A blog dedicated to listening to and upholding the voices of women within the Catholic/Christian Church. A place for prayer, reflection, honesty, and exploration of what it means to be a woman of faith.
Today, I want to talk about something that you might not even know is a major issue right now, but it could potentially be yet another great travesty in this country. Another way we mistreat and abuse one of our most vulnerable populations.
Our kids.
What I want to talk about is religious freedom, discrimination, and adoption.
Why am I focusing on this? Well, on Wednesday, July 11th, the House Appropriations Committee passed an amendment to the "Labor, Health and Human Services, Education, and Related Services Bill" for the 2019 Fiscal Year which would essentially allow "taxpayer-funded adoption agencies to deny LGBTQ families the ability to adopt a child based on religious objection".
This type of discrimination against same-sex couples seeking to adopt isn't new. Ten states already have laws that allow child welfare agencies to discriminate against couples: Alabama, Kansas, Michigan, Mississippi, North Dakota, Oklahoma, South Carolina, South Dakota, Texas, and Virginia. According to the Every Child Deserves a Family Campaign, more than 21,000 kids were awaiting adoption in these states in 2015.
This amendment would make this discrimination national.
Now, the amendment doesn't specifically say that child welfare agencies can discriminate against LGBTQ couples (even though we all know that's what they mean), but that the Federal Government cannot punish or take "an adverse action" against an agency that refuses services based on their "sincerely held religious beliefs or moral convictions". Some people might see this and think "that's what freedom is" or "they have a right to their beliefs". Some people might even agree that LGBTQ couples shouldn't be able to adopt (they'd be wrong, but they might still think it). But many advocacy organizations and individuals have already pointed out that this wording expands beyond LGBTQ discrimination. This could impact interfaith couples, single parents, couples in which one partner has been previously divorced, and any other type of couple the agency could find objectionable (if you don't think someone will try to use "religious belief" as a reason to deny a biracial couple an adoption, you haven't been paying attention).
This amendment is essentially a tax-payer funded "license to discriminate". It's an attempt to push the morals and values of a few onto the entire populace. And who suffers the most from these actions?
The kids.
The kids in the child welfare system praying to find a forever home. The kids bouncing from foster home to foster home, never experiencing true stability. Never having a real family. They are being denied stable homes and qualified, loving parents because those in power refuse to let go of their bigotry and hate.
This amendment is not a good thing. It doesn't support families. It doesn't protect our children. It's not about religious freedom.
It's about power. It's about control.
It's about maintaining a society that upholds the few over the many, and refusing to acknowledge or attempt to understand anything that doesn't fit into their "ideal" mold.
This is the kind of harm our current government is creating behind the scenes when we're distracted by the other atrocities around us. This is just another way the concept of religious freedom is abused and used as a weapon rather than a means of stability.
As someone who was adopted, I'm enraged by this amendment. As a human being, I'm deeply saddened for those kids and adults who just want to create families. Sexual orientation, religion, race, nationality, and marital status should never be used to measure the quality of a potential parent.
Will they be loving? Will they provide a safe and stable home? Will they protect their child? Will they work to give them every opportunity they can so that the child can grow and flourish?
Those are the things that should matter. The well-being of the child is what should matter.
However, this amendment shows that that's not what politicians truly care about. If this was really about the kids and what was best for them, this amendment wouldn't exist.
Vote in November. Speak out against this amendment. Show that you care, because it's clear those currently in power don't.
When I woke up and heard of the horrors that took place in Las Vegas, I was heartsick. My first thought was "How could something like this happen?"
My second was a prayer for the victims and their families.
My third was "What excuses will people make this time?"
I dreaded going onto any social media sites because I was afraid that, among the heartfelt prayers and acknowledgements of the tragedy, I would also see excuses being made, accusations being thrown, and a side-stepping of the issues underlying this terrible event.
Or worse, I'd see nothing. I'd see that we, as a society, have given up.
We need better gun control, and greater support for the mentally ill in this country. That's it, the end. I don't want to get into arguments with anyone about this right now. Those facts are not the point of this post. Those discussions...those arguments...will be had over and over again in the coming weeks, I'm sure, just as they've been had over and over again following every mass shooting that has happened in this country.
There's a bigger problem, though, that I want to focus on because it's one that no one talks about. I think it's because no one wants to put a spotlight on it and highlight one of our greatest shames.
It's us. It's we, the people.
It's the society we've allowed to build up around us. The awful things we've normalized for ourselves.
It's our lack of empathy.
Our lack of reason.
