“Your promise preserves my life…” (Psalm 119:50)

A promise made…. a promise broken. 

Broken promises can be devastating. Some are life-altering. This is especially true for children who rely on parents and caregivers to be caring, trustworthy, and supportive. Neglect, abuse, illness, or death fracture these relationships, breaking the child’s heart. This can shake her trust in others and herself. Without some form of repair, this pain can follow the child throughout life, hindering her from fully living. 

Sometimes, broken promises may become fuel for a child to grow to be of service. Losing her mother to cancer, a child may become a pediatric oncologist. A child of divorce may become a psychotherapist specializing in relationships involving divorce. A child who loses a parent to crime may become a police officer. And so on. 

These childhood experiences provide a window into how we adults may experience our political climate, in the United States and the world. Awakening to a sense of betrayal by the government is nothing new. I grew up during the McCarthy trials. The government wrongly accused thousands of American citizens of treason. One of the most well-known was Robert Oppenheimer, who led the effort to develop the nuclear bomb that ended WWII and ushered in a new era of threat to human life. 

In the 1970s, the release of The Pentagon Papers detailed how the US government continued to fund the Vietnam war, sending hundreds of young men into the battlefield, despite clear evidence that the U.S. could not win this war. 

The Watergate scandal followed shortly after the release of the Pentagon Papers. Watergate was the name given to an event in which members of President Nixon’s 1972 re-election campaign broke into the Democratic National Committee headquarters at the Watergate Hotel in Washington, D.C. An investigation followed that uncovered a sprawling “campaign” of spying and sabotage, led by senior members of Nixon’s staff and funded by illegal donor contributions. The investigation into the Watergate scandal led directly to President Nixon’s resignation on August 9, 1974.

For Americans, these political scandals broke fundamental bonds of trust that have only gotten worse in recent years. However, more than just our political institutions betray our trust. In health care, we may feel betrayed by doctors who spend more time filling out forms than listening to patients; or offer drugs that may be helpful but come with a price tag that is prohibitive. Economic, cultural, and political constraints increasingly hamper our educational systems, diverting them from their primary mission to educate. The enormity of crises that affect our environment is dizzying. And the sexual and financial scandals that plague religious institutions, coupled with decades of cover-up by those in authority, are among the most blatant examples of institutional broken promises.

Today, many of us feel a deep sense of betrayal by individuals and systems beyond our control. Finding even small pockets of stability is difficult in our perpetually chaotic world. Some days, we may feel as though we are swimming in a sea of enemies and become plagued by fear of the future. We feel helpless to change the dynamics of our world, which increasingly plays havoc with our relationships with others. What we can alter is our relationship with ourselves, our minds, and bodies.

I maintain this blog in part because I am a writer. As a career book editor, my father trained me from a young age to care about language, “mean what you say and say what you mean.” Once in college, I brought home a paper for my father to read. I proudly showed the paper to him, having received an “A”. Instead of showering me with praise, he took out his red pen. He crossed out sentences, re-wrote paragraphs, and circled phrases that were confusing. I felt crushed. 

Years later, I realized the great gift Dad gave me. He taught me to write, to care about my words, to know that words matter.

How can words help us now as we navigate through these challenging times?

Words are an essential currency of human thought and communication. We communicate with others. We also communicate with ourselves. Some of our self-communication may be unconscious. We may not recognize thoughts and beliefs that we hold dear because we do not articulate them. Learning to name this subterranean realm can be enormously helpful. We discover more deeply the truth of who we are and what we believe. In this process, we learn we can change our beliefs. 

Theologian John Philip Newell tells the story of the Scottish poet Edwin Muir (1887-1959) who lost his Christian faith early in the twentieth century. Newell writes:

“In Muir’s case (his loss of faith) was precipitated by the deaths of four members of his family within a few years, as well as the experience of poverty and human degradation in the heavily industrialized city of Glasgow. Muir eventually came to see, however, that what he had lost was not faith in God but faith in what the church had taught him about God and humanity and Earth.”

“For Muir, the journey back (to faith) was… not simply a return to traditionally held religious belief. It was an imaginative reclaiming of his first vision of reality as a child in which he experienced the universe as flooded with light. Faith for him was about being faithful to the immortal presence that shines. In all things. And he also came to see that deep in his Christian inheritance were symbols and myths and wisdom that could serve this faithfulness. This is the recovery of faith that Muir invites us into, and to allow our first experiences of light in nature and in human relationship to be born anew in us and guide us in our living and thinking and acting.” (John Philip Newell, The Great Search, HarperOne, 2024, pages 163-4)

Muir’s story reminds me of my own. Deep inside, I held a belief that God would protect me from unbearable suffering. This wasn’t conscious. But it came from messages I heard in church that if I became overwhelmed with suffering, my faith was faulty. I was doing something wrong. I was a failure “at” faith. 

Alas, this way of internalizing some church teachings is common. I have heard versions of this story again and again through the years. Messages that add guilt and shame onto people who are suffering, destroys the soul. It sets us up to feel betrayed. Muir’s lesson that as adults we can distinguish our embodied sense of God from church teachings that limit our access to God or actually cause harm is a tremendous life lesson of faith. We can clarify our beliefs, choosing beliefs that are life giving, and changing or deleting beliefs that cause harm. This lesson is especially powerful now, as our politics often become obscured by a distortion of religious imagery.

QUESTIONS FOR REFLECTION

~ As a child, Edwin Muir experienced the universe as “flooded with light.” What were some of your “first visions” (as a child) of “true” reality? How do these impact you today? 

~ Have you ever felt betrayed by God? Describe the experience. How has your understanding of the experience changed, if at all, over time?

~ Today, what inspires, motivates, or excites you? What are you curious about?

~ What do you long for? What one action can you take to bring you closer to what you long for? 

Feel free to comment below, offering any responses to these questions or anything else in this essay.