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

Dear Conservative Friend,

It’s taken weeks of quiet (and not so quiet) struggle to find my way back to a place where I can write to you again. For the first time since I started this flawed but earnest letter-writing project, I’ve felt too raw—too hurt and betrayed, if I’m honest—even to consider reaching across the political divide. This is a painful confession given that I’ve been carrying this banner for years now, convinced, as I’ve been, that there is a way for Democrats and Republicans and everyone in between to find common ground despite the fact we now live in two very different realities. We may live in a world of facts and alternative facts, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t more that unites than divides us, right?! Oh, I’ve earned my Pollyanna creds, make no mistake. How many times can I remind everyone that we rise together, for God’s sake - like dough! Same table, different flavors; seasoning our differences with respect! Pass the peace, not the pepper spray, and so on. Yes, I was going down with this transpartisan ship (because obviously the ship wasn’t actually gonna go down!), but lately, it’s looking like Pollyanna might have gotten a one-way ticket on the Titanic. The time for civil discourse has come and gone, or so the argument goes. This is disappointing. How many times have I quoted St John in the past few years? “Where there is no love, put love, and you will find love.” But perhaps, I have found myself thinking, the chasm is finally too wide. Perhaps it’s time to concede defeat. I’m not proud of this line of thinking, but there it is.

Speaking of defeat — beyond the question of bridge-building, there is the question of sustained engagement or, you know, engagement. Too often, just now, the choice — for me and for everyone else — seems to be either a grim resolve to move through life in a constant state of rage and despair, or a fierce commitment to apoliticism along with a refusal to ruffle anyone’s feathers; a daring position in a world full of suffering. 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 just now: refusing to bury our heads in the sand, speaking truth to power, dedicating our time and energy to those most vulnerable, and accepting, or at least acknowledging—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, well beyond my frail human capacity. I have known people who radiated Grace (my father, Don, and father-in-law, Jim, for instance), but not many. Most of us are radiating something quite different just now, assuming we haven’t dissociated altogether. We are either numb or incandescent.

But in the spirit of this Letters Project, let’s imagine, for a moment, the alternative. Imagine if we were able to Gracefully acknowledge the perspectives of those on the other side of the political divide. 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 hatred and toxic rage. For reasons having to do with strategy as well as civility, imagine if we didn’t always get defensive; imagine if we didn’t feel utter and constant disdain; imagine if we didn’t lash out....

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 do its work. How do we know Grace is doing its work? We know, I submit, when we feel and express loving kindness as opposed to bitter contempt. I don’t see that often in the political arena. 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, I’m discovering. 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. We can’t do without holy rage. 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, rather than its toxic counterpart, takes sustained effort. It calls for discipline: prayer, if you are a person who prays, and a commitment to the silence practices one way or another.

Maybe, friend, we could re-commit ourselves to the inner work that enables us to speak boldly about harm while refusing to dehumanize each other in the process. Because, damnit, I know that there is more that unites than divides us. I know in my bones that it is ignorance and fear, more than real animus, that tips the scales of injustice. And despite my bone-deep fatigue and despair, I know the key is to keep talking, to keep reaching.

You and me, friend, we’ve got to keep this ship afloat. And maybe, just maybe, with real commitment and no small amount of Grace, we can find a way to 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