Our lack of compassion.
Our lack of recognition that the world does not revolve around us.
We are selfish. We are bullies. We value our own privileges and comforts far more than the lives and well-beings of others.
You might be reading this and thinking, "That's not me! I care!" And I have no doubt that you do.
Individually, most of us aren't terrible people. Most of us are good, loving, and just want the world to be a better place.
But have you ever avoided a conversation about gun control because it made you uncomfortable, or you didn't want to get "too political"? Have you ever voted for someone you know has cut or plans to cut mental health services or support programs for the poor and disabled? Have you ever hidden behind the words "We can't know God's plan" because it takes the responsibility to create change out of your own hands?
We might not think our actions and reservations have much effect on an individual level, but we don't exist in a vacuum. We impact the way our society is shaped, even the things we don't say or do leave a mark, and our society reproduces the values and norms we feed into it.
What do the values and norms we see within our society say about us as a people?
As a whole we're broken. As a collective, as a nation, we've created a society where this kind of tragedy is allowed to happen...and not just once.
It's allowed to happen again...and again...and again...
Las Vegas may be the deadliest, but it's not an anomaly. Mass shootings have became a part of the cultural landscape of this country...and it's our own fault.
We don't care enough. Not as a whole. If we as a nation truly wanted to stop these tragedies from happening, we'd figure out a way to do it. We'd come together...we'd work together. We'd stop making excuses and actually do something.
The facts are we need more sensible gun control and greater support and care for the mentally ill.
But we also need more compassion.
More reason.
More empathy.
We need to see that this isn't an individual issue. This isn't about us on a personal level, but about all of us together. We need to recognize the broken society we've erected around ourselves and how deadly it's become.
These types of horrors will continue to plague us until we recognize that we, as a whole, need to step back and look at how we are systemically failing. As individuals, we can send prayers, we can work to change laws, or keep them the same, but if we can't figure out how to work together...how to hold each other up rather than tearing each other down over and over again, nothing's going to get better.
We have a major problem in this country...we simply don't care.
This isn't how I originally intended this post to go. I wanted to offer a prayer, some words of comfort for those struggling to wrap their minds around Las Vegas, but then I realized I'd said it all before. I'd prayed it all before. That doesn't mean I'll stop praying. I will pray that the victims and families are able to find some comfort and hope in God, or whatever they maintain gives them life and purpose. I'll continue to pray for this nation in a desperate hope that we figure it out and are able to heal ourselves. I don't want to hide behind those prayers, though. I don't want to say I've offered them, and then think I've somehow done my part. I don't want people to just speak some nice words that give more comfort to the ones saying them than the actual victims and think that's enough. More than prayers, right now we need a reality check. We need to recognize this kind of thing isn't just going to go away, or that because we have not been personally affected that we can just easily forget it and go on with our lives.
Tragedies like Las Vegas will only keep happening until we as a collective come together and say "enough"...and actually mean it.
We have to refuse to let this be a norm in our society. We have to refuse to let ourselves grow numb to it.
Until that day comes, until we can see beyond our own tiny worlds and understand that we're part of something bigger than ourselves, that we should care about something other than ourselves, nothing will change. Nothing will get better. It will only be more of the same.
Pray for Las Vegas. Pray for our nation. But then actually do something to make it better.
Recently, I had the good fortune to attend Ecumenical Advocacy Days in Washington, D.C. I didn't really know what to expect going into the conference, but I can honestly say it was one of the most rewarding experiences of my professional life. Throughout those four days, I was challenged and encouraged, humbled and praised. We heard from power-house speakers whose passion and dedication to social justice fueled my own. I was made at some times to feel helpless, and at other times to feel powerful. One instant filled with sadness, the next overwhelming joy. I was enraged. I was hopeful. The world was laid out for me in all of its stark brokenness. The curtain yanked back to reveal the wickedness within. Then an image of the world as it could be, as it should be, was offered. It was breathtakingly beautiful. I was moved to tears nearly as often as to laughter. I was invigorated. I was motivated. I was inspired.
I could go on and on about this conference, and spend hours and hours writing about everything I took away from it. But there's one major takeaway that I really want to focus on in this moment, which is this...
Christianity is failing in the United States of America.
Let me explain.
When I say Christianity is failing in the United States, I don't just mean the Church is failing. I don't mean it's failing because of the current trend of young people leaving the Church, essentially taking its future with them, although that's definitely a consequence of the failing. I also don't mean that the U.S. has strayed so far from its Christian roots, both imagined and historically grounded, that it has lost its central values and is navigating the modern world with a broken moral compass. No, none of that is what I mean when I say that Christianity is failing in the United States.
