The Truth Will Set You Free

Today is Epiphany, or Three Kings’ Day, in which the Christian faith closes out the Advent season by honoring the Three Kings who followed a star into Bethlehem and found Christ incarnate. Ever since my husband and I began a weekly lectionary practice for the Christian year (Bobby Gross’s Living the Christian Year is an excellent book for this kind of spiritual practice) I have found increased spiritual meaning in holidays (and holy days). Yet these last two Epiphany celebrations have been marred by an insurrection that spun off of a big lie. If you live in the United States, you know exactly what I am talking about: the lie Donald Trump spent months planting in the minds of his followers, that the election he ended up losing would be illegitimate and illegal. He had no proof of voter fraud but insisted that it happened. It culminated in an attempted coup on January 6, 2021.

I was preparing for a new semester when I got the phone call from my mother: “Turn on the news. They’ve just evacuated the Library of Congress.” I then watched in shock as people who purported to love the police more than their fellow neighbor fought them to gain entrance into Congress. People with guns and American flags—but no masks—paraded the halls of the Capitol in an attempt to overturn our fair and free election, while our elected representatives locked themselves into various spaces and hoped they would live to see the end of day. As we emerged from the wreckage of that afternoon, I was utterly galled to see people from my own church make statements like, “Well, those weren’t Trump supporters, because Trump supporters don’t behave like this,” “The liberal media is just out to get us,” “Joe Biden stole the election,” and my personal favorite, “That wasn’t Trump supporters. That was antifa.”

In this last year, I have lived and breathed one Bible verse: “And you shall know the truth and the truth shall make you free” (John 8:32, NKJV). Here, Jesus has spoken to people who have believed in Him and noted that He had come to free them of the sin which had enslaved them. I find it remarkable that Jesus is specific in this promise to us: the truth will not make us wiser, it will not make us richer, preserve our friendships, or keep us healthy. But it will set us free from sin.

In the past year, I have come to view the truth as the most valuable treasure we can hold. And learning to accept the truth can be a truly painful experience:

• I spent years of my life believing that racism was dead, because slavery was dead. It took me decades of my own life to understand how I directly benefit from White privilege.
• Once I began to accept the truth of my Whiteness, I learned how to stop crying out of anger and despair and instead hold space for minoritized people who needed a place to vent. I began a lifelong work in anti-racism and learning how to do and be better for the sake of others without direct benefit to myself.
• I spent 35 years with undiagnosed anxiety, and by January 2020, I had stopped sleeping through the night. I could barely function. It took me all day to gain the energy to cook a single meal. Life had lost all of its luster.
• When I accepted that I could not manage my mental health on my own and took medication, I began to understand how my brain chemistry affected everything, including my spirituality. Recognizing that I couldn’t handle my mind on my own changed my profession, my marriage, and my life.
• Like others, I spent the spring of 2020 in shock and hoped and prayed that COVID would be over quickly. As I write this, we are now in a sharp spike of a variant which has ripped through my community. It was hard to accept that I would need to move to virtual teaching, that my life would be fundamentally different, and that I would have to wear a mask in public.
• Learning to accept COVID as a reality meant that I could protect myself and others through simple measures. Wearing a mask, distancing, and staying home were my offerings of love in a time where we could do so little for each other.
• And learning the truth as our understanding evolved meant that I could accept a vaccine and with it, the joy of reconnecting. The joy of physical contact. The joy of preventative measures. The joy of slowly reemerging into a new world.

In the years that I spent loving a lie, I replaced the truth with an idol of my own self-fashioned reality. And that idol took God’s place in my heart. It was only when I became convicted of my own wrongness that I began to heal. The truth did not make me richer. It did not make me healthier (well, okay, maybe it did). But it set me free.

I certainly don’t think it’s too late for us collectively. There are serious conversations each of us need to have with ourselves and our loved ones about what it means to be a person of faith and what it really means to know the “truth.” And there is no set point in time that we attain it—truth itself never changes, but our understanding of it evolves, matures, and grows.

