To Be Very Tender
On choosing to have a soft heart
When Donald Trump announced he was running for president in 2015, I rolled my eyes. I love learning about presidential history, so I was intrigued when he rode down his escalator but not worried. I knew no one would take him seriously. When people started doing exactly that, I knew he would never get the Republican nomination. He was too brash and vulgar. He was openly racist. He was a billionaire who could never relate to blue-collar workers. When he got the nomination, I was certain he'd lose the election, especially when an old tape resurfaced in which he bragged about committing sexual assault. This will do it, I thought. Bragging about abusing women will be what sinks him.
And yet it didn't. I watched in horror as Trump won the White House. As a Christian, I felt disgusted by the Evangelical church's embrace of someone whose life was the opposite of everything Jesus taught. I watched as believers chose power and culture wars over loving their enemies, welcoming immigrants, clothing the poor, and feeding the hungry. I was sickened by it. I still am. I continue to grieve the destruction Christian nationalism has brought upon the Church. I don't blame anyone for walking away from it all now, but I refuse to let anyone take my faith from me. They might be able to destroy the Church's witness in the world, but no politician or sycophant can take Jesus and his radical message of grace away from my grasp.
Grace is a tricky thing. Anne Lamott says, "I do not understand the mystery of grace -- only that it meets us where we are and does not leave us where it found us." Grace is indeed amazing when it's bestowed upon me or people I love, but it's difficult to face when given to people I disagree with. My faith tells me that each person is created in the image of God and beloved by God. I can easily believe that when I'm with those I love, but I struggle when I see someone displaying their hate proudly like it's a trophy.
A few weeks ago, as the campaigns ramped up with the end in sight, I realized my justifiable anger toward Donald Trump was turning into something darker that I didn't want. I do not want to hate Trump, and I do not want to hate even his most devoted followers. I can and should hate systems of oppression, ridicule, greed, and abuse, but I do not want to hate the people who act out and benefit from these things. I want my heart to stay tender. I want to look at Donald Trump and see a man who is desperate for people to love him. I want to see the emptiness he has inside and feel empathy for someone so lost. I want to see him as a human instead of a monster because when we start dehumanizing each other, we risk descending into violence.
Keeping a tender heart isn't easy. It's contrary to my basest impulses. Sometimes, it feels good to luxuriate in anger, but other times, I realize that rejoicing when my enemies stumble is costing me precious moments of joy and peace. Just like I won't let anyone strip my faith from me, I won't let anyone make me hate them. I heard a saying once that hating someone is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die.
Choosing to see people as beloved and trying to feel empathy toward them does not mean that they shouldn't face consequences for their actions. People who abuse, oppress, and hate should face the results of their beliefs and choices. I’m not suggesting false unity or sweeping wrongs under the rug. I’m not recommending that we enter into relationships with those who hurt us and don’t have our best interests at heart. When I advocate for grace, I'm not advocating for people not to face consequences. I'm saying that the consequences are not usually up to me anyway and that it benefits me and my community when I view someone through empathetic eyes rather than a lens of hatred. I can't control someone else's choices, but I can control mine.
The image at the top of this post is one I saw several years ago on Instagram. The artist is Jenny Holzer, and her words have stayed with me since I first read them: "It is in your self-interest to find a way to be very tender." I keep thinking of that word like it’s a song stuck in my head: tender, tender, tender. I don't have answers for fixing a broken political system that awards terrible behavior. I probably won't ever change the mind of someone who wears a "Make America Great Again" hat. I have questions and concerns about many things right now, but I'm more confident than ever that I must cultivate a soft, tender heart.
I'm still angry that Trump, a convicted felon and serial liar, will be stepping back into power. My head, neck, and shoulders have been tense with worry for the immigrant and queer students I know and love. My stomach has been sick at the thought of abuse and racism not being dealbreakers, especially for followers of Jesus. But in my anger and grief, I choose to be tender. I believe this posture to be a radical act. There will be many days to come in which I'll fail and revert to cynicism, blame, and disgust, but I will aim for empathy, grace, and gentleness. I believe this is the only way forward that will lead to flourishing. Right now, I grieve, but that grief is a sign of the tenderness I want. I'll take it and hold it like a gift, even though it hurts.
"A Soft Heart" by Me
I want a soft heart.
It would be easier
to have a hard
heart, like a shell
I could hide in.
I’m afraid I would never
come out. So I want a soft
heart, an alive heart
that sometimes breaks
and sometimes races,
but always beats for peace.
I want a soft heart.
It would be simpler
to have an angry
heart, to run on hate
instead of hope.
In my fearful moments,
I long to destroy myself
with a stack of resentments
ten feet tall. But I want
a soft heart, even when
the blame I yearn to cast
entices me to claim it.
I want a soft heart,
a tender heart,
a clay heart
that can be shaped
by beauty and joy,
even despair and division.
I want a soft heart,
so I can choose
to love you with it.
I choose to love me,
too, and this costs
a lot but in exchange
I know I’m free. How’s your heart today? How are you making it through this week? I’d love to hear from you.
I appreciate so much everything you've said here, Andrea. I especially value the paragraph beginning with this sentence: "Choosing to see people as beloved and trying to feel empathy toward them does not mean that they shouldn't face consequences for their actions." My heart today is feeling tender and angry; I don't think those are mutually exclusive. I'm grateful for the range of responses in the writing I've encountered this week, showing me all the different ways in which people who want the things I want are reacting to what's happening to us. I am trying to ground myself in what is real, what we know right now. I'm no longer allowing people to gaslight me about what I know. I've known for more than 8 years what was happening; I hoped I was wrong, but turns out I was right. (Not the prize it's always held up to be.) As awful as the challenge ahead of us is, I feel better able to meet it than I did 8 years ago. I'm looking for ways to stay strong and build strength. Connecting in places like this is one of them.
Love all of this so much!💜
I need to work on being tender.
Thank you Andrea!