Christianity is failing in the United States because Christians don't love enough. We say we do. We love to talk about just how much we love one another, about how welcoming and hospitable we are towards each other. When it comes down to it, however, when the call comes to stand up and demand justice, to protect the vulnerable, to challenge the status quo even at the risk of ourselves and our privileges, do we answer that call?
Some of us do. Most of us don't.
We make excuses that the world is to broken, there's just to much, there's no way for any of it to be truly fixed anyway. We obsess so much over a Kingdom of God that we envision far off in the future, an afterlife of perfection that is just waiting for us on the other side, that we don't try to bring the Kingdom to us in the here and now. We put all of the responsibility of change and justice in God's hands, but don't bother to carry our fair-share of the burden. We push our own agendas on others, disguising it as justice, instead of considering what is good for all people, not just ourselves.
Christianity is failing in this country because we satisfy ourselves with band-aid solutions to our societal problems, instead of digging in and looking at the true issues at the foundation of those problems. During Ecumenical Advocacy Days, we focused a lot of our attention on Martin Luther King Jr. and his speech "Beyond Vietnam". In this particular speech, he highlights the "triplets of evil": racism, materialism, and militarism. Much of what was discussed during the four days focused on the impact and implications of these triplets, still as relevant today as they were 50 years ago when Dr. King wrote his speech, especially within the realm of politics.
People always say that politics don't belong in Church. The separation of Church and State, for many, means that the Church has no right to try and sway people politically. To some extent, this is true. The Church is no place for Bipartisan politics. The Church is no place for political agendas that don't benefit the majority of people. But politics do belong within the Church. And the Mosque. And the Synagogue. And the Temple. Christians must be politically aware and active. People of faith must be politically aware and active. It is through our politics, through our government, that the nation's morality and priorities are displayed. Right now, looking at our politics, the proposed policies and direction the government wants to head, the United States appears greedy. Power-hungry. Selfish. Unconcerned with the most vulnerable and oppressed among its own people. Unconcerned with the devastation we often leave in our wake around the world.
But what are we, specifically we Christians, doing about it?
Our preachers offer up shallow sermons and homilies. They don't challenge us in our current context. They don't address the concerns and realities we face day-to-day. Yet, whenever a pastor or priest does try to speak to the injustices surrounding us, we criticize them. Tell them it's not their place.
How often when we talk about Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. do we refer to him as Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.? Why are we so easily able to make his faith a footnote of his life when it was the driving force behind almost everything he did? Why are we so afraid to be challenged by our preachers? To be challenged by our faith? To challenge our faith and our faith leaders in turn?
Do we really think we're living out our faith when we turn away from injustice and corruption? That we're spreading the Gospel message when we refuse to give up any of our creature-comforts so someone less fortunate can have at least what they need to not only survive, but thrive along with us? That we're truly upholding the gift of Christ's sacrifice on the cross by blaming the poor and oppressed for their lot in life, instead of holding accountable the powers and systems that keep the poor poor and the rich rich?
If we, the people of the Christian faith, do not prioritize the needs and support of the poor and most vulnerable in this nation and this world...if we support or turn a blind-eye to policies that hold materialism and militarism over care of the hungry, the war-torn, the displaced, and the oppressed...then we fail to uphold our purported Christian values. When white Christians refuse to recognize their innate privilege, refuse to understand how that privilege is built on the pain and suffering of people of color, and refuse to stand against it despite the cost, we fail. When feminist Christians fail to recognize the extra barriers facing women of color, and don't first strive to catch them up before moving forward in the pursuit of gender equity together, we fail. When older Christians scoff at young people's efforts for justice, lament at the lost of the young within the Church but don't actually take the time to understand that young people have lost faith in a Church they view as stagnant and passive, we fail. If we, as Christians, keep our heads down and ourselves quiet because "I doesn't affect me", we fail. If we don't reach out a hand of friendship and love to our Muslim brothers and sisters, standing up to those who would spread Islamophobia so that hate towards a community of faith is allowed to grow, we fail. If we aren't enraged every time an unarmed black man is killed in the streets by police, we fail. If we aren't deeply concerned about the injustice of our prison systems, and how people of color are disproportionately incarcerated to an alarming degree in this country, we fail. If we don't fight to protect our environment, believing it a gift from God that is not ours to use and abuse, we fail. If we don't raise our voices in protest when the health of our most vulnerable is put at risk because those in power have prioritized the profits of insurance companies over the well-being of the public they are meant to serve, we fail. If we don't always work to show compassion and understanding to those whose backgrounds, experiences, and beliefs are different from our own instead of judging and condemning them, we fail.
