When I was 18 years old, I was living on my own in a shitty 1 bedroom basement apartment in Bradley, Illinois and I was working 3 jobs. One of those jobs was a full time position as a bank teller. I was the only guy working at this bank full time and it was clear my presence was unwelcome from the start.
Lisa, one of the other tellers, ignored me completely. Jenny was downright mean to me. But Kelly was always cool. I still find myself repeating her quips:
Kim the Asst Branch Manager: “Hey Kelly, can you get the drive thru?” Kelly: (while filing her nails) “I’m busy. What? No. I can’t I’m busy.”
I say those exact words to my kids all the time now and it still makes me laugh.
One morning, before I could even sit down and count my drawer, Kim asked me to meet her in Susan’s office. Susan was the Branch Manager. I didn’t know what I’d done wrong but I knew I was in trouble. As I walked into Susan’s office I looked over my shoulder at Kelly expecting her to give me a goofy face or something. She looked like she was going to cry.
Kim: “Michael, how do you think it’s going here?” 18 year old Me: “Ummm… good? I haven’t been short in my drawer at all and I’ve been on time. How do YOU think I’m doing here?” Susan: “Michael, how do you think you are getting along with your coworkers?” Me: “I do my best to be friends with everybody. It’s been easier with some than with others. Kelly is awesome though.”
I was starting to feel relaxed. Just talking about Kelly made me feel better. She was really a good friend when I needed one.
Kim: “Michael we have had complaints from the tellers. They say that you aren’t matching up with the group very well.” Me: “What am I doing wrong? Did I say something wrong?” Susan: “No – nothing like that. No one thinks you have been unprofessional at all they just don’t think you are adjusting to the group is all.” Me: (starting to feel really isolated) “Well, what do they want me to do differently?” Kim: “They just feel like you are always trying to talk to them or be part of their conversations. They just…”
Kim and Susan looked at each other and Susan nodded – giving Kim the permission to disclose the rest.
Kim: “They just don’t really like you. They don’t think you are a good fit for the office. It’s not that you are doing anything wrong – it’s just that they don’t want to be friends with you.”
Hot tears rolled down my face. The thought, “I’m crying at work” made more tears follow the first. I tried to respond. I wanted to say anything. But when I opened my mouth to speak all I heard come out of me was a sob.
Susan looked ashamed. Kim looked giddy.
Me: (still sobbing) “Kelly?” Susan: “NO. Kelly loves you. She really is your confidant.” Me: (no more tears) “Is that all?” Susan: “Yes. That’s all, Michael. We didn’t mean to upset you.” Me: “I’m going home for the rest of the day.”
I walked out of Susan’s office and looked behind the counter at the 3 tellers who were staring at me dumbly. Kelly saw my puffy eyes and she contorted her face again like she was about to cry. I now know that her face was communicating unadulterated rage.
Kelly stood up and leaned forward with both of her hands on her desk. She was a big woman and she filled the space she worked in as she squared her shoulders.
Kelly: “It wasn’t me, Michael! I love working with you!!”
In that moment she turned and pointed her finger directly at Jenny’s face. Her finger was inches from Jenny’s nose.
Kelly: “THIS BITCH. Jenny is the only one talking shit and if she does it again I’ll BEAT HER ASS.”
Her voice boomed through the bank. Jenny cowered. Kim and Susan came rushing out of the office to see what the commotion was. I walked toward the exit silently, afraid I would start sobbing again.
Kelly: (grabbing her coat) “Where are we going?” Kim: “Michael has the rest of the day off.” Kelly: “SHIT me too then. I’m with him.”
As we walked into the parking lot she hugged me. I cried some more and she put her hand on the back of my head.
Kelly: “So where are we going?” Me: “I’m just going home.” Kelly: “And tomorrow? Do we quit?” Me: “I can’t. I need this job or I can’t pay rent.” Kelly: “Fine. Then we work. But we do it together and we never take an ounce of shit from any of them.” Me: “Deal.”
Kelly, my love, I don’t know where you are anymore. I bet your son is so big now. Wherever you are, I’m sure you are busy. I hope you know I’m still making it – and I’m not taking an ounce of shit from any of them.
My generation has been theologically orphaned – but we have Ancestors.
“We’ve been abandoned by our teachers. Our guides have left us without fathers. The men and women we looked up to have gone against everything they told us to believe in. We wonder if they ever really believed it themselves.”
