Stepping Up

The Rose Window, Washington National Cathedral (photo: HG)

During my recent trip to DC, I attended Sunday services at the Washington National Cathedral. The Gothic architecture, in the style of the great cathedrals of Europe, invites one to look upwards toward the heavens. The incredibly beautiful music offered by the Cathedral Choir and the powerful organ provide opportunities to think about what really matters. It also happened that three baptisms had been scheduled for that Sunday, evoking reflection on the cycle of life. The experience filled me with peace while bolstering my sense of resolve during a time when the world around us is in turmoil.

I had hoped to hear the Rt. Reverend Mariann Edgar Budde, Bishop of the Episcopal Diocese of Washington, preach that day. But alas, she was not participating in that service. She has a special place in my heart for speaking truth to power during the Inauguration Prayer Service held on January 21, 2025, in the cathedral. Her welcoming remarks to the President and invited guests continue to inspire me. I found them meaningful in late January, but even moreso now that we are not quite two months into the new governmental administration, which, in my view, is wreaking havoc both domestically and internationally. I reproduce her comments here for our consideration, and invite you to pay special attention to the last two paragraphs (in bold) -- the ones that went viral. (With acknowledgment to the San Francisco Bay Times for printing the full transcript in their paper). Here is a link to the video of the sermon (15 minutes), if you'd rather listen -- or for a more powerful experience, listen as you read along:

May the words of my mouth and the meditation of all our hearts be acceptable in your sight, oh God, for you are our strength and our Redeemer. Amen. Please be seated.

Again, my warm welcome to all who have gathered in this House of prayer for all people and for those who are joining us via live-stream. As a country we have gathered this morning to pray for unity as a people and a nation, not for agreement, political or otherwise, but for the kind of unity that fosters community across diversity and division, a unity that serves the common good. Unity in this sense is a threshold requirement for people to live in freedom and together in a free society. It is the solid rock, as Jesus said, in this case upon which to build a nation. It is not conformity. It is not victory. It is not polite weariness or passive passivity born of exhaustion. Unity is not partisan, rather unity is a way of being with one another that encompasses and respects our differences, that teaches us to hold multiple perspectives and life experiences as valid and worthy of respect, that enables us in our communities and in the halls of power to genuinely care for one another even when we disagree.

Those across our country who dedicate their lives or who volunteer to help others in times of natural disaster, often at great risk to themselves, never ask those they are helping for whom they voted in a past election or what positions they hold on a particular issue. And we are at our best when we follow their example. For unity at times is sacrificial in the way that love is sacrificial, a giving of ourselves for the sake of another. In his sermon on the mount, Jesus of Nazareth exhorts us to love, not only our neighbors, but to love our enemies and to pray for those who persecute us, to be merciful as our God is merciful, to forgive others as God forgives us. And Jesus went out of his way to welcome those whom his society deemed as outcasts.

Now I grant you that unity in this broad expansive sense is aspirational, and it’s a lot to pray for. It’s a big ask of our God, worthy of the best of who we are and who we can be. But there isn’t much to be gained by our prayers if we act in ways that further deepen the divisions among us. Our scriptures are quite clear about this that God is never impressed with prayers when actions are not informed by them. Nor does God spare us from the consequences of our deeds, which always in the end matter more than the words we pray.

Those of us gathered here in the cathedral, we are not naive about the realities of politics, when power and wealth and competing interests are at stake, when views of what America should be are in conflict, when there are strong opinions across a spectrum of possibilities and starkly different understandings of what the right course of action is. There will be winners and losers. When votes are cast—decisions made that set the course of public policy and the prioritization of resources—it goes without saying that, in a democracy, not everyone’s particular hopes and dreams can be realized in a given legislative session or a presidential term, not even in a generation. Which is to say, not everyone’s specific prayers, for those of us who are people of prayer, not everyone’s prayers will be answered in the way we would like. But for some, the loss of their hopes and dreams will be far more than political defeat, but instead a loss of equality and dignity and their livelihoods. Given this then, is true unity among us even possible? And why should we care about it?

Well, I hope we care. I hope we care because the culture of contempt that has become normalized in this country threatens to destroy us. We are all bombarded daily with messages from what sociologists now call the outrage industrial complex, some of that driven by external forces whose interests are furthered by a polarized America. Contempt fuels political campaigns and social media, and many profit from that. But it’s a worrisome—it’s a dangerous way to lead a country. I’m a person of faith surrounded by people of faith, and, with God’s help, I believe that unity in this country is possible. Not perfectly, for we are imperfect people and an imperfect union but sufficient enough to keep us all believing in and working to realize the ideals of the United States of America, ideals expressed in the Declaration of Independence, with its assertion of innate human equality and dignity. And we are right to pray for God’s help as we seek unity, for we need God’s help, but only if we ourselves are willing to tend to the foundations upon which unity depends, like Jesus’ analogy of building a house of faith on the rock of his teachings as opposed to building a house on sand. The foundations we need for unity must be sturdy enough to withstand the many storms that threaten it. And, so what are they, the foundations of unity?