We fail in living out the Gospel message of radical love, acceptance, and compassion. We fail to appreciate the gift of the sacrifice that was the crucifixion. To recognize our responsibility to each other and our world in light of the promise of the resurrection. We fail Christ. We fail God.
And in this failure, we forfeit the privilege to call ourselves Christians.
Yet, we are human. We all will fail from time to time. Our greatest failure, however, is when we refuse to recognize our own faults. Our own shortcomings. When we refuse to try and be better because our own stubbornness and certainty of our own righteousness blinds us to the pain and struggle of others.
Christians need to do better in this country. We need to love more. Listen more. Fight more. We need to let ourselves be challenged, and not shy away from conflict but embrace it as an opportunity to grow and learn more about our world. Our faith is not a comfortable one. We should not let our own comforts mean more to us than the justice of others.
We need to do better, but we can do better. If we remember that our faith is not, at its heart, a faith of power and prestige, but a humble faith, a sometimes rebellious faith, yet a faith always centered on love and compassion, we stand a chance of getting it right.
That's what I witnessed at Ecumenical Advocacy Days. Christians from all denominations coming together to do good and to fight injustice because their powerful faith would not allow them to sit on the sidelines and simply watch things happen. It drove them to make their voices heard, and hold the powers that be accountable for their actions. It gave me real hope that things can get better. That things will get better. We just need to stop using our faith as an excuse to do nothing, and recognize it as our reason to do everything we can to make this world a better place.
Until next time,
Erin B.
Below are some of the very notable plenary speakers from Ecumenical Advocacy Days. Feel free to view and enjoy!
In the 2005 film V for Vendetta, in the not-to-distant future, England has become a police state run by a fascist government. The people, for the most part, live pretty regular lives so long as they stay in line, but there's a undercurrent of fear that permeates the film and adds a layer of tension that keeps the viewer on the edge of their seat even during the most benign scenes. You see hints of this fear here and there. Pasted on the walls of a normal London street are signs reminding citizens that their strength is in their unity, and their unity comes from a common faith. Hanging on the wall of a retirement home is a picture of the country's High Chancellor, prominently on display, like so many dictators before him, to remind the people who controls them. The fear is subtle, and it's only the viewer who seems to recognize it, as so many of the characters seem numb to it. But it's a very real fear. A fear of what will happen should anyone step out of line. Of secret police patrolling the streets at night, enforcing the government's curfew in brutal ways. Of a message of unity, but a unity built on sameness of faith, sexual orientation, ethnicity, and nationality. There is no room for error in this world. No room for difference. There is only obey, or face the consequences.
Enter V, a masked vigilante whose sole mission in life is to bring the government to its knees by inspiring a revolution among the people. He has no identity apart from the Guy Fawkes mask and black clothing he always wears. In one of the movie's earlier scenes, V commandeers the government-sponsored emergency channel to broadcast a message to all of London at once.
In his speech, he says what everyone knows but are too afraid to admit: "...there is something terribly wrong with this country, isn't there?"
He talks about how the people have lost their freedom to express themselves and object. How intolerance, injustice, and oppression have come to be the norms of their society. He poses the questions "How did this happen? Who's to blame?", and while there are officials and politicians and those in power who had worked to create the systems that rule England's dystopian future, it isn't all on them.
"If you're looking for the guilty, you need only look into a mirror."
For all the terrible things that the government has done in V's world, it's ultimately the people who stood by and let it happen. "I know why you did it. I know you were afraid. Who wouldn't be? War, terror, disease. There are a myriad of problems which conspired to corrupt your reason and rob you of your common sense. Fear got the best of you..."
Fear. Fear is what drove the people to put those who would come to cause so much harm into power. Fear got them there. And then indifference kept them there.
In the movie, V is battling against the people's indifference to what is happening around them as much as he is battling the fascist government ruling them. His call to revolution isn't merely a strike at the government, but an attempt to rouse the passions of the people. To wake them up to the truly terrible things that are happening around them so that they will rise up and fight to regain their freedoms.
The thing that always scared me the most about V for Vendetta was how realistic that future was. How very possible that outcome seemed.
Now, it seems like the very path we're heading down.
