Afifa Aleiby
I read this poem the first time in about 1975, and have loved it ever since. It means more as I age:
Question by May Swenson
Afifa Aleiby
I read this poem the first time in about 1975, and have loved it ever since. It means more as I age:
Question by May Swenson
Artist: Leonard Koscianski
I love this poem by Jeff Hardin:
EVERLASTING by Jeff Hardin
Where I live, a deep snow
dreaming the moonlight
back into its corner of sky
descends infrequently, so that,
haunting the woods, it makes
the morning into a dream,
quieter even than silence
knows to be. No one but
me, I lean my head pensively
against a window as if—of
all things—I get to eavesdrop
on time telling itself to itself,
a story gathering everything
all at once and for always.
Then a trinity of deer traipses
through, solemn as monks,
or maybe that’s how I need
to imagine them, my soul
in no hurry, contemplative
like that, over a white expanse,
in route to somewhere else.
I learned early of the everlasting,
and now and then I still say
those words—the everlasting—
in the way someone says book
or door jamb or privet hedge,
a thing to reach out for, to hold
in the hand, or to put to use.
If only the snow came more
often. If only the mind’s lone
wondering could see what God
sees, seeing what isn’t there:
the steps we didn’t take that
might have gone anywhere,
anywhere but where they fell.
I don't remember where I saw this photo, but this door knob fascinates me.
Lately I've been confronted with two other people whose way of thinking is so different from mine that I am flummoxed by it. I am a big introvert , and have interacted with many extroverts, but even so, these two are really amazing to me.
I have come to realize that I have a different way of thinking, too, and have had for my whole life. I've led a privileged life; have never feared for the necessities of life. I've always known that I matter to some people. Enough people. I've come to the conclusion that I am what is called a "covert narcissist" --- "arrogant, self-involved, hypersensitive to criticism" and , as some writer has described, "It's hard to form long-lasting relationships if your go-to move is to withdraw from people when angry." I recently read an article , "Self-awareness and self-acceptance in Narcissism" by Sam Vaknin, that described me to myself in ways that no other writer has. My sense of being an actor and playing a part has been with me since childhood-- being at least one step removed from the immediacy of myself. I am so removed from myself that it doesn't even scare me.
The two women whose way of thinking so flummoxed me are the opposite: they are both extremely self-aware and self-analytical, replaying conversations in their heads all the time. I only know that because they have spoken about it.
I guess the picture of the hand and the door knob somehow illustrate that mystery to me.
I can't say any more at this time because my mind gets muddled.
Susan Wheeler - illustration from Foxwood Tales
I like this quote from Saint Francis de Sales, whose feast is today:
"Never be in a hurry; do everything quietly and in a calm
spirit. Do not lose your inner peace for anything whatsoever, even if your whole world seems upset."
and he is the patron saint of writers!
and another cozy one:
artist: Terri Windling
IHM novices in the 1950s
After a thought-provoking conversation today with a woman who shared my high school experience, I went back and read a talk by Sandra Schneiders, a prominent New Testament theologian and a Catholic Sister in her eighties - which means that she joined her religious community in the 1950s:
"...Rather than annual double-digit entrance classes of teenage high school graduates ready to be trained in and deployed by their respective congregations into its well-institutionalized and highly respected ministries and the majority of whom would persevere, today's entrants are usually lone individuals, at least college graduates (often saddled with debt), and usually closer in age to 40 or even 50 than 20. Only 1% of women religious today is below age 40. Even someone as mathematically challenged as I can see that these indisputable facts seem ominous.
"...These new Religious were slated to live and minister
in the Congregation they entered and its institutions for the whole of their
lives. And no one, veterans or recruits, thought that there would be any real
changes in the life or the Congregation’s ministries (called “apostolates”) any
time in the foreseeable future. Today, as we are very aware, the situation is
extremely different from anything any of us could have imagined in the 1950’s.
We have very few new members, none very young, few coming from solidly, much
less exclusively, Catholic backgrounds and usually with, at best, fragmented
religious formations if any at all. But they are often professionally quite
well formed, credentialed, and to some extent experienced. And the Congregation
does not have placements for them even if it did have the luxury of forming
them according to its requirements or desires. There are at least two important
points to make about this comparative situation if we are not to see it as a
description of the beginning of the end of the lifeform we call Religious Life.