To anyone outside of white America, white Evangelicals have never had the best reputation. But 5 short years ago, a lot of people still regarded them as well-meaning, decent folks who wanted desperately to save our souls. Do you remember? Do you remember when white Evangelicals cared most about saving souls?
That’s not what they are known for these days. Nowadays, when someone openly admits to belonging to a white Evangelical church, what most of my friends hear is that this is a person who is upholding white supremacist policies and ideas, hates our LGBTQ+ siblings, is a supporter of the most openly immoral POTUS in our lifetimes (or ever?), and that they belong to a power hungry political sect. There is nothing Christlike about the white Evangelical “witness.”
This didn’t start with Trump. White Evangelicalism has been on this trajectory for a couple of generations at least. But the breakneck speed at which they completely abandoned their stated principles and values has been dizzying. Never in a thousand years would I have expected the Elders, Deacons, Pastors, and Bishops of the denomination to which I used to belong, to gleefully support a POTUS incumbent who hired a lawyer to pay off the porn star he had extramarital sex with while his wife was pregnant. Never.
That’s not my chief complaint about this President, by the way. Not by half. Given how Evangelicals railed against the White House “immorality” in the Clinton years, this reversal makes clear their real motivation. They weren’t and aren’t interested in upholding the values and ethics espoused by the life of Jesus (or even how they understand Jesus). If they were, then they would have been consistent; either gracious toward Clinton and Trump or critical of both.
Instead, they condemned Clinton and make excuses for Trump. Why? I believe it is because what they were after in the Clinton years is the same as what they are after now: power. I was too young to understand it as a child. I really believed that they were grieved by the immoral actions of President Clinton. Now I see that it was all political posturing. I believed that conservative politics reflected the values of the white Evangelical religion. In the past few years, we have learned that conservative politics is the religion of the white Evangelical movement.
I am not claiming that the white Evangelical church was deliberately hypocritical. On the contrary, I believe they were being just as genuine in their condemnation of Clinton as they have been accepting of Trump. What I am claiming is that then and now, their religion has always been about accumulating power. (See “Christianity Will Have Power” by Elizabeth Dias, New York Times, August 9, 2020) It makes perfect sense to demonize Clinton – who was a barrier to their power, and continually absolve an unrepentant Trump – who is their access to power.
That theirs is a religion of power is made more clear by the very fact that so many of them believe the laws of the United States should violently enforce their religious principles. How quick are they to defend their support for Trump (who famously said he has never repented) by touting the judges that Trump has seated these last four years? Their claim is that the end justifies the means but what is the end-game here? How do right-wing judges help white Evangelicals spread the message of Atonement, Redemption, or Salvation?
Conservative judges do not help white Evangelicals spread their message or interpretation of the Gospels. That, as it happens, isn’t what they care about. They use the appointments of judges to defend their support for Trump because it speaks to the true agenda of this movement: accumulating and maintaining power and influence at all costs. Put another way:
Because the pursuit of relevancy is the pursuit of influence, of power. And when power becomes your god, you’ll do as much biblical gymnastics as it takes to get it or keep it.
Power. That idol has plagued Christianity since before it was Christianity – back when it was just Jesus walking around being weird. Who was always trying to trap Jesus? It was the religious elite who were siphoning power off of Caesar, those invested in maintaining the status quo; the conservatives, if you will.
Constantine was the real devil. He was smart enough to envelop this subversive, relatively new religion by calling himself Christian and then shaping Christianity to reinforce his power and authority. Despots all over the world and all throughout the history who followed have exploited this weakness in Christianity and there is always a “Christian” faction that is primed and ready to bow down to this idol. They are the ones who were never truly following Jesus – they were seeking power.
Often times, they are the quickest to “worship” Jesus. Not unlike the religious elites in Jesus’ day, they flaunt their power by flaunting their religiosity. But when put to the test, they always bend the knee, their values, and their scriptures, to the idolatry of power. Worshiping Jesus seems to elevate his example so far out of reach that they can tell themselves they are exempt from having to follow Jesus. But Jesus repeatedly commands of his disciples: “Follow me.”
Throughout history, there have been true followers of Jesus who cared more about living the truths of the Sermon on the Mount than winning some fabricated culture war. They are the ones whose faith in Jesus extends well beyond political expediency. They have always cared more about living like Jesus lived than worshiping the fact that he died.
