“Oh, the humanity!”

by the Rev. Katherine Bush

 

I worked at my local polling station on November 3. After years of intending to sign up to be an election worker, I finally did, was called to serve, and got trained on a Friday afternoon in early October.  On Tuesday morning, I packed a bag with a sweater, a water bottle, some snacks, and a book – not knowing what the day would bring.

 

I never got the book out of my bag. 

 

In the dark, at a little before 6 a.m., our group of ten was sworn in and started turning on machines and hanging instructional posters and sample ballots in the small parish hall of a church. At 7 a.m., we welcomed the first voter at the head of a short line that had formed on the ramp outside the door. Among our team were veteran poll workers, two high school students, registered representatives of both parties, men and women, Black, Hispanic, and white folks from age sixteen to (I’m guessing here) around eighty. 

 

What I want to say here is that democracy is in good hands, because it’s in human hands. We knew what to do and were ably led by a woman who knew what to do when we weren’t sure. All day long, we checked identification, watched signatures, guided voters to the machines or to a table to hand-mark their ballots, watched as they deposited their ballots in the scanner, and handed out stickers. Our small polling station was steadily busy, occasionally crowded. We did what needed to be done when addresses needed to be changed and when voters showed up at the wrong place. We cheered for first-time voters, most of whom were young, but at least one older gentleman was voting for the first time. 

 

But I don’t mean to say that democracy is in good hands because of the human poll workers. It’s in good hands because it’s in the very human hands of all of us: the shaky hands of elderly folk and the sweaty hands of nervous first-timers and the wet hands of people who came in the rain at the end of the day and the sticky hands of people with their toddlers in tow. I think I saw just about every kind of human being yesterday. Some in wheelchairs and some with red-tipped canes alongside their companions, some dressed up and ready for selfies, and some who came in with their work uniforms showing the day’s efforts, hurried and angry people, giddy, bored, dutiful, patient, wary, optimistic, hopeful … 

 

I was at the station for fourteen hours: twelve for voting, and an hour on the front and the back to prepare and to break down. It was a long day, and I was never bored. We rotated through all the assignments, and we encouraged and cajoled each other – all of us, both my fellow workers and the voters who expressed their gratitude. 

 

Over those fourteen hours, I was reminded that (despite what we are told) we do trust each other and that (despite what we are told) we can trust each other. And over those hours, I was reminded of all the enterprises that humans hold together: people doing their best in classrooms and medical offices, reporting stories, collecting the garbage, and making lunch. 

 

And church. A few regular humans were trusted to walk the road with Jesus up close about two thousand years ago, and then trusted to tell the extraordinary, wild tale of his resurrection. They were followed by more plain-old everyday women and men who kept telling the story and who have led prayers and songs and vigils day in and day out for centuries. Humans trusted with glimpses of healing and love; humans calling each other to account. In our tattered and beautiful humanity, we keep doing our level best to remind each other of divinity. 

 

The church is in good hands, because it’s in all our messy, trembling hands. Oh, the humanity! that God has placed the story of love and this beloved creation in our hands. 

 

And, just in case you’re interested: Becoming A Poll Worker – SCEC