First, there is nothing normative about
the 1950s version of the life. In the history of the Church there have been
periods in which large numbers of the faithful entered Religious Life and other
periods in which very few did. Different forms of the life have attracted
large numbers at certain times and places as other forms have declined or waned
or even disappeared, only to experience, in some cases, a sociological
re-emergence at another time or in another place. And the numbers have
fluctuated greatly geographically, just as is the case today when vocations are
multiplying in some parts of the world even as they decline in others. The
still widespread, even if unarticulated, idea that Religious Life is healthy when
it is numerically huge, financially flush, institutionally established, and
approved of by the powers that be, and unhealthy when the numbers are smaller,
resources are scarce, and approval is spotty may say more about the extent to
which we have internalized the might-makes-right, capitalistic, politically
dominant value system of the first world than about the health of Religious
Life in our context. Jesus’ movement, especially his chosen itinerant band that
made a life choice of total devotion to his project – that is, the biblical
precursors of Religious Life as I have suggested elsewhere – was hardly the
most sociologically successful operation in first century Palestine. Jesus’
band never seems to have exceeded, at most, a few dozen in his lifetime, and it
does not seem to have greatly increased in the immediate aftermath of the
Resurrection..."
In some congregations, there were as many as 120 postulants entering at a time, mostly 17-18 year old high school graduates. In my own community, there were about 60 postulants in the "band" of 1964. By the time I entered in 1978, there were 3 of us.
But back to that large number of postulants. How did the sisters in charge of their formation handle them, and form them? In lock step, I think. This was quite different from my experience almost 15 years later.
I am not sure what I am trying to say, except that with so many new entrants, their individual gifts and talents became expendable. I know sisters who were talented violinists who could never play the violin again.
I still don't know where these musings are going.
I can't even begin to tell my relief.
This article in The Atlantic expresses it well:
By Matthew Yglesias
Mr. Yglesias writes extensively about politics,
economics and more.
President Biden’s first year in office has been
frustrating for many of his supporters. He has disappointed his more leftist supporters
by refusing to take aggressive unilateral action in some areas where he has
discretion, and he has disappointed his more moderate supporters by choosing to
take aggressive action in other areas.
That’s doubly true for the gaggle of youngish, college-educated,
city-dwelling liberals who dominate the work force of the media, the
progressive nonprofits and much of the Democratic Party itself — people who
most likely didn’t back Mr. Biden in the primary and always suspected he
wouldn’t deliver enough change for their tastes.
However, these are the banally normal problems of a
normal presidency. Even the midterm wipeout that appears to be looming for his
party is, by historical standards, a normal course of events.
But if Mr. Biden and his team want to give Democrats a
fighting chance and turn his numbers around before electoral disaster strikes,
they would do well to keep two slightly paradoxical thoughts in mind. First,
Mr. Biden is governing in extraordinary times, but his presidency is still governed
by the normal rules of American politics. Second, generating a feeling of
normalcy around American politics and daily life — as he promised to do during
the campaign — would itself be a transformative change.
The central contradiction of the Biden presidency is
that he won the Democratic primary by running to the center, offering
electability and normalcy rather than political revolution and big, structural
change. But just as he was emerging as the party’s nominee, the Covid-19
pandemic struck, and we started hearing about plans for “an F.D.R.-sized
presidency” — that is, big structural change. Had the U.S. economy completely
collapsed over the course of 2020 the way it did under Herbert Hoover, that
might have been realistic.
But mostly, it didn’t. Timely action from the Federal
Reserve and trillions in bipartisan relief appropriations held things together.
Not well enough to save Donald Trump’s presidency, but well enough to make the
Electoral College race razor-thin and cost Democrats several seats in the House
of Representatives.
Yet even when it turned out that the polls were off
and his victory was much narrower than expected, Mr. Biden never really let go
of the dream of a transformative 1930s-style presidency, though he clearly
lacked the large legislative majorities to deliver on a New Deal or Great
Society.
The disappointment of this failed effort at
transformational policymaking tends to mask the extent to which, in his first
year, Mr. Biden was in some ways surprisingly successful in his aspirational
promises to restore a climate of bipartisanship to the legislative process.
