When God Disappoints: An Open Letter to Trumpists
Dearest Trumpists,
Unlike most Biden/Harris supporters, I awakened to find that the pre-inaugural celebration had already began, leaving me no time to pick out a pair of Chucks and a long, festive topcoat to match the majesty of monochromatism that would soon light up my life. Instead, a hoodie and a vegan protein shake accompanied me on my couch where I spent the next couple hours engaged in a cycle of calisthenics that included bowing my head for a couple of prayers, the occasional Baptist-timbred "Hallelujah" and "Amen," long bouts of smiles, really deep breaths of cleansing peace (if only for a moment) and texts and quick calls to my besties about Michelle, Barack, Kamala, Amanda, and Jill's blue suede shoes.
After such a positive experience, I turned my attention to Twitter and the Facebook pages of the various news outlets and stumbled upon varying displays of your grieving processes. I admit, your lamentations, crocodile tears and guttural, torturous cries tickled me into a laughing spell that was eventually broken by my air fryer timer. I'm talking maniacal laughter! The same kind of laughter that came over me when King Joffrey Baratheon dies a gory, well deserved death at the hands of Lady Olenna from the House of Tyrell in HBO's Game of Thrones. Yes, this was an intense, calorie-shedding laughter.
Then, it occurred to me: The irony.
Nothing hurts like when you've begged and pleaded and bargained and cried to God for something—something you need, something you desperately want, something you know in your heart you deserve—and He doesn't give it to you. Isn't that what you're feeling? Betrayed? Defeated? Cheated? Angry at the idea that this alleged "God-ordained" man has been properly ousted by the true patriots of this country and sent back to his compound? Mad at the concerted effort made by sensible folk to pivot towards stability and gather the remnants of whatever tranquility is left after being shredded by you, your comrades and "your guy?" Confused at the botched attempt by one of your beloved televangelists, clad in her BEST off-the-shoulder sweater, to summon various ethnic angels to help overthrow a fair election process? Listen, I get it. Nothing singes the rear like an unanswered prayer. I'm sure you've slid in God's DMs with various questions, concerns and threats. I know, because I've been there.
Therefore, my prayer for you is simple: May your acknowledgement of His sovereignty and omniscience overshadow your disappointment in Him. May you come to know God like Black people do—the One we know and believe is STILL worthy of our loyalty, devotion and praise, even though there's a tiny, unresolved bit of anger toward Him for Enslavement, Jim Crow, and the centuries of afflictions that have left us, as a collective, in seemingly perpetual cycles of poverty, trauma, identity crises, etc. You see, if we can trust a Savior who hasn't always saved us in the ways we wanted, then I'm sure you can gather the pieces of your self-inflicted brokenness and hold fast to the lyrics that have carried many a black person through:
“And we wonder why the test when we try to do our best, but we’ll understand it better by and by."
As a matter of fact, I wanna share a few other stanzas from various hymns and songs that speak to this very moment. May you find your resolve in these words of comfort/advice:
"Tis so sweet to trust in Jesus, just to take Him at His Word…"
"Take your burdens to the Lord and leave them there…"
"Ask the Savior to help you, to comfort, strengthen and heal you…"
"What a friend we have in Jesus, all our sins and griefs to bear…"
"He knows what's best for me, although my weary eyes can't see…"
"Oh Mary, don't you weep, tell Martha not to moan…"
"I moved from my old house, I moved from my old friends, I moved from my old way of strife…"
"Why do you cry, He has risen; why are you weeping, He's not dead…"
“Tragedies are commonplace…” (in the preferred key of A-Flat, honestly)
"I surrender all…"
And from one of my favorite hymns for the defeated and downtrodden:
"Whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say, 'It is well, it is well with my soul…'"
That's all.
Best,
Anderson