A call for mercy, a presidential chainsaw
With Donald Trump in a pew, a religious leader knew what she had to do
A tool like this one in the wrong hands can be dangerous. (Photo by Mathias Reding on Unsplash)
In my experience, a chain saw doesn’t belong in the grip of somebody who uses one rarely. Take my neighbor, for instance, who on weekdays is a distinguished college professor, but who on weekends transforms into a man with power tools — mostly big ones. Noisy flatbed trucks are always backing up at his place to drop off a backhoe or an excavator or something else he can eagerly fire up for ambitious landscape management projects. I try to keep my distance.
One afternoon a few years back he apparently was up on a scissor lift with his chain saw when he sliced off a tree limb that, in falling, took out the power line for our neighborhood. I say “apparently” here because I was at work that day, using equipment that is suited to my skill set, which is to say that I was typing. I am not as confident of my power tool capabilities as my neighbor is of his, a fact that is less a mark of humility than fear of death.
As my wife related the afternoon’s events to me some hours later, I was surprised by her calm presentation. You should understand that the woman I married grew up in Queens — you know, like Donald Trump and Andrew Cuomo. By mentioning their names, I figure you may infer that Queens natives are not renowned for meekness or forbearance. I mean, you know where they stand, right? They tend to follow the protocol of the late Ed Koch, who was born next door, in The Bronx: “Seldom forgive. Never forget.”
Nevertheless, on the day of the errant limb cutting, my wife wasn’t angry at our neighbor, despite the hours-long interruption of the internet service that is essential to her home-based business. No, she said, our neighbor surely had endured trouble enough from, say, his wife and others nearby. In fact, she said, he was probably embarrassed to the point of misery. “I think at this point I’m just going to be merciful,” she said.
I relate this story here because the topic of mercy has suddenly been thrust into the news by the aforementioned son of Queens, the President of the United States, who met his own opportunity for mercy this week — with, I am sorry to note, far less generosity than my wife displayed to our neighbor. I’m sure you’ve heard the story by now: At the traditional inaugural prayer service at Washington’s National Cathedral, Episcopal Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde urged the president to display mercy to migrant workers and the LGBTQ+ community. Noting Trump’s assertion that he was saved from assassination by divine intervention, the bishop said, “You have felt the providential hand of a loving God. In the name of our God, I ask you to have mercy upon the people in our country who are scared now.”
Needless to say, this didn’t sit well with the Great Leader. On social media, he asserted that “the so-called Bishop” was “nasty in tone, and not compelling or smart,” and that she had revealed herself to be a “Radical Left hard line Trump hater.” Republican politicians and Fox News personalities piled on. One House member suggested that Budde (who was born in New Jersey) “should be added to the deportation list.” The Rev. Franklin Graham declared that the cathedral had been “taken over by gay activists.” The bishop, you see, has short hair. “If evil had a face and a haircut, this is what it would look like,” declared The Daily Wire, a pro-Trump web site.1
Yes, surely a religious leader urging a powerful political leader to show mercy to others is an evil, nasty thing, isn’t it? It’s just what you might expect of someone on the left, this notion that “mercy” is a good thing. Where do you suppose the bishop ever got such an idea in the first place?
The most vocal of religious groups in America, evangelical Christians, represent about one-fifth of the electorate, and about 8 in 10 of them cast their ballots for Trump in November. People outside the evangelical circle may find that surprising, because the teachings of the faith that those voters profess conflict sharply with the person Donald Trump: unfaithful in three marriages, convicted of fraud and sexual abuse, instigator of a riot that led to police officers’ severe injuries and deaths.2
But evangelical Christians by and large seem unfazed by such facts, a response that can only be explained by concluding that their religious affiliation has become more about politics than piety. Conservative Christian support for Trump last year, close observers say, was based in particular on two issues: Trump’s vow to stop migrant movement into the United States and stand against transgender rights and gay culture. The topics exploded into public relevance with the support of Fox News, the media outlet that both reflects and sets the right-wing political agenda.
