Recently, I was talking to a longtime friend who came to visit. He is one of the few Christian friends who can live in the tension with us, never settling for easy answers, and always asking better questions.
During one of our conversations, I shared how I missed voices like Rachel Held Evans, with her fearless wit and wisdom. We talked about other wise, creative voices who shine their own particular light. Since I put this friend in that category, I asked what he thought was going to happen in the coming months, and he replied, “It’s going to get worse.” I appreciated his honesty even as my heart sank. It was spot on with what I intuited but struggled to name.
Afterwards, I had a realization. I have been looking to others to alleviate my fears, to assure me that things will be okay. Maybe, I thought, if I read more, understand more, listen more closely, maybe I will be okay. I catch myself doom scrolling and looking for something that will help everything make sense, that will give me hope, at least in the short term. Maybe if someone else can name all that is wrong and make it make sense, then, maybe, I will be safe.
But something broke in me when Renee Good was murdered, when her voice was silenced. I realized that no one is coming to save us.
It is strange how my grief, rage, and fear shifted to an almost quiet calm, as though I finally admitted no one can fix this. I know it sounds hopeless and dark, but I needed to get there. The avoidance of those feelings, the repressing of what my gut knew, was eating away at me, keeping me awake at night. Naming this and giving it space is a start, a release from the hyper-vigilance of ruminating, trying to solve something in my head that simply needs to be named and felt.
I appreciated how one woman explained her experience:
My husband said to me, very gently, on Wednesday night
as I cried in bed,
“she isn’t you, you know.”
But isn’t she?
She isn’t me. But isn’t she? It feels personal because it is personal. I see myself in Renee Good, wife, mother, poet, friend. I have marched, laughed, and shared stories with women like Renee. And while I may have known on the surface all along, I now know deep in my bones, we are not safe and no one is coming to save us. It did not matter that Renee and her wife were peacefully resisting with whistles and words. She was shot anyway. I replay her last words in my head:
That’s fine, dude. I’m not mad at you.
I can imagine her fear, and recognize her effort to speak calmly to de-escalate the situation. Women are used to abandoning themselves, hiding fear or anger while placating a threat. We learn this young. We learn to comply, to be good, to be nice, to be kind. It is a survival skill, particularly for White women. Women of color are not afforded this luxury. But White women have believed this behavior keeps the patriarchal order of things stable and keeps us safe. Except in this instance, it didn’t. It never has, really.
She calls him “dude,” not cowering to his power or authority. Instead of apologizing, she is almost appeasing him with her words. He demands she get out of the car, and sensing his anger escalating, she tries to escape the situation. When she turns her wheel and tries to get away, he shoots her point blank in the face. As her foot presses the gas pedal, her body still reacting, he shoots her two more times from the side. Then he yells out as her car rolls ahead:
F*cking B*tch!
Even as I write, my nervous system reacts, my body tenses, heat rises in my chest.
Can we pause to feel the weight of this? How one man’s anger led him to use lethal violence against an unarmed woman who smiled at him.
Men are afraid that women will laugh at them.
Women are afraid that men will kill them. – Margaret Atwood
The shooting of Renee Good is not just about one man. It is about a culture that insulates, elevates, and protects this man. . . and then hands him a gun. It is about a president, a vice president, and their cabinet who lie brazenly about events all of us have seen with our own eyes. It is about too many Christians, particularly White Evangelicals, who not only ignore the lies, but spread them.
“Few are guilty but all are responsible,” wrote Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel. The shooting of Renee Good is about blaming the victim and maligning her character, then covering up her murder. It is about a choice to escalate tensions by sending more ICE agents, creating more fear and terror. It is about an administration that has declared war on its own citizens.
What does this moment call for? Timothy Snyder, author of On Tyranny, said recently the issue is “whether enough of us do enough” — referring to defending truth amidst the lies that keep people fearful and divided.
Now is not a time for silence. Now is not the time to wait and hope they don’t come to my neighborhood. Now is not the time to look for someone else to step up. It is going to take all of us.
It is time to act. It is time to speak, to write, to call, to walk. It is time to create, to paint, to sing, to inspire. It is time to gather, to invite. It is time to pray with our feet, not just our lips, as Heschel urged. It is time.
43 Responses
Thanks for saying out loud the sobering truth I have been fighting to admit.
Thank you, Alicia – with you in it.
Yes. This. Thank you for writing this! And may God give us the strength and courage to do what’s right.
Thank you, Kathy and Amen!
Thank you.
“she isn’t you, you know.”
But isn’t she?
“…Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.” -John Donne
What a beautiful connection, Joyce. Thank you.
Thank you for praying not just with your feet, but with your writing and scorching honesty. I, we, need it.
So appreciate the encouragement, Dana.
