This is my first blog post, which is fitting since we are in a new era in the United states. Truthfully, we shouldn't call it a new era. The thoughts and rhetoric now being voiced from the most powerful offices in the country are not new. They have been kept repressed, hidden, whispered only behind anonymous--- sometimes not anonymous--- social media comments.
While I have not kept quiet on my social media pages, I have neglected posting here. There were some lingering fears that it would cost me my website, but it's just a website. If I am free to post on social media, I should be free to post here. I doubt that I will garner much traction here, but it is better to keep an off the path record of what is occurring in my own words. As a literature professor, I'm well aware of the ways the government continues to censor history, and if I cannot record it from my perspective, then what use do I serve?
Now, to be clear, I am not a Christian. I left the faith years ago when the church made it apparent that I and my son were not welcome. Having a child out of wedlock will do that to a congregation. The treatment I received left me with bitter contempt for the church, though I tried many times to return to the faith. How could I feel the presence of mercy and love in places that preached damnation and hatred? Though I believe all gods exist and all cultural faiths and beliefs are valid, I had begun to doubt the existence of Jesus. That was, until January 21, 2025.
On January 21, 2025 President Trump made his rounds attending numerous prayer services, as is tradition, to ask for grace on his term. I can't begin to speculate what went through his mind, as he settled into his seat at the National Cathedral, but I'm certain that he wasn't prepared to hear the words of Jesus spoken from the mouth of a woman. I know I wasn't.
The right reverend Bishop Mariann Budde addressed the congregation before her. Hundreds of powerful men and women from both past terms and present sat eager to hear what blessings would be bestowed upon the incoming president. The entire transcript is listed here, with the San Francisco Bay Times. Her words were soft and gentle, like a friend comforting hurt. Her gestures were just as tender, as she gestured over the congregation and herself. She called for unity, peace, and God's mercy and blessing upon our nation and the president. Before Bishop Budde finished, she offered one final request of the president.
"Let me make one final plea, Mr. President. Millions have put their trust in you and, as you told the nation yesterday, you have felt the providential hand of a loving God. In the name of our God, I ask you to have mercy upon the people in our country who are scared now. There are gay, lesbian, and transgender children in Democratic, Republican, and Independent families, some who fear for their lives.
And the people, the people who pick our crops and clean our office buildings, who labor in poultry farms and meat packing plants, who wash the dishes after we eat in restaurants and work the night shifts in hospitals. They may not be citizens or have the proper documentation, but the vast majority of immigrants are not criminals. They pay taxes and are good neighbors. They are faithful members of our churches and mosques, synagogues, and temples. I ask you to have mercy, Mr. President, on those in our communities whose children fear that their parents will be taken away and that you help those who are fleeing war zones and persecution in their own lands, to find compassion and welcome here. Our God teaches us that we are to be merciful to the stranger for we were all once strangers in this land. May God grant us the strength and courage to honor the dignity of every human being, to speak the truth to one another in love. and walk humbly with each other and our God for the good of all people. The good of all people in this nation and the world."
The president and his cohorts responded with hatred and vitriol, calling her divisive and aggressive. Yet, as an ex-Christian, I didn't understand what about her message was aggressive or divisive. For the first time in my life, I truly felt the power of Jesus. He, who the Bible claims, stood before Pharisees and told the one without sin to cast the first stone. He who healed on the sabbath. He who touched the unclean. He who walked and supped with those deemed unfit by society. He who calmed the storm with his words and hand.
While I have no intention of ever reconverting, I did send an email to Bishop Budde. I wanted her to know that she had show an ex-Christian the love and courage of Christ. Below is the poem I sent with my email. It hasn't been edited or revised. The typos and errors are left intentionally to show the soul deep emotion her speech, and her subsequent refusal to apologize for asking for mercy, caused within me.
The Pulpit's Power
Worthless, said the pulpit.
Eyes full of fire, absent warmth
Repent, said the pews.
Knees bent, hands folded
Pray harder, sang the choir loft.
Thoughts shadowed, heart earnest
Dress purer, ordered the pulpit.
Skirt at ankles, collar to throat.
Hate the sin, love the sinner, insisted the pews.