Their faith drove them to remain steadfast when they were martyred. It drove them to rise up against their religious leaders as they defended the Civil Rights Movement, stood against Hitler, opposed war, protested nuclear weapons, and fought for Women’s Rights. Their faith in Jesus is driving them into the streets now, demanding that Black Lives Matter and our LGBTQ+ siblings should be treated as sacred – because life is sacred. They aren’t seeking power, they are seeking Justice.
It has been hard to reckon with the fact that our parents’ generation has not been faithful the values they told us they had. It has been terribly disorienting to see them wink at all of this violence, defend white supremacy and call it “Christian.” My generation has been theologically orphaned.
But we have Ancestors – theological Ancestors. And our Ancestors’ example shines brightly enough to illuminate the path in front of us. We are the grown ups now. We mustn’t falter.
I couldn’t express in words how alone I felt knowing that I would not experience Communion for some untold amount of time. So I wept. I wept bitterly as they attended to me with their loving, compassionate presence.
I attended church alone.
We had been told beforehand that this was to be our last in-person service for a long time. Those of us in attendance sat far away from each other and refrained from shaking hands, hugging, or touching. My children were not the only ones missing from our gathering; there were no children present. The absence of the children only added to the somber anxiety that fills the air of every room these days.
Lent is always serious and sober, but this year it felt like Peine Forte et dure and we are all Giles Corey; each day adding painful weight to our chests. Though it is almost September, I feel like I’m still waiting for Easter. Perhaps I have always been waiting for Easter but now I am more fully aware. Either way, this is a long night we are all living through.
Our church celebrates Communion every week. This is at the core of our theology and, given the egalitarian nature of our tradition, it is sometimes the only consistent belief and practice between our various congregations. As is our custom, I got in line and walked toward the front of our church where our pastors and laypersons alike stood with the bread and juice. We all stood far apart from one another in line – further proof that things had changed.
My theology is quite different from my fellow parishioners. I spent a decade in the Roman Catholic Church and when I left I brought Transubstantiation with me. For me, the bread and juice are the body and the blood of Christ. When I eat, when I drink, I consume Christ and bring Christ into my body.
Next in line for the bread, I bowed deeply at the waist like I have every Sunday for years and years. I mouthed the words, “Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof, but only say the word and my soul shall be healed.”
I wasn’t raised Catholic. I became Catholic when I left the religion of my youth – the religion of my family. I was raised Pentecostal. When I left the Pentecostal church I brought mysticism with me. My rote prayer became unintelligible as my thoughts became ineffable. My whispers were of a language that has never been used to colonize, never been used to do harm.
I stood up straight and stepped forward six feet.
“The body of Christ, broken for you,” Allison said as she lifted the plate and I bowed my head.
“Amen,” I replied as I took Christ into my hands.
I stepped six feet to the right where Kalie held the chalice. Kalie, like Allison, was part of our pastoral team. Both of these people have ministered to me so much and it gripped my heart that they were the ones to present the body and blood of Christ to me on such a significant Sunday.
“The blood of Christ, poured out for you,” she said as she lifted the chalice and I bowed my head.
“Amen,” I whispered as I dipped the bread and moved it to my mouth; careful not to drop a single drop or crumb. As I walked down the aisle toward my seat I crossed myself, as always. I could feel hot tears streaming down my face and wetting the collar of my shirt.
I remembered the first time I received Christ as a Catholic. The countless times I received the Eucharist in a war zone as a soldier – how my hands shook so badly in those days. As I chewed I recalled living and working in D.C. as my life fell apart around me. I recalled attending Mass daily for years in D.C. – how my hands trembled worse in those days than when I was at war.
At Vanderbilt Divinity School, while working toward my Master’s of Divinity, I learned that a Sacrament is something physical (substance or act) which is made Holy through human works (i.e. the Words of Consecration). My theology requires that those human works be done in community. Specifically, the Words of Consecration have always been said either by a Priest or alongside a Clergy person. The Bread has always been presented to me. The Chalice has always been held before me.
By the time I reached my pew I realized that I would not be able to receive Communion for the foreseeable future. Through war, desperation, tragedy, and catastrophe, Communion had always been my solace. After this day, I would not be able to partake of the Sacrament until the threat of the pandemic passes.
