When the Dream Turns to Nightmare

Doom to you who legislate evil,
who make laws that make victims—
Laws that make misery for the poor,
that rob my destitute people of dignity,
Exploiting defenseless widows,
taking advantage of homeless children.
(Isaiah 10:1-2, The Message)

The line zigzagged down the church sidewalks, longer than I’d ever seen it before.

The Lift UP food pantry was about to open for the day. Patiently waiting in a well-ordered line stood beautiful folks of all ages and stages of life, all races and ethnicities, all in effort to stave off the pangs of hunger.

I paused, taking in each beloved of God who had come here to our church. I took in each person who, between the medical payments or rent or tuition or immigration lawyer fees or entire lack of finances, did not have enough for food. I thought about those who were in similar need but who were afraid to go to the grocery store or come to the pantry – afraid to be on the church sidewalk – for fear of immigration officials who have become increasingly haphazard and indiscriminate in their raids and arrests. I wondered how we could possibly keep up with the expanding need when the budgets of these non-profits have already taken such massive hits since January.

I thought about the policy bill being deliberated in the Senate that would multiply spending on immigration enforcement, cut taxes especially for the ultra-wealthy, and that tries to balance all that by cutting the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP) and Medicaid benefits. All while still adding trillions to the nation’s deficit over the next 10 years.

As a pastor who has visited congregants in countless hospitals, group homes, rehab facilities, and assisted living arrangements, as a pastor who sees God’s people around my home and around our church every day who need food, shelter, and medical care, as a pastor who leads a congregation who cares deeply about the immigrant, the houseless, the hungry, and the sick, I am at a loss.

I am taken aback by the glee that some have over these cuts to public services: no remorse of making a hard decision to balance a budget amid limited resources, but absolute disregard and lack of empathy for the people of the country who will bear the pain of their decisions. The cynic in me is unsurprised. The humanity in me had hoped for better.

As we approach the day of celebration of our nation’s independence and the anniversary of when a segment of the population declared itself free (read Frederick Douglass’s “What to a Slave is the Fourth of July”), I am reminded that the struggle of our country has been to recognize what freedom means for all, and to contend with the question of who this country is for.

As we have continued to ask and some have answered this question, the American dream that those like my parents held on to with a hope and prayer has turned into a nightmare.

I mourn that the message peddled is so unfortunately clear: this is not a country meant for all of God’s children. This is not a country meant for my family – my people – or for others who seek freedom and opportunity here. But I believe differently.

I mourn that there are some who think that Medicaid will only be cut for those who don’t deserve it, or that immigration enforcement will only impact those who don’t deserve to be here. Because I know this will not be the case, even by their own measure.

I mourn that we have created and continually changed arbitrary boundaries that draw the line between ‘deserving’ and ‘not deserving,’ ‘lawful’ and ‘unlawful,’ because I believe all God’s children deserve dignity, safety, and our greatest care.

What leads me to my beliefs and to the mourning that has followed them? Scripture, primarily. Reason, experience, and tradition, in addition.

As a child of immigrants with a complicated immigration story, I wonder what makes my family any more or less deserving of the care and acceptance of this country than another family. As current immigration raids have proven, it was no effort toward a legal process that meant that we were safe from abduction.

As the daughter of someone whose healthcare access has only been possible through the Affordable Care Act (which passed years after she first needed medical attention) and now entirely through Medicaid, I wonder what makes her, an immigrant born across the world, any more or less deserving than another of dignity and well-funded healthcare in the face of a horrible disease.

As someone who reads scripture critically and seriously, I am plagued by countless scriptures that compel us to care for the hungry, the outcast, the sick, the poor, and the foreigner among us. We recall these scriptures on a near weekly basis throughout our worship and faith life together.

As part of confirmation class, my local United Methodist Church sent us to Washington D.C. on an interfaith pilgrimage to view social justice through the lens of faith. One stop was to the United Methodist Building – the only non-government building on Capitol Hill and whose marquee currently reads, “Don’t balance the budget on the backs of the poor” – where we learned about social justice from a United Methodist perspective. There, I learned that our federal budget (and every budget) is a moral document. If we believe that all of God’s people are beloved and if we believe that no one should go hungry or be without shelter or medical care, then our policy and budget need to reflect that.   

This policy bill strips food from the hungry, healthcare from the sick, dignity from the elderly, and shuts the door in the face of the stranger whom God has called us to welcome.[1] Yesterday, it passed in the Senate. Today, it passed in the House. Tomorrow, I will not be celebrating but mourning for the people of this country whom I love and whom I wish to be free: free from hunger, free from the progression of preventable illness, free from the trauma of houselessness, free from unmanageable hardship, free from fear.  

I do not believe that any people are evil. I do believe that our actions can be. As my colleague the Rev. Clay Andrew said,

“I don't know what else to call it when we remove healthcare access from millions of people so that the very wealthy can have a little more in their bloated bank accounts.

But Christian Scripture calls it evil.

I don't know what else to call it when political leaders gleefully joke about people being eaten by wild animals if they seek to escape a concentration camp.

But Christian Scripture calls it evil.

I don't know what else to call it when people use the Gospel to justify hatred and violence because it keeps the 'right' people in power.

But Christian Scripture calls it evil.”

The grief over the words spoken and decisions made is both fresh and long-lurking. If you need a place to lament our care of God’s people, know that our clergy are here for you.

I do not believe that this is all our country can be. I do believe that goodness can prevail and that we can, somehow, shore up our care of those who are sick, hungry, and in need. In his letter to the Romans, the Apostle Paul admonishes us to not be “defeated by evil, but defeat evil with good.”

Today, we can grieve what feels like the death of a dream of dignity and care for everyone. Tomorrow, we look for where we can take part in resurrection toward the liberation of all God’s people.

One day, we will all be free: free from hunger, free from preventable illness, free from the trauma of houselessness, free from unmanageable hardship, free from fear. We will look around and see that earth has become like heaven. We will glimpse the love of God bestowed upon every person, no matter their ethnicity, country of origin, resources, or health, and that love will be directly represented in how we care for one another.

It did not happen on July 4 of 1776, nor did it happen on July 3 of 2025. But one day, regardless of who is in office or what party has the majority or what is the political fight of the day, we will make it there. Today, we are not there yet.

In solidarity,
Pastor Karyn

[1] Benjamin Cremer