The Storm
And he arose, and rebuked the wind and said unto the sea, ‘Peace, be still.’
And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm.” —Mark 4:39
As I was giving a talk earlier this year on my book Chasing Peace, I was asked what advice it offered for coping with a political crisis.
The question was bound to come up. We were at Politics & Prose, a beloved bookstore in Northwest Washington, DC. It was the third week of the second Trump presidency. And while Chasing Peace is a spiritual memoir and doesn’t deal directly with politics, I am a former White House speechwriter. For me, the spiritual is the political.
A tornado of hatred has formed in our country, I said, and it’s been building for decades. How fast the winds spin, how far they reach, how long they last, and what they destroy all depend on how much hatred we add to this storm.
So, the urgent call upon us, I said, is to find a way to manage our emotional pain without giving way to hatred. If we can do it, the benefits are enormous. We protect ourselves from our own hatred. We can better comfort and protect the people we love. We can deny the tornado more fuel. And we can act in a way that can heal.
Then the follow-up question came: How can we not hate when innocent, defenseless people are being hurt?
The key, I believe, is in understanding hatred. Hatred is a momentary pain-reliever, an energy booster, and a mood-enhancer. It gives us a feeling of power, and that tricks us into thinking it’s the answer.
But actually, hatred is a defense against feeling. When we hate, we’re running away from our emotional pain—and the only safe response is to embrace the pain. Don’t resist it. Don’t run from it. Face it. Feel it. Accept it.
In my most frequent spiritual practice, I stop. I get still. I let go. I become loose. I get soft and defenseless, and I try to open to the excruciating feeling without clenching or flinching.
If you’ll notice, when you clench your fist, grit your teeth, or flex your muscles, it reduces pain. That’s why we say, “bite the bullet.” Clenching your fist and flexing your muscles are, physically and metaphorically, the building blocks of toxic masculinity—a suffering man’s flailing, failing effort to feel better, to protect himself from pain he can’t bear.
We have to bear it.
Desmond and Mpho Tutu write in The Book of Forgiving:
There are only two choices when we are faced with a loss. We can put our hands on our hearts and accept our suffering, our vulnerability, and our human frailty. Or we can reject this suffering, this vulnerability, this frailty, and raise our fists for revenge.… When I am hurt, when I am in pain, when I am angry with someone for what they have done to me … the only way out of these feelings is to go through them. We get into all sorts of trouble when we try to find a way to circumvent this natural process. [1]
For those who dismiss this response as accepting injustice, we need to remember: This is the counsel of the spiritual leader of the movement that ended apartheid in South Africa.
Obsessing over the evil deeds of the other side is an effort to run from the sadness. Accepting the sadness is the only way to ease the hatred.
We need to stand up for justice, but we need to do it without hatred and in a way that calms the winds.
[1] Desmond Tutu and Mpho Tutu, The Book of Forgiving: The Fourfold Path for Healing Ourselves and Our World (HarperOne, 2014), 104, 138
Tom Rosshirt, cocreator of the Dignity Index, is a former teacher, syndicated columnist, Capitol Hill press secretary, and White House speechwriter. He is the author of Chasing Peace: A Story of Breakdowns, Breakthroughs, and the Spiritual Power of Neuroscience.
The Center for Action and Contemplation’s mission is to introduce Christian contemplative wisdom and practices that support transformation and inspire loving action. In this issue of the Mendicant, we are honored to share with you articles from five members of CAC’s community about what loving action looks like in their lives. Download a PDF of this issue.