Skip to main content

What Have You Done To Us America?

If the phrase "Leader of the Free World" means anything at all, which, actually, it does,  Donald Trump is my president too even if I didn't get to vote for him. So I woke this morning, sick to my stomach. In a nation of 318.9 million people; in a country which has produced Lincoln and Susan B Anthony, Emily Dickinson and Robert Frost, Bob Dylan and Billie Holliday, Martin Luther King and the Obama family, this ignorant, unread, shallow, dangerous buffoon is all they can come up with? Really? The only one of my several degree certificates which actually hangs on a wall is from an American seminary. I love the United States, well, bits of it at least, almost as much as I love my own country. But right now, though I now greatly fear it,  I cannot respect it.

This nightmare is a sobering reality check. Last night my brother Guhyavajra wrote on his Facebook page,

"The myth of politics is that it can ultimately sort out the human predicament and it can't. Trump is simply the latest Emperor in a corrupt empire and no President, even Obama, is above the workings and machinations of a nations political process and bureaucracy. Another myth is that the liberal politically correct left is synonymous with spirituality and enlightenment itself... [it is a ] a fact that the social democratic liberalism of the first world has an ecologically unsustainable belly of consumption based in other peoples poverty..."

Here is the proof, if ever we needed it, of our spiritual bankrupty. Guhyavajra is right. We, all of us in the West, have lost our way.  We watch and read dross. The brightest of us confuse our intellectual fashions with enlightenment. We hold to the obscene parodies of the Gospel promoted by Creflo Dollar or Pat Robertson. We rejoice in the cheapness of our clothing or our iPhones and try not to think too hard of the lives of those who made them for us. We get, as always, the leadership we deserve. 

Last night as the news unfolded my three children Skyped and we held a glum, shocked, disbelieving conversation from Dunedin and Christchurch and Sydney and London. Then Clemency and I went and lay on our bed and, so that we might think of something else, I read her a chapter from Middlemarch. From 140 years ago, an intelligent and well informed woman spoke, with eloquence and wit, deep into the human condition. It was a draught of clear cool water. The world still turns. This too will pass. 

Some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we trust in the name of the LORD our God. (Psalm 20:7) For now, all that is left to me is prayer. 

God bless America. God bless us all.

Comments

Elaine Dent said…
Your words are kind given what we have done. Many of us are devastated. It will take a few days to step back, grieve for our nation and gather up our hope again. Suddenly the practice of being a faithful disciple as I understand it seems daunting and risky---even in my own congregation. We will need courage to raise our truth-telling voices to people who now feel permission to say the meanest of things. We will need perseverance to be salt and light and leaven...and simple educators about stuff like the reality of climate change precipitated by our consuming actions which may now run rampant. But it's hard to be a prophet and a priest at the same time. Pray for us. We actually need the encouragement and voices of you our friends beyond our borders more than ever.
Unknown said…
11 days on Bishop Kelvin I'm still waiting for someone to say "Wake up ... wake up ... it was only another one of those surreal dreams you have sometimes Leo"

Popular posts from this blog

Ko Tangata Tiriti Ahau

    The Christmas before last our kids gave us Ancestry.com kits. You know the deal: you spit into a test tube, send it over to Ireland, and in a month or so you get a wadge of paper in the mail telling you who you are. I've never, previously, been interested in all that stuff. I knew my forbears came to Aotearoa in the 1850's from Britain but I didn't know from where, exactly. Clemency's results, as it turns out, were pretty interesting. She was born in England, but has ancestors from various European places, and some who are Ngāti Raukawa, so she can whakapapa back to a little marae called Kikopiri, near Ōtaki. And me? It turns out I'm more British than most British people. Apart from a smattering of Norse  - probably the result of some Viking raid in the dim distant past - all my tūpuna seem to have come from a little group of villages in Nottinghamshire.  Now I've been to the UK a few times, and I quite like it, but it's not home: my heart and soul belon...

Kindle

 Living as I do in a place where most books have to come a long way in an aeroplane, reading is an expensive addiction, and of course there is always the problem of shelf space. I have about 50 metres of shelving in my new study, but it is already full and there is not a lot of wall space left; and although it is great insulation, what is eventually going to happen to all that paper? I doubt my kids will want to fill their homes with old theological works, so most of my library is eventually going to end up as egg cartons. Ebooks are one solution to book cost and storage issues so I have been  using them for a while now, but their big problem has been finding suitable hardware to read them on.  I first read them on the tiny screens of Ipaqs and they were quite satisfactory but the wretchedness of Microsoft Reader and its somewhat arbitrary copyright protection system killed the experience entirely. On Palm devices they were OK except the plethora of competing and incomp...

En Hakkore

In the hills up behind Ranfurly there used to be a town, Hamilton, which at one stage was home to 5,000 people. All that remains of it now is a graveyard, fenced off and baking in the lonely brown hills. Near it, in the 1930s a large Sanitorium was built for the treatment of tuberculosis and other respiratory ailments. It was a substantial complex of buildings with wards, a nurses hostel, impressive houses for the manager and superintendent and all the utility buildings needed for such a large operation. The treatment offered consisted of isolation, views and weather. Patients were exposed to the air, the tons of it which whistled past, often at great speed, the warmth of the sun and the cold. They were housed in small cubicles opening onto huge glassed verandas where they cooked in the summer and froze in the winter and often, what with the wholesome food and the exercise, got better. When advances in antibiotics rendered the Sanitorium obsolete it was turned into a Borstal and...

The Traitor

A couple of people have questioned me privately about the Leonard Cohen song The Traitor , and about Cohen's comments on the song, "[The Traitor is about] the feeling we have of betraying some mission we were mandated to fulfill and being unable to fulfill it; then coming to understand that the real mandate was not to fulfill it; and the real courage is to stand guiltless in the predicament in which you find yourself". What on earth does he mean, and why am I so excited about it? For the latter, check with my psychiatrist. For the former, my take on the song is this: The Traitor is another of those instances, as in The Partisan , where Leonard Cohen uses a military metaphor to speak of life in general and human love in particular. Many of us hold high ideals: some great quest or other that we pursue. These are often laudable things: finding true love, finding the absolute love of God, becoming enlightened, spreading the Gospel, writing the great novel or some such ...

Camino, by David Whyte

This poem captures it perfectly Camino. The way forward, the way between things, the way already walked before you, the path disappearing and re-appearing even as the ground gave way beneath you, the grief apparent only in the moment of forgetting, then the river, the mountain, the lifting song of the Sky Lark inviting you over the rain filled pass when your legs had given up, and after, it would be dusk and the half-lit villages in evening light; other people's homes glimpsed through lighted windows and inside, other people's lives; your own home you had left crowding your memory as you looked to see a child playing or a mother moving from one side of a room to another, your eyes wet with the keen cold wind of Navarre. But your loss brought you here to walk under one name and one name only, and to find the guise under which all loss can live; remember you were given that name every day along the way, remember you were greeted as such, and you neede...