There were times in my life when uttering my responsorial obligation took every ounce of will left in my soul. There were times my heart could not authentically agree with the Words. There were times in D.C. when I was so hungover, or still a bit drunk from the night before, that my head would throb with every step I took toward the Host. No matter, the Eucharist was always there for me.
As we received the blessing in the Benediction, I gripped the pew in front of me. Allison and Kalie made their way to me immediately, and we stood six feet apart. They asked if I was okay. I opened my mouth to reply, but was unable to speak and just began to sob. I couldn’t put to words the deep feelings of loss and grief that pressed against my chest. I couldn’t express in words how alone I felt knowing that I would not experience Communion for some untold amount of time. So I wept. I wept bitterly as they attended to me with their loving, compassionate presence.
I finally said enough for them to understand my grief. Thankfully, I did not have to say much. I have been in Community with them both long enough that they know my theology and my relationship with this Sacrament. Kalie reminded me of the Priesthood of all believers. Allison bore witness to the truth that this sacred meal is timeless. They both promised to pray the Words of Consecration via telephone or video messenger any time, day or night. They told me that they loved me. They told me how sorry they were for my loss. They told me that they would continue to journey with me moving forward.
The next Sunday, I logged onto our church’s livestream. As Micah played piano to an empty church and a camera, I started mixing flour, oil, water, and salt. I kneaded the dough and cooked it in a skillet as I prayed the Lord’s Prayer in concert with our pastors, Thomas and Allison who were at the church, and with all of the other congregants who worshiped safely at home.
I donned my stole in my living room. I bowed low and prayed, rote words at first and then in unintelligible words, as is my practice.
I held the Chalice, a juice glass from my cupboard. I held the bread, broke it, and spoke the Words.
“This is my body…”
And for the first time, maybe ever in my life, I understood.
As an advocate for life, I am an undying supporter of access to safe, legal abortions everywhere.
I met Pam when I was buying a car a number of years ago. I had worked for weeks with the salespeople and, after jumping through a lot of hoops, I was finally ready to sit down with the finance manager, Pam. She was a lovely person, in her early forties, with dark brown hair, olive skin, and very intense eyes. Somehow, within ten minutes of being in her office, she began to tell me about her life. I hung on her every word.
She had been part of an arrangement for marriage in her country of origin and moved to the U.S. about a year before they were to be married. He was very domineering and aggressive but she liked him – in time she began to love him. She was much more pious than he was so they had a lot of conflict over remaining sexually abstinent. He pressured her to have sex with him while they awaited the marriage ceremony. As a white, American man, it is not possible for me to understand nor capture the dynamics between men and women in her culture so I will not attempt to do so. What was clear to me as a listener is that she felt that she lost some of her agency in navigating this issue and she ultimately agreed to have sex with him prior to their marriage.
Then she found out she was pregnant – that’s when the abuse began. He badgered her to get an abortion and she vehemently refused. So he began to threaten her. He told her that he would kill himself if she didn’t terminate the pregnancy, he would publicly ruin her in their community; a community where women are punished for having children outside of a marriage. This abuse was non-stop and he would break things and punch holes in the walls. She was afraid. And she loved him. So she terminated the pregnancy.
Then he left her.
We need to talk about abortion for a number of reasons, but mostly because there are lives at stake. For most of my life I was extremely conservative on this issue. I grew up Pentecostal which is to the right of most fundamentalist, evangelical churches. As my experiences grew more diverse, my perspective on abortion followed. This issue is the issue for so many “single issue voters” that we have to address it openly or we risk endangering more lives and building a government where catering to this one issue is all that extremist politicians have to do in order to gain power. I don’t want to, but we need to talk about abortion – because I don’t want women like Pam to die.
Before I begin, I want to put my cards on the table. I believe that the human activity of abortion is a tragedy. Every time. My belief that life should be preserved, cultivated, and endorsed is inextricably bound up with my religious identity. As a result of such a belief system, I hold that all efforts should be made to prevent the antecedent conditions that result in abortions: like rape culture, lack of sexual education, lack of access to contraceptives, toxic theology that inhibits people from using contraceptives, desperate socio-economic conditions that affect women of color at widely disproportionate rates, systemic white supremacy which (among other things) reduces the bodies of black women to objects that must be exploited and controlled, etc. Similarly, as an advocate for life, I am an undying supporter of access to safe, legal abortions everywhere. Let me explain:
It seems to me that most positions regarding the abortion debate in America do not proceed in a way that allows for the dissenting view to change their mind. Since before I was born, hard lines have been drawn on the issue of abortion or reproductive rights, and groups have been established on either side. Even the language we use around the topic is an identifier as to which camp we belong.