So much has happened since Trump became President. Already he's attacked the media, put our national parks at risk, angered our allies, given our enemies justification in their hatred of us, cut off necessary healthcare to women worldwide, put thousands of innocent people seeking refuge from their war torn homes at risk, torn families apart, given power to the dangerously inexperienced, and proven again and again he's a liar who cannot be trusted. It's been so much in such a short amount of time, that it's truly exhausting.
I've written letters, made phone calls, gone to rallies, spoken with representatives, attended forums, and posted every speck of truth I can get my hands on. Yet nothing ever seems to come from any of it. Most of our politicians who oppose Trump up until now have appeared overly cautious, and the rest don't seem to care about what the people actually have to say. As Trump issued more and more orders, and our Congress stood by and watched, it all seemed hopeless. So pointless.
In my lowest moment, I'm ashamed to admit, I thought to myself, "What does it matter if I resist or not?" I was stressed and not sleeping well. My mind was overly consumed with what was going on in the world around me. I was afraid I was becoming annoying and preachy because I wasn't letting up in my outspokenness against the President. "Why go through all the trouble? Why put myself through this stress? I could just stop. I could just ignore it all. It's not like any of this really affects me..."
And then I realized what was happening. I was giving into one of my greatest privileges.
Indifference.
It's true, a lot of what's happening won't directly affect me. I'm a white Christian with a good job, insurance, and tons of people to support me in case something goes wrong. I'm not an immigrant, I'm not a refugee. I support Planned Parenthood, but I don't personally need it. I'm straight and will have no problem someday getting married. I haven't had to fight every day of my life for basic respect and recognition as a person. When I get pulled over, my only worry is how much the ticket will be. I've never been wealthy, but I've never had to worry about being able to eat a meal or having weather-appropriate clothes when I need them. I can afford to buy tampons and pads, and have never had to choose between them and food. As a kid, I never had to worry about whether my parents would be home when I was out of school, or if they'd been taken during an ICE raid. I don't have to worry about being treated differently if I move to certain neighborhoods, or of being seen as "other" simply because of how I look, dress, or pray. The fear of a bomb dropping on my home at any moment is not my constant reality.
I am very privileged, and most of my privilege comes from pure luck. I was lucky to be born into the life I lead. I was lucky that opportunities were more easily provided to me than to others. I've worked hard to get where I am, but I know that under that hard work is a foundation of privilege that has propelled me further in life than those who started without it.
I also know that many of the privileges I take for granted today came at a price I never had to pay, because others paid it for me.
Once upon a time, my Irish heritage would have made me an outsider. I would have been seen as "other". I would have faced open hostility and socially accepted discrimination. I would have been seen as an invader, an unwelcome immigrant encroaching on the American people's rights and privileges.
At one point, my Catholic faith would have made people suspicious of me. My faith would have been considered a threat, a looming foreign religion that threatened to undermine this country's political systems and beliefs. I would have been labeled a Papist, loyal to Rome over the U.S., on a mission to overturn Democracy in favor of Papal rule.
Not to long ago, my sex would have barred me from certain roles outside of the home. I would have been a commodity, something that could be put up for market and sold to the highest bidder. My husband could have beat me, raped me, insulted me, and it would have been my place to take it. I would not have been able to have a voice in the political world. My silence and body would have been valued more so than my mind and voice (unfortunately, this is still the case in a lot of ways).
But it's different for me than it was for those that came before. Why is this? Because those that came before didn't have the privilege of indifference. They had to march, rally, fight, and even die for the basic rights our country is so proud of boasting about. The rights they fought and worked so hard for are what led to the privileges I am now able to enjoy.
Suffragette's March on Washington, 1913
Women's March on Washington, 2017
Privilege in-and-of-itself isn't necessarily a bad thing. We can't always control the privileges we're born into. But we can control how we respond to them. How we use them.
Do we acknowledge our privileges? Do we abuse our privileges? Do we hold our privileges above the rights and well-being of others?
The United States is a country of great privilege, but often we confuse privilege for freedom. When a marginalized group begins to push back, demanding the freedoms we lucky ones all already enjoy, we get angry and defensive. We claim they're taking away those freedoms (because for some reason, there's not enough freedom to go around I guess?). They're taking away our rights. The truth of the matter is, what is really at stake are our privileges, not our rights. Many of our privileges depend on the oppression of other groups. We are privileged simply because we aren't them.
To ignore that fact not only is an injustice to those we exclude from our freedoms, but it spits in the faces of all those who fought for those same freedoms so many of us now take for granted.
