{"id":7106,"date":"2017-03-15T09:24:09","date_gmt":"2017-03-15T14:24:09","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/customwordpresssites.com\/mjb\/?p=7106"},"modified":"2026-02-26T13:41:34","modified_gmt":"2026-02-26T19:41:34","slug":"anxious-resistance","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/customwordpresssites.com\/mjb\/2017\/03\/15\/anxious-resistance\/","title":{"rendered":"Anxious resistance"},"content":{"rendered":"

I had a knot in my stomach all day. I couldn\u2019t focus at work. I lost my appetite. I felt exhausted as soon as I woke up. My mind was running with a thousand scenarios of things going wrong. I became keenly aware of that familiar feeling: a low-grade but persistent anxiousness; a lump that sits somewhere between my heart and stomach warning me of something to be feared; an impending lack of control.<\/span><\/p>\n

It was March 1, 2017. Ash Wednesday. For the past three weeks I had been meeting with fellow community members of the Minneapolis Catholic Worker and our friends from the Mennonite Worker to plan a vigil and direct action. Our intent was to lovingly, but boldly, address the American Catholic Church\u2019s <\/span>reluctance in naming the xenophobia and racism that have characterized Donald Trump\u2019s presidential campaign and presidency. We sought to implore Archbishop Hebda and the Archdiocese of St. Paul and Minneapolis to release a public statement directly addressing the rise of xenophobia in our Church and society.<\/span><\/p>\n

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Cathedral of St. Paul, courtesy of Joe Kruse<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

After work I sped home to prepare for the action. My mind was spiraling as we packed our car with a banner, ladders, candles and ropes. I thought of my heroes and their steely determination. Their seemingly complete lack of fear. I thought of the iconic photo of Dorothy Day picketing with Cesar Chavez, calmly gazing into the eyes of a police officer right before her final arrest at the age of 75. I thought of Daniel Berrigan on trial for burning draft files in Catonsville, Maryland. Seemingly unaffected by a pending three<\/span>–<\/b>year sentence to federal prison, Dan boldly proclaimed to the court, \u201cWe have chosen to say with the gift of our liberty and if necessary our lives: the violence stops here.\u201d \u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

With my mind and heart racing amidst a cascade of doubts and fears, I felt like I had missed the memo. The seeming difference between my anxiousness and their prophetic conviction was laughable. I wondered about Dorothy’s doubts and Dan\u2019s fears. Did they have them? Or had God given them some kind of divine courage for holy conflict that rendered their doubts and anxieties obsolete? \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

And, most importantly, when will God give that to me?!<\/p>\n

As a white Midwesterner, conflict avoidance is my cultural bread and butter. Growing up, tension or disagreement were to be feared and resented. They were signs of something gone irrevocably wrong; something over which to feel tremendously anxious. Yet here I was, about to help manufacture an almost-assuredly tense situation within a Church I call home. I found myself doubting, searching in vain for Dorothy-like divine courage. Is this worth it? Am I doing the right thing? Is the conflict, the worry, the anxiousness necessary?<\/span><\/p>\n

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Image of Dorothy Day by Bob Fitch<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

While I wrestled with these doubts, fears and questions, a small inner voice (which I often resent) assured me that Jesus\u2019 answer would be a resounding \u201cYes!\u201d It’s become painfully clear to me I cannot claim to be Christian and deny Jesus\u2019 call for direct action, which leads to inevitable conflict and anxiousness. While it’s incredibly important for me to take care of myself and not stretch beyond what I can handle, Jesus\u2019s social vision clearly calls the most comfortable of us into discomfort. As in Mark 10: 17-27, Jesus did not lovingly challenge the rich, young man to give safely within the confines of comfortable charity but to relinquish <\/span>all <\/span><\/i>his wealth for the service of others.<\/span><\/p>\n

Jesus\u2019 is an orientation toward loving and creative tension; a tension resulting in Christ\u2019s inherent opposition to oppression. Soon before he was crucified Jesus and his disciples staged a direct action at the Jerusalem temple, confronting temple authorities\u2019 collaboration with the Roman Empire and exploitation of the poor. In analyzing Jesus\u2019s incident at the temple, the biblical scholar Marcus J. Borg writes in his book \u201cConversations with Scripture: The Gospel of Mark\u201d that \u201c<\/span>Judaism was not the problem [for Jesus]. The problem was the imperial captivity of the temple and its authorities\u2019 collaboration with the Empire.<\/span><\/i>\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

In her \u201cNational Catholic Reporter\u201d<\/span> article<\/span><\/a> Jamie Manson explains that many American bishops likely refrained from critiquing Trump\u2019s hateful campaign rhetoric because of social and economic gains to be gleaned from his presidency. She writes, \u201c<\/span>In the course of the presidential campaign, the bishops’ conference put out one press release about promoting Catholic-Muslim dialogue and one release about “partisan divides” on migration issues. But as Trump inspired hate-speech, xenophobia, bias crimes and violence toward women, the bishops remained mum \u2026 the evidence suggests that the bishops’ conference threw under the bus the needs of these vulnerable peoples for the sake of advancing their anti-abortion, anti-LGBT, right-wing religious liberty agenda.<\/span><\/i>\u201d \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

The bishops\u2019 behavior is tragically similar to the conduct Jesus condemned at the temple within his own religious tradition. Their silence is proving lethal. President Trump has engaged in an unprecedented campaign of intimidation and violence directed at many of the most oppressed and marginalized. Much of his executive action is in direct contradiction to the core of Catholic social teaching. In an attempt to follow Jesus\u2019s call into discomfort and to mirror the loving tension he manufactured within the religious institution he called home, I came to see our Ash Wednesday action as not only necessary on a political level, but completely in line with my Catholic identity.<\/span><\/p>\n

I have also come to see the inevitable anxiousness as not only necessary but also sacramental. While I must be aware of my limits and the reality of unhealthy anxiety, especially in the form of mental illness, I see some level of anxiousness as a gift; a signpost on my journey toward Christian discipleship. An indication that\u2014with God\u2019s help\u2014I can to learn to embrace fear and then to let it go.<\/span><\/p>\n

We pulled up to the Cathedral of St. Paul during the evening Ash Wednesday service, gathered our equipment, took a deep breath and were off. We ran up the stairs and leaned extension ladders on the two large marble pillars framing the cathedral\u2019s front door. Two Catholic Workers ascended the ladders and hung a large banner reading \u201cSpeaking up for unborn lives more than black and brown lives is white supremacy\u00a0– #silenceissin\u201d across the door, calling on Church hierarchy to condemn racism and xenophobia with as much tenacity and consistency as it does abortion.<\/span><\/p>\n

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Banner hung from Cathedral of St. Paul, courtesy of Joe Kruse<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

After hanging the banner we spent 20 minutes in silent prayer. Several of us engaged with passers by and church goers leaving Mass. We encountered a range of reactions from disdain to joyful support. Eventually, a priest came out with a small group of men. He read the banner, immediately instructed the men to tear it down and quickly moved back inside, choosing not to engage with us. (Check out this time-lapse video of our experience<\/span>.)<\/span><\/p>\n