Many progressives believe that Republicans voted for
the bipartisan infrastructure bill only as part of a ploy to stymie the Build
Back Better agenda. But Republicans never attempted such a move during the
Obama years, and the fact that they agreed to anything at all was contrary to
some very confidently asserted predictions from journalists (myself included)
who cut our teeth on Obama-era policy fights and expected total intransigence.
We’ve also seen bipartisan legislation to expand
American science funding and independent supply-chain capacity — the U.S.
Innovation and Competition Act — pass the Senate with a substantial bipartisan
majority. The House passed similar legislation (in separate bills), and the two
chambers are trying to hash out the differences in a conference committee, a
venerable legislative institution that has largely fallen into disuse during
the recent years of hyper-partisanship.
But alongside these reassuring springs of normalcy,
Mr. Biden has had to contend with some unusually challenging situations. It’s
extraordinary that his administration has been stalked by the specter of a
defeated predecessor who refuses to admit that he lost fair and square. Yet as
the political scientist Sam Rosenfeld writes, the most striking feature of
American politics in 2021 was the “abiding sturdiness of electoral dynamics.”
Swing voters responded to unified Democratic Party governance by swinging right
and seeking to counterbalance.
Exacerbating this problem is perhaps the most normal
political challenge of all — economic conditions deteriorated in the second
half of the year, helping to drive down Mr. Biden’s approval ratings.
The inflation of 2021 is not especially his fault.
There is no way to undergo a pandemic without some economic cost, and bearing
that cost in the form of inflation is superior to the alternative of
stabilizing prices at lower levels of employment and real output.
But the nature of the White House is that even things
that are not the president’s fault are the president’s problem. The same goes
for the virus. Mr. Biden perhaps set himself up for failure by over-promising
(a very normal campaign sin) and implying that he would be able to “shut down
the virus” and allow society to return to normal. That was not true when he
promised it, and variants have made it even less feasible.
Vaccines greatly reduce the health risk associated
with the virus, but they don’t eliminate it. And that makes the trade-off
between economic output and virus control harder rather than easier. Because so
many Americans are vaccinated, demand for goods and services is now much higher
than it was during the Trump presidency. That means quarantine rules and other restrictions
on business activity and public institutions do carry real costs. This winter,
with the Omicron surge, we have more people who want to fly on airplanes than
pilots who are cleared to carry them.
The Biden administration and executive branch have
clearly been taking steps toward more prioritization of the economy and less of
public health — for example, shortening the Centers for Disease Control and
Prevention’s guidance about isolation time — but the president has been
reluctant to explicitly say in public that’s what’s going on, perhaps out of
fear of sounding too much like his predecessor. And saying just “follow the
science” is not the answer: The scientific method doesn’t answer questions
about trade-offs.
When all is said and done, the frustrations of the
Biden supporters who want a return to normal are more politically significant
than those of the more progressive crowd who yearn for transformation.
That means more focus on the short-term economic
situation. The good news on inflation is that the gasoline price spike of 2021
is unlikely to occur a second time, and the Federal Reserve is likely to pivot
into inflation-fighting mode as well. But there are risks, too, from economic
disruptions in China, and monetary policy efforts to curb inflation could do
too much to curb real growth as well.
The fate of Mr. Biden’s presidency — and if you
believe the dire warnings of many Democrats and academics, of the republic
itself — hinges less on the fate of legacy items like Build Back Better or a
renewed voting rights act than it does on the normal procession of
macroeconomic events. Unfortunately for Mr. Biden, no president has control
over them entirely — but pushing for a final version of the bipartisan U.S.
Innovation and Competition Act, which contains provisions to strengthen the
semiconductor supply chain, could be helpful.
It means more attention to classic Biden themes of
patriotism, bipartisanship and normalcy, and fewer headlines dominated by
high-profile squeeze plays against moderate senators.
Most of what has happened to Mr. Biden has been very
normal. But if Democrats take their own fears about the opposition party
seriously, they should be very worried about the consequences of the normal
cycle of overreach and backlash, and try harder to surprise the country by
doubling down on normalcy.
My Modernity in Literature class begins today. I've been teaching this course for about twelve years.
I change it a bit each time, and my students change, too.
This year, all of them were born in the twenty-first century. And, of course, the Pandemic has changed everything.
