Love and Lament From a Minister in a Swing State

In my role as Michigan Conference Minister, I hosted a “Post-Election Reflection and Online Communion” for our pastors and church members. There wasn’t much shock about the results—after all, we live in Michigan, where the country’s division is our local reality, embedded in our towns and within our churches. But there were a few pastors new to the state who were feeling surprised, scared, and rewriting their sermons for that Sunday.

My heart went out to them because they reminded me of myself, back in 2016, as a pastor who had recently moved to Dubuque, Iowa, from Illinois and was also truly shocked at those 2016 election results. Little did I know that, in the weeks that followed, I would discover my new Iowa congregation was much more politically diverse than I’d imagined. My carefully planned 2016 post-election sermon, as well as my long-scheduled, pastorally sensitive “drop-in” hours the day after the election, were all based on the idea that I would be comforting Republicans—not the other way around!

I had nothing to give at that post-election drop-in other than some soggy donuts (I’d probably been crying over them in the car) and the deeper struggle within myself: if I could have been so wrong about predicting the election results in Iowa and about understanding the deeply held views of my church members, was I equally wrong about my call from God to serve there?

There were a few lonely moments that winter of 2016 when I thought about packing my bags, but I’m so glad I didn’t. That purple congregation in the swing state of Iowa ended up being my sweetheart church. Pastors, you know what I’m talking about.

Eight years later, I am in a new role as a pastor to pastors, responsible for the care and oversight of my denomination’s 144 congregations in Michigan. I’m now living in my second swing state, but this time, I moved here in 2022 with my eyes open, thanks to a national news cycle full of unavoidable stories about Michigan militias and pandemic pandemonium. So, after this recent election, I don’t feel shocked and therefore perhaps not as much pain or disappointment as others do.

Two years into my conference ministry here in Michigan, I’ve spent many weekends visiting churches in a variety of struggling urban, rural, and suburban areas where the economic lives of the working poor and unemployed haven’t been uplifted by either political party. And I’ve also visited scenic towns suddenly “booming and prosperous” for tourists and those with vacation homes they insist on calling “simple cottages” or “rustic cabins.”

In these areas, rents have doubled, and owning even one home has become unaffordable for so many locals that some literally move into tents for the summer to rent out their trailers and scrape by on tips from serving the “simple cottage” people. These folks can sit on the lake and say with a straight face that the economy is in good shape, based on mega-statistics, because their lake lives aren’t devastated by the cost of cars or groceries. So, this election result comes as no surprise to me. The day after the election didn’t feel too different from the day before. Which is not to say it doesn’t matter.

If anything, I feel like I’ve been pre-grieving this expected result for the last two years, steeling myself to lead in Christ’s church—a church whose power does not depend on whatever mediocrity comes next from a two-party political system that persistently betrays and destroys the hopes of the struggling while assuaging the guilt of the greedy, all from two platforms crafted to appear different yet ultimately two sides of the same stage where powers and principalities perform an outdated play for their own amusement.

While I do wish the other team had won, I’ll never be a fan of the sport. Nor will I look to it for my salvation and, rereading my words here, I realize I’m feeling more than I initially thought. Beneath my professional commitments lie personal reflections, as the parent of a trans child planning their wedding at a UCC church camp in rural Illinois.

Like many of you who love CRS, I’m a mix of “I saw it all coming” and “I feel everything,” emotions that transcend simple surprise or shock.

Thank you, CRS, for giving me the space to ramble through these thoughts of head, heart, and hope.

With Love and Lament,

Rev. Dr. Lillian Daniel CRS Board Member Michigan Conference Minister, United Church of Christ