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I spent ten years of my life working as a consultant on the topic of how to have constructive difficult conversations and receive feedback well. I can assure you that no one in the current U.S. executive branch was one of my clients. But many wonderful people of varied religious traditions (and no religious traditions) were. And in the last couple days, several have reached out to me as one of the few public Catholics that they know to express their condolences and support of the Catholic community in light of the anti-Catholic sentiment expressed by the president and weird picture of him playing the role of Christ. This was very kind and generous, and also unnecessary.
It’s true that the pope plays a special role in the Catholic tradition and being rude to him does feel rude to all of us, but as Catholics, we believe in the dignity of every person and the president has been rude to so many people on so many occasions, well, this week’s comments regarding the pope just seem like “Violation of Human Dignity #612,741,909.”
Moreover, even as it is does feel peculiarly “anti-Catholic” to take a jab at the pope, for anyone who takes their Catholic faith seriously and understands its social teaching, the current administration has always been anti-Catholic. While the administration has taken a legal stand against abortion, it has done nothing to actually care for the unborn or their mothers, with a particular ill-will toward them if they are immigrants. It has shown only disregard for the earth on which the next generation is meant to live. It has stimulated war and violence rather than building a peaceful environment in which we all can thrive. Catholicism seeks to pass on a robust body of teaching on what it means to be truly human and live a good life—much of which overlaps with values in the other religious traditions of those who took the time to write me. The fact that this fuller body of social teaching is not clear to the world, and that for many the only thing that we are known for is having a pope and our stance against legal abortion means the apology should be reversed.
It means we as a church in the U.S. have done an inadequate job of learning our own faith, explaining to others our own faith, and acting on our own faith. Rather than view ourselves as sudden victims of an anti-Catholic administration, we need to acknowledge—and do reparations? (shouldn’t toss that one out)—for our communal role in this administration coming to power and staying in power in the first place, because none of the above should be coming to us as a surprise. Seriously.
I realize that last paragraph sounds super Lenten—espousing sack cloths and ashes rather than proclaiming Easter joy. So, I want to pivot a bit to share a story from the atrium. When I feel like I’m walking through Ps. 23 with its valley of darkness, I know one of the most reliable things to do for my soul is spend some time with little ones. Hence this past Sunday for the first time since surgery last Fall, I went back to the parish to meet with the 6-to-9 year olds. My oncologist has warned me a bit about the germs children like to tote, at least while I’m on chemo. But it also felt like I needed to hear from them because they always have a different perspective on things. So I found a K-95 mask and hitched a ride to Decatur.
Our time began with a rather zany Liturgy of the Light where we introduced the Paschal candle and had each child receive a candle of their own, as would happen during Easter Vigil. Each year, this is typically a powerful moment. Children love candles in the dark. But this group apparently had just had some doughnuts after Mass and were as squirrely as could be. The only good news besides the announcement of Christ’s Resurrection is that we didn’t need to get out the fire extinguisher.
Afterwards, however, the children went to work in the atrium—many of them to drawing and to mangling flowers. Not in that order. We’ll stick with the drawing part. A six-year-old—who we’ll call Liv—approached me with her drawing. There were some tiny stick figures under a giant rainbow, and above the rainbow, a big king in a throne in front of a big castle. This, too, was not unusual. If you’ve been reading my newsletters, you will know they like paste. They like calendars. They like dough. They like candles in the dark. And now, I will tell you, they love rainbows and royalty.
“Who is this?” I asked.
“That is my family she said.” She named every stick figure.
“And who is this?” I asked.
“That is Jesus,” she said.
As I said, this was not an uncommon image of Jesus. Even though we talk with them lots about Jesus saying the Kingdom of God is like a mustard seed or a man searching for a precious pearl, they still come baked in with an image of Jesus as a mighty king with a big castle.
“Ahh, that is a big castle,” I said, “What is Jesus doing in that castle?”
“Oh, Jesus doesn’t live in the castle. Jesus is out in front of the castle. Jesus is out looking for us.”
“Oh, okay.” I said, and she bounced away to draw herself an Easter candle and mangle a flower. It seemed so small and I continued my own work of the morning which was mainly cutting up the covers of “Get Well Soon” cards and old Give Us This Day monthly editions to give the children artwork with which they like to enhance their own artistic expression. And then I found myself cutting out the circular image of Christ on the back cover of March’s issue of GUTD—an artistic expression of Khrystyna Kvyk, a young Ukrainian icon writer —and it was strangely similar to the one Liv had drawn.
“This reminds me of your picture. Is this kind of what you see also?”
“Yes, that's what I see” she said, “And you see all the colors of the rainbow?”
Well, I couldn’t see all the colors of the rainbow. I still can’t. But I also am not six. They can see things we can’t. But as I’ve looked at Kvyk’s other icons, I see that the rainbow of colors is also a theme of hers.
There is anger and frustration for me in being Catholic right now, subject still to an anti-Catholic regime that has been anti-Catholic every step of the way. There is sadness to know that the president presenting himself online dressed up as Jesus is considered the most anti-Catholic thing he has done. There is grief in knowing I don’t have all the time in the world with these children. Grief in sitting there in a K-95 mask.
There is also the fact that light still shines in the darkness even when we are all behaving like squirrels. There is the fact that Christ still is King. And that he has left the castle to come looking for us. That he knows we are bruised and hurting and in danger of blowing a gasket. So he’s come looking for us. His Kingdom is not of this earth… yet. But it is Easter and he is Risen and sliding down the rainbow in our direction right now. Still.
PS. An excellent article this week by John Stanczak from recent issue of America: “How to Build a Faith That’s Sturdy Enough for Real Life.” I had to read it twice to get it all, but it was worth it.
Photo Credit: Khrystyna Kvyk, March 2026 issue of GUTD