Grief is Not a Sin. The Evangelical Christian Cruelty of Spiritual Bypassing

It is not well on the feast day of St. Valentine. And that's okay to say.

I feel so fucking clouded today. Exhausted. I don’t want to write or work, and I feel unable to, so I’m sitting at my desk, tasking in circles. The irony is that just this week, I gave a webinar on how trauma responses urge us to fundamentalist thinking by straining our window of tolerance. When our nervous system is hyper and hypo-aroused, whether we panic into an anxious flurry or power down into sludge, we cannot thrive and function in our ordinary lives or think critically about the stimulus thrown at us. Either way, our nervous system is thrust into survival mode; our cognitive mind is offline. Any action we take is an emotional reaction to trauma—not intention, faith, trust, decision, or reason.

This, of course, is the administration’s design. The likelihood they’ll launch a hot turd of new bad news on Valentine’s evening is high. This is their pattern. They love to trigger weekend work, so we’ll be face-planted on the floor going into Monday. Just thinking about it makes me want to throw up my breakfast; this week's news has already been so bad. And the shadows aren’t even the worst part.

My nervous system is activated because I know the people on the other side are busy painting sunshine.

The inability to label bad things bad goes back to the Protestant tradition of “Christiamericanity.” Looking on the bright side and convincing yourself to reorient to the narrative is a feature of American Evangelicalism, not a bug.

I’m tired of saying that, by the way— “it’s a feature, not a bug.” I’ve made it my job to translate evangelical features that have now become part of our American mainstream, and part of the reason why I feel like puking is because it seems like everything that was once a “fringe” bug is now part of everyday life. It used to be weird for secular culture to parrot evangelical talking points. Now, evangelical talking points have saturated once-secular spaces.

So here we are, with most of the country spinning emotionally. At the same time, a smaller portion smiles in blonde, nods, and says our situation is good. Actresses like Candie Cameron can now share their opinions more openly without fear of being called a bigot. The American State Church is underway:

Advocates for the separation of church and state have long warned that in elevating one version of Christianity above all others, the right would transform the faith into a weapon. Conservatives would then wield it against all who dissent: other Christians, religious minorities, and LGBTQ+ people, for example. That future is now here. Although Trump is not particularly religious, he and his acolytes grasp Christianity’s cultural power and see it as a way to consolidate power around themselves while exacting retribution on their political enemies. Theirs is a Christianity marked by grievance and cruelty, corroded by the pursuit of power and the enforcement of a strict social hierarchy. Grace, when they offer it, does not encourage humility in the recipient. Rather, it is a way to keep everyone in their appointed place. The racist Elez can return to DOGE, while anyone connected to “DEI” must be purged. — Sarah Jones for The Intelligencer, NYMag (bold mine.)

All of this is exhausting. I already escaped Christian Fundamentalism once. I’m still healing and ever shall be. Hearing them call bad things good because it keeps everyone in their appointed place triggers me back to old trauma. Do you know how hard it is to exercise the simple rebellion of hearing yourself think in a fundamentalist culture? Do you know how radical it is to assert a critical thought or question against the tide of their same-think? Group-think? Fucking happy-clappy-it-is-well-think?

No, Candy Apple Karen. Life is fucking not always well. Calling it that is cruel.

Have you ever heard the story behind the hymn It is Well?

I’d forgotten, in a way. Blocked it out is more accurate. This story was used to gaslight, embarrass me, and bypass my grief. The memory of pastoral cruelty is