To Dream an Impossible World

In the short yet endangered history of western civilization as we know it, religion and politics became the strangest of bedfellows as empires and kingdoms feuded over whichever god would best serve their cause. Rome was the first to misuse this power. Luther upset the applecart in the Reformation. Henry VIII did it in jolly old England for a divorce. Hitler did it as part of his holocaust endeavor. Even the good ol’ USofA [founded on the notion that there will be “NO established religion”] employed King James’ version of holy writ to justify slavery and still misuses the remnants of racism to undergird pride and prejudice. The same Holy Bible awkwardly held by our President in front of a church as a photo op in his campaign for reelection.

Growing up Protestant, I can remember being taught to hate Roman Catholics who were vilified by the term “papist”, and that President Kennedy had a hotline to the Vatican. As we enter a brand new year, let’s be glad there’s a smidgen of hope that the people of faith can speak truth to power. As the Covid 19 pandemic continues to take its awful toll, Pope Francis spoke to the hopes and fears of all the years when he wrote these simple and prophetic words:

This is a moment to dream big, to rethink our priorities — what we value, what we want, what we seek — and to commit to act in our daily life on what we have dreamed of.

God asks us to dare to create something new. We cannot return to the false securities of the political and economic systems we had before the crisis. We need economies that give to all access to the fruits of creation, to the basic needs of life: to land, lodging and labor. We need a politics that can integrate and dialogue with the poor, the excluded and the vulnerable, that gives people a say in the decisions that affect their lives. We need to slow down, take stock and design better ways of living together on this earth.

To come out of this crisis better, we have to recover the knowledge that as a people we have a shared destination. The pandemic has reminded us that no one is saved alone. What ties us to one another is what we commonly call solidarity. Solidarity is more than acts of generosity, important as they are; it is the call to embrace the reality that we are bound by bonds of reciprocity. On this solid foundation we can build a better, different, human future.

Some folk might dismiss such rhetoric as ecclesiastical hubris or just wishful thinking from another old white man in a funny hat. Others of us hear in these words the basic teachings of a young rabbi whose birthday we just celebrated. He spoke about nations that take care the hungry, the thirsty, the naked, and the incarcerated, concluding that when countries care about “the least of these who are members of my family,” they care about him. Who in heaven’s name does Jesus think he is espousing that kind of madness with the whimsical naivete akin to Don Quixote?

Spanish philosopher and creator of the Man of La Mancha, Miguel de Cervantes, expresses this conundrum: “When life itself seems lunatic, who knows where madness lies? Perhaps to be too practical is madness. To surrender dreams — this may be madness. Too much sanity may be madness — and maddest of all: to see life as it is, and not as it should be!”