I’m still at a loss for how to approach the divide I see in my church and other spaces where truth has been politicized or those who seek it are gaslighted into doubting it. I really don’t know how to bridge the gap when there are plenty of others willing to love the lie I have eschewed. The truth did not bring me more friends or make me popular. But it has set me free.

Just as the Three Kings saw a star and sought the truth, so I hope that you and I can follow God with a faith as open and wholehearted as theirs. You will know the truth, and it will set you free.

So you want to talk about civility…

It is November 8, 2020. Four years ago, I watched as my hopes of an ambitious, imperfect, competent woman shattering the highest glass ceiling in the United States crumbled, foiled by masses of white people who shouted “Trump that bitch” and “Lock her up,” who spray-painted swastikas on schools and Jewish graveyards, who proudly waved their Confederate flags and called the police on Black people minding their own business. I’ve spent the last five years being called “snowflake,” “libtard,” and “whiny Millennial” by people from church and school, people who claimed the love of God while arguing that gay people were deviants, that refugees were illegal, and that COVID-19 was not real.

I spent the last four years believing that Trumpism was a fever which would break, especially as the waves of COVID-19 crashed on our shores and swept us up in its devastating wake. I was permanently disabused by this starry-eyed ideal on November 3, when I witnessed Donald Trump’s re-election campaign come too close to reality. He received 8 million more votes than he did in 2016.

This fact is not an accident. Four years ago, a person could reasonably claim that because Donald Trump lacked political experience, he could “shake up the system,” and because he publicly disavowed abortion, one could swallow their personal discomfort and continue the single-issue party-line vote.

No one who voted for Donald Trump can say that now. We know he is a racist. We know he does not care about human life. We know that he is not interested in governing the entirety of the United States, just his crowds of fans. We know that he is not invested in curing COVID-19 by making hard decisions that can still save thousands of lives.

And yet.

He received 8 million more votes than he did in 2016.

His support from White women GREW by 3% over four years.

Apparently, the “listening” and “learning” and blacked out squares this summer were pieces of performance art.

I am now seeing calls on social media that beg us to “set aside our differences” and be “civil” to each other.

Let’s be very clear on one thing: I agree on using civil language, but it must be employed by BOTH of us, in good faith. My civility towards you does not allow you to carry on as you were. Without your invested civility, your plea means nothing.

Further, my civility does not entitle you to my friendship, trust, or respect. I have been convicted by God to not use dehumanizing language, and so I have worked very hard to better my own discourse on Facebook (this is something I am still working on). So when you ask me to be civil to you, I will be polite, because you are a human being, and you deserve to live.

You know who else deserves to live? A refugee child who cannot find her parents at the border. An elderly woman suffering COVID-19 in her nursing home. Your gay child. My Muslim student. Our Black neighbor.

Your call for civility does not allow you to use bigoted language. And it will not protect you from being called out on it. (And no, when your estranged child calls you a racist, it is not on equal footing with you referring to your neighbor by a racial epithet. You can choose not to use demeaning language.)

Your call for civility does not allow you to deny the human rights you deserve to other people. The right to take care of your partner’s end of life requests does not allow you to deny your queer neighbor that same dignity.

Your call for civility does not allow you to disengage. Standing up for what is right is uncomfortable and scary. But if Jesus can flip tables in the temple and call the religious leaders of his day white-washed tombs, then surely you can tell your neighbor to use your nonbinary child’s appropriate pronouns.

If you are interested in being better, as I have been these last 15 years, then let’s talk. My DMs are open to folx who want to learn and grow and make substantive lifelong changes.

My sign for the 2018 Women’s March.

If you don’t want to face your own blind spots, then it means you are not ready for a lifelong conversation and transformation. I urge you to read the words of Jesus. All of them. Ask this Man to enter your heart and help you grow. When I did, I discovered that I did and still have a LOT of work to do. And if you are not ready to grow and show civility to others, you are not yet ready to make that request in good faith.