One poem we will read today is Yeats' "The Second Coming" which he wrote in 1919:
William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)
The Second
Coming, (1919)
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot
hear the falconer;
Things fall apart;
the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is
loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed
tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of
innocence is drowned;
The best lack all
conviction, while the worst
Are full of
passionate intensity.
Surely some
revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second
Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming!
Hardly are those words out
When a vast image
out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight:
a waste of desert sand;
A shape with lion
body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and
pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow
thighs, while all about it
Wind shadows of
the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops
again but now I know
That twenty
centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to
nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough
beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards
Bethlehem to be born?
Wolf Moon by Lois Parker Edstrom
The January moon is ripe. It spills its light
into the dark night, an extrovert needing to be
the center of attention. There is a reason
wolves howl when the moon reveals the fullness
of itself, and although I haven't done so,
I've felt the urge—a longing so ancient and wild
as if in a time past we came from an enchanted place,
a place so beautiful we want only to return.
Now the moon casts its cold white light
onto everything—the fields glitter and the lake
gives itself up to receive the radiance
of that dominating presence.
We may lose ourselves in brilliance,
an attraction that smolders, just waiting to be lit.
No secrets, no dark and quiet corners.
The moon demands clarity.
Come into the light.
The dog noses January night,
swivels ears to listen.
He hears what we cannot.
Answers oo-oow, low at first,
tentative, the opening bars
of an ode to joy.
He builds, stacking oo-oo-ow
on oo-oo-oh, all call now,
half-wild, he pulls the wolf
out of his chest, sets it loose
to bound along the tree line,
where it howls back, the sound
muffle and shattered glass,
becomes a fabulous round
of echoed voices.
The dog closes his eyes,
muzzle pointing to the stars.
Front paws lift off the ground
in ecstasy, he is conductor
and orchestra both
calling his pack home
as he plays a winter song
under the Wolf Moon.
This one doesn't look like much, but we've had temps in the teens for days, which means that, when this turns to rain, we will have icy trouble.
Still, I love to watch it snow in the blue hour.
Here's another piece of Roethke's "The Far Field" :
All finite things reveal infinitude:
The mountain with its singular bright shade
Like the blue shine on freshly frozen snow,
The after-light upon ice-burdened pines;
Odor of basswood on a mountain-slope,
A scent beloved of bees;
Silence of water above a sunken tree :
The pure serene of memory in one man, --
A ripple widening from a single stone
Winding around the waters of the world.
I love the lyrics to this song by Bruce Cockburn:
You can't tell me there is no mystery
Mystery
Mystery
You can't tell me there is no mystery
It's everywhere I turn
Moon over junk yard where the snow lies bright
Snow lies bright
Snow lies bright
Moon over junk yard where the snow lies bright
Can set my heart to burn
Stood before the shaman, I saw star-strewn space
Star-strewn space
Star-strewn space
Stood before the shaman, I saw star strewn space
Behind the eye holes in his face
Infinity always gives me vertigo
Vertigo
Vertigo
Infinity always gives me vertigo
And fills me up with grace
I was built on a Friday and you can't fix me
You can't fix me
You can't fix me
I was built on a Friday and you can't fix me
Even so I've done okay
So grab that last bottle full of gasoline
Gasoline
Gasoline
Grab that last bottle full of gasoline
Light a toast to yesterday
And don't tell me there is no mystery
Mystery
Mystery
And don't tell me there is no mystery
It overflows my cup
This feast of beauty can intoxicate
Intoxicate
Intoxicate
This feast of beauty can intoxicate
Just like the finest wine
So all you stumblers who believe love rules
Believe love rules
Believe love rules
Come all you stumblers who believe love rules
Stand up and let it shine
Stand up and let it shine
Almost to mid January, and the snow isn't melting around here much; temperatures in the teens. I tend to hunker down.
“I counted my years and found that I have less time to live
from now on than I have lived until now.
I feel like that kid who won a package of sweets: he ate the
first ones with pleasure, but when he realized there were only a few left he
started to enjoy them intensely.
I no longer have time for endless meetings where statute,
rules, procedures and internal regulations are discussed, knowing nothing will
be achieved.
I no longer have time to support absurd people who, despite
their age, have not grown up.
My time is too short: I want the essence, my soul is in a
hurry. Not many more sweets in the package.
