Is It Too Late to Reach Across the Political Divide? It is — if we don’t do our work.

Dear Friend,

It’s taken weeks of quiet (and not so quiet) struggle to get back to a place where I can even consider writing again. For the first time since I started this flawed but earnest letter-writing project, I’ve felt too raw—too hurt and betrayed, even (I’m embarrassed to admit)—to consider reaching across the divide. Maybe, I have found myself thinking, the chasm is finally too wide. Maybe it’s time to concede defeat. I’m not proud of this train of thought, but there it is.

Too often, just now, the choice seems to be either fierce apoliticism and a refusal to ruffle anyone’s feathers (a daring position in a world full of suffering), or a conscious decision to move through an activist life in a constant state of rage and near hopelessness. Those aren’t the only choices, of course, Grace being the third and best one. Living in a state of Grace, I imagine, might look something like this: refusing to bury our heads in the sand, speaking truth to power, dedicating our time and energy to those most vulnerable, and accepting—gracefully—the perspectives of those who see the world differently than we do.

But for me, at least—for now, at least, Grace is in short supply. There are perspectives, it would seem, that I cannot accept; hurts I cannot yet transcend.

Interestingly, I keep capitalizing the word Grace, believing — as I do — that real Grace is a Divine gift. It certainly seems above and beyond my frail human ability to summon any on my own just now. I have known people who radiated Grace (my father, Don, and father-in-law, Jim, for instance), but not many. Most of us are either totally disconnected or angry. Given that we have replaced regular and rugged spiritual practice with cable news and social media, this should come as no surprise.

But imagine, for a moment, the alternative. Imagine if we spent more time seeking Grace than doom scrolling or consuming the news, and genuinely, gracefully, accepting the perspectives of those who see the world differently than we do. I’m not asking you to imagine that we stop having the hard conversations or cease our efforts to bring about the social and political change we deem necessary. I’m just asking us to imagine a world in which we could do all these things minus the hurt, hatred, and toxic rage. Imagine if we didn’t get defensive, didn’t lash out in fear or as a result of hurt feelings or a sense of betrayal…

It sounds so peaceful, this state of Grace, and so profoundly out of my reach. “May as well start where we are,” I said in my second-ever letter. (So much for growth?)

I have experienced this transcendent state, this “peace that passeth all understanding,” but only fleetingly, and only when I have had a very committed contemplative practice. Only, in other words, when I have managed to get out of my own way long enough for Grace to move through me. It strikes me, though, that this is the exercise for all of us just now. How do we know our prayer is working? We know it’s working when we feel loving kindness as opposed to constant indignation, fear, and anger. I don’t see that around me, in the behavior of my friends and acquaintances. I don’t feel it in myself. Currently, I feel mostly rage. I am howling at the moon.

I don’t want to stay in this place.

There are two types of rage. Holy rage enables us to stand firmly alongside those who are suffering while doing what we can to lessen the harm. It propels us forward, steadily and with purpose — without leaving damage in its wake. Toxic rage, on the other hand, fills us with hatred and vitriol. It burns through everything in its path — relationships, especially — and robs us of both our health and our humanity.

Embodying holy rage, as opposed to its toxic counterpart, takes sustained effort. It calls for discipline: prayer, if you are a person who prays, and a fierce commitment to the silence practices one way or another.

Maybe, friend, we could re-commit ourselves to the inner work which enables us to speak boldly about harm while refusing to dehumanize each other in the process. Maybe, just maybe, we can stay rooted in love — not despite our anger, but alongside it.

Something to work for.

Love,

Sara

My dear,In the midst of hate, I found there was, within me, an invincible love.In the midst of tears, I found there was, within me, an invincible smile.In the midst of chaos, I found there was, within me, an invincible calm.

I realized, through it all, that…In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer.

And that makes me happy. For it says that no matter how hard the world pushes against me, within me, there’s something stronger – something better, pushing right back.

Albert Camus