I am glad to see a call for civility. I can only hope that it’s genuine and sincere and reciprocated. Let us hope it outlives the black squares on Instagram.

What if the miracle comes after?

I have no doubt in my mind that Amy Coney Barrett will be confirmed to the Supreme Court, the second rushed nomination before the American people cast their vote; this, after Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell declared that in an election year, the American people should decide their Supreme Court Justice. He has and will never play by his own self-fabricated rules, and as a result, we are very likely to see the Affordable Care Act overturned by the Supreme Court in the near future.

On Saturday, while in the shower, I prayed to God—fervently—for a miracle. I know many people who have ACA as healthcare. I myself greatly benefit by not being discriminated against for having pre-existing conditions. My mom was able to get BRCA tested, because of the ACA, and not fear lack of future coverage. We are likely to see all of that go away. And in the middle of a pandemic, repealing millions’ of people’s healthcare does not seem like a good idea for caring for the poor, like the Bible repeatedly admonishes us to do. But I digress.

This morning, I was looking in the mirror while brushing my teeth and feeling abject despair. I heard the still, small voice whisper, “Have you prayed about this?” So I spit out my toothpaste, put away my toothbrush, and prayed. Immediately after, I thought, “I am praying for a miracle that I know is not going to happen, but I am praying anyway, because that’s what faith is.”

And then, that still, small voice whispered, “But what if the miracle comes after?”

I have never felt so humbled, so small, in my entire life. What, indeed, if the miracle comes after? Who am I to know what comes next? Is the miracle that we as a people collectively fight for the poor and create better healthcare, better legislation? Is the miracle added safeguards to protect against Mitch McConnells greedily grabbing power to benefit a small portion of the population at the cost of the rest of us? I don’t know any of these answers. All I know is that my faith is too small, and God is much bigger than the disasters and the catastrophes for which we have been bracing.

I don’t know who needs to read this today, but I needed to hear it. Pray. Pray for the biggest miracle you can possibly conceive, and then wonder, what if the miracle comes after?

#CBR10 Review #47

When I Was the Greatest by Jason Reynolds

I greatly enjoy Jason Reynolds’ voice in young adult literature. I think his works are necessary to adding diverse literature for young adult readers, and I have liked his novels to this point. Since I read and LOVED All American Boys  and Long Way Down, I think I may have a hard time going back to his first books (case in point: The Boy in the Black Suit was just okay). So I had that in mind when I read When I Was the Greatest, which is apparently trending at my library.

Ali is fifteen and lives in a brownstone in the Bed-Stuy neighborhood (the infamous setting of Spike Lee’s Do the Right Thing). Ali’s younger sister Jazz is an outgoing and charismatic young woman. His neighbors are too brothers, nicknamed Needles and Noodles. Ali’s mom is a caring but overworked woman, and his dad floats in and out of the picture after time in prison. Needles has a syndrome (we find out what, in the novel). Noodles therefore tries to care for him in the best way possible. But sometimes, fear and bravery live side-by-side, as all three young men are about to find out.

This book was a mixed bag for me. The plotting is a bit slow and predictable. The conflict takes quite a while to unfold, and when it does, the resolution feels both convenient and understated. That said, this is a novel appropriate for younger teens, and Reynolds knows it well. The characterization of the teens is fantastic, and that’s where the novel shines. Ali is an interesting protagonist, and he paints a picture of the neighborhood for his audience with a vivid brush. This is not Reynolds’ best novel, but some of his real strengths as a writer emerge in this novel.

#CBR10 Review #19

Blue Shoes and Happiness by Alexander McCall Smith

This might be one of my favorite titles in the series—the idea of Blue Shoes brings up a vivid mental image, and the cover of the book is gorgeous, with a blue trim to match. I myself am a shoe person, and so I was curious to see what blue shoes would be doing in the book.

