Last Tuesday, our country went to the polls. Some of you woke up on Wednesday relieved. Some of you woke up grieving. Many of you woke up feeling hope and dread at the same time and could not tell which was louder. I want to speak to all of that, as your pastor, and as a Christian, not as a member of any party.
An Election Is Not a Resurrection
Elections matter. Voting is one of the ways we love our neighbors, because the people we elect make decisions about who eats, who is housed, who is protected, and who is left to fend for themselves. A vote can slow harm, and sometimes it can stop it. But no election has ever saved anyone. Only God does that, and God usually does it through ordinary people who keep showing up long after the cameras leave.
So I want to be plain about what worries me, because I do not want to hide behind vague words. The darkness I speak of is fascism. It is not a party label, and it is not confined to one country. It is a way of looking at human beings. It says the strong deserve to rule and the vulnerable are a threat. It says the leader stands above the law and truth is whatever serves power. It says the stranger is an enemy, and that someone must be blamed for our fear. It spreads when ordinary people grow tired, afraid, or silent. It is moving across our world, and one Tuesday in November does not end it.
Stay Awake
This Sunday’s Gospel is the parable of the ten virgins, who wait through a long night for the bridegroom. Notice something easy to miss. All ten fall asleep. The wise are not the ones who stayed awake the whole time. They are the ones who brought oil. At the cry in the middle of the night, they could still trim their lamps and go out to meet him. Jesus ends the parable with a command: “you must be vigilant, because you do not know the day or the hour” (Matthew 25:13, CPDV).
Saint Paul says the same to the Thessalonians: “let us not sleep, as the rest do. Instead, we should be vigilant and sober… clothed with the breastplate of faith and of charity and having, as a helmet, the hope of salvation” (1 Thessalonians 5:6-8, CPDV). And the Book of Wisdom, which we hear on Sunday, promises that “whoever remains watchful for her, will quickly be secure” (Wisdom 6:16, CPDV).
Vigilance is not panic. It is not scrolling the news until you cannot sleep, and it is not hatred of the people who voted differently from you. Vigilance is oil. It is the steady practice that keeps your lamp lit when the night is long: prayer, the Eucharist, honest speech, a community that holds you up, and acts of mercy done again and again whether anyone notices or not.
Hope Is Not Optimism
Optimism says things will probably turn out fine. Christian hope says nothing of the kind. It says God has already raised Christ from the dead, and so no darkness gets the last word. Paul writes that we should not “be sorrowful, like these others who do not have hope” (1 Thessalonians 4:13, CPDV), and the Gospel of John says, “the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not comprehend it” (John 1:5, CPDV).
Hope does not wait for the polls to turn in our favor. It does not need the darkness to be small first. It lights a lamp right where we are and keeps it lit. If you are tired this week, you are allowed to be tired. You are not allowed to be hopeless, because hopelessness is exactly what the dark is counting on.
What the Work Looks Like
The work is the same work Jesus gave us, and it does not change with the headlines. “I was hungry, and you gave me to eat; I was thirsty, and you gave me to drink; I was a stranger, and you took me in; naked, and you covered me; sick, and you visited me; I was in prison, and you came to me” (Matthew 25:35-36, CPDV). And Paul gives us the rule for how to do it: “Do not allow evil to prevail, instead prevail over evil by means of goodness” (Romans 12:21, CPDV).
That includes a hard saying from Jesus: “Love your enemies. Do good to those who hate you” (Matthew 5:44, CPDV). Loving our enemies does not mean staying quiet while others are hurt. It means we refuse to dehumanize anyone, including the people we think are wrong, and we refuse to stay silent when anyone is dehumanized. Both at once. That is exactly what fascism cannot stand.
So here is what I am asking of you, this week and every week after:
Feed someone. Our Blessing Bags and the Amazon Wishlist on our website are an easy place to start. Welcome someone: the immigrant, the neighbor who has been told they do not belong, the person who has been pushed out of other churches. Tell the truth, in your family, at work, online, and say it kindly. Show up where decisions are made close to home, at city council, the school board, and the county, because democracy is a daily practice and not a once-in-two-years event. Check on someone who is afraid. And do not do any of it alone.
Come to the Table
That last part matters most. Oil is not something you can make by yourself in the middle of the night. We carry one another’s lamps. Come to Mass with us tomorrow, Sunday, at 3:00 PM at 557 Greene Street, or join us online, and come every Sunday after that. We need you, and you need us. Bring a friend, a neighbor, or a family member who has not been in a long time.
And if you are able, please help us keep the lamp lit. We are coming toward the end of the year, and our giving is down. Saint Francis Parish and Outreach exists to do exactly this work, and it depends on the generosity of its people.
Stay awake. Stay hopeful. Keep doing the work of the Gospel, and keep spreading love and hope in the world around you. The night is long, but the Bridegroom is coming, and the light is still shining.
Pax et Bonum,
Bishop Greer