No Longer as Predators, But as Pilgrims

“The earth will rest, justice will prevail, the poor will rejoice, and peace will return, once we no longer act as predators but as pilgrims. No longer each of us for ourselves but walking alongside one another.”  —Pope Leo XIV

There are moments in history when a nation reveals its character, sadly, not through lofty speeches or patriotic displays, but by the quiet cruelty of its policies.

I saw the quote above by Pope Leo. I don’t know the context of the quote, but I immediately recognized that it fit the recent Congressional actions here in the U.S.

The recent budget bill passed by the U.S. House and Senate is one such moment. Pushed forward by Speaker Mike Johnson and his Republican majority, with Donald Trump cheering from the sidelines, this legislation guts vital support systems that millions rely on. It slashes funding for education, Medicaid, Medicare, and SNAP. It threatens the closure of rural hospitals. It targets people experiencing poverty, older adults, and children with a brutality so calculated and unapologetic that it can only be called what it is: a moral abomination.

These are not just numbers in a spreadsheet. These are meals taken from the mouths of children. These are seniors skipping medications because clinics have closed. These are veterans navigating trauma without access to care. And all of it, we are told, is in service of “fiscal responsibility,” a hollow phrase that rings out only when people with low incomes are in view, never when tax cuts for the ultra-wealthy are on the table.

As a Christian, a United Methodist, and someone at retirement age myself, I cannot remain silent. I will not pretend that this is just one more partisan disagreement. It is not. This budget bill is a fundamental betrayal of our shared obligations to one another.

John Wesley, the founder of Methodism, wrote, “Do all the good you can, by all the means you can, in all the ways you can… to all the people you can, as long as ever you can.” He warned that the rich must not only give generously but also see the poor as equal in dignity and divine worth. Wesley’s theology was clear: piety without justice is empty. Holiness without mercy is fraud.

This budget bill betrays that vision. It reflects a theology of greed, not grace. A worldview in which the weak are burdens, not neighbors, a politics of cruelty, not community.

Former U.S. Representative Barney Frank once said, “Politics is what we choose to do together.” But this Congress has chosen division, abandonment, and the idol of individualism. What we are witnessing is not the failure of government, but its perversion into a weapon used against the vulnerable.

This bill is also profoundly un-American. The idea that we come together to form a more perfect union, that we care for our wounded warriors and our children, that we make sure no senior has to choose between heating and eating. These are not radical ideas. They are foundational. Or at least they used to be.

There’s a passage from Marcus Aurelius that stays with me: “What injures the hive, injures the bee.” Even the Stoics (whom I’ve been recently studying), who are sometimes mischaracterized as cold or indifferent, understood the interconnectedness of human life. We are not meant to live as predators, as Pope Leo XIV reminds us, but as pilgrims bound to one another, walking together, and answering for how we treat the least among us.

This is not just about policy. It is about our very soul as a people. Do we believe in justice that lifts up the weak? Do we believe in mercy that binds the wounds of those cast aside? Or are we content to let the wealthiest hoard ever more while our neighbors wither in silence?

To those who voted for this shameful bill: your cruelty is not strength. It is cowardice. It is easier to punch down than to speak truth to the donors and lobbyists who profit from your decisions. It takes no courage to hurt the powerless. It takes real courage to stand for what is right.

But there is still time for the rest of us. It is not too late to speak out. Call your senators and representatives. Tell them this budget is not who we are. Write letters. Show up at town halls. Organize with your faith communities, your civic groups, and your neighbors. And when the time comes, vote with your heart and your conscience.

We need leaders who see governing not as a game of leverage but as a moral vocation. We need people in office who believe—as Wesley did—that our salvation is bound up in how we care for the least of these. We need a politics that reflects the best of our faith and our common humanity, not the worst instincts of our economy.

I’ll be honest: I am frightened. I’m at retirement age, and although I’m not ready to retire, the job market may force my hand. I will soon rely more directly on the very programs now under attack. But fear will not paralyze me. It will sharpen my resolve because I still believe in the promise of a just society. I believe in a country where compassion is not weakness and solidarity is not socialism but a sacred responsibility.