A Rally Cry For Those Who Feel Defeated

the night will not be all you ever know

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One of my resolutions for 2024 was to become more involved in our local community. My family is rooted; when we moved in 2022 we chose a home in a neighborhood that we could see ourselves in for a long, long time. We thought that the cultural differences among us would be easily smoothed by politeness and playdates, and we had the understanding that the public school was a marvel, and we believed that this was where the Good Lord had called us.

Well, we were one for three.

I do love so many things about our community (the wide-open spaces! The beautiful parks! The dear friends less than ten minutes away! The gaggle of neighborhood kids running from house to house just like I dreamed of! The gorgeous Marian shrine!) but our time here has been somewhat clouded by a somewhat-difficult experience with a few school board members/candidates. What’s important for me to remind myself is that my kids love their school; their teachers have been so kind and they have access to all kinds of resources¹ that I know many would drool over. It’s my true belief that the kids have little to no idea that our town has served as an emblem of the many, many school board difficulties taking over the nation, and I’m grateful for that. They get on the bus smiling every single day, and sing their little hearts out at school concerts, and beg for all the spirit wear on Field Day. They are thriving at this school, and that’s what matters most.

But instead of feeling proud to do my civic duty, I’ve been left feeling more discouraged than ever.

It’s hard to feel like you’re constantly giving people the benefit of the doubt, and the doubt is now gone, and all that’s left is the knowledge that people are willing to ignore facts in front of their faces because conspiracy theories give them a sense a power and belonging. It’s hard to feel like people think you are a stupid feminist idiot not because of why you disagree with them, but because you disagree with them at all. And it’s hard to want to cling to a community that stands against so many of our modern cultural issues, but because you don’t toe the party line in exactly the precise way, you’re ignored and belittled². It’s hard to be up against forced teaming (“if you’re not with us, you’re against us”) instead of on the same team, working together to figure out what’s best for the kiddos.

And after one particular school board meeting, when it became clear that the result of an issue was probably not going to be what I think is best for kids, and that the way we arrived at that result was by letting a few power-hungry parents with money and loud voices command the room, I came home and pouted.

Pouted like a teenager. Pouted like someone who was used to getting her way when she calmly explained herself. Pouted like someone who doesn’t want to be in the thick of complicated disagreement but would prefer we all just get along, man. I even said to K—this is embarrassing—in an exasperated, teary voice: The bad guys are WINNING.³

Then, K showed me a Jon Stewart clip. If you know K in real life, you are probably scratching your head, because Krzys really, really does not like Jon Stewart. But he pulled it up on YouTube and I watched and I nodded along.

What Jon Stewart said was that this whole messy thing—contributing to society and trying to make it a better place—is lunchpail work. It is slow and boring and hard. Yes, Election Day matters, but so does the day before and the day after and December 2nd and January 15th and February 11th. Who is president matters. What our school board decides to do matters. But so do so many other things, day in and day out.

So does how I respond to one of my neighbors when they say something that really hurts my feelings. So does how I react when one of my kids deliberately disobeys me. So does how I treat my husband when I’m exhausted and overstimulated. So does how I show up for my friends when they’re walking through immense struggles. So does how I speak to a family member if they’ve said something that ticks me off. So does how I pray. So does how I worship. Not on big, important election days or feast days or holidays: on the boring, ordinary days.

(And then, there’s this, too: Christians On The Internet, which it would be easy to chalk up as pointless and not worth our time until you realize just how much Christian influencers are actually influencing, well, Christians. You are missing the whole goddamn point, I almost screamed through my laptop screen this week. Another face, another tirade, another discussion about God that was shoving him into a political box and an agenda; another caption that was hanging a hat on a voting position⁴ instead of a faith in a Messiah. It was missing the whole goddamn point. The POINT of JESUS. And I want to yell at them with my chest, but also cry, because I don’t understand how so many people misunderstand. Over and over and over again. And I’m tired of being the weirdo in the wilderness.)

My point: giving into despair sounds so sweet right now.

But I can’t.

Because no matter how hard my devious little heart tries to convince me otherwise, I still believe in the faith that is based on dead things coming back to life.

Kindergarteners are taught why we call Good Friday good. That it’s because through Jesus’ death, our sins were forgiven. Pass the Reece’s eggs.

However, as with so many other things in our faith, we hear it and hear it and hear it until it grows stale. We stop really absorbing its meaning, and then it’s just a thing we spout off when asked instead of a truth we live out with our very being.

Imagine—take a moment to really, really imagine—how the apostles must have felt that night. The man they’d given up their lives for, who they swore they’d defend to the death, who they vowed to protect, had died. And they’d been too chickenshit to even claim him as their own. They’d slunk off like cowards to dark alleys and hidden corners, watching as everything they’d banked on came crumbling down like a house of cards. To feel defeated must have been an understatement.

