Surviving Another Trump Win with God’s People

The last time I blogged, I was dealing with pre-election anxiety, and I had decided Harris would be our next president so I could quit stressing over it. And we all know how that turned out. 

Still carrying PTSD from 2016, I recalled how I cried for weeks when Trump was elected. It was inconceivable to me, and I was angry—Angry with anyone who would choose a joke like Trump to be our President. Angry with the rampant misogyny, racism and general lack of human decency on display throughout his campaign. Angry with the Democrats for nominating a candidate who was so clearly despised by so many Americans. Angry with the people who voted third party. Angry with strangers I encountered on the street; I suspected they all had voted for Trump.

At that time, I knew that a portion of the people in my congregation in Maryland also had voted for him, and I will confess now, although I never would have confessed it back then, I was angry at them. I didn’t know exactly who they were. I didn’t really want to know because I still had to love them and be their pastor. There was an unnamed tension in the air. Of course, being who I am (incapable of leaving things unsaid), I felt compelled to name it. We had some healing conversations which seemed to help for a while, but the constant political implications of my sermons were inevitable, even when not stated overtly, because I was preaching the gospel and, well, that’s what happens. (In fairness to Jesus, he is equally offensive to Democrats and Republicans alike.)

After retiring to New York, for over two years I have been serving a small, nearby congregation in transition. Membership includes people on both sides of the political divide, but it leans heavily toward Trump. As the election approached, everything within me wanted to be anywhere else. Maybe with a congregation that was more my tribe. Or maybe somewhere in the Caribbean combing the beach for unknown treasures. I dreaded the election and the Sunday after. Especially when, before I even began serving them, leaders of the congregation had reservations about allowing me to preach from their pulpit after they googled me and saw my “liberal” background. Was it going to be déjà vu all over again?

To be honest, I was a bit miffed with God for putting me in this situation once again. I was retired, dammit. I didn’t need this shit.

I braced myself for the worst. And it didn’t happen. In fact, the Sunday after the election, no one mentioned it. At least not to my face, which I considered a great kindness. I was expecting some jubilant greetings or sideways digs, but they never came. A month passed and not a word.

Last Sunday, I was talking about dualism in my sermon. I pointed out how we choose sides, and our side is always good while the other side is always bad. It’s us against them. And I suddenly went off script as only a manuscript preacher can when she has a flash of insight that had never occurred to her until that exact moment standing in front of her congregation. I suddenly found myself speaking about the presidential election that happened a month ago. I was honest with them about how I knew many of them voted in a way that I hadn’t. And I told them that I was expecting to have a problem with that as the election approached, especially if Trump won. But then, it was never a problem for me. Yes, I still had a problem with the way the election went. But I didn’t have a problem with them. I knew they were good people. It didn’t feel like us against them. Because I loved them. I had been surprised that I hadn’t reacted the way I expected I would and, at that moment, I figured out why. I had to tell them.

I hope they heard what I was trying to say. Christian love is the cure for us against them. How can you demonize people who sing hymns with you and share the Body and Blood of Christ with you? Of course, I've always known that’s true. But I lived it in the past month. 

I’m grateful to God for sending me to a congregation that isn’t my tribe so I could experience the grace that surpasses an us-against-them world. I would never have chosen this for myself and would have missed out on unexpected joy.