(RNS) — Hunter Biden, although not as tall as his father, is someone my church members and I would refer to as President Biden’s “mini-me.” Their strong relationship is so plain to see that it was painful to watch in June as Biden said he would not pardon his son. As soon as it became clear he would be turning over power on Jan. 20 to someone who has promised to take vengeance on the Biden family, it also became clear the president had to change his mind.
Compassionately changing one’s mind is neither lying nor hypocrisy. After Biden reversed himself and criticism of his pardon of Hunter mounted, I saw a deeply grieving parent who loves a troubled and troublesome child unconditionally.
As a clergywoman, I know too many people in President Biden’s situation.
We clergy conduct funerals, leading families and their loved ones into our churches to begin their last act of care for the deceased. Many of our rites start with Jesus’ words, “I am the resurrection and the life … s/he that believeth on me, though s/he were dead yet shall s/he live,” said to a close friend in the account in the New Testament’s Gospel of John as the friend and Jesus are weeping at the man’s grave. Jesus then raises Lazarus from the dead and places him back in the hands of his family and community.
When a person has lived a long life of Christian commitment and service, the words come with an air of triumph and celebration. Sometimes that long life means the deceased outlived one or more of their children. The grief these people carry to their graves is one only another parent can understand.
Parents often refer to their deceased grown children as “my baby.” Never have I heard a parent say, “my now-grown son or daughter who pre-deceased me.” No matter how old and independent we get, those of us raised by loving parents have heard them say, “You will always be my child and I will always be your mother (or father).”
I watched my parents grieve over the death of my brother two decades ago, when they were in their 80s. Diagnosed with lung cancer, he was in the process of getting a second opinion when he went into sudden cardiac arrest. While spared watching him waste away, we were wounded to lose him so soon. Living another 10 years, my father never ceased to refer to him as “my boy.”
President Biden knows that kind of grief. He has buried a son, and that son’s mother. Hunter is his boy.
The criticism that Biden “repeatedly” promised not to pardon Hunter fails to acknowledge that the media repeatedly asked the question, drawing statements that were tantamount to campaign promises designed to allow him to be elected to another term as president; they depend on circumstances, chiefly whether he’d remain in office. As the parent of a recovering addict, he may have meant it: A drug-addicted son or daughter safely incarcerated can be a tiny, cold comfort.
But a lot happened between Hunter’s conviction and Biden’s pardon. Biden stepped aside as a candidate; a very divided nation chose Donald Trump; Biden faced his own mortality with a brief bout of COVID-19. He spent Thanksgiving in Nantucket with his family, a family full of grief and dread. I will speculate, informed only by my experience as a clergy person, that an overwhelming spirit of deep love and compassion took control.
As the press follows the president, repeatedly asking, “Why?” I shout back repeatedly at the television, “Love!”
We are in the Christian season of Advent on a pathway to love through hope, peace and joy. At this moment in the life of the church, we emphasize stories, images and songs about parenting, parental love and parental protection of a newborn. This focus on children and their parents often transcends the boundaries of particular faiths, seeping out into the public celebration of Christmas. Hanukkah, the solstice and other celebrations this time of year remind us all that we need one another, and most of all we need the very real comfort of parental love.
Some say his pardon of Hunter will affect President Biden’s legacy, but I am persuaded that Biden is more worried about his legacy as a parent. Any parent who deeply loves a troubled child spends hour upon hour examining their parenting. At 82, though healthy enough to have considered running for four more years as president, he is nonetheless certainly conscious of his own mortality. He surely thought about the possibility of leaving this world with a son in prison and the pain that he would leave behind.
Many of those Democrats who objected to Hunter’s pardon understood the power of parental love. Activist Thomas Burns, whose own addiction led to involvement in the criminal justice system, coupled his criticism with very blunt parental understanding, saying, “No one in their right mind would put their son in that situation if they were president of the United States.”
I wish President Biden, rather than providing a convoluted political argument, had just written a rationale that said simply, “He’s my son and I love him. Period.” I hope that the president’s spirit of love toward his son will motivate him to use his clemency powers to address the situations of tens of thousands whose struggles with drug addiction placed them in the clutches of the criminal justice system.
Fortunately, we have seven Sundays celebrating peace, joy and love before January 20, 2025. Christmas and Epiphany will remind us of the hope a single new life can bring. I know what Scriptures and songs President Biden will hear over these next weeks. I pray that President Biden can reach beyond the boundaries of family to share his compassion with many more sons and daughters who need the justice and mercy he still has the power to give.
(Cheryl Townsend Gilkes is an assistant pastor for special projects at Union Baptist Church in Cambridge, Massachusetts, and the John D. and Catherine T. MacArthur Professor Emerita of African American Studies and Sociology at Colby College. The views expressed in this commentary do not necessarily reflect those of Religion News Service.)