The events from In the Company of Cheerful Ladies have continued on: Mma Ramotswe has solved a deep personal problem and is now looking forward to helping Mma Makutsi in her own personal matters. Mma Makutsi is engaged to Phuti Radiphuti but worries that he may be having second thoughts when he misses one of their usual dinner dates. A cobra finds its way into Mma Ramotswe’s office, and they have to extract it. And Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni finds that his chair is a bit old and shabby for the rest of Mma Ramotswe’s fine furniture in the house on Zebra Drive. Finally, Mma Ramotswe has to figure out a woman’s firing from her cook job, all while dealing with the new caustic advice columnist, known as Aunty Emang.

I have to say, I share Mma Makutsi’s appreciation for fine apparel. I daresay I would not have been able to resist the fine shoes, either. The idea of comfortable, fashionable shoes contributing to one’s happiness resounds with me, and I am delighted to see them make an appearance in the book. I enjoyed the subplot of the fine shoes quite a bit.

#CBR10 Review #18

In the Company of Cheerful Ladies by Alexander McCall Smith

And now I’ve gotten to new territory in the Mma Ramotswe books! Huzzah! I’ve never read anything beyond The Full Cupboard of Life, so I have lots of new Mma books to polish off. I honestly don’t remember how many years ago my aunt bought me this copy, but I knew it’s been over ten. I am excited to read the unread books on my shelf, and that number is now under 20.

Mma Ramotswe and Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni have finally married, thanks to the sly machinations of Mma Potokwani. Now, they are living comfortably in Mma Ramotswe’s house off Zebra Drive and adjusting to the new routine, although a strange encounter with an intruder leaves them shaken. Mma Ramotswe takes pity on a man she hits with her van and finds out his tragic story, as well as a way to help him. Mma Makutsi decides to take a dance class and meets a man who stammers badly but is very kind. And none of this compares to a stranger from Mma Ramotswe’s past who threatens to disturb her peace forever, along with her beloved white van.

This was a poignant entry in the series. I won’t say why exactly, because I think you need to read it for yourself, but Mma Ramotswe learns to confront an old fear and hurt and stand up for herself as a woman. Compassion and empathy are powerful emotions, and Smith shows us the internal processes of learning to find and express both.

#CBR9 Review #157

Mere Christianity by C.S. Lewis

I was able to squeeze one last review in before the year is up. Even better, it’s a book that’s been languishing on my TBR list. Hooray! I have some goals for 2018, and it’s nice to really trim the to-read pile significantly. This is an author well familiar to me, though I’ve never finished this book until now.

C.S. Lewis is perhaps best known for his Narnia fantasy books, but he’s also an academic and Christian apologist. Mere Christianity is a defense of Christianity in post-war, postmodern society where the question, Does any of this matter? prevails. The book is divided into several parts, which include both the theology and the lifestyle of Christianity. The latter part has to be read in context of time period and author biography, because there are some…startling, shall we say…ideas about marriage (having read the Space Trilogy, I was not surprised, but it’s a little surreal to read in 2017). I mean, that’s kind of the deal with Lewis, though. He is well-intentioned, buuuuuuut a little sexist in his thinking.

If you are a fan of Lewis the fantasy writer, this takes a very different tone than what you might expect. If, however, you like Lewis’s more academic work, this fits neatly into that genre. You might philosophically disagree with his conclusions, but he engages the defense for Christianity well. Since I was not necessarily looking to defend my own faith or reading it in a moment of questioning, I didn’t glom onto that part. But it may prove useful at another point in life. Lewis’s work is interesting and engaging, and his use of logic works well in discussing the “God” part of us all that engages with some form of spirituality.

And that’s a wrap on 2017. See you all for CBR10. I’ve got two book club picks to read first and then a read-through of the No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency series on deck first.

CBR9 Review #103

New Boy by Tracy Chevalier

I’ve not read all the Hogarth Shakespeare project books yet, but I do like literary adaptations of classic works. The Austen Project books have not all been amazing, but most of the interpretations have been original and engaging, and they’ve shown me how a classic work rooted in its time finds its legs in a different century. Tracy Chevalier, whose historical fiction is among the few that I will read as a matter of necessity (with the exception of At the Edge of the Orchard), takes a turn with Shakespeare. And her play is Othello.