I want to live next to human people, very human, who know how
to laugh at their mistakes and who are not inflated by their triumphs and who
take on their own responsibilities. This is how you defend your human dignity
and move towards truth and honesty
It’s the essentials that make life worth living.
I want to surround myself with people who know how to touch
hearts, people to whom the hard blows of life taught to grow with gentle
touches of the soul.
Yes, I’m in a hurry, I’m rushing to live with the intensity
that only maturity can give.
Not planning on wasting any leftover candy. I'm sure these
will be yummy, a lot more than what we've eaten so far.
My goal is to reach the end satisfied and in peace with my
loved ones and my conscience.
We have two lives and the second one starts when you realize
you only have one. "
art by Rob Gonsalves
Here is a fragment from Theodore Roethke's marvelous poem "The Far Field"
I learned not to fear
infinity,
The far field, the windy cliffs of forever,
The dying of time in the white light of
tomorrow,
The wheel turning away from itself,
The sprawl of the wave,
The on-coming water.
I have come to a still, but not a deep center,
A point outside the glittering current;
My eyes stare at the bottom of a river,
At the irregular stones, iridescent sandgrains,
My mind moves in more than one place,
In a country half-land, half-water.
I am renewed by death, thought of my death,
The dry scent of a dying garden in September,
The wind fanning the ash of a low fire.
What I love is near at hand,
Always, in earth and air.
view from my window
Here are some snow poems:
"From Heaven I fall, though from earth I begin.
No lady alive can show such a skin.
I'm bright as an angel, and light as a feather,
But heavy and dark, when you squeeze me together.
Though candor and truth in my aspect I bear,
Yet many poor creatures I help to insnare.
Though so much of Heaven appears in my make,
The foulest impressions I easily take.
My parent and I produce one another,
The mother the daughter, the daughter the
mother."
- James Parton,
A Riddle - On Snow
“I wonder if the snow loves the trees and fields, that it kisses them so gently? And then it covers them up snug, you know, with a white quilt; and perhaps it says “Go to sleep, darlings, till the summer comes again.”
— Lewis Carroll
Miguel de
Unamuno -
1864-1936
translated by Robert Bly
The snowfall is so silent,
so
slow,
bit
by bit, with delicacy
it
settles down on the earth
and
covers over the fields.
The
silent snow comes down
white
and weightless;
snowfall
makes no noise,
falls
as forgetting falls,
flake
after flake.
It
covers the fields gently
while
frost attacks them
with
its sudden flashes of white;
covers
everything with its pure
and
silent covering;
not
one thing on the ground
anywhere
escapes it.
And
wherever it falls it stays,
content
and gay,
for
snow does not slip off
as
rain does,
but
it stays and sinks in.
The
flakes are skyflowers,
pale
lilies from the clouds,
that
wither on earth.
They
come down blossoming
but
then so quickly
they
are gone;
they
bloom only on the peak,
above
the mountains,
and
make the earth feel heavier
when
they die inside.
Snow,
delicate snow,
that
falls with such lightness
on
the head,
on
the feelings,
come
and cover over the sadness
that
lies always in my reason.
On this first anniversary of the storming of the Capitol by hordes of angry right-wing fanatics, I post this essay which appeared on the New York Times page today. I think it is true.
Christian Nationalism Is One of
Trump’s Most Powerful Weapons
Jan. 6, 2022
By Katherine Stewart
Ms. Stewart has reported on the religious right for more
than a decade. She is the author of “The Power Worshippers: Inside the
Dangerous Rise of Religious Nationalism.”
This article is part of a collection on the events of Jan. 6, one year later.
The most serious attempt
to overthrow the American constitutional system since the Civil War would not
have been feasible without the influence of America’s Christian nationalist
movement. One year later, the movement seems to have learned a lesson: If it
tries harder next time, it may well succeed in making the promise of American
democracy a relic of the past.
Christian
nationalist symbolism was all over the events of Jan. 6, as observers have pointed out. But the movement’s contribution to the
effort to overturn the 2020 election and install an unelected president goes
much deeper than the activities of a few of its representatives on the day that
marks the unsuccessful end (or at least a temporary setback) of an attempted
coup.
