present, in order to form a better future. I will pay attention to those with expertise or understanding, I will listen to the words of those I am in relationship with, but I will not allow anyone on the internet or in my real life to convince me they know what’s going to happen.

I will acknowledge when things are bad, but I will not let that control my narrative.

I don’t have the option of giving up when events don’t go my way. I will stay committed to my work, even when everything seems aggressively against it. I will not ignore the gravity of a situation, and I will pay attention to those it affects, but I will not allow it to conquer me.

Shame never changed anyone.

As much as I wish it would, it never does.

I reject the authority of any earthly power that tells me someone is not beloved.

I will not bend to powers or principalities who try to convince that someone is less than, that one human deserves freedom or peace more than another, that we aren’t all bound up with each other. Countries are not God’s favorite, tribalism is dangerous, and I won’t listen to anyone who says they are the way. They hold no authority over me.

Boundaries are not punishment, they are protection.

If I’m going to be committed to this work, I have to honor my own limits, as much as that sucks. The point of a boundary is not to keep someone out, but to show them where they can go.

My perspective is not the only one.

I do well when I listen to others who do not see the world as I see it. I honor their belovedness when I attempt to see things from a different vantage point. Acknowledging this does not diminish my power, it makes me more powerful in the things that matter to me.

All times are afflicted. Human history leaves bodies in its wake. I don’t know if that’s something you discover as you become an adult, or if it’s a special lesson to learn when really bad things happen, but peace is not manufactured in federal buildings or corporate boardrooms. We make it by the skin of our teeth and work of our hands.

I do not know how to be a person in this reality, and I don’t know how not to go on. But this is what we do. This is what we’ve always done. For centuries, humans have looked at less than ideal leadership choices or grief or and persevered. We carry on because the other options (cynicism, hard hearts, apathy) are shit. We are courageous, brave, and soft because to live any other way is to be completely out of touch with our belovedness.

Someone DMed me to ask: what do you do when you lose faith in humanity? I think the answer is, you find new avenues of hope. Whatever else other people are doing, that’s between them and God, but I will relentlessly search for a way to be deeply myself, and that work includes ensuring others are seen in their belovedness.

I say all of this for myself, knowing that everyone experiences things differently. All these things would still be true about me, no matter who won on Tuesday. None of this means I’m not disappointed or confused or pissed. I assure you, I am all those things. I honor your process, but I know for me, if I don’t look deep within and ask myself if I’m ready to be fully who I am when it’s hard, I will slide into apathy.

So here’s what I affirm: our shared humanity, seeing the Imago Dei in everyone, healthy boundaries, joyful resistance, and a commitment to do whatever work God puts in front of me, guided by love.

If you affirm this as well, let us not grow weary of doing the hard work it takes it to bring the real kingdom of heaven to earth for everyone.

If you’ve got some core values you’re reminding yourself of, I’d love for you to share them in the comments.

Love you, mean it.