Caring about the well-being of others, being willing to sacrifice some of our privilege so that others have a chance to gain any are what we as Americans are supposed to do. We don't have a great history of following through with this ideal, but it's part of the ideological foundation of this country. People come here, from all over the world, from all walks of life, because they believe in the promise the United States offers. The promise of freedom and prosperity. The promise of life, acceptance, and peace. These are the promises we so readily advertise to the rest of the world, but seem to always have a hard time living out.
We need to do better. We need to do more. We need to care more, and sometimes that means marching, and rallying, and fighting, and annoying your friends on Facebook. We need to talk to each other more. Have dialogue instead of arguments. Uphold the truth, even when it's inconvenient. Those of us with the privilege of indifference need to recognize that we might have a choice to stand up and speak out against injustice, but so many others don't. For so many, the fight for their rights is their constant, everyday reality.
We need to hold ourselves accountable. We need to hold our government accountable, or face the consequences of a powerful few dictating the lives of millions.
As V would say, "People should never be afraid of their governments. Governments should be afraid of their people."
If we let our own privileges stop us from fighting for those in greatest need, then we are contributing to the very oppression and discrimination so many of our ancestors fought to undo so that our lives might be just a little bit better than theirs.
Let's be real. It's been a heck of a week. A lot has happened, and a lot of people are feeling a lot of things. I'm no exception. I've unintentionally become that person on your social media homepage, constantly posting about politics and only seeming to be in a state of continuous anger. Well, that's because I am angry, but that's not really why I post so much or speak so openly about my beliefs and opinions. My goal is not to create fights or insult and undermine people who think differently than me. My goal is always to inform, to pull the curtain hiding the real wizard back, and to make sure everyone knows exactly what is happening in the world around us.
Last week, I posted a piece explaining how I define pro-life, and why I stand with Planned Parenthood. I was extremely nervous to post that piece. I was afraid of what some of my friends and family would think, and how they would react. I was afraid of the things total strangers could say. I wasn't afraid that people would disagree with me. I know people disagree with me about that issue, and that's okay! What I was most afraid of was that people would try to cut me down and belittle my message without any attempt at actual dialogue or respectful engagement. Which is why I was pleasantly surprised when the feedback I received was, overall, incredibly positive.
Now, I'm not naive in that I think everyone who read it was 100% on board with what I had to say. I'm sure there are many people that would tweak a few things here and there. I'm also sure that there were plenty of individuals who totally disagree with me but simply chose not to comment on the post, and that's totally fine. I can't, and don't, expect everyone who reads what I write to be in total, or any, agreement with me all of the time.
There were some comments, though, that weren't so positive. I was accused of not being a good Catholic, not being in good standing with the Church, and of not putting my faith and God first. Instead of feeling bad like I expected myself to feel, however, or regretting the post, those comments actually made me think a lot about my relationship with the Church and with God. And I came to a realization.
My faith in God and my obedience to the Church are not the same thing.
Maybe those individuals are right, and I'm not a good Catholic. Maybe I'm technically not in good standing with the Church. Ultimately, though, I have to answer to God and my conscience, not the Church.
I love the Church, and I love being Catholic, but I'm not blind to the problems within the institution. I'm not going to pretend everything is okay all the time. The Church is a human institution trying to figure out how best to be in relationship with God. It's going to stumble every once and awhile. It's going to make mistakes. It's going to sometimes be stubborn, and controlling, and try to make people fall into neat tidy lines because that's what people do. We don't just bow down and accept the things we disagree with, especially when those things go against what we feel to be true in our hearts. We push, we question, we demand accountability. We live out our Christian faith by demanding that our Church continuously do better and better. Sometimes, we even outright rebel.
Christianity, like the United States, is built on rebellion.
Our Founding Fathers = Rebels
The rebellion for early Christians was quieter than that of the American Revolution, but it was a rebellion nonetheless. Threatened by an authority determined to control them, body, mind, and soul, early Christians defiantly gathered together in secret to worship, support each other, and spread their faith. In the Roman arenas, surrounded by roaring crowds calling for their deaths, they stood by their faith. They stood by each other. They wrote to each other in support. They wrote to each other from exile and from prison. They continued to spread their message of love and God across the empire despite the risks. Despite the law.
Because they knew the law was wrong.
They knew there was something beyond it. Something better. Something they couldn't fully understand, but were still willing to give their lives to uphold if necessary. They rebelled, and had they had support from other groups, had greater, easier ways of having their voices heard, they might have rebelled louder.
Early Christians didn't simply decide to rebel because they wanted to, however. They needed to, and they rebelled by example. Christianity, at its heart, is a radical religion, because it is based around a radical figure.
