Sometimes our silence and lack of action result from complete horror or rage, but sometimes, both are a result of our privileged position.
Episcopalians have expressed their concern about the tenor of Trump and his massive political rallies. Statements have ranged from scolding to more subtly critical.
Could I ask, with the martyr St. Stephen, "O Lord, give me every disadvantage, every difficulty, every hardness. Send me out with no tools, no friends, no worldly hopes of vengeance or reward. Put me among the hateful, the violent, the diseased, the unstable"?
When he devised the first nativity scene, Francis of Assisi wanted to show that God had a share in poverty. In a similar way and in roughly the same period, the five wounds of Christ were the subject of devotion in prayers, poems, meditations, charms, and even guilds.
Our new Presiding Bishop talks about Jesus and "the Jesus Movement" a great deal. I expect Episcopalians will find a degree of unity around this theme. But I don’t expect us to stop fighting. Why? Because there are still two very different narratives about Jesus in play.
The proliferation of popular I am hurt and wounded style songs is itself sobering, having moved well beyond the pathos of, say, Patsy Cline in their stark descriptions.
I will only sketch here the beginnings of a constructive Christian response to the false religion of violence and assault that is proving so seductive for our contemporary western culture, as for so many cultures before.
As Amy Ziering has said, campus sexual assaults are not “just a date gone bad, or a bad hook-up, or, you know, miscommunication,” but instead “a highly calculated, premeditated crime.”