We are at a time in America—and the world—when even the idea of truth and objective reality are in question. Like the dirty word of responsibility washing off of Pontius Pilate’s hands, we collectively let out an exhausted, relegated sigh, “What is truth?” Yet, secretly, we want someone with true authority to tell us, because we actually miss feeling like actions and words have real consequences. We miss knowing what those consequences even were. We just know that once they were there and now, somehow, they’re not. What is real anymore? What is true? Will someone tell us? And even if they did, would our rebellious sides not overshadow our better selves and yell out, “Crucify Him,” too?

How do we even begin to think about accepting the results of an election, disproving election fraud, or proving an election was defrauded when our faith in evidence is so far lesser than our faith in our own suspicions. Because, if our suspicions play out with a result we’re not happy with, does it not prove our suspicions were right? Some might say, it shouldn’t if we were all trained to think logically. Logic can detect falsehood and fallacy. It’s why logical systems have existed since the ancient Greeks and earlier. However, the Apostle Paul gives us a simpler rubric. He proposes that discernment isn’t primarily a skill of the mind staying sharp; it is a result of the heart staying good. A child can be discerning. They may not know why a person seems untrustworthy, but they feel it.

We are a good nation. We are a generous nation. We are kind and welcoming to strangers. We make room and say “you belong here” to the immigrant who is starting over, to the new coworker, to the family who just moved in from out of town, to the new kid in school, to the drunk who can’t seem to stay sober, to the beggar who can’t seem to get back on her feet, to those who have lost everything, to the ones who threw it all away. Fear itself is the enemy we have banished from our imaginations. We will not allow it to populate our minds with monsters or project the words “enemy,” “bad guys,” or “them” onto our neighbors. There is no “them.” There is only we.

We see you, Jesus.

Jesus in every face. Jesus in the one begging for water. Jesus in the one locked behind bars. Jesus in the widow, in the shopkeeper, in the child afraid to go to school, in the workers afraid to lose their jobs. The lowly babe Jesus. The beggar Jesus. The refugee Jesus. The left-out-of-the-party Jesus. The disenfranchised Jesus. The wrongly accused Jesus. The hated and reviled Jesus. The rabble-rouser Jesus. The preacher and prophet Jesus. The rebuker of false religion Jesus. The judge of all misappropriated and misused political power Jesus. The defender of the weak Jesus. Jesus in every tear, in every wound, in every loss, in every bit of pain; Jesus in every hand, in every heart, in every hug, in every kind word.

Jesus, we see you.

We will not let fear get the best of us. We will not let suspicion divide us. We will not let our hurt turn sour and spoil the public good. We will ferment our pain with grieving and longing, so that we become sweet to those who taste, imparting all with hope and strength and intoxicating them with joy.

This is America’s finest hour. This is when we defeat hate. This is when we rise up out of our petty divisions and show the world that freedom and personal responsibility can work together, that there is a pot of gold at the end of the long arc of justice, that despite our disagreements and different perspectives, we are still the United States of America. Glory glory, Hallelujah!