If you’ve read the play Othello, you’ll know about the gender and racial tensions that play into the conflict of the story. Chevalier transposes them to 1970s Washington, D.C., where an ambassador’s son, Osei, finds himself at a new school at the end of 5^th grade. Used to being an outcast, he determines to tough it out until he is introduced to Dee, the pretty and popular golden girl of the grade. She befriends him eagerly and innocently, and this sets the stage for Ian to completely overturn the school before the day is through.

Chevalier packs a tight and wrenching story into a day. The tension is constant throughout the book and when the conflict finally explodes, you’re still not ready for what transpires. I found this to be a masterful retelling of the original play, while giving it an infusion of contemporary identity politics that we can resonate with to this day. Further, because it is transposed to children, the conflict and moral dilemmas add an extra urgency and heartbreak. This was a fast read, but also a very stressful one.

CBR9 Review #102

The Opposite of Fate by Amy Tan

I read The Joy Luck Club in college for a women’s literature course, and while it wasn’t my favorite book, it was certainly interesting. I do think Amy Tan gets pigeonholed quite a bit as a “Chinese” American writer, and while she writes about a heritage from China, it’s not exactly fair to think of the experiences she writes about as exclusive to Chinese-Americans, or even more broadly, Asian-Americans. I won The Opposite of Fate, a nonfiction collection, at my undergrad’s English Department annual Book Exchange one year, and I’m finally getting around to reading it.

Tan writes a lot of letters, op-eds, and essays about her life, her writing life, and her connections to fate. The essays vary in interest, topic, and scope, but they all deal on some level with the patterns that play out in the choices she makes and the events that unfold. There’s a terrific essay on playing in a band with other writers, and there’s another essay about why she doesn’t care to be described as an Asian American writer, but an American writer. There’s a letter about a flash flood she and her husband survived in their cabin retreat, and there are a lot of essays about growing up American in a Chinese family.

Nonfiction is not always my bag, but this was a decent and engaging collection of essays. I should pick up more of Tan’s work, as she tells an intriguing story. If you liked The Joy Luck Club, you’ll probably find her writing about it to be quite revealing and give you some insights into the novel and the subsequent film adaptation (which I still have not seen yet).

 

CBR9 Review #81

Rilla of Ingleside by L.M. Montgomery

It’s a little sad coming to the end of a beloved series, and this is a sad book to close the series off. I always come away from this book glad and a little verklempt at the same time. We’ve been building to the Great War, and Montgomery finally dives in, with details from the homefront aspect of fighting, which gives a new perspective to a war novel. This book, like so many others, is haunted by the soldiers who sacrificed and the families who sent their children to the warfront.

Rilla of Ingleside focuses on the youngest Blythe daughter, Rilla. She is almost fifteen and full of shallow ideas of fun and frivolity. It all changes when the war sweeps her brothers and friends away into battle, and she settles in to fight in small ways: a Junior Red Cross, frugal dress, and raising a fatherless baby. Rilla learns how to be a woman in the midst of hardship, the promise of love, and the pain of heartbreak. Further, we learn about the progress of the war and the way in which it reshaped and changed global societies forever.

I won’t get too spoilery about character deaths, but there is one that reminded me a lot of what I’d read in Pat Barker’s Regeneration trilogy, particularly in the poetic dispatches. I felt that the character was probably supposed to be a stand-in for a Rupert Brooke or a Wilfred Owen, two famous young men whose poetry immortalized their service and sacrifice. Like I said, this is a deeply melancholy book and it feels like a crushing end to the series, but it’s a bookend that girds the series in the deep family love that Anne finds and shares with her children and community. I believe it’s always been my favorite of the series, and it certainly has a lasting emotional resonance for me.