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This Peacekeeping Feels Violent

This Peacekeeping Feels Violent

Last updated on: February 18, 2017 at 9:34 am by Kerry Connelly

This Peacekeeping Feels Violent 2017-02-18T09:34:33-04:00 Kerry Connelly

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Blessed are the peacekeepers.

When Jesus said that, I am pretty sure what he meant was Peacemakers, I bless you, because girl, you are IN for it.

As a Jesus Freak, I am called to love the marginalized, love my enemy, to not be a sheep in the herd. I am called out, called up, called to the higher purpose of love. But what does that look like in real, practical, daily life?

Especially in these times?

I confess: I am finding it incredibly difficult. Here is my thing: If I, as a Jesus Freak, am to be a peacekeeper, I must not rest until all have peace. I am not naive. I understand this will not happen in our many lifetimes.

(But still she persisted.)

I do it out of love. Actually, I do it out of response to love — Jesus’s love for me. Because I’m not really that good, and Jesus is everything.

And so I speak out, call out, stand up. I say what is on my mind and my heart. I stand alongside (or behind, for back up) my LGBTQ friends, my black friends, all the people who are feeling like life is dangerous right now. I do my best to remember that they are Jesus to me. And probably, they are better at being Jesus to people than I am most of the time.

I try to be a peacekeeper in their world. Not the dysfunctional peacekeeping of our codependent system of privilege and renamed racism. No. Not the kind of peacekeeping that says, “Let’s all just get along. Don’t rock that boat. Keep everything nice and peaceful.”

That’s not peace. That’s privilege.

Peacekeeping Jesus style is more about justice. It’s about getting dirty in the muck of it all. It’s about reaching out our hands to grab the people who are falling into deep, dark pits of hopelessness. It’s about hugging the refugee in welcome; it’s about insuring that all people are free. It’s peace for everyone, not just straight, white, rich, cis-gendered American men.

But this peacekeeping, it feels violent.

Inside, and out, it feels violent. I would like to pretend my anger is similar to the righteousness of Jesus, and I do think that partly, it is. There is righteousness in being angry about turning away refugees out of fear and xenophobia. It is righteousness to despise white supremacy, racism, antisemitism, Islamophobia. It is holy to hate misogyny. It is good to deconstruct patriarchy and privilege in all its forms.

And yet I have been called “unAmerican” for my views. I have had family members send vile and ugly emails to disown me. I have had people send me private messages filled with hate. I have had supporters of the current regime insist I must like him, demand I explain myself. This is the “outside” violence of peacekeeping.

I admit that I’ve had some choice words back. Even if I have not said them out loud, they were there in my heart. And I wanted to spew them out like burning ash and lava. I have wanted to be been snarky and snide. Not just about the current administration, but about some of the people who support it. And about what they’ve said to me.

I have been unforgiving of their verbal violence toward me. I have harbored it in my heart like my own private refugee, the hurt and the anger at their seemingly obtuse refusal to understand what’s actually at stake here.

Next week, I am travelling to Canada to convince them to give us their prime minister for a gathering of sisters who are ready to rise. We will sit at the table and talk peacekeeping, about being dangerous women for Jesus. About what it all means.

I am hoping I can learn something about this violence of peacekeeping. About how to be better at the peace part, and learn how to handle the violence part.

And I will remember, too, the people who are my tribe. They are the ones who reach out to send me private Facebook messages when I confess I am struggling. They are the moms of the transgender kid — or sometimes, they are the transgender kid themselves. They are the people who feel like, for whatever reason, they can’t speak out what’s in their heart. People who choke on their own big, gorgeous bleeding hearts. They come up to me at events or they slide up next to me with an email and they say, “Thank you. It helps to know you’re out there.”

It helps me to know they’re out there, too.

And maybe that’s all the peace I’ll be getting in this lifetime.

But still, I’ll persist.

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