Two weeks ago I left my phone and laptop chargers in my hotel room after checking out of a hotel room. The next day I found out that I gotten the date wrong for the funeral of a close friend I had agreed to preach at. These were mistakes of distraction and/or disorientation that I don’t usually make. I could attribute these mess-ups to advancing age, general carelessness, or trying to multi-multitask. No doubt these factors were in play, but on deeper reflection I realized that there was something else that was throwing my brain and stomach off-course: the upcoming election.
I am not alone. Many people — from different political orientations — are deeply anxious about what happens if their presidential candidate is not elected. Some people tell me that they are really scared. They feel threatened, if not violated.
My anxiety and distress is, yes, about an outcome I don’t want. I worry about violence that may episodically erupt before, during, and after the election, regardless of how it turns out. The fear and resentment are not just crowding out our ability to remember packing up all our things and keeping track of dates, but producing a feeling of exhaustion and emotional malaise.
But what upsets me most is the lying. Misrepresentation of an opposing candidate’s position, and spreading falsehoods about them have long been one of the more sordid byproducts of the American political system. This is different. Lying has become normative. I am not talking about disputes over facts; that one side says something is true and the other doesn’t. No, the lying that has become part of the landscape is saying things that the speaker knows are not true, and then doubles down to defend it when the lie is exposed.
Normally the liar is simply out to protect themselves. “I didn’t do it,” the liar insists, although all the evidence points that the person did. But sometimes — and these are times when we see it in full display, the liar is seeking to protect his or her audience. While it has been confirmed that Haitians are not eating pets in Ohio, the lie lives on. And even if people know that it is a lie, they feel that the liar has their best interests at heart, shielding them from people, foreign people, who need to remain strangers because they are secret enemies. So we embrace — not the lie — but the person promoting the lie — because the liar is trying to keep us safe.
A couple of months ago the Microsoft logo appeared on my computer with an urgent message: I was about to be hacked and I needed to call immediately to avoid it. I called the number, had a long conversation — provided some private information — all the while feeling that the person on the other end of the phone was out to help me. Prevent me from a data disaster. About a half hour in I realized it was all a lie. I had been duped, and had to get a new bank account and have my computer debugged as a result.
Not only did I feel stupid, but my experience triggered a deep-seated image of myself that I can usually keep at bay: that I am stupid. That I am unworthy, if not worthless. This plays in to a narrative that many religious traditions feast on: that we are unworthy, that we are worthless, and only if you subscribe to a particular belief system can you be saved.
I believe that belief systems can, if not save us, profoundly help us, Yet over the years I have learned — and it has taken a long time to learn it — that the idea that we are worthless is in fact a lie. The narrative of unworthiness lives on in so many of us. The liar preys on that notion of worthlessness, and builds on it: “believe me, and you will be worthy … I will bestow your worthiness.”
Lying is a form of violence. The liar pummels with falsehoods, which on the surface punishes an enemy — immigrants, trans people, political opponents, etc,, but beneath those falsehoods is a reinforcing message that those who accept the lies can only be made worthy by embracing the liar. And that is a lie.
We are not unworthy. We have been created in the image of God. We are imago dei; we come into the world with a blessing that cannot be erased or dismissed. Accepting that gift goes a long way to healing ourselves of the various unworthiness narratives which we often subscribe to, and which liars prey upon. Embracing our inherent goodness can inspire us to offer hope and help to those who are being punished by the lie that they are inherently unworthy.
We have a lot of work to do.
