Sunday afternoon, my daughter and I drove 15 miles to Wildcat Wayside Park on the Cherokee Foothills Scenic Highway west of Travelers Rest, South Carolina.
It was a beautiful day, with deep blue skies and a bright sun. We were among scores of people who parked alongside the highway and walked up the well-worn trail to the falls—all three of them!
Near the top, underneath the largest of the falls, we found seats on the rocks, took off our shoes, and dangled our feet in the clear cold water. We stayed a long time. We talked and laughed. We took pictures. We promised to return.
If we do, and I hope we do, it will be a healthy antidote to the anxiety we feel—many feel—about the state of our country and what the future holds.
Some are worried about the cost of living, the migrant surge across the border, and the stalemate in Congress. Not me. I am worried about things but not those. Other things weigh me down: things like the colonization of Gaza and the collapse of Ukraine, the new directions and decisions of the Supreme Court, and the prospects of another administration led by Donald J. Trump.
In his published plan for presidential leadership, known as Project 2025, Trump promises to scale back dramatically the federal workforce, push many regulatory tasks to the states, pardon the people who overran the Capital on January 6 (including himself), and use the National Guard to deport millions of people without proper papers. Even worse, he plans to use the Department of Justice to exact revenge on hundreds of people who have prosecuted him, attacked him, and otherwise rejected him as a leader.
These prospects are frightening.
But this is not the worst of my fears. I fear the continued surge of the conservative anger at the direction that the country has taken throughout the course of my life. Trump is their leader now, but the movement is not dependent upon him; it was gaining steam long before Trump burst upon the scene and will continue if and when Trump is marginalized.
The conservative movement began in the 1950s in response to the federal insistence that racial segregation be eliminated…in schools, employment, housing, and opportunity. To this day, the movement is tainted by a deep strain of racism, which explains its perception as a movement of white people.
People of color—any color, all colors—have much to fear if this conservative movement is allowed to do all that it plans. Their motto—Make America Great Again—invokes a time in national life when people of color could not get jobs, attend schools, or buy homes where they wanted.
Upon this bedrock of racism, conservatives have built a vision of America that denies basic human and civil rights to LGBTQ citizens. To allow such people to teach in public schools, serve in the military, or rent an apartment is, they say, a violation of their rights as a (Christian) American.
I warned my (welcoming and affirming) congregation on more than one occasion that trouble is coming, that people in places of legal and political power are determined to roll back their rights, that bigoted gangs will be (unofficially) empowered to do the dirty work of intimidation and destruction. Last Friday night, local hoodlums defaced our church sign, stealing the piece that announced our worship times, our denominational affiliation, and our welcome to all. Much worse is coming.
What is coming is a new definition of Christian. The conservative movement is hellbent on wrecking our tradition of separating the church from the state. “We have been persecuted,” they whine, “and our rights have been systematically denied. We want all the privileges that we white Christians deserve, such as public affirmation, preferred opportunity, and policies that favor us instead of them.”
This conversative movement began in houses of worship, using religious language, and appealing to religious motives. “It is a culture war,” their ministerial leaders announced. “They are destroying the Christian foundations of our country. We must take back America for God.”
For 60 years or more, they have waged this war. In recent years, they have won more often than they lost.
The political philosophy and religious commitments of people like me are the enemy. We are being removed from city commissions, school boards, and legislative halls all over the country. And state and federal courts. And pulpits.
I will continue to preach, and write, and vote against this distortion of both Democracy and Christianity. But it looks like I’ll also be spending a lot more time hiking the hills and trails of Carolina, North and South. We all will need ways to assuage the anxiety that this dystopian future pushes deep into our souls.
God help us all.
Sunday afternoon, my daughter and I drove 15 miles to Wildcat Wayside Park on the Cherokee Foothills Scenic Highway west of Travelers Rest, South Carolina.
It was a beautiful day, with deep blue skies and a bright sun. We were among scores of people who parked alongside the highway and walked up the well-worn trail to the falls—all three of them!
Near the top, underneath the largest of the falls, we found seats on the rocks, took off our shoes, and dangled our feet in the clear cold water. We stayed a long time. We talked and laughed. We took pictures. We promised to return.
If we do, and I hope we do, it will be a healthy antidote to the anxiety we feel—many feel—about the state of our country and what the future holds.
Some are worried about the cost of living, the migrant surge across the border, and the stalemate in Congress. Not me. I am worried about things but not those. Other things weigh me down: things like the colonization of Gaza and the collapse of Ukraine, the new directions and decisions of the Supreme Court, and the prospects of another administration led by Donald J. Trump.
In his published plan for presidential leadership, known as Project 2025, Trump promises to scale back dramatically the federal workforce, push many regulatory tasks to the states, pardon the people who overran the Capital on January 6 (including himself), and use the National Guard to deport millions of people without proper papers. Even worse, he plans to use the Department of Justice to exact revenge on hundreds of people who have prosecuted him, attacked him, and otherwise rejected him as a leader.
These prospects are frightening.
But this is not the worst of my fears. I fear the continued surge of the conservative anger at the direction that the country has taken throughout the course of my life. Trump is their leader now, but the movement is not dependent upon him; it was gaining steam long before Trump burst upon the scene and will continue if and when Trump is marginalized.
The conservative movement began in the 1950s in response to the federal insistence that racial segregation be eliminated…in schools, employment, housing, and opportunity. To this day, the movement is tainted by a deep strain of racism, which explains its perception as a movement of white people.
People of color—any color, all colors—have much to fear if this conservative movement is allowed to do all that it plans. Their motto—Make America Great Again—invokes a time in national life when people of color could not get jobs, attend schools, or buy homes where they wanted.
Upon this bedrock of racism, conservatives have built a vision of America that denies basic human and civil rights to LGBTQ citizens. To allow such people to teach in public schools, serve in the military, or rent an apartment is, they say, a violation of their rights as a (Christian) American.
I warned my (welcoming and affirming) congregation on more than one occasion that trouble is coming, that people in places of legal and political power are determined to roll back their rights, that bigoted gangs will be (unofficially) empowered to do the dirty work of intimidation and destruction. Last Friday night, local hoodlums defaced our church sign, stealing the piece that announced our worship times, our denominational affiliation, and our welcome to all. Much worse is coming.
What is coming is a new definition of Christian. The conservative movement is hellbent on wrecking our tradition of separating the church from the state. “We have been persecuted,” they whine, “and our rights have been systematically denied. We want all the privileges that we white Christians deserve, such as public affirmation, preferred opportunity, and policies that favor us instead of them.”
This conversative movement began in houses of worship, using religious language, and appealing to religious motives. “It is a culture war,” their ministerial leaders announced. “They are destroying the Christian foundations of our country. We must take back America for God.”
For 60 years or more, they have waged this war. In recent years, they have won more often than they lost.
The political philosophy and religious commitments of people like me are the enemy. We are being removed from city commissions, school boards, and legislative halls all over the country. And state and federal courts. And pulpits.
I will continue to preach, and write, and vote against this distortion of both Democracy and Christianity. But it looks like I’ll also be spending a lot more time hiking the hills and trails of Carolina, North and South. We all will need ways to assuage the anxiety that this dystopian future pushes deep into our souls.
God help us all.
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