Small Town Chronicles: “This is Trump Country!”
Step up to the wild ride of small-town living, where gossip spreads quicker than butter on a hot biscuit. In this charming southern haven, everyone’s business is a public affair, and unsolicited “words from the Lord” abound even when you least expect them. In this delightful slice of the world, I found myself entangled in a curious tale featuring a well-to-do lady, our church, and the bold declaration that we were residing in the heart of “Trump Country.”
Cleveland, Tennessee, the city I grew up in, is the type of town that even the GPS throws its hands up in confusion — when it decides to cooperate. It’s the sort of place where the local diner easily boasts a “reserved for the regulars” sign on a table, and the heartbeat of the community pulses through church revivals and high school sporting events. I love this little town, especially in the summer.
Close your eyes (well, that’s hard to do if you’re reading this) and picture a Southern June, where the heat wraps around you like a warm blanket. This June, the world was amid the 2020 lockdown; rain poured relentlessly, making the atmosphere even more sticky and humid. Despite the deluge, the white water rapids danced with exuberance, and the quaint downtown streets bustled with people leisurely sipping Gardner’s Market lemonade while coming to and from work meetings.
In the ceaseless hum of mosquitoes and the relentless summer heat, I accidentally stumbled upon the nuanced power dynamics within a church. In this humid month, it became apparent that more than just mosquitoes were on a mission for blood. Contrary to its reputation as a sanctuary of peace, that day, the church unveiled itself as a battlefield of conflicting interests and influences, leaving me both fascinated and amused. It was “funny … hmmm,” not “funny … haha.”
It was a Friday afternoon, and while taking a break (in Nashville) from a marathon singing session for a recording project, I was sipping on lukewarm coffee when a text message caught my attention. The sender was someone I knew but not someone I had willingly shared my number with. The message included a snapshot of a social media post I had written, accompanied by the inquiry, “I saw this post — is this from you or someone else?” The referenced post emerged from frustration after witnessing another heated debate, prompting me to plead for alternative political candidates. The message on my social media read, “Can we please get two new options for candidates? God help us!” The post didn’t name anyone specifically nor reveal my stance on political matters, but it reflected my weariness with the constant bickering. (I still believe the continuous political fighting is nauseating.)
Upon confirming that the post was mine, the floodgates of responses burst open. “This is Trump Country!” declared a woman of means, asserting what seemed like her belief that our church and my social media platform should be used to propel her personal MAGA rally. As a town resident and local pastor, I couldn’t help but chuckle at the audacity of such a claim. Let me clarify — I harbor no animosity towards any political candidate and will always support, pray for, and honor the leaders of this country. Still, I recognize the value of various perspectives within political discussions. However, what ensued was a text conversation that transcended political discourse, devolving into a venting session laden with threatening language and tone — a far cry from the principles of responsibility I strive to uphold as a Christian.
As the sun descended below the horizon on that momentous Friday, the echoes of text messages and a phone call with my senior pastor lingered in the atmosphere, prompting an overwhelming desire to disengage. After years dedicated to ministry, the fatigue of feeling like a puppet manipulated by its master had taken its toll. I was tired of unwelcome, ridiculous conversations; I was weary of the implication that I wasn’t Christian because of what I had written. Why was I being held to an unnatural standard when merely writing something (a prayer, mind you)? After all, couldn’t I be human?
As I’ve reflected on that day, I still cannot believe the trajectory that simple/innocent social media post took. Christians, every disagreement does not signify an evil spirit attempting to infiltrate the church, and not every discord is a declaration of war. Sometimes, it merely reflects diverse viewpoints coexisting within a community. Navigating the intricate dance of unity should be guided by respect, empathy, and a genuine desire to foster connections that transcend political lines and bring us closer together for the sake of God’s kingdom and not only the kingdoms of this world.
“In our churches, let unity triumph over political divides. May our shared faith bind us together, transcending partisan lines. In the sanctuary of love and understanding, may we find common ground that strengthens our spiritual community” In Jesus Name, Amen!
So, here I am, standing on this unexpected soapbox, realizing that even in the pursuit of a funny story, life has a way of steering us toward deeper truths. As I close this chapter, I leave you with the words of 1 Peter 3:8, a timeless reminder, “to be like-minded, sympathetic, loving, compassionate, and humble.” May our steps be guided by respect, empathy, and love. Thanks for reading!
PS — Dear friends, the life of a pastor is a rollercoaster, oscillating between moments of love and praise and the next minute enduring criticism while grabbing coffee in the lobby. Please, let’s not misconstrue my words; there are undeniably many remarkable aspects to being a pastor. However, pastors are not superheroes; they are human and vulnerable to weariness, doubts, and the burden of expectations. They are not exempt from the highs and lows of emotions and sin. Your kindness can serve as a soothing balm during life’s chaotic moments.
Here’s to the pastors who skillfully navigate the delicate balance between the pulpit and the everyday challenges of being human. Let’s celebrate the moments of triumph and the quiet victories that often go unnoticed.
Most importantly, let’s raise a toast to the prayers that construct a fortress of support around those who shepherd their flock. May every uttered word shield them against the arrows of discouragement and provide strength for their challenges. Support them when they are present and when they move on. Ministry can be an isolating journey, and your prayers can be the strength that carries them through life’s intricate dance.
PSS — I am still asking God to help us! In pursuing a peaceful presidential race, let the dialogue be the battleground, ideas the weapons, and respect the armor. In the arena of democracy, let our discourse be a beacon of unity, fostering understanding and paving the way for a future built on collaboration and shared aspirations.