A
critical precondition for Donald Trump’s attempt to retain the presidency
against the will of the people was the cultivation of a substantial population
of voters prepared to believe his fraudulent claim that the election was stolen
— a line of argument Mr. Trump began preparing well before the election, at the
first presidential debate.
The role of social and
right-wing media in priming the base for the claim that the election was
fraudulent is by now well understood. The role of the faith-based messaging
sphere is less well appreciated. Pastors, congregations and the religious media
are among the most trusted sources of information for many voters. Christian
nationalist leaders have established richly funded national organizations and
initiatives to exploit this fact. The repeated message that they sought to
deliver through these channels is that outside sources of information are
simply not credible. The creation of an information bubble, impervious to
correction, was the first prerequisite of Mr. Trump’s claim.
The
coup attempt also would not have been possible without the unshakable sense of
persecution that movement leaders have cultivated among the same base of
voters. Christian nationalism today begins with the conviction that
conservative Christians are the most oppressed group in American society. Among
leaders of the movement, it is a matter of routine to hear talk that they are engaged
in a “battle against tyranny,” and that the Bible may soon be outlawed.
A final precondition for
the coup attempt was the belief, among the target population, that the
legitimacy of the United States government derives from its commitment to a
particular religious and cultural heritage, and not from its democratic form.
It is astonishing to many that the leaders of the Jan. 6 attack on the
constitutional electoral process styled themselves as “patriots.” But it makes
a glimmer of sense once you understand that their allegiance is to a belief in
blood, earth and religion, rather than to the mere idea of a government “of the
people, by the people, for the people.”
Given the movement’s role
in laying the groundwork for the coup attempt, its leaders faced a quandary
when Mr. Trump began to push his repeatedly disproven claims — and that
quandary turned into a test of character on Jan. 6. Would they go along with an
attempt to overthrow America’s democratic system?
Some
attempted to rewrite the facts about Jan. 6. The former Republican
Representative Michele Bachmann suggested the riot was the work of “paid rabble
rousers,” while the activist and author Lance Wallnau, who has praised Mr.
Trump as “God’s chaos candidate,” blamed “the local antifa mob.” Many leaders,
like Charlie Kirk, appeared
to endorse Mr. Trump’s claims about a fraudulent election. Others, like Michael
Farris, president and chief executive of the religious right legal advocacy
group Alliance Defending Freedom, provided indirect but no less valuable
support by concern-trolling about supposed “constitutional irregularities” in
battleground states.
None appeared willing to
condemn Mr. Trump for organizing an attempt to prevent the peaceful transfer of
power to President-elect Joe Biden. On the contrary, the Rev. Franklin Graham,
writing on Facebook, condemned “these ten” from Mr. Trump’s “own party” who
voted to impeach him and mused, “It makes you wonder what the thirty pieces of
silver were that Speaker Pelosi promised for this betrayal.”
At
Christian nationalist conferences I have been reporting on, I have heard speakers go out of their way to defend and even
lionize the Jan. 6 insurrectionists. At the Road to Majority conference, which
was held in Central Florida in June 2021, the author and radio host Eric
Metaxas said, “The reason I think we are being so persecuted, why the Jan. 6
folks are being persecuted, when you’re over the target like that, oh my.” At
that same conference, the political commentator Dinesh D’Souza, in conversation
with the religious right strategist Ralph Reed, said, “The people who are
really getting shafted right now are the Jan. 6 protesters,” before adding, “We
won’t defend our guys even when they’re good guys.” Mr. Reed nodded in response
and replied, “I think Donald Trump taught our movement a lot.”
Movement leaders now
appear to be working to prime the base for the next attempt to subvert the
electoral process. At dozens of conservative churches in swing states this past
year, groups of pastors were treated to presentations by an initiative called
Faith Wins. Featuring speakers like David Barton, a key figure in the
fabrication of Christian nationalist myths about history, and led by Chad
Connelly, a Republican political veteran, Faith Wins serves up elections
skepticism while demanding that pastors mobilize their flocks to vote
“biblical” values. “Every pastor you know needs to make sure 100 percent of the
people in their pews are voting, and voting biblical values,” Mr. Connelly told
the assembled pastors at a Faith Wins event in Chantilly, Va. in September.
