Yesterday, in response to Elizabeth Warren’s announcement of her candidacy for president, President Trump tweeted:

Today Elizabeth Warren, sometimes referred to by me as Pocahontas, joined the race for President. Will she run as our first Native American presidential candidate, or has she decided that after 32 years, this is not playing so well anymore? See you on the campaign TRAIL, Liz!

“See you on the TRAIL, Liz?” Those words, that tone, that uninvited familiarity, that disturbing reference to a most terrible moment in American history coming from the head of state of the land of “liberty and justice for all?” Hardly presidential.  But isn’t that the point? Is it not Mr. Trump’s selling point that he is not like other politicians and presidents, that he will not be PC, that he doesn’t do “official-speak,” but tells it like it is?

But “See you on the TRAIL, Liz?” This is not telling it like it is.  This is petulant, petty, demeaning, cruel, not different in kind or intent from the taunts of any elementary school bully. This is not refreshingly candid. This is childish and despicable.

As I compose these words, I find my face flushing and my teeth clenching … and there is the problem, not Mr. Trump’s problem, but mine.  I am angry, bitterly angry, incensed at this man’s barbarity. And I want to lash out, put him down, put him in his place, defame him! But then, I am just like him.

There is nothing wrong with being angry, but I must not let the anger change me, change my way of being, change my commitment to love — to love God, always, and to prove my love for God by loving my neighbor, each neighbor. 

Hateful rhetoric hurts, hurts people in tangible ways, but it can wreak even more damage by changing the game, getting its targets to play by its rules. Hate wins when it elicits hate in return.

Hate must not win.  And so I pray.  I pray for Mr. Trump, for a change of heart, for a softening of heart, for eyes to hear and ears to hear the people, all the people, for whom he acts and on whose behalf he leads. I pray that he would be inclined to justice, moved by compassion, that he would be humbled — not humiliated, but humbled, by the enormity of his responsibility and the utter insignificance of his own person.

And I watch my language. I will be angry and I will call this president out, but I pray that I will not be petty, that I will not be cruel, that I will not demean, that I will never play by his rules, but by Jesus’ rules …