Drawing from our sacred traditions and texts, let me suggest that there are at least three. The first foundation for unity is honoring the inherent dignity of every human being, which is, as all the faiths represented here affirm, the birthright of all people as children of our one God. In public discourse, honoring each other’s dignity means refusing to mock or discount or demonize those with whom we differ, choosing instead to respectfully debate our differences, and, whenever possible, to seek common ground. And if common ground is not possible, dignity demands that we remain true to our convictions without contempt for those who hold convictions of their own.

The second foundation for unity is honesty, in both private conversation and public discourse. If we are not willing to be honest, there is no use in praying for unity because our actions work against the prayers themselves. We might, for a time, experience a false sense of unity among some, but not the sturdier, broader unity that we need to address the challenges that we face. Now to be fair, we don’t always know where the truth lies, and there is a lot working against the truth now. But when we do know, when we know what is true, it is incumbent upon us to speak the truth, even when, especially when it costs us.

On the third and last foundation I’ll mention today (as a) foundation for unity, is humility, which we all need, because we are all fallible human beings. We make mistakes. We say and do things that we later regret. We have our blind spots and our biases. And perhaps we are most dangerous to ourselves and others when we are persuaded without a doubt that we are absolutely right and someone else is absolutely wrong, because then we are just a few steps from labeling ourselves as the good people versus the bad people. And the truth is that we are all people. We are both capable of good and bad. Alexander Solzhenitsyn once astutely observed that the line separating good and evil passes, not through states, not between classes, nor between political parties, but through, right through every human heart, through all human hearts. And the more we realize this, the more room we have within ourselves for humility and openness to one another across our differences, because, in fact, we are more like one another than we realize, and we need each other.

Unity is relatively easy to pray for on occasions of great solemnity. It’s a lot harder to realize when we’re dealing with real differences in our private lives and in the public arena. But without unity, we’re building our nation’s house on sand, and with a commitment to unity that incorporates diversity and transcends disagreement and with the solid foundations of dignity, honesty, and humility that such unity requires, we can do our part, and in our time, to realize the ideals and the dream of America.

Let me make one final plea, Mr. President. Millions have put their trust in you and, as you told the nation yesterday, 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. There are gay, lesbian, and transgender children in Democratic, Republican, and Independent families, some who fear for their lives.

And the people, the people who pick our crops and clean our office buildings, who labor in poultry farms and meat packing plants, who wash the dishes after we eat in restaurants and work the night shifts in hospitals. They may not be citizens or have the proper documentation, but the vast majority of immigrants are not criminals. They pay taxes and are good neighbors. They are faithful members of our churches and mosques, synagogues, and temples. 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. Our God teaches us that we are to be merciful to the stranger for we were all once strangers in this land. May God grant us the strength and courage to honor the dignity of every human being, to speak the truth to one another in love. and walk humbly with each other and our God for the good of all people. The good of all people in this nation and the world. Amen.

This sermon inspired me and continues to do so. It can be read at many levels. People of faith can read the words about God, scripture, and so on -- and relate to themes of their respective religious traditions. But people who do not hold specific religious or spiritual beliefs can also see in her text appeals to key themes that have guided thoughts and ideals expressed across time and culture about how humans can best relate to one another: community, freedom, respect, caring, dedication, love, dignity, human equality, honesty, humility, and mercy. In my view, these are all wonderfully worthy concepts ... and each of them is being put to the test in full view of us all on a daily basis.

The question is now before each of us: What will we do about it? Anything?

I don't recall hearing of Bishop Budde before that day, but now her name is widely known. I recently became aware of her book, How We Learn to Be Brave: Decisive Moments in Life and Faith (2023, Penguin Random House.)

The book could be a quick read, at just about 200 pages, but I am choosing to savor it and reflect on the meaning of each chapter in my own life. Each chapter addresses an issue that could be a turning point in your life or mine:

• deciding to go

• deciding to stay

• deciding to start

• accepting what you do not choose

• stepping up to the plate

• the inevitable letdown, and

• the hidden virtue of perseverance

There's no reason to hurry through these chapters, and every reason to linger and ponder their meaning for our lives -- especially now. I appreciate her point that bravery can take many different forms.

I would be interested to hear your thoughts about her January sermon or her book. I will be sharing more about my reflections as I take the time to read the book with intention.