Thank you
Bless you, Kerin! I hear you, and empathize with the pain that you are feeling. It sounds to me that, like me, you are blessed with spiritual gifts that can have the downside of identifying deeply with others. When I am discouraged over the state of things, I try to remember that God created me to be a conduit of others’ pain (not a container), so that I can give it all to Him and ask for His grace to flow back into the situation. I wrote this poem one winter when I was feeling particularly overwhelmed:
God at Work
Jesus said to them, “My Father is always at his work to this very day, and I too am working.” John 5:17
God is at work, even if I can’t see it
God is at work even when I am blind
My heart can depend on His promise and fiat
For He’s shown Himself faithful, trustworthy and kind
God is at work and His presence surrounds me
God is at work in the sun and the rain
Spring comes at last and its beauty astounds me
For my soul has been wintered and wearied with pain
God is at work and His grace is unfailing
He always gives me the strength that I need
He is still God, despite troubles assailing
And He has a plan, and a purpose for me
May you know His grace today! Maureen
Thank you Maureen for the heartfelt thoughts and prayer. “A conduit for other’s pain and not a container” – gorgeous and such an important reminder. May it be so.
Thank you for these powerful words. The MLK speaker I heard on Monday reminded us that when King said it was midnight in America (which sound hopeless and dark) that was a call to action, not a observation of despair.
Thank you for this reminder, Carol. I was just thinking it may also be time to reread Learning to Walk in the Dark by Barbara Brown Taylor.
Thank you for this reflection, Carol.
Well said Kerin. Thank you
Thanks, Kris!
It is time. It is time. It is time.
Always appreciate the kindred connection we share from afar, Jennifer. With you in it.
Powerful. Thank you.
Thank you, Donna.
Thank you, Kerin.
Thank you, Kathy. Paul and I are grateful for the connection with Third and Holland that has lasted the years. So many fun memories!
I feel the way I do when confronted with truth – in awe of the writing – in kinship with the author’s pain. I cried too for her, for her child, her wife, and yes, for us. I wrestle with anger that anyone can blame her for her death, and wonder how one gets so void of their own himanity.
Absolutely in kinship with you, Aunt Jeanne. Grateful for your voice and heart!!
Kerin, thank you for giving words to what so many of us are feeling.
Thank you for your kind words, Lauren. Grateful my words have some resonance.
I am horrified by the evil that is not only tolerated but encouraged and empowered by the current regime. Thank you for calling it out.
Me too, Henry. Thank you.
You’re absolutely right, Kerin. Now is the time.
Thank you, John. May it be so.
Thank you for this!
Thank You. “Here I stand” has always been more than a nostalgic historical reference.
Appreciate the thoughtful reminder, Al.
I needed this today. I think that Renee and I would have been friends (our likenesses and passions intersect). I have wept quietly and I have raged loudly. She did not need to die. I’m thankful for the ongoing help of B Springsteen and S Colbert in the lives of her children. The kingdom seeps in.
Thank you for sharing your raw emotions, June. “The kingdom seeps in” — what a beautiful image of hope.
I think your friend is right, it’s going to get worse. How much worse is the only question. I honor your honesty.
Thank you, Gary.
In 1970, William Sloane Coffin gave the Baccalaureate Address to Wellesley College graduates, and I heard:
“So, ladies of the graduating class, it seems to me that we’ve got to do even more than you have done already – and I single you out not as a matter of flattery but as a matter of fact – you are the alive segment of the American population today. That’s not saying much, but it’s saying something. Therefore, I think it’s important that you think about these things. You must learn to care, care deeply, but care freely, which means without defiance and without grievances, loving the good even more than you hate evil.” We are still ready and willing…..
Thank you for this reflection, Carolyn. “Loving the good even more than you hate the evil”… Yes!
Thank you Kerin! You have definitely touched a nerve in so many of us. We are heartbroken in watching the gospel either ignored or rewritten, the unchurched showing more Christlikeness than the church.
Amen!
Thank you so much Carol — I knew I was not the only one thinking that Renee Good is me (a much younger form). In many ways, she seemed quite literally me… sitting in her red suv after delivering her kid to school,. She had her dog in the back of her car (as I do every morning). A photo of her released from her family in a news feed shows her wearing a dress I owned. Like me, she was chatty and probably nervous but that wasn’t gonna stop her … and then they killed her.
But we keep going — we do what God has called us to do. working for justice is heavy — it has very little reward in this life and it brings tension. But it’s what God has given us. So we work at food banks, we deliver meals to people who need them, we run errands and serve on boards and march and do things. We won’t stand by. we won’t stop reposting. we recycle our grief into good work. No one is coming for us. But Jesus already did.
Living in the greater Twin Cities area, I can tell you that whatever you see on the news, it’s 1000 times worse. Many schools are ghost towns, as families are afraid to allow their children to attend. Small businesses are decimated as POC owners are afraid to open. Many detained by ICE are turned out after a few hours into the woods near the federal building with no phone, transportation, or proper clothing (the windchill here at 6 a.m.was -42F). The ACLU has documented men and boys in custody having their testicles stomped and crushed by ICE agents as a form of torture. Agents are in hospitals battling against doctors and nurses to access patients. People are going hungry, without medication, and without medical care. And the list goes on…. What I see are, not all, but mostly women at the forefront of both protesting and providing mutual aid. Where are the men? Especially the privileged white men of the church? If ever there was a moment, this is it.