“The
church is not a cruise ship, the church is a battleship,” added Byron Foxx, an
evangelist touring with Faith Wins. The Faith Wins team also had at its side
Hogan Gidley, a deputy press secretary in the Trump White House, who now runs the Center for Election
Integrity, an initiative of the America First Policy Institute, a group led in
part by former members of the Trump administration. Mr. Gidley informed the
gathering that his group is “nonpartisan” — and then went on to mention that in
the last election cycle there were “A lot of rogue secretaries of state, a lot
of rogue governors.”
He was presumably
referring to Brad Raffensperger, the Republican secretary of state of Georgia
who earned the ire of Trumpists by rebuffing the former president’s request to
find him an additional 11,780 votes. “You saw the stuff in Arizona, you’re
going to see more stuff in Wisconsin, these are significant issues, and we
can’t be dismissed out of hand anymore, the facts are too glaring,” Mr. Gidley
said. In fact, the Republican-backed audit of votes in Arizona’s largest county
confirmed that President Biden won Arizona by more votes than previously
thought. But the persecution narrative is too politically useful to discard
simply because it’s not true.
Even as movement leaders
are preparing for a possible restoration of a Trumpist regime — a period they
continue to regard as a golden age in retrospect — they are advancing in
parallel on closely related fronts. Among the most important of these has to do
with public education.
In
the panic arising out of the claim that America’s schools are indoctrinating
young children in critical race theory, or C.R.T., it isn’t hard to detect the
ritualized workings of the same information bubble, persecution complex and
sense of entitlement that powered the coup attempt. Whatever you make of the
new efforts in state legislatures to impose new “anti-C.R.T.” restrictions on
speech and teaching in public schools, the more important consequence is to
extend the religious right’s longstanding program to undermine confidence in
public education, an effort that religious right leaders see as essential both
for the movement’s long-term funding prospects and for its antidemocratic
agenda.
Opposition
to public education is part of the DNA of America’s religious right. The
movement came together
in the 1970s not solely around abortion politics, as later mythmakers would
have it, but around the outrage of the I.R.S. threatening to take away the
tax-exempt status of church-led “segregation academies.” In 1979, Jerry Falwell
said he hoped to see the day when there wouldn’t be “any public schools — the
churches will have taken them over again and Christians will be running them.”
Today, movement leaders
have their eye on the approximately $700 billion that federal, state, and local
governments spend yearly on education. The case of Carson v. Makin, which is
before the Supreme Court this term and involves a challenge, in Maine, to
prohibitions on using state tuition aid to attend religious schools, could
force taxpayers to fund sectarian schools no matter how discriminatory their
policies or fanatical their teachings. The endgame is to get a chunk of this
money with the help either of state legislatures or the Supreme Court, which in
its current configuration might well be convinced that religious schools have a
right to taxpayer funds.
This
longstanding anti-public school agenda is the driving force behind the
movement’s effort to orchestrate the anti-C.R.T. campaign. The small explosions
of hate detonating in public school boards across the nation are not entirely
coming from the grass roots up. The Family Research Council, a Washington, D.C.-based
Christian right policy group, recently held an online School Board
Boot Camp, a four-hour training session providing instruction on how to run for
school boards and against C.R.T. and to recruit others to do so. The Bradley Foundation, Heritage Action for America, and The Manhattan
Institute are among those providing support for groups on the forefront of the
latest public school culture wars.
A decade ago, the radical
aims at the ideological core of the Christian nationalist movement were there
to see for anybody who looked. Not many bothered to look, and those who did
were often dismissed as alarmist. More important, most Republican Party leaders
at the time distanced themselves from theocratic extremists. They avoided the
rhetoric of Seven Mountains dominionism, an ideology that calls explicitly for
the domination of the seven “peaks” of modern civilization (including
government and education) by Christians of the correct, supposedly biblical
variety.
What
a difference a decade makes. National organizations like the Faith &
Freedom Coalition and the Ziklag Group, which bring together prominent
Republican leaders with donors and religious right activists, feature “Seven
Mountains” workshops and panels at their gatherings. Nationalist leaders and
their political dependents in the Republican Party now state quite openly what
before they whispered to one another over their prayer breakfasts. Whether the
public will take notice remains to be seen.
Katherine Stewart (@kathsstewart) is the author of “The
Power Worshippers: Inside the Dangerous Rise of Religious Nationalism.”