I am a Protestant

We are living in an era of protests.

History has shown us that protests do not belong only to the powerless. The powerless protest because they desire change; the powerful often protest because they fear it. One seeks transformation, the other seeks preservation. Whether protest leads to anything meaningful depends largely on why it happens and how it is expressed.

Yet long before there were placards, petitions, hashtags, and demonstrations, there was something much more personal. Deep within every human heart lies the instinct to protest.

In many ways, life itself is a long journey of protesting reality, whether that reality is experienced or simply perceived. 

An infant enters the world with strong opinions and limited means of communication. Every inconvenience is met with a vigorous response. Milk is delayed. A protest follows. A nappy is changed. A protest follows. A nappy is not changed. The protest continues. Put down, picked up, too warm, too cold; all are considered legitimate grounds for objection. 

Having observed a few such individuals recently, I am persuaded that their guiding principle is something close to, "I protest, therefore I am."

As they grow, the protest simply changes.

Early childhood is dominated by the great question: "Why?" Why do I have to sleep? Why can't I have chocolate for breakfast? Why is water wet? Every instruction is met with inquiry, and often with an appeal. Bedtime is viewed with suspicion, vegetables with disappointment, and siblings as competitors.

A few years later, the complaint shifts from "Why?" to "That's not fair." Life becomes a continuous exercise in comparison. Why does he get a bigger slice? Why does she have a newer bicycle? Why do we have homework? Children develop a well-developed sense of justice at this stage, though it tends to be applied most consistently to situations that affect them personally. 

Then comes adolescence, that season of life marked by the conviction that nobody quite understands them. Parents appear out of touch. Teachers appear equally unhelpful. Teenagers, meanwhile, possess a level of certainty about life. It is only years later that many discover certainty and wisdom are not always the same thing.

Young adulthood introduces a different set of protests. After longing for freedom, independence finally arrives, accompanied by bills, responsibilities, deadlines, and decisions. The questions change. Why does everything cost so much? Why is life more complicated than I expected? Freedom turns out to be a wonderful gift, though not quite the uncomplicated experience that had been imagined.

The journey does not stop there.

In middle age, there is sometimes a quiet protest about how quickly the years have passed. Later come reflections that begin with, "Back in my day..." and end somewhere near, "Things seemed simpler then." 

In mature years, the objections are directed less at people and more at knees, memories, and various parts of the body that seem increasingly reluctant to cooperate. The current journey for some of us.

The irony of life is that every stage protests the present while looking back fondly on parts of the past or desiring for a better today. Children want to be older. Teenagers want independence. Adults wonder where the years have gone. Older adults often wish they had spent less time worrying and more time enjoying the journey.

Yet for all their variety, most of these protests have one thing in common. They are largely about me. What I want. What I think I deserve. What I believe I am missing. My comfort. My plans. My life.

What we are witnessing around us today seems to be quite different. 

At least some of the protests we see nationally and globally are not simply about personal convenience or individual preference. They arise from concern for others, from a longing for justice, dignity, and compassion. 

Of course, there are also those who use every season of unrest for self-preservation and the consolidation of power. Human nature has always managed both.

I recently came across this observation: "Courageous protest finds its moral legitimacy in compassion and concern for the other; it loses its integrity when driven by self-convenience or the consolidation of power."

That leaves me, as a Protestant, with a question.

What do I protest for or about?

The Good Book reminds us: "Speak up and judge fairly; defend the rights of the poor and needy."

Perhaps the protests that matter most are not those that arise when our own comfort is threatened, but those that arise when the vulnerable are forgotten. Perhaps the most faithful protest is not asking, "What about me?" but asking, "Who has no voice, and who will speak for them?"

(AI edited)