I don’t know where to begin – not because I have nothing to say, but because there are too many and everything I say will be inadequate.

I start with the young woman crying after class, wanting to know what she can do? How can she connect with others whose hearts are breaking? Or do I start the night before, when, as the votes are counted, I cling to my rosary, praying in a troubled sleep? Or maybe I should start a few years ago when an undocumented teenager going through the Rite of Christian Adult Initiation asks me to be their godfather? I love that baby so much. Or maybe 18 years before that, when another idealistic, undocumented young man walked into my new college office to tell me his story, igniting my work to develop resources for undocumented students and their families. Or maybe I should start in a room in the Vatican a month ago and my conversation with Pope Francis? No, not there; I will think of that moment in my heart, especially the deep sadness in his eyes.

I have no interest in running this election again. I think any analysis of what happened will take years to unravel. We may never understand how we got here, especially since history is written (and sanitized) by the winners. However, as someone in the ministry of theological education and advocacy for the vulnerable, I have three immediate concerns: What are our young people learning? What will we do as people of faith to actively alleviate suffering? And finally, what about the future?

Who are we?

For now, our young people have learned that we live in a reality where there is no “we”. This is a destabilizing space to exist in as a young person, and we must soberly acknowledge this truth. Juveniles of most species learn first from adults and, as they reach adolescence, prioritize learning from their peers. Humans, like many of our fellow humans, are inherently social. Yet we have just witnessed a catastrophic unraveling of our social fabric. Our young people are learning (and perhaps will teach each other) that insults, ambition, bigotry and misogyny ultimately win out. They are taught by word and deed that the most fundamental of all Christian beliefs—that God is love and that we must care for all of God’s creation—can be trampled upon without consequence in the pursuit of self-interest. They have witnessed that those who seek reconciliation and prioritize the dignity of others will be mocked and defeated. They have seen with their own eyes that behavior that would not be tolerated in most homes can be fully displayed in front of the cameras, encouraged and encouraged. It often seems that the only value left today is the false glitter of wealth and power and the permission to use any means to get there.

I’ve been here before

The history of Christianity is full of times when instead of Beatitudes, we chose thrones. The pursuit of profit and power is not a victimless crime. The limitless pursuit of profit requires a ruthless disregard for the needs of others, and it is power that makes it possible. The United States has told many stories of its innocence and glory; neither of which is entirely true. So is it any wonder that we no longer know how to recognize lies? One of the most difficult things the early church had to do, which we see clearly in the writings of Paul and in the Acts of the Apostles, was to publicly contend with errors and lies. The early Christians had to deal with power struggles, manipulation, deception, and division, and they did so by calling it out and pointing back to the promises that Jesus had come to fulfill. There was another way to be human, another way to care for creation, another way to honor God’s dreams. Prophets have cried this for generations, calling for repentance and conversion. Sometimes their voices were heard; many times they were silenced. What is happening in the United States right now will affect our entire planet, not just this country, for generations.

Shall we be silent?

None of us can predict how many of the threats that were made during this campaign will be carried out by the new administration, but we should take their possibility seriously. We were told of plans to massively and violently deport immigrants, end programs that support the poor, dismantle public education, ban the teaching of our difficult history, and continue to burn our planet for to feed all our materialistic vices. . Forecasting is a fool’s errand; preparation, on the other hand, is the work of the prudent.

Regardless of how I voted or didn’t vote, it’s irrelevant now. What matters is what happens from here. Our parishes, schools and neighborhoods must prepare for difficult times. In particular, we must advocate for our immigrant brothers and sisters. We anticipate the forced separation of parents from children. We have to do the heartbreaking work of preparing documents, transferring the care of the children to compassionate neighbors and friends. Our small businesses and farms must be prepared for repeated raids; for mothers and fathers, siblings and friends to disappear and widespread economic hardship to spread as crops rot and essential work goes unfulfilled. We will have to feed each other. We must prepare for the loss of health care and other safety nets for our elderly and sick. We will have to come together to bind each other’s wounds. Our schools, universities and libraries can become targets; our books could be banned and our journalists imprisoned. We will have to teach each other to remember what is true.

None of this is theoretical to me. I have already experienced a society of a country that was unleashed as a small child in Cuba. This bleak feeling is all too painfully familiar. In my extended family we have had to run away from many places, many times. When she died, my mother-in-law had already experienced being displaced and seeking refuge twice in her life; tragically, so does my 91 year old father.

What about the future?

Despite the results of this election, I still believe what I told my children: The world is full of good people ready to do the right thing. The future must cultivate that innate goodness, bring us together, and help us reorient ourselves in life-giving ways. To do this, we will have to face what is broken and imagine new ways of healing.

Let’s focus on abundance. Abundance is very different from abundance. Abundance means that there is enough for all of us if we just learn to share. It is the multiplication of loaves and fishes, where no one goes hungry. This requires generosity and turning attention away from ourselves and toward the needs of others.

Let’s conquer fear. The unfounded fear of foreigners and their ways masks our real fear, which is that we will lose power and influence. Fear of our vulnerability is what fuels racism, sexism, nationalism and all the attitudes that build walls, drop bombs and humiliate the weak. The “mighty men” of this world are the absolute antithesis of Christ on the cross; they sit in ornate palaces and watch their cities burn as they divide the world.

It’s a lot of work. God’s kingdom groans under the weight of human selfishness. Only its complete opposite—the bearing generosity of neighbor based on love—can set it free.