Election Lamentations

The 5 Stages of Grief in the Wake of the 2024 US Election

Last Sunday, we hosted a listening session in my all-black Episcopal parish following the US general election. As I noted in my pastoral letter to the congregation prior to the meeting, the idea was to create a trusting, therapeutic space for people to voice their emotions, which I knew were running high. Let’s face it — I too have had very strong feelings about the outcome and implications of the election; but I didn’t want my own baggage to bias or dominate the conversation.

As people spoke, it became apparent to me that folks were in different places. Some parishioners were downright furious by the election’s outcome; some were resigned; some bewildered; and some even shrugged off the whole thing as if it were a minor issue. I mentioned in my own remarks that I recognized that not all people were going to be feeling the same emotions, and that some may have even voted for the winning ticket, even though I suspected that the vast majority had had their hopes dashed.

What was largely on display for me was a smattering of the 5 stages of grief: 1) denial, 2) anger, 3) bargaining, 4) depression and 5) acceptance. In the hours and days following the election, some people told me they suspected that there had been election interference or shenanigans — that the election had been stolen in some way. There was a denial, or at least extreme skepticism, that the American electorate could actually have participated in a free and fair election and returned the result it did. People were incredulous and bewildered that such an outcome could have legitimately occurred.

Those who were angry, including me, cited a laundry list of fears and grievances, from Project 2025 and the overturning of women’s reproductive rights to rounding up immigrants, separating families at the border, and putting children in cages. Some parishioners tried to persuade us (and I suspect themselves) that things might not turn out to be so bad. After all, they said, we’ve survived a lot; and many of the draconian policies that had been floated in the the President-Elect’s first term didn’t come to fruition. So, maybe we’d be OK. Classic bargaining. If X happens, fine, we can deal with that, as long as Y doesn’t also happen. Merciful Lord, hear our prayer.

Of course, there were plenty of tears and expressions of raw panic in the election’s aftermath, people who were defeated and despondent, absolutely hopeless that they could weather that storm that was about to descend upon the country. Many family, friends and parishioners told me that they had found it impossible to get out of bed for days at a time because they felt so depressed. Acceptance was far off.

To be honest, I’m not sure if anyone in that room had truly arrived at acceptance. Perhaps it’s just too soon for that. There were a few very elderly black ladies, though, who just looked at me stoically and said with resignation, “well, Father, it is what it is. I’ve been through a lot in my life, and we’ll get through this, too.” I hope they’re right. We’re all trying to cope with the anxiety and uncertainty that this election’s results have wrought; and people are trying to soldier on with whatever coping mechanisms they can muster. Maybe its outright denial; maybe its righteous anger; maybe it’s curling up into a ball on the couch, eating a bag of Doritos, and binge-watching Netflix. I’m not here to judge.

In the midst of crisis, each of us usually retreats to our go-to strategy. I’m not the sort to assume the fetal position. After having spent my entire childhood being bullied, I tend to get defiant and come out swinging when backed into a corner. I’m a doer, so mere minutes after the election was called, I resolved to protest, resist, organize and get involved in local grassroots advocacy, to make a positive change where I can. I hate to feel powerless, so I seek out opportunities to exercise agency. I’m good in a crisis and was determined to inspire others to get involved rather than rolling over and playing dead.

The trouble with that gambit is that it can be emotionally exhausting. As I reminded one overwhelmed clergy colleague this week, we can’t take on and fight every threat the election results pose to us. We’d be flattened with a week. There’s no magic slingshot that can fell the American Goliath with one lucky blow to the head. It’s going to be slow, incremental work, requiring constant vigilance. It’s also going to require us to do something that doers like me are loathe to do, which is let go of some stuff. For self-care and self-preservation — and I’m preaching to myself here — we have to be willing to admit that there are some problems above our respective pay grades, concerns that we can’t concern ourselves with, and offer it up to people who are in a better position than we are to make a difference. Something’s gotta give.

I imagine that the months ahead, particularly the weeks leading up to Inauguration Day, will be spent deciding what I can take on and what I can’t, how to let go of constant fretting about the condition of the country and the world, and how I can still find joy in the midst of so much turmoil. I don’t have any magic answer for how to do this, except to say that the one thing of which I am sure is that we are not in this alone. We have each other: to fight together, to offer strength and solace to each other, to nag each other to take some time for ourselves and find refreshment. And we have God, who instead of some divine fixer we expect to descend from Heaven to save us from ourselves, has given the care of the world into our hands and has entrusted to us the call to make this world a reflection of God’s justice, equity and peace.

Abundant blessings,

Ethan Alexander+