As inevitably happens in democracies, some now find themselves in post-election rejoicing while the rest have landed in a slough of grief and bewilderment. As someone in the latter group, I've found a measure of consolation in recalling similar occasions.

On the day after John Kennedy defeated Richard Nixon in 1960, my high school friends and I wore black as a sign of mourning. Mr. Kennedy was Catholic and a Democrat, and the community that raised me taught contempt for both groups. Somehow, we co-existed with Catholics in our town, but the only local Democrats were a species of subhuman pests. There, creatures known elsewhere in the world as Boxelder bugs had long been called “Democrats.” Church bulletins informed members of the Sundays on which the swarms of Democrats outside would be sprayed with pesticides after services.

Now, one of “them” would occupy the White House. Somewhere folks celebrated, but my people grieved and fretted. Would the pope and big-city politicians impose their perversions on the rest of us?

When an assassin killed Kennedy three year later, some cheered, among them some of my kinfolk. But again I found myself among the mourners. Kennedy's youthful vigor and vision had captivated many of my contemporaries. Now we had different reasons to worry over what might ensue.

Subsequent developments, like the civil rights struggle and what Nixon did with his presidency when he finally won election, eroded the political loyalties of my youth. These days, Pope Francis is on my most-admired list. Accordingly, this year's election left me in a familiar place. This time, however, I have not only grieved but also found myself astonished at how poorly I understand nearly half of the folks around me.

My family's Thursday Thanksgiving table won't include politically mixed company. Should the whole clan gather, we'd have to carefully limit conversation topics, else the mix of mourning and exulting parties might produce more concussions than the NFL's professional head-bangers.

Even those pleased with the outcome might find themselves at odds. Some voted for Trump because “he tells it like it is.” They take him at his word and believe he'll rid the country of unwanted immigrants, jail his opponents and make it acceptable again to insult, threaten and demean those not like us. Others, especially younger women, protest the insinuation that their Trump votes make them his fellow-bigots and traitors to their gender. “He didn't really mean all those things,” they protest, and even his lewd boasting about the women he's assaulted was “just a lot of talk.”

What comes next? We'll find out soon enough if Trump meant what he threatened, although he's also said the time has come for binding wounds and uniting the country, and that after two years of rhetoric intended to foment anger, hatred and division. At one point during the campaign, he declared that a primary tactic of his foreign policy would be to make America a powerful but unpredictable player in world affairs, thereby ensuring that other nations fear us. Perhaps he means to keep us home-folks uncertain as well — and afraid.

If so, a long four years lie ahead. Then again, we might find ourselves in an earthly paradise four years hence and scrambling to rename ourselves the United States of AmeriTrump. We must wait and see.

In the meantime, we frightened mourners will do what rattled, grieving people always do, and what we do best. We'll take care of each other, treat each other with all the mercy and kindness we can summon from our souls and laugh. Together, every day, we will laugh.

Fred Niedner is senior research professor in theology at Valparaiso University.