Mariann Speaks Calmly to the Leopards
When empathy can sound very loud.
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The National Prayer Service is a D.C. tradition largely unknown or unnoticed by the rest of the country, the rare mass gathering of the American political elite that usually doesn’t make much more than a brief mention in news round-ups.
It takes place the morning after a presidential inauguration, the first such occasion in 1933 when an untested and newly sworn-in Franklin Delano Roosevelt was in attendance probably hoping for all the prayers he could get in the thick of the Great Depression.
It’s historically held at the Washington National Cathedral, an Episcopal church, which, even to this Episcopalian, has always seemed somewhat interesting given the relatively low rate of our denomination in D.C. power circles and the prominent streak of progressivism among American Episcopalians.
Without getting too much into the weeds, we’re basically Catholics with a lot less guilt and a lot more flexibility.
Examples: we have a very similar liturgical structure, but we ordain women and queer folks. We also have seven sacraments, but we recognize same-sex marriages. We theologically hold that life in the womb is sacred, but we think it’s weird and immoral for the government to control women’s bodies, and thus, we oppose anti-abortion laws.
We’re not into the whole proselytizing thing. Our faith is important to us, but we don’t feel the need to be jerks about it. We love God and worship Christ as our Savior, but generally speaking, we just kinda want everyone to be kinder to each other.
We’re a relatively small denomination: just a few million members. And we’re okay with that. I sometimes joke to friends that I may be defined more as a minority being an Episcopalian than I am as a trans woman. (I am totally kidding.)
We’re also not obnoxious about tithing. It’s important to keep the church lights on, but it’s more of a low-key ask—not an aggressive pitch—and rarely vocalized.
My parish has a weekly program for services: half a page offers casual instructions on tithing and a full six are dedicated to service projects and community activities.
At any given service at my parish, you are very likely to hear about a fund for refugee resettlement or someone’s cancer treatment but not so much about tithing. It’s more important to us that your money is going directly to vulnerable people who need it.
Compare that to most evangelical services that include a pitch deck and 20 min. infomercial speech about how tithing will clear your pores and get you that big promotion at work. (I’m not kidding.)
So, no, I was not especially surprised by what happened Tuesday at the National Prayer Breakfast, when Bishop Mariann Budde delivered a powerful appeal directly to Trump’s face, in the whole presence of the D.C. elite class, to protect migrants and LGBTQ youth.
At the conclusion of her sermon, she stated:
Let me make one final plea, Mr. President. Millions have put their trust in you. As you told the nation yesterday, you have felt the providential hand of a loving God. In the name of our God, I ask you to have mercy upon the people in our country who are scared now. There are transgender children in both Republican and Democrat families who fear for their lives.
And the people who pick our crops and clean our office buildings; who labor in our poultry farms and meat-packing plants; who wash the dishes after we eat in restaurants and work the night shift in hospitals—they may not be citizens or have the proper documentation, but the vast majority of immigrants are not criminals. They pay taxes, and are good neighbors. They are faithful members of our churches, mosques and synagogues, gurdwara, and temples.
Have mercy, Mr. President, on those in our communities whose children fear that their parents will be taken away. Help those who are fleeing war zones and persecution in their own lands to find compassion and welcome here. Our God teaches us that we are to be merciful to the stranger, for we were once strangers in this land.
May God grant us all the strength and courage to honor the dignity of every human being, speak the truth in love, and walk humbly with one another and our God, for the good of all the people of this nation and the world.
The text of her remarks, alone, are powerful, but you really need to see the video:
Bishop Budde has been the head of the D.C. diocese for the Episcopal Church since 2011, and even if you don’t recognize her name, I guarantee you’ve read it before this week.
In 2018, she oversaw the internment of the remains of Matthew Shepard, who was murdered in a notorious anti-LGBTQ hate crime two decades prior. In all that time, his parents had held his ashes for fear his gravesite might be vandalized. They were invited by the Diocese to lay him to rest at the Washington National Cathedral. I was at that service, and it remains one of the moving ceremonies I’ve ever witnessed.
In 2020, after Trump used police and National Guard troops to violently clear Lafayette Square during the George Floyd protests and subsequently took a clownish photo of himself holding a Bible (he definitely has not read) in front of St. John’s Church, which is Bishop Budde’s presiding parish, she released a scathing statement condemning both his brazenly violent tactics and shameless exploitation of the church for a photo-op.
So, yeah, I’m certainly not surprised an Episcopalian bishop said what she said during this sermon but even less surprised it was Bishop Budde who said it.
Apparently, the D.C. elites who were gathered for this longstanding tradition were quite surprised—and some quite offended—that a Christian leader would talk about Christ’s teachings at a church service.
But that’s not really it, is it?
They were surprised that someone—anyone—in this town had the guts to confidently say to Trump’s face what needed to be said, what so many in D.C., especially those with considerable power, fear saying, in a moment for our country that is awash with trembling in the face of shameless fascism and unbridled bigotry.
You could almost hear political reporters turning to each other and asking “wait, is she allowed to do that,” so fearful many of them have become of doing their jobs and challenging this new administration without apology or equivocation.
In just under two-and-a-half minutes, Bishop Mariann Budde, combining a clear empathy for both Trump and the vulnerable innocents he’s viciously targeting, fully comfortable in her own skin and righteously firm in Christ’s teachings, did more to challenge Trump than the whole of American political media in the past ten weeks.
Trump wasn’t happy. Vance wasn’t happy. Speaker Johnson wasn’t happy.
When asked by TIME Magazine if she would apologize in response to Trump’s demand that she do so, she responded:
“I am not going to apologize for asking for mercy for others.”
This is my bishop. This is my Christianity.
Yesterday I sent Bishop Budde a postcard of thanks. Her message of empathy and compassion so honestly delivered in such a public forum, is the most courageous action taken since Trump was elected. She's deserving of the gratitude of the entire nation, especially those who voted for Trump/Vance. I appreciate your re-telling and added context. Thank you! #KeepGoing 🙏🏻
Charlotte, your essays are so graceful, so caring, and so beautifully written that they bring tears to my eyes. Have you ever thought about combining them and publishing? That is a book that would write itself and I think the world would be all the better for it.
With much love,
Grandmother