It was those very issues, in fact, that prompted Budde to ask Trump for mercy. “There are gay, lesbian and transgender children in Democratic, Republican and independent families, some who fear for their lives,” she said, just before her call for mercy. Noting that the “vast majority” of immigrants are not criminals, she said, “I ask you to have mercy, Mr. President, on those in our communities whose children fear that their parents will be taken away, and that you help those who are fleeing war zones and persecution in their own lands to find compassion and welcome here.”
Of course, Budde had to know that Trump would find her plea offensive and that such a direct challenge to the president would draw a lot of attention. One reason her words were so striking is because of their stark contrast with the extreme deference Trump has received from influential and powerful Americans ever since he edged Kamala Harris in November — by a 1.5-point margin that he has labeled a “historic landslide.”
It's actually remarkable: As billionaires have rushed to his side, as congressional Republicans have kowtowed to his wishes, as social media companies have abandoned efforts to curtail the misinformation that he encourages and as foreign leaders have struggled to fashion a response to his bullying that won’t risk his wrath, what emerged from the clamor was the understated voice of a diminutive 65-year-old grandmother, speaking on behalf of her faith.
And the choice of “mercy” as the quality that Budde felt compelled to seek had to seem entirely appropriate to many who actually have studied the Bible — as opposed to using it as a prop in a photo shoot, as Trump memorably did outside St. John’s Church near the White House during the demonstrations after George Floyd’s murder.
For many Christians and Jews, a particular passage in the Bible that uses the term “mercy” is a concise summary of their faiths’ core ethical requirements. In the 8th century BCE, the prophet Micah wrote (or inspired others to write) a collection of messages addressing themes of hope and judgment, and in particular defending the rights of the poor. Micah 6:8 presents a specific agenda: “He has shown you, O mortal, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.”
Justice, mercy and humility: Hardly attributes even the most avid MAGA supporters would attribute to their champion. But those qualities are quite appropriate for a religious leader to exhort a civic leader to display. Indeed, most clergy might say that they are compelled by their faith to make such declarations of truth to power when the opportunity arises.
Sadly, mercy isn’t a characteristic that most Americans might find essential to the national character these days. It’s more in the line of trend to be ambitious and brash — and, some social critics would say, even cruel.
A decade ago, a public interest lawyer, Bryan Stevenson, wrote a book about the failures of our criminal justice system, Just Mercy. Early in the book, Stevenson suggested that cruelty had become commonplace in America, and offered his notion of why: “Fear and anger can make us vindictive and abusive, unjust and unfair, until we all suffer from the absence of mercy and we condemn ourselves as much as we victimize others.”3
It seems cruel that in the years since mass shootings became commonplace, courts and legislatures have expanded the right to carry guns. It is cruel that our healthcare system has yielded record profits for insurers even as people are surprised by denial of benefits — and it is cruel that people cheered the murder of a healthcare executive, apparently by someone distraught at the system’s operation. It is cruel to tell poor women in some states that they can’t control their own bodies when wealthy women, by contrast, can travel to states that do not restrict the right to an abortion. It is cruel to enjoy the benefits of cheap labor provided by new immigrants and then cheer politicians who vow to round up those same undocumented workers and deport them.
Where, indeed, is the mercy?
As a person ordained to deliver the messages of her faith, Budde honored her calling by speaking what she considered a religious truth to the civil power assembled before her in the cathedral. The pushback she has experienced for making a president squirm in his pew — including, she said, many people who have said that they want her to die soon — had to be something she was willing to risk for the opportunity to deliver a message that she considered essential.
As, in fact, it is: We may all wish for a president who would imagine a display of mercy to be a part of his charge as our leader, rather than eagerly taking a figurative chainsaw to the needs of the vulnerable among us. But that will not be our reality in the years of this president’s term. If we are embarrassed by his behavior, then, we can always seek out our own ways of extending mercy, however slight or consequential they and claim the task that should be his as our own.
https://www.ncronline.org/news/after-eyebrow-raising-sermon-trump-bishop-budde-beset-criticism-and-praise
https://apnews.com/article/white-evangelical-voters-support-donald-trump-president-dbfd2b4fe5b2ea27968876f19ee20c84
https://eji.org/bryan-stevenson/
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-Rex Smith
My greatest hope is that others may be inspired by the Bishop's words and do likewise.
It’s time to do; time for action. Words are important…but only as prelude to action.