Commentary

How does a Black woman call for help and get killed by the people who came to support her?

In the quiet oratory of Holy Wisdom Monastery in Middleton, Wisc., I spent my mornings gazing at the face of Jesus. On the far wall of the room where we prayed hung an icon of Jesus holding a tablet that read, “Behold, I make all things new.” Outside the prairie was a technicolor parade of coneflowers, whorled milkweed, and purple loosestrife, while robins, cardinals, and song sparrows continued their song; but it was hard for me to believe that Christ was making things new in the present.

As a dedicated sports fan, I am extremely excited to watch this year’s lineup of the 2024 Summer Olympics, starting in Paris on Friday, July 26. The U.S. women’s basketball team is competing for their 8th consecutive gold medal; Simone Biles may just win it all — again; and though I know nothing of the sport, I am always excited to catch a fencing bout. However, as a Christian, I am also paying close attention to the ways in which religion is being utilized — for good and for bad — at this year’s Olympic Games.

Like any other Gen Zer, I’ve grown up hearing about the potential harms of social media: As early as elementary school, teachers and parents warned us of stranger danger, not just in the grocery store, but also online. I was 12 when I got my first social media account on Instagram (even though my hand-me-down iPod Touch didn’t have a camera). In seventh grade, I, and many of my classmates, wrote our final essays for English class on the influence of social media on teenage girls’ body image. I was in junior high when news broke that Facebook user data had been improperly harvested to manipulate U.S. voters. In my high school’s speech and debate club, I learned about dangers of doxxing — posting people’s personal information, like addresses, online as a way to target them for violence. And in my own work here at Sojourners, I regularly see the hate and homophobia that shows up in social media comments.

I had been doing therapy for a decade with little results, but things really began to change when I started meditating.

A group of us stood on a hill overlooking northern Gaza this spring, not far from the border fence. We were close enough to see the buildings of Beit Hanoun and Jabalia. After a few minutes of description by our guide, we surveyed the scene with binoculars. On closer inspection, what had appeared to be buildings turned out to be rows of rubble. While for months we have viewed such images on screens, actually seeing the destruction, through plumes of smoke and dust, was surreal.

Despite the familiarity of home, Haitian citizens are attempting to leave their country to flee to the United States and neighboring countries in hopes of a better life. Some Haitians are doing this illegally. But what does it mean to enter a country illegally? What are we to make of borders and those who seek to cross them?

It’s easy to be skeptical, even cynical, about the value of sign-on statements as vehicles for achieving any true progress. The key criticism I hear is that these statements and resolutions don’t actually do anything. To some folks, signing on to statements might seem performative or even harmful: a way to soothe our consciences over the brokenness we see all around us by making us feel an illusory sense that we have done something, a sense that creates the permission structure for us not to take any real action to solve the issue in question. To others, these statements aren’t useful because they don’t change anyone’s mind on the issue in question, and instead merely “preach to the choir.”

Walking into Iglesia La Gloria de Dios Internacional, a Latino Pentecostal church in the heart of Hialeah, Fla., I felt nervous to be on church grounds. I’m Mexican American, but I don’t speak Spanish; I’m an autistic person who really doesn’t like new situations. And even though it’s now been a year since I moved back home to Miami from Minnesota, I am still a bit self-conscious of my Midwestern accent. But most importantly, I am an atheist and an openly queer and trans person living in Florida.