Dear Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde,

Like so many, I knew nothing about you until Jan. 21 when, as the bishop of the Episcopal Diocese of Washington, D.C., you faced newly inaugurated President Trump and spoke your truth. Speaking to him as if the two of you were the only people in the Washington Cathedral, you respectfully made a plea to the so-called most powerful person in the world, “to have mercy upon the people in our country who are scared now,” reminding him that “we were all once strangers in this land.”

You communicated the fears of gay, lesbian, and trans people, immigrants and their families, reminding him that “the vast majority of those, who pick our crops, who clean our office buildings,” and who contribute to our economy in so many ways, “are not criminals.”

How could anyone not be moved by your powerful words? I knew the answer, but allowed myself to experience a faint glimmer of hope that your message of compassion might find its way into his heart. I was wrong. Your words were met with vile contempt, a response that was predictable, but still shattering.

In the days that have followed, I have focused more not only on the stirring power of your words, but also on your courage to speak them. You became a hero that Sunday for me and for so many Americans, who are struggling to find their voice in these terrifying times. So much of the discourse these days focuses on the horrors wrought by oligarchs, whose goal is to destroy our democratic institutions. We gather around dinner tables to endlessly discuss cabinet appointments and executive orders, until someone will invariably say, “Enough.”

For me, this is my cue to bring up the person I refer to as, “My Hero, Bishop Budde.” The mere mention of “the bishop who spoke truth to power” always lifts our spirits. Invariably, however, someone will ask, “Why are there so few who dare to speak up?”

In these precarious times we hunger for our elected officials in Washington to raise their voices on the floors of the Senate and House, to use every mechanism available to bring the wheels of legislative injustice to a grinding halt. Their appearances on Rachel Maddow will not save us. Passivity in the face of lawlessness is not an option.

From Washington to Wall Street, the media is cowering, preemptively silencing the voices of columnists. Retail chains like Target that once stood as allies for LGBTQ, BIPOC people, and women have torched their DEI programs. Medical establishments like NYU Langone are denying gender-affirming care to patients under the age of 19. Powerful billionaires like Jeff Bezos ingratiate themselves to DOGE and MAGA.

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The other day, I found myself singing the words to Bonnie Tyler’s 1980s hit, “Holding Out for a Hero:”

“Where have all the good men (sic) gone

And where are all the gods?

Where’s the streetwise Hercules

To fight the rising odds?”

In the face of such cowardice, I am on a hunt to call out the heroes, like you, Bishop Budde. I recently watched the book launch on YouTube for your 2023 book, “How We Learn to Be Brave,” which examines how people throughout history were called to act with “grit and grace” during decisive moments to summon the courage to do what they had never done before.

You called on us to act in “American democracy’s hour of the greatest danger,” to be brave, believing that everyone has the “stuff of courage inside us.” There are no guarantees. “What seems to matter most in these moments is that we show up, step up and make our offering, despite its limitations.” Grieving is important, but so is having the faith and action to rise up and be brave enough to resist.

Resistance and courage have many faces. For some, it may mean deciding to boycott Amazon, despite the inconvenience, to go towww.5calls.org and start each morning with a daily demand to our legislators. Some will be called to face arrest and engage in civil disobedience. What matters most is to summon the courage to DO SOMETHING.

 “You don’t persevere when it’s easy. You persevere when it’s hard.” It takes bravery to resist succumbing to the voices of hopelessness, who wave the white flag of surrender, convinced that resistance is useless. When I traveled to Albania last September, I learned how fear drove Albanians to passivity in the face of a four-decade reign of a monstrous dictator.

Today’s chaos and lawlessness can paralyze us if we let them. I choose instead to channel my inner Bishop Budde, always returning to the path of my resistance, where I lock arms with the multitude of those who fight in so many ways for what matters. We might fail sometimes, but we will never give up.

With courage, faith, and solidarity,

Sara Weinberger

Sara Weinberger lives in Easthampton.