For instance, if someone begins a discussion by presenting the differing sides as “pro-life and pro-abortion,” I already know which side they are on; they’re on the side that actually believes there are people who are “pro-abortion.” Hint: no one is pro-abortion. Exactly zero people make their New Year’s Resolution to get as many abortions as possible. I’m not sure any of this language is useful anymore. Once the lines have been drawn, very few people are likely to switch sides and anyone who was going to switch likely has already. If we are going to get anywhere on this issue, and we really need to, then we have to examine what’s at stake for these differing positions and what can be accurately stated by each side.
The Left has made the mistake of dismissing the Right’s claims that a fetus is a living human being. I do, however, understand the reason that they’ve dismissed these claims. The Right has been notoriously hateful (especially the “christians”) and abusive toward women who have received abortions. They have, at times, been violent. The vast majority of those on the Right who have not been violent have been complicit through their silence and thinly veiled approval of the bombing of abortion clinics and the abuse of women walking into Planned Parenthood, the dehumanization of women and the assault on their agency and autonomy. But the evil committed by the Right does not necessarily negate the validity of their claim, though it may negate their moral standing. Their claim, that life begins at conception, is a theological claim that cannot be proved or disproved. This is a tension that we must hold.
In response to this tension, the Left has committed itself to changing the narrative; they choose instead to talk about “women’s rights,” and “women’s autonomy.” Now, given the historical and present dehumanization of women by men in power, I believe women’s rights, autonomy, and agency is something that we should talk about loudly and often. But it should be noted here, that to a person who genuinely believes that a fetus is the same as a baby, the mother’s body is not the topic of conversation. They believe they are talking about a separate body that is connected to, and dependent on, the mother; that is not the same thing. To them, talking about women’s rights is non-sequitur.
My suggestion is that the Left should begin its argument from the assumption that the Right is correct about life beginning at conception. I know that sounds antithetical, but hear me out. The research by the World Health Organization and the Guttmacher Institute that has spanned the globe for over 15 years has produced unmatched data on the rates of incidents of abortion that must be recognized. Key findings for the purposes of this post are:
Rates of incidents of abortion are not changed by the legal status of abortion.
The number of women who die during the abortion procedure is correlated with the legal status of abortion.
Rates of incidents of abortion fall when access to sexual education and contraceptives rise.
What that means for the issue of abortion in the United States is that overturning Roe v. Wade will not mean that abortion rates would fall. In fact, abortion rates are lower now than they were pre-Roe v. Wade. What making abortion illegal would do is increase the number of women who die as a result of receiving an abortion. Women like Pam.
If we assume that life begins at conception and every abortion is a lost human life, making abortion illegal would result in more human deaths since the number of abortions would not change but the number of mothers who die as a result of receiving abortions would rise. For this reason, the “Pro-Life” position of working to overturn Roe v. Wade is falsely named; it would result in more death. Pam’s pregnancy would have ended still, but Pam would have died too.
This is the reason the Left should disengage from the debate about the beginning of life. In fact, they should concede this point in order to win the argument. The Right says, “Life begins at conception,” to which the Left should respond, “but it does not end at birth.” A genuinely pro-life position is one that must advocate for access to safe, legal abortions.
In their attempts to stop legal abortions, the Right often targets organizations like Planned Parenthood. De-funding Planned Parenthood has become a way for GOP politicians to score quick points with their conservative bases for a generation. But this is anti-life given the facts that are spelled out in the above cited study.
Planned Parenthood provides safe and legal abortions which preserve lives (again: since the number of abortions is unchanged by legal status and more mothers die when abortion is illegal – resulting in a net loss of life (fetuses + mothers)). Perhaps most importantly, Planned Parenthood offers sexual education and contraceptives to women of all walks of life. Access to sexual education and contraceptives are directly correlated with reduced rates of incidents of abortion. To put it another way, the best thing a person who wants to end abortion can do to achