Silence is Deafening, Even in a Vocal Crowd

The infamous “hot mic” recording of Donald Trump bragging to Billy Bush about the various ways he’s forced himself upon women is now more than a week old, but it’s lurid shock-waves continue to reverberate. (NBC fired Billy Bush just yesterday). In the intervening days, I have applauded public figures who have denounced Trump’s behavior as inexcusable and unacceptable. I have “liked” a number of posts by friends on Facebook, especially female friends, rebuking his misogyny. I have cheered the pundits who have criticized politicians for couching their disapproval of Trump in terms of familial relationship (i.e., “as the father of [insert number] daughters, I am deeply offended…”) as if women’s value and self-respect somehow derive from their male relatives. I have also cringed as a handful of political surrogates, partisans, and (most abhorrent of all) religious leaders have either defended the Republican nominee or dismissed the recording as much ado about nothing. “It’s just ‘locker room talk,’ like he said.” “Bill Clinton did much worse” – you know, because Clinton’s philandering should clearly excuse Trump’s, or anyone else’s. Rush Limbaugh even went so far as to reject the very idea of consent as left-wing propaganda.

Yet, in my own words, I have said nothing publicly. Today I want to remedy that. I need to remedy that.

This has been my reasoning: “What can I add to the conversation? What can I possibly say that hasn’t already been said?” I’ve never engaged in this type of behavior. I agree that Trump’s acts, and his boasting about those acts, are both appalling. My wife knows that. My friends know that. Trump is flailing and failing in his retorts because there is no defense for either his behavior or his attitude. When something is indefensible, there is only so much that can be said about it. What would my repetition of these condemnations accomplish that hasn’t already been accomplished?

Well, one thing it will accomplish is to add my voice to the chorus of critics. Even if I don’t have anything new to say, my voice makes the chorus louder and more formidable. This is a chorus that needs to be as sonic as it possibly can be.

Another thing it will accomplish is to make me personally accountable for furthering the cause of gender equality, not just cheering it on.

Behavior like Trump’s persists because too many men, as well as too many women, remain silent about sexual harassment. We know why women often remain silent. They feel ashamed and embarrassed, and they know from centuries of experience that nothing consequential is likely to happen to the perpetrator. Instead, their stories will be questioned. Their dress, their body image, and their body language will all be scrutinized. And for their courage in speaking out they’ll be rewarded with the ongoing suggestion that they “must have done something” to bring this upon themselves.

Men remain silent for different reasons. Sometimes we don’t speak up because doing so would involve standing up to a friend, co-worker, or a boss and we simply don’t want to strain those relationships or jeopardize our careers. Sometimes we simply don’t see the more subtle acts of sexism for what they are. Other times we actually remain silent because we consider ourselves feminists. I know that’s why I personally have remained silent in the past. I admire the women around me. I see them as smart and strong and capable as well as beautiful. So, even when I’ve noticed the odd sexist comment or chauvinistic gesture at the office or in the church, I’ve typically let it slide because I’ve assumed that these smart, strong, liberated women will say something if it’s truly a problem. Or I’ve left it to my wife and others to “stand up for themselves,” because I believe they can and they should, because I’ve come to believe that a woman really does need a man like a fish needs a bicycle.

And I’ve been wrong – not about women, but about the nature of sexism. Even as deep into the 21st century as we are, sexism isn’t a series of isolated incidents here and there, like shooting stars that zing across the sky once in a rare while; it’s a smog-like haze that never fully lifts in a woman’s world. Sexual harassment, in particular, is so much more pervasive than I’ve wanted to believe, because it’s about power as much as sex. It’s about sending clear patriarchal signals that, even if women are smart and strong and capable, they still exist primarily for men’s enjoyment, and they still don’t have the right to be fully present in the world except on men’s terms. @kellyoxford pulled back the veil on this toxic reality the day the Trump tape first leaked, when she asked women to Tweet their first experience of sexual assault. At one point, she received fifty tweets per minute – for fourteen straight hours.

So, every time I’ve let those sexist comments and gestures slide, even for “feminist reasons,” I’ve sided with the sexists. Every time I’ve chuckled at “locker room talk,” (much, much tamer than what Trump contends was just “locker room talk”), I’ve tacitly condoned rape culture. Every time I’ve applauded someone else’s stand against misogyny while I myself have remained seated, I’ve felt good but I’ve done little (if anything) to actually help advance the cause of equality.

That’s why, even if it’s a little late, speaking up is something important for me, personally, to do here and now. What Donald Trump said on that tape is reprehensible. At a minimum, he needs to apologize to and ask forgiveness directly from each and every woman he has molested.

And in the future, * I * need to speak out more quickly whenever women are objectified or patronized. All men need to, if we truly believe in equality.  It’s easy to pretend patriarchy isn’t really our problem, because we’re “not like that.” We’re enlightened and progressive. Nevertheless, the lust – both the carnal lust and the lust for superiority – that undergirds patriarchy, misogyny, and sexism resides in the male psyche, not the female body, and that makes it our problem. It makes it our responsibility. We need to own it and deal with it at the source.

This is especially true for those of us who claim to be disciples of Christ Jesus. There’s an old bumper sticker that reads: “Feminism is the radical idea that women are people.” Christians should take this assertion one step further, because the gospel contains the radical idea that women are people created in the image of God. Who would ever talk about God the way Trump talked about Nancy O’Dell – or defend someone who did? I wonder.

So, men of the world: we need to speak up, each one of us, each and every time sexism rears its devilish head – individually and collectively. We need to check ourselves each and every day. We need to talk to, talk about, and interact with women as people made, like us, in the image of God. If we long to see a world in which women and men are truly equal, that’s the only way it will happen.

The cause of equality needs more than our applause or our thumbs up on Facebook.

Sandy Hook Revisited

It’s hard to believe that three years have passed since Adam Lanza gunned down 20 elementary school children, 6 of their teachers, and his mother. Even harder to fathom is that, three years on, the massacre at Sandy Hook Elementary School no longer stands as an anomaly of recent history. Since that frightful December day in 2012, the frequency of mass shootings in America has pulled the term “active shooter” from the police scanner into the vernacular, and guns have claimed the lives of some 555 American children.

On Christmas Eve 2012, I published a prayer for Newtown, along with a few reflections. I am re-posting them tonight as a tribute to the memory of the fallen and the grief of the living, and an appeal for faith-filled action in the wake of our prayers. The next three years do not have to repeat the last three years.

Adam Lanza did more than shoot a class of innocent, defenseless first graders. He left a .223 caliber exit wound in the collective consciousness of America.

Part of the sting comes from wanting to do something but not knowing what to do. Some are campaigning for gun control. Others are advocating for more and better mental health care. Still others are sending gifts to Newtown. I recently read that well-wishers from all over the world have flooded this community of 28,000 people has with 60,000 teddy bears. I applaud theses efforts, but none of them will ever be enough – for those giving or those receiving.

What I know to do is pray. At least, that’s the only place I know to begin. Following Christ is not a stationary (and never a sedentary!) activity, even when we are still, seeking to know that the Lord is God. If what we call prayer is more than wishful thinking, it must always draw us up off our knees – either to acts of ministry or to stand ready with straighter posture and sharper vision. Prayer moves us. I do not yet know how to move, exactly; but I continue to pray so that I might continue to be ready.

And so for what it’s worth, I’d like to offer these prayers for Newtown on this Christmas Eve. They were first offered on Sunday, December 16, prior to our church Christmas play. They continue to be prayed – for the victims and for us all, that we may heal and learn to wrestle with the questions surrounding this tragedy without forcing answers:

Lord, today as the candles of Advent glow in our midst, a thick cloud hangs over our hearts. We are struggling to comprehend the slaughter of the innocents that took place in Newtown, Connecticut. Such violence. Such grief. Such pain. We turn to you, O Lord: our Rock, our Redeemer; our Shepherd, our Savior, our Sustainer. We turn to you for comfort, for strength, for relief… for we are weary and heavy laden. Hear our prayers and help us to pray. Create in us clean hearts; renew our spirits, and transform our minds. And as we pray, remind us who we are and whose we are in this holy season of Advent.

As a people blessed to mourn, let us pray for the community of Newtown and all who are grieved – around the country and around the world – by what has happened there. May we be comforted.

As a people called to weep with those who weep, let us pray for the victims of the Newtown tragedy and their loved ones, for whom this Advent must seem devoid of anything resembling hope, peace, joy, or love.

As a people called to pray for our enemies and those who persecute us, let us pray – as hard as it may be – for the gunman, Adam Lanza, and those who loved him.

As a people called to go the extra mile, let us pray a special prayer for Adam’s brother, Ryan, who has not only lost his brother and his mother just before Christmas but who must live with the anguish of knowing that his brother killed his mother before shooting 26 other people – most of them children.

As a people called to make disciples of all nations, let us pray that the hope, peace, joy, and love of this Advent season will not be lost in the wake of this tragedy. Let us be inspired to continue celebrating the promise of Christmas. Let us be inspired to continue singing with the angels – not to deny the deep darkness of these days, but to proclaim that in the darkness there is a light that shines; that the people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; and the great light that shines is a light that darkness does not – and cannot – overcome.

Finally, as a people blessed to hunger and thirst for righteousness, let us pray together the prayer our Lord taught us to pray, saying: Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy Kingdom come. Thy will be done in earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the Kingdom, the Power, and the Glory forever. Amen.


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