MLK, Inauguration, Executive Orders, Jubilee: How Can I Keep From Singing?

Today’s post is from guest contributor David Palmieri, a theology teacher and the founder of Without Exception, a grassroots network of secondary educators dedicated to discerning the art of accompaniment for LGBTQ+ students in Catholic high schools. He received the Lead, Learn, Proclaim award from the National Catholic Educational Association in 2021.

Pope Francis has declared 2025 a Jubilee Year of Hope.  So what does hope look like? 

This week we observed Martin Luther King Jr. Day. MLK shared a vision of hope in his last speech on the night before he was killed in April 1968. “I would like to live a long life,” he said. “I just want to do God’s will. And he’s allowed me to go up to the mountain.”

But MLK knew he was in danger in Memphis. He acknowledged the death threats. He forewarned, “I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land!”

Rev. Martin Luther King; Pope Francis

MLK’s undying hope up to the last day of his life makes me think of the Jubilee Holy Door at St. Peter’s Basilica. When Pope Francis opened the door at midnight Mass on Christmas Day, he said during his homily, “If God can visit us, even when our hearts seem like a lowly manger, we can truly say: hope is not dead.”

The Holy Door, which represents Jesus as the “the gate for the sheep” (John 10:7-9), is made up of 16 bronze panels that tell the story of biblical history. The last panel has a Latin inscription quoting Jesus from the Book of Revelation: “I stand at the door and knock” (3:20). These words are an invitation to a deeper relationship with the Good Shepherd. Christ is always knocking, asking us to open the door and dine with him at the banquet.

Pope Francis opening the Holy Door at St. Peter’s Basilica for the Jubilee Year 2025

MLK was also knocking on that door from the mountaintop. But he never got to the table. His voice was silenced by his opponents in what he knew were the “difficult days ahead.”

For many in the LGBTQ+ community, “difficult days” began on Monday when we observed Inauguration Day. That evening the new U.S. president signed an executive order titled, “Defending Women from Gender Ideology Extremism and Restoring Biological Truth to the Federal Government,” which denies the existence of transgender and nonbinary people.

Hearing this news, it is easy to despair. What does despair look like? It is the opposite of hope. It’s the feeling when joy drowns in deep waters. This feeling is illustrated in Psalm 88 when the author laments, “All your waves crash over me … From every side they encircle me.” There is no help, no happiness. No hope. The psalm ends, “My only friend is darkness.”

For LGBTQ+ persons, despair may look like what a young person emailed to me recently. “I am terrified of the next four years,” they wrote. “I see so much hate both in the media and in public.” 

The conclusion was stark: “This feels like a punch from God because of the pain it will bring to my family and friends.”

This despair feels justified given the growth of anti-LGBTQ+ legislation in the United States. But such feelings surrender to the drama of uncertainty. Anticipatory dread can lead to spiritual chaos. It risks untethering us from the anchor of hope (Hebrews 6:19). Instead, let’s pause and live in the present moment. “Tomorrow will take care of itself,” Jesus says (Matthew 6:34).

When it feels like hope is lost, please do not despair. You are not alone. And you are loved.

Even Jesus’s closest disciples struggled with this, so we are in good company. Let’s channel the courage of MLK to the stand at the door and knock. If Christ has been raised from the dead, if he is our joy and our salvation, then hope will not disappoint. It will surely come (Habakkuk 2:3). 

And since Christ is Lord of heaven and earth, how can I keep from singing?

—David Palmieri, January 22, 2025