Jesus was a rebel.
I've always found it kind of funny when people justify their mistreatment of others by claiming to be following the teachings of Jesus and Scripture. They use Jesus' name like a get-out-of-jail-free card for discrimination, bigotry, and hate, disguising their true intentions with the excuse "I'm only trying to save your soul from damnation." How easily they seem to forget that Jesus dined with outcasts, promised his kingdom to those considered weak, and criticized the wealthy.
Jesus was a radical in his time because he openly defied socially accepted discrimination and oppression. He pushed back against religious authorities who insisted they alone had the answers to knowing and interacting with God. He spoke to crowds about radical ideas of what it means to love each other and show each other compassion. He opened the doors to those previously excluded from salvation. He knew what he risked in his defiance, in his resistance, but he didn't let that stop him.
He taught his followers to turn the other cheek, and also took up a bull whip, flipped tables, and chased the greedy merchants from the temple. He showed us that resistance is complicated, it's not always neat and tidy, but it's always necessary when those in authority try to decide who is worthy of salvation and who isn't. When those with power try to keep the downtrodden low so they can maintain their own privilege. He showed us that to rebel is sometimes necessary to be truly faithful to God.
To be Christian means to be willing to rebel when human dignity is put at risk. To resist when groups of people are treated as second-class-citizens, whether or not you believe what they believe, or value what they value. To hold those in power accountable for their actions when they choose money and greed over the good of the people. To speak out whenever injustice threatens your fellow human.
We rebel, because like the early Christians, like Jesus himself, we have hope in a world better than this one that is worth fighting for.
Just as Christians are called to feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, clothe the naked, and welcome the stranger so too are we called to rebel. Whether against the oppressive actions of a government, or the excluding teachings of a denomination, we resist, we march, we speak out. And as long as there is suffering in the world, as long as there are people in need, whose voices have been stolen, and whose dignity is threatened, we won't stop.
Several years ago, I was trying to figure out why in the world Representative Steve King kept getting elected to office. One answer I received kind of astonished me, and has bothered me ever since.
"He values life, so you know he has good morals."
Don't trust crazy-eyes here.
By that statement, of course, the person meant Steve King is pro-life. Or, more realistically in the political world, anti-abortion. It blew my mind that just because he operated off of a pro-life platform, people automatically assume he not only has good morals, but actually values life. Steve King. The same man who has proven time and time again that he is a racist bigot who doesn't care what he says or who he hurts so long as he's the loudest voice in the room.
But Steve King isn't the only example of a politician who can hang on to his political power by claiming a pro-life agenda. We see hundreds of examples of politicians who oppose abortion, citing the need to protect the sanctify of life, but then turn around and support the death penalty, fight gun regulation, cut healthcare to those in need, criminalize immigrants, demonize refugees, slut-shame sexual assault survivors, and work to defund our educational system. These people are not truly valuing life. They just know speaking out against abortion is going to get them votes.
I am a Catholic woman, and I consider myself pro-life. How I define pro-life, however, probably sounds different than the rhetoric you're used to. I am not politically pro-life. I do not beat the drum and shout from the mountaintops about the need to protect unborn babies, but then turn my back on and ignore the needs and the sufferings of people once they've entered this world. If a person claims to be pro-life, but doesn't bother to try to understand the complexities of the human experience, the differing perspectives that color and shape the choices and beliefs of individuals, then they're not really pro-life. If a person claims to be pro-life, but refuses to acknowledge the sanctity of the environment, ignores the need to protect the planet rather than exploit it, then they're not really pro-life. To be truly pro-life means to act with compassion towards others, to try and understand the thoughts and beliefs of those different from yourself, to care just as much for the poor and for the immigrant as you do for the unborn. To be pro-life means to be an advocate for those in need, to be a good steward of the earth, to be a voice for the voiceless and stand up against injustice. I am pro-life because I care about the lives of all those around me, and I work to make life better for anyone I can.
As a Catholic, pro-life woman, I support Planned Parenthood. Congress is currently making moves to take away all federal funding for Planned Parenthood. They claim to be doing this out of a pro-life perspective, in an effort to stop the organization from providing abortions. The fact of the matter is, it's already against the law for federal money to go towards abortion services. The Hyde Amendment, which was passed in 1977, makes it illegal for abortions to be paid for by Medicaid, except in the case of rape, incest, or if the mother's life is threatened. What then would it really mean for Planned Parenthood to have their government funding taken away? It would mean millions of people, many low-income who rely on government services to afford basic healthcare, would be without such vital services as cancer screenings, treatment for sexually transmitted diseases, access to contraception and safe sex education, prenatal treatments, and pregnancy tests and screenings, just to name a few. The potential defunding of Planned Parenthood isn't simply an issue of pro-choice vs. anti-choice. It's a matter of the health and wellness of millions of people vs. the political agendas and manipulations of a privileged few.
