How Can We Heal The ‘Sickness’ In The American Soul?
Of all the words spoken about the stunning events in Washington, D.C. on January 6, few struck me more than the sad observation of a commentator who remarked, “There is a sickness in the soul of America.”
Seared into my memory is the scene of men who climbed onto a scaffold to replace an American flag flying over the U.S. Capitol with a Trump banner.
Though the angry horde that attacked the Capitol included ardent conspiracy theorists and white supremacists decked out in animal pelts, combat gear and Confederate flags, there were also among the crowd schoolteachers, business owners, grandmothers, and former military members who had once taken an oath to defend our country. In short: people you might well sit next to on Sunday in church.
That, to me, is the confounding part.
How then do we move forward? What role can people of faith now play in bringing about healing? What role can I, as a lifelong Catholic, play?
An editorial in the National Catholic Reporter summed up a truth that needed to be spoken. Despite “four years of incompetence, racist dog whistles and assaults on democratic norms,” NCR wrote, 50 percent of the Catholic vote in 2020 went to Donald Trump.
“Some Catholics have remained silent, or worse, cheered it along, including some bishops and priests, a few sisters, right-wing Catholic media and too many people in the pro-life movement,” NCR wrote. “A pro-life movement that embraces white nationalism is not a true pro-life movement. Period.”
As a student of contemplative spirituality, I returned as I often do in a spiritual crisis, to the timeless wisdom of the 6th Century guide for monastic life, The Rule of St. Benedict. I was drawn to the Chapter 4 of The Rule, “The Tools for Good Works.”
“Your way of acting should be different from the world’s way; the love of Christ must come before all else,” St. Benedict writes. He then offers us a clear roadmap for the months ahead:
“You are not to act in anger or nurse a grudge. Rid your heart of all deceit. Never give a hollow greeting of peace or turn away when someone needs your love. Bind yourself to no oath lest it prove false, but speak the truth with heart and tongue.”
In her new book “St. Benedict’s Rule,” Sister Judith Sutera calls those actions the “fundamental building blocks of a holy life.” These actions, she points out, constitute only the bare minimum to which Christians are called.
“If the love of Christ is foremost, it will become unthinkable to injure, lie, steal, or break any commandment because we not only want to preserve our own integrity but will always see the other through the eyes of faith,” Sister Judith, a member of Mount St. Scholastica Monastery in Atchison, writes.
Those are important words. We must see the other through the eyes of faith. When that happens we choose the common good over self-indulgence.
I returned too to that the first line in St. Benedict’s Rule, an essential one for our country at this juncture: “Listen … with the ear of the heart.”
Now is the time to exit our echo chambers — myself included — and engage in conversation to the extent possible with those with whom we might profoundly disagree. We need to better understand what is fueling an anger so intense that it provoked a group of our own citizens to attack one of our most hallowed symbols of democracy.
I urge Catholic priests and other religious leaders to talk about these issues from the pulpit. I encourage congregation members to organize events — virtually, until it is possible to do so in person — that promote frank, truthful, and heartfelt discussions.
There is more than one way to listen. Self-care, that is listening to our own internal needs in challenging times, is equally important. I don’t mean we should revert inward, turn a blind eye or become self-absorbed. However, it is wise to build up a well of energy and confidence so that we can attentively listen to others.
A video from 2017 also etched itself into my heart this past week. It shows Capitol police encircling a small group of black citizens who dared to kneel in the rotunda and pray. The group, protesting proposed changes to the Affordable Care Act, was arrested and led away in handcuffs.
One person taken into custody back then was Rev. Raphael Warnock, now a Senator-elect from Georgia.
The treatment of those black citizens lies in marked contrast to the largely restrained reaction the Capitol police showed to the overwhelmingly white crowd last week. We must work to change attitudes and pre-conceived notions about people of color in our country.
We must reflect too on the integrity of those we elect. Last week’s tragic events were not instigated solely by out-of-control supporters of the President, but by a cohort of well-heeled, well-educated members of both the House and Senate who encouraged the assault by trafficking in false theories about a stolen election.
If the storming of the Capitol, which resulted in five deaths, showed anything, it is that words matter.
On the eve of the Biden inauguration, with threats of more violence and crazy talk of “civil war” still in the air, our past provides an important lesson. Historian Doris Kearns Goodwin calls Abraham Lincoln’s 1865 inaugural address one of the pivotal moments in American history. He spoke as the Civil War was ending, and 41 days before his assassination.
Lincoln began by recognizing that both North and South “read the same Bible and pray to the same God.”
Instead of taking a victory lap, he turned to the gospel message of love thy neighbor:
“With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation’s wounds.”
May we reflect in the weeks and months ahead on the wise guidance of both Lincoln and St. Benedict. May we work to bind our nation’s wounds and heal the “sickness in the soul of America.”
