In the spring of first grade, I was pulled out of class one day to attend First Communion practice. A second-grader was absent, which would throw off the pew location of every girl behind her in line. (The boys were on the other side of the aisle). To avoid that, the good (IHM) sisters chose me as a seat-filler.
I remember only two things about that day. The second always makes me smile: how momentarily thrilled my mother was when I told her all about it over milk and cookies that afternoon. Had the sisters recognized how spiritually precocious I was, and decided I should skip a grade, sacramentally? (Oh, Mom . . . I love how you loved me.)
The first is something I still recall at almost every Mass, more than half a century later. The line the children were memorizing that day was “May the Lord accept the sacrifice at your hands, for the praise and glory of His name, for our good and the good of all His holy Church.”
I’m guessing most Catholics rarely think about that line (beyond, perhaps, slaloming around the male language for God). It riveted me, however—because I misunderstood it. At six years old, my sense of “Church” was limited to the physical edifice—the wonder of marble and stone that was St. Alice’s in Upper Darby. That day, and for the next few years, I believed we prayed “for the good of all His holy Church” so that the building would not burn down. (Whether this caused or was caused by my childhood terror of fire, I do not know.)
I found myself thinking about that misunderstanding during Mass yesterday morning in light of a conversation I’d had with my friend Eileen Flanagan on Saturday night about risk factors for political violence. (Sorry, that was an abrupt pivot; I should have warned you to fasten your seatbelt!)
My parish is relatively homogenous, politically; maybe your is, too (if you have a parish). Or maybe you worship in a place that is more representative of our nation: well-meaning people passionately committed to opposing parties. The divide across that aisle can feel cavernous. I remember a time when people could hotly debate political topics over appetizers then enjoy a convivial dinner together. No more. We may avoid the subjects that divide us, but more likely we avoid the people.
And this is where the good of all God’s holy Church comes in. There’s more than one way to burn a thing down.
So, back to those risk factors. Apparently there are three: 1) a recent history of election-related violence, 2) scapegoating / blaming / fear mongering on the part of one or both sides and 3) mistrust of election results. While there’s nothing we can do about our appalling recent history (attempts at both insurrection and assassination, with threats to poll workers in between), there is plenty we can do about numbers two and three.
Scapegoating / Blaming / Fear Mongering
Let me say this clearly: we can not control how other people speak. We can only control how we speak—to and about other people. Scripture is full of good advice in this regard. “Let everyone be quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger; for your anger does not produce God’s righteousness” (James 1:19-20). Or this: “Should anyone ask you the reason for this hope of yours, be ever-ready to reply, but speak gently and respectfully” (1 Peter 3:15-16).
This weekend, I had a gentle, respectful email exchange with someone whose partisan convictions differ sharply from my own, which made me realize how rarely I have any conversation at all with people “on the other side.” I was grateful for the relationship-preserving graciousness. When such opportunities arise, we should remember that “flamethrower” language never convinces anyone of anything. Even when we are speaking to those in total agreement, colorful demonizing is entertaining, but does not contribute to the building up of the common good.
As Scripture says, “Those who guard mouth and tongue guard themselves from trouble” (Proverbs 21:23). This doesn’t mean we shouldn’t speak about important topics—far from it. But we need to be deeply mindful of how we speak.
Not Trusting Election Results.
On this, I’ll be briefer. If you are are skeptical about election integrity, come watch the sausage be made. As a poll worker, I see firsthand the care with which each voter and vote is handled, and the extensive training we go through, twice a year, to ensure it. Of course, this does not eliminate systemic threats, like rules that make it harder for every person to vote and the electoral college system that makes it harder for every vote to count. But if you are skeptical about the process itself, please know that—before, during, and after election day, on the ground, district by district—more than half a million of your fellow citizens are hard at work preserving your right to cast your ballot. Be kind to them!
. . . be ever-ready to reply, but speak gently and respectfully.”
A commitment to civil discourse is vital for the good of “all God’s holy Church” . . . or whatever body you call home. These communities—vital to our well-being—are going to be around long after this election, this presidency, this decade. Peacemaking begins at home.
Let’s not burn it down.
Christine Marie Eberle 