In a weary time, keep going
Some reflections on the biblical book of Revelation, U.S. elections, and the poet Maggie Smith
*Note: This post is the seventh in a series exploring different angles on faith & politics while wandering at a leisurely pace through the first couple chapters of the biblical book of Revelation. I hope it provides good food for thought and conversation with people in your life as we approach U.S. elections. If you want to go back and look at any of them, the first six posts are I’m a woman who thinks about the Roman Empire all the time, God doesn’t anoint our political leaders, We can do better than “rising above” politics, What kind of leaders are we looking for?, If you can control it, it’s not God, and What is this election season revealing about our faith communities?
Is “weary” a word you identify with in this election season? I certainly do.
I mean, I kind of identify with it a lot of the time, to be honest—but especially now.
I feel weary of hearing people say they’re going to vote for someone who clearly has every intention of being a fascist dictator with zero concern for anyone’s wellbeing but his own.
I feel weary of hearing people say they aren’t going to vote, or they’re going to vote for a third-party candidate who isn’t going to win.
has so many good things to say about this. If you’re progressive and unsure, please listen to her.I also feel weary of overly-optimistic messages that talk as if a Harris win would fix everything. As if all that matters is what circle we fill in every four years and not everything else in-between; or as if all that matters is who sits at the top and not what happens on every other level where power operates all the time.
Much to feel weary about.
These are the lenses through which I’m seeing the next words up in the biblical book of Revelation:
To the angel of the church in Ephesus, write: these things says the one grasping the seven stars in his right hand, who walks around in the midst of the seven golden lampstands: I know your works and weariness and your steadfast endurance, and that you are not able to bear evil things, and you tested the ones calling themselves apostles, and they are not, and you found them liars, and you have steadfast endurance, and you bore on account of my name, and you have not grown weary.
-Revelation 2:1-3, my translation
I don’t know what exactly the people of the church of Ephesus were enduring at that time. I don’t know the precise cocktail of difficulties that made them feel weary.
I do know that, for us, this election season—like at least the two before it, but seemingly getting worse every four years—doesn’t exactly bring out the best in our collective consciousness as a nation.
Do you feel weary? Do you feel like you’re “steadfastly” (or not so steadfastly) “enduring” a lot?
I think about the language I hear from the two major party presidential candidates and their teams. Both of them acknowledge that things aren’t going spectacularly for a lot of people in our current system, our current economy, our current reality.
But their proposed responses are different to the core.
One wants to improve our collective wellbeing so that more and more people in our country can thrive.
The other wants to blame, punish, and make life worse for many so that a very particular sort of person and family can, well, if not actually thrive, at least feel like they’re doing better than others around them.
What I really want, of course, is a global vision that seeks the thriving of all people in connection with the thriving of earth and all her creatures and waters and systems. I don’t quite hear either candidate articulating this. But one is certainly closer than the other. I will vote accordingly.
And then I hope to get back to work. In a way that’s life-giving, not wearying. In a way that forges connections and builds hope on a very local level, because each of our very local levels matters, and because together they can all add up to something bigger.
For me, weariness comes when I’m constantly staring down problems that are too big for me to feel like I can make a dent. Energy and life comes when I’m connecting with people one-on-one or joining in groups that share a common vision of healing and inclusive strength for our communities.
A few months back, I read poet
’s memoir You Could Make This Place Beautiful. (The title comes from her striking poem Good Bones.)
I hadn’t been on Twitter and I didn’t know that Smith had made a practice of regularly tweeting pandemic-era encouragements with the catchphrase “keep moving.”
This is what I think of, now, when I read these verses from Revelation. Keep moving. Keep going. We might still need to hear these words.
Keep moving. Our world needs you and your gifts. Our world needs you and your quirkiness. Our world needs you and your unique way of being you. Our world needs you as an integral part of your communities, which would not be the same without you.
When you feel the weariness, rest. Listen to your body. Cook and eat good, nourishing food. Walk. Swim. Get outdoors. (As the Scandinavians would say, there’s no bad weather, only bad clothing.) Talk with a friend. Do what feels restorative, what helps you keep going in a long-term kind of way.
Because there are many things to make us weary. And they won’t stop when the election is over, regardless of the outcome. (Don’t get me wrong; some outcomes will be far worse than others. But still.)
There are times when keep moving means push through, doing the work you’re invited to do even though it’s hard. And there are times when keep moving really means, take a break.
Keep going in the sense of keep moving toward spaces where your nervous system relaxes, where you are known and loved, where you find sustenance and joy.
I’m thinking of Tamu Thomas’ book Women Who Work Too Much, mentioned a bit more over here. I’m thinking of Tricia Hersey aka The Nap Bishop’s book Rest Is Resistance. Brilliant humans are thinking through these things so well.
I hope you feel seen in your weariness. You don’t have to carry it alone.
I hope you feel an invitation to rest, to care for yourself and your loved ones.
And I hope you feel an invitation toward digging deep within and finding the courage to keep moving, whatever that looks like for you right now.