the Empathy List #127: Move Slow and Mend Things

Against Election Anxiety (Plus, a note on how white American evangelical pastors plan to vote)

Hello friend, Liz here.

Yesterday I spent the workday chasing down two Lifeway surveys—one that showed evangelicals doubly supporting Trump over Harris (61% vs. 31%) and another that showed half or more of all white evangelical pastors supporting Trump (~the same percentages as their congregants).

I wanted to parse the data and settle on a clear conclusion about the Church and American Politics—is Christian nationalism on the rise or decline? Do pastors’ opinions matter to their congregants? Does the polling feel true?

…And what does it mean that half of surveyed white evangelical pastors support a raping, pillaging, late-stage capitalist billionaire candidate? 🙈 I have no idea, but it’s not good.

To me, the most notable element of the survey was the fact that so few said the character of a candidate defined the direction of their voting—only 24% say personal character matters the most. Barf.

And I don’t know what to make of that number. The wide gap between theology and practice in white American Evangelicalism still baffles me. And I don’t know why I’m still surprised and offended. The stats are only confirming what I have seen and experienced over years within white American evangelicalism. But I hope for better. And I keep praying that God will convict those more concerned about “border security” and the size of their wallets than the trustworthiness of their leaders.

You can buy this letterpress poster from Department of Small Works in the UK.

News like this reminds me that I’m bone-weary.

I’m tired of mopping up the shit of huge institutions.

I’m tired of billionaires. (What makes them worthy subjects to write about except for their exceptional influence based entirely on their exceptional wealth? Is hoarding that much wealth even ethical?)

I’m tired of carefully filling in bubbles and still wondering whether my blue circle will count in the scheme of gerrymandered districts and electoral college intermediaries.¹

And I’m tired of being told that this election is the most important in the history of humankind and if I don’t sacrifice every second of my free-time to get this idealized candidate elected, then our nation, nay, the political philosophy known as democracy, the idea itself, will be flushed down God’s toilet. (Forget about social security, we live in the sewers now.)

Maybe you can relate? Maybe you, like me, have reached a point of fracture. At this moment in the election cycle, I have institution fatigue.

I have chronic institution fatigue, in fact, and politics has only exacerbated my symptoms.

I do not believe either candidate will substantially change my life for the better, only that one candidate will likely be worse for me and my vulnerable neighbors. Mine is a negative vote, albeit a passionate one.

I like Harris. I want to believe the hype. I’m a registered Democrat because I like how that party thinks.

But do I think Harris will SAVE THE ENTIRE EARTH? That she can cure society’s ills single-handedly, over the heads of an embroiled congress? Or that she can mend Gen-Z’s mental health crisis, bring MAGA-torn families back together, put Millennials into starter homes, take back our intellectual property from China, and carry a nation of 346 million humans in a Babybjörn carrier strapped to her chest? Nope. Though she’d definitely look better with a babybjörn than the alternative, she’s just a person in a divisive, inhumane system that was never meant to play God.

I admit, there are moments I have believed the hype. I have wanted a candidate to bring change—dramatic, lasting, and holistic change. I have wanted Harris to be that candidate. I have wanted saving. And perhaps a part of me even believed that God listens more closely to the person on stage, that their voice and prayers and actions matters more than mine. That, perhaps, the right person in the chair will make God act better than I could. That the right person could demand God’s justice and bring it, too.

But politics cannot do that. Only the prayers of Godself, breathed unceasingly by a people who hope against hope, can bring God’s kingdom to Earth.

My weariness makes me susceptible to believing that we can do it without Divine intervention.

And so, I’m granting myself a political sabbath. I don’t know how much I’ll engage politics in the next month, but I’ll try to go easy on the doom scrolling and heavy on the prayer for ultimate restoration, preferably surrounded by others determined to ask for change from a higher source.

Anxiety in this political moment is inevitable: we all feel it. So, I have found that this is about the time I need permission to turn down the yelling.

For example: this Thursday, I won’t be watching the vice presidential debate. Instead of camping in front of the television, my blood slowly boiling as Vance and Walz poke each other with large sticks, I’ll be throwing a friend a birthday party.

This past weekend, my family and I purged the trash from around my backyard, scrubbed bathroom surfaces and lawn furniture, hung café lights, and selected boxed wines for the main event. I cannot think of a more human or more meaningful activity than watching a dear friend blow out 30+ candles on her birthday cake while those who love her gather around to celebrate the turning of her life.

This is one example of what my spiritual practice looks like in this season. I am centering my body. I am rejecting the Silicon Valley adage (“move fast and break things”) in favor of people and meditative movement. I am moving slowly and mending things instead.

Art by Polly Chu, thread on tissue paper (15 3/4 " x 15")

Detail of “Move Slow and Mend Things” by Polly Chu

I choose to pick, chop, and can tomatoes by the gallon for my family to eat in colder months; to lay mulch in the backyard vegetable garden, one wheelbarrow-full at a time; to indulge in slow afternoon walks around the green spaces in my suburban neighborhood, chatting with my work-from-home husband; to meditate with the Pray as You Go app; to put a puzzle back together on the coffee table; to play Battleship with my children; to explore the grounds of my city’s Botanic Gardens; to listen to so many murder mystery series’ on Audible (my favorite are the British detectives, obviously).

I am playing and moving and making. The more my body is involved, the better to tame the inner dread.

There is no wrong way to cure anxiety, political or otherwise, but I guarantee that for most of us, curing anxiety will involve returning to our bodies, to this time and this space with these people, and it will require we acknowledge our finitude.

We are small, and that’s okay. We can still make a measurable difference in this world, just not on the scale of TV and political rallies. The scale of our lives more likely resembles the scale of most of humanity.

And the scale of our lives is the same scale at which Jesus lived before his 33rd year. I am comforted to remember the anonymity of Jesus’s early life. Smallness and slowness is a healer. That’s how character grows. I need this reminder personally because I have enough ambition to want to be important. For those like me, we need to remember daily and hourly that the universe spins without our efforts.

So you, too, are allowed to take a sabbath from politics, my friend. Live into the intricacies of your own life—the beautiful and the tragic—and turn off the punditry. Take a breath, and remember that in Hebrew, the word for breath is the same as the word for Spirit. Of course it is.

Warmly, Liz Charlotte Grant

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Your turn: How do you turn down your political anxiety? What practices remind you of your powerless and your belovedness?

1. Another reason I’m very tired: last week, I talked into a microphone for many hours to record an extra special project related to my book coming out this January (Knock at the Sky: Seeking God in Genesis After Losing Faith in the Bible).

…Drum roll, please…

Jeremy and I are getting into podcasting! (Jeremy is my artistic partner who made collages and design for the book. He’s also my husband. ;-))

This winter, you’re gonna hear me talk theology on a zillion thoughtful Christian podcasts. But what you won’t get from those zillions of guest interviews is the story of making this book.

Since Jeremy and I consider ourselves working artists, we wanted to offer readers a behind-the-scenes glimpse at our creative processes. In the course of four conversations recorded on our couch in our living room, we’ll discuss the progression from idea to craft to revision to release of Knock at the Sky, a progression familiar to all creative practice. We’ll talk about the challenges of our collaboration as artists and romantic partners, and we’ll discuss each collage that precedes the chapters.

We’re crossing our fingers that you’ll enjoy it… and that it’ll make the art make sense. I also think we’re pretty charming in these recordings? I hope? You can be the judge.

Coming to a podcast listening app near you this January… the Knock at the Sky Behind-the-Scenes podcast. ;-)