Door shut, closet dark
Love your country, bellowed the choir loft.
Oath sworn, uniform sharp
Exchange your rings, smirked the pulpit.
Lips meet, rum breath
Forgive betrayal, growled the pews.
Choice offered, other chosen
Beg forgiveness, sneered the choir loft.
Cheeks flood, dark apartment
Welcome home, said the pulpit.
American flag, fake applause
Sit in the back, scoffed the pews.
Hymns offered, loneliness cloaks
Lower your voice, harmonized the choir loft.
Melodies whispered, shadows return
Adulterer, screams the pulpit.
Two pink lines, empty finger
We’ll pray for you, murmured the pews.
Hands hidden, comfort absent
Spotted virtue, hummed the choir loft.
Shadows suffocate, abyss swallows
Mistakes were made, admits the pulpit.
Hope blooms, eyes lift
Unmarried, gasps the pews.
Pulpit’s grandson, blushing violinist
Wedding planned, clapped the choir loft.
Alone again, shrink to shadows
You were absent, chides the pulpit.
Work demands, homework calls
Forsake not the Sabbath, scolds the pews.
Silent nodding, shadows choke
Hide your belly, chimes the choir loft.
Cardigan wraps, dresses sag.
Not here, grunts the pulpit.
Shower invite, trash full
We’ll still come, assured the pews.
Rsvp given, decorations hung
We forgot, lies the choir loft.
Empty seats, food untouched
The shower is Sunday, beamed the pulpit.
Hands under thighs, refuse applause
The wedding was lovely, compliments the pews.
Resentment burns, tears bitter
Welcome back, claps the choir loft.
Violin sings, standards double
You were absent, tsks the pulpit.
Cesarean scar, exhausted eyes.
Don't do that here, yelp the pews.
Aisle hobbled, nursery locked
Try the bathroom, suggest the choir loft.
Buckled carseat, farewell unspoken
Seven years, gasps the stage.
Shy nod, music starts.
Can you make coffee? asks the fog machine.
Hopeful heart, shaking hands.
You’re our family, beams the choir loft.
Shadows flicker, smile cracks
Don’t be ashamed, laughs the stage.
Closet open, heart unfolds.
Serve others, cheers the fog machine.
Sunday barista, cookies warm.
Let’s hang out, chants the choir loft.
Texts sent, no response
God can fix you, grins the stage.
Rainbow pin, duplicity shines
It's not a sin, just don't give in, chants the fog machine.
Closet knob, metal cold
Your shift’s at eleven, demands the choir loft.
Phone muted, pajamas warm.
Your heart is broken, sighs the queen.
Peacock blue, golden throne
I am worthless, sighs the lips
Incense swirls, goblet full
Lies to weaken, scoffs the king
Apple offered, palms upraised
You are beautiful, anoints the queen.
Offering smolders, cards spread
I feel so foolish, confesses the lips.
Head hangs, doubt renews
Trust your heart, commands the king
Altar built, confidence grows.
Use your voice, encourages the queen.
Mother crowned, goddess blessed
I still weep, admits the lips.
Cheeks drenched, chin falters
Don't lower your gaze, reminds the king.
Eyes ahead, head high
Your power has grown, praises the queen.
Four years, devotion unfailing.
She still cowers, coo the lips.
Forgotten soul, corner dark
Find her balm, suggests the king.
Lightning flash, lullaby rain.
You weep, beloved, mourns the queen.
Energy gentle, lioness purrs
Her, not me, sob the lips.
Inner child, light shines
Who pains her, demands the king.
Shaking head, joyful tears
A sermon of mercy, whispers the queen.
Embrace radiant, understanding abounds
From a pulpit, laughs the lips.
Scars lighten, shadows flee
Her courage is gentle, admires the king.
Affection flashes, storm recedes.
She speaks his word, says the queen.
Divine nods, Pantheons respect
They fear her truth, rage the lips.
Defenses raised, protective heart.
Hope defies corruption, grumbles the king.
History witnessed, history repeats.
We stand beside her, confirms the queen.
Sceptre glows, Olympic gaze
We fight for hope, trumpets the lips.
Heart blazes, libations made
Tyranny trembles, thunders the king.
Devotee answered, protection extends.
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