That sorrow is hard to imagine—that you’d lost, not just your mission, but your very own self. You weren’t who you thought you were, and the bad guys won.

But we have something the apostles didn’t have, besides running water and TikTok. We have the vantage point of time. We know what happened three days later. We know that this was not defeat, but good. This gruesome feat was for a greater purpose, to fulfill the will of God and save us all from our own dumb selves.

And as a reminder—those apostles would all go on to die very gruesome deaths. This good was not bodily safety or financial comfort or a devout Christian ruler.

This good was dangerous and criminal.

This good was paradoxical.

One of my son’s favorite stories in the Bible is that of David and Goliath. (He particularly loves the Tomie DePaola version.)

He reads this line over and over: “David said to the Philistine, ‘You come against me with sword and spear and javelin, but I come against you in the name of the LORD Almighty, the God of the armies of Israel.’”

I’ve tucked that verse as a prayer into my back pocket. Others (senators, crabby neighbors, abusive pastors, sexist healthcare workers, difficult family members, bad friends, EXTREMELY OBNOXIOUS SCHOOL BOARD CANDIDATES) may come against you, or me, or Mama Church, with sword and spear and javelin, but we come against them in the name of the Lord almighty.

Because your life may not be simple or straightforward. It might be a long road ahead. But it is drenched in the good news.

Despair sounds tempting. I know it does. I understand that. If I was with you, I would refill your coffee and pinch your cheeks and remind you that I am in this muck + mess with you. But despair is not an option for us, friend. It’s not in the cards for those who come in the name of the Lord almighty. You can lay there and pout for a moment but now, it’s time to get up. Here’s a hand and a snack and a prayer.

You have not been defeated. He’s already won.

And now, we do the lunchpail work.

Prayers I pray specifically on Good Friday:

• Eloi, eloi, lama sabachthani? This is what Jesus prayed on the cross and it translates to my God, my God, why have you forsaken me? I started praying this one-liner when I was in the thoroughs of hyperemesis (a brutal pregnancy condition) and I still turn to it from time to time.

• The night will not be all we ever know. This song has been a dear companion to me for years, and I use its lyrics for prayer frequently, but paticularly on sorrowful days such as this.

• A litany of saints. We would always pray this at church at the Easter Vigil, but for some reason I started doing it on Good Friday a few years ago. I like to make my own personal litany of saints that are meaningful to me during that season.

On My Nightstand 

• God Spare the Girls by Kelsey McKinney: This is a reread for me. It’s a powerful novel about the two daughters of an evangelical pastor accused of sexual misconduct. You have to be on the right headspace to read this one—it’s quite heavy—but beautifully written and thought provoking.

• Commencement by J. Courtney Sullivan: Another reread, because J. Courtney Sullivan is one of my all-time forever-and-ever favorite authors. I love this book about four recent college graduates; it feels like a mid-20s Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. Just a great tale about female friendship while asking some interesting questions about feminism, marriage, and life choices.

• Is Gender Too Troubled?: When Abigail Favale writes, I listen. If you’ve ever been confused about why we use “sex” vs. “gender” and what the differences between those terms are, this is a great essay for you. “Does this mean that gender, as I have defined it, is unique to human persons, i.e., the only beings who have the twin potential for both sexual reproduction and divine communion? Both are, after all, integral aspects of being a woman, and any contemplation of my womanhood must be grounded therein. While I am making a finely tuned distinction between gender (e.g., woman) and sex (e.g., female), because gender cannot be separated from sex, in ordinary speech we can use these terms as synonyms. Yes: I am suggesting that we intentionally and enthusiastically violate the taboo against conflating sex with gender, as a strategy of reintegration.”

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In case you missed these Letters:

• How to Be a Homemaker

• The Problem With “Choice Feminism”

• Should Catholic Feminists Watch the Chosen?

1. You guys, this library, which was completely fundraised by the PTA, is a million dollar work of *art*. They have Makerspace classes, and field trips, and a theater program, and so many dreamy things. They have flex seating. They have safe busses. They have air conditioning. It’s so wonderful.

2. It really is the belittling that gets me. I can really, truly flourish in relationships with people with wildly different views if I feel like we both respect each other, but the cattiness in my community lately has triggered so many middle school memories for me. Ay yi yi.

3. I know all the things about seeing things from other people’s point of view, and trying to understand their fears, and holding space for people’s trauma and triggers. But man. The Lord has put certain people in my community and allowed them to be ~something else~ to sanctify me and I continuously ask why he couldn’t have gone about it another way. Ha. I know there aren’t Good Guys and Bad Guys. But I’m a sinner.

4. For the record, both sides of the political aisle do this (obviously) but lately I’ve been quite irate at extremely progressive Catholics elevating social issues above Jesus and using him to further political agendas in a very narrow, worldly-minded way. And for the other record, both political persuasions can be frustrating on school boards, but I’m currently ticked off at a “conservative” coalition. See? Out here in the goddamn wilderness!