There is a great danger in allowing politicians to use morality as an excuse to police and control the personal choices and beliefs of the people they are meant to serve.
In all honesty, though, I stand with Planned Parenthood because I don't care about the politics or moral debates. I care about people. I care about the girl seeking judgement free birth control, because her religious upbringing has made her ashamed and scared to talk to her parents about sex. I care about the single-mother receiving breast exams and care because she can't afford to regularly go anywhere else. I care about the young pregnant couple, just starting out on their own, who are able to find the prenatal care they need without having to stretch their already tight budget. I care about the young man seeking treatment for a sexually transmitted disease he didn't know his partner had. And I care about the young woman who needs a safe place to go for help because she has no where else to turn.
The simple truth is making abortion illegal or harder to acquire isn't going to stop it from happening. It's just going to make it more dangerous for those who do seek it. I can understand the conviction those who are staunchly against it have, and their desire to eliminate it as a choice once and for all. I appreciate the deeply held beliefs many of those people have, and I know that the majority of people who stand against abortion are good people just doing what they believe is right. I don't see abortion as a good thing, necessarily. I would like nothing more than to live in a world where abortion is no longer seen as a needed option, but I know making it outright illegal isn't going to accomplish that goal. It's only a band-aid solution to a host of deeper, more systemic problems in our society.
You want abortion to go away? Then push for more holistic approaches to safe-sex education that accounts for the emotional responses as well as the bodily ones to sex, and doesn't shy away from the topic of contraception and reproductive healthcare. Make churches talk more openly about sex as a good given to us by God, and not a shameful, sinful act that we should hide or remain close-mouthed about. Throw out abstinence-only education and recognize that, ultimately, people are going to make their own choices, follow their own conscience, and if they do have sex outside of marriage, they need to be safe and educated about it.
Start teaching boys and young men not to sexualize girls and woman. Teach boys not to rape instead of trying to teach girls to not draw attention to themselves. That only leads to victim-blaming and slut-shaming in the end. Stop reducing girls and women to their appearance and policing their bodies and dressing choices. Stop portraying girls as damsels or lesser in strength and value than boys and men, and start recognizing and nurturing their power and tenacity. Stop thinking that feminism is a bad word, or means anything other than equality among the sexes.
Pro-lifers, don't demonize the women who receive abortions, and start to try and understand the reasons and circumstances surrounding their decision instead. There are women who choose it freely, but there are many who seek abortions because they simply don't feel like they have any other options.
I care about the defunding of Planned Parenthood because Planned Parenthood is pro-life. Planned Parenthood is pro-life because pro-life means more than anti-abortion. It means caring for those in greatest need, sympathizing with those in greatest pain, and showing compassion to those in greatest distress. It means recognizing that not everyone is going to share your beliefs, but that everyone has a conscience and is able to make choices for themselves. It means recognizing that, sometimes, we make sacrifices in our own lives so that other people can receive the care and support they need to not only survive, but to thrive.
Ultimately, I stand with Planned Parenthood because I know it's not just about me. My thoughts, opinions, beliefs, and perspectives are not the only ones that matter in this world. Just as I wouldn't want anyone to force their beliefs and opinions onto me, I have no right to force my beliefs and opinions onto anyone else. I can walk with people, I can and should care for people, I can support people, but I can never control people. And I shouldn't want to. No one should. Our government is meant to serve, not to control, and in those times that it does try to step over that line, people of faith, those who are truly pro-life, should be among the first to stand up and push back. We shouldn't be the ones clearing the way.
Until next time,
Erin B.
P.S. In case you need a little more convincing as to why stepping back and broadening the picture around abortions is important, I highly recommend following this link to watch the video from Last Week Tonight with John Oliver: Abortion Laws
This type of discrimination against same-sex couples seeking to adopt isn't new. Ten states already have laws that allow child welfare agencies to discriminate against couples: Alabama, Kansas, Michigan, Mississippi, North Dakota, Oklahoma, South Carolina, South Dakota, Texas, and Virginia. According to the Every Child Deserves a Family Campaign, more than 21,000 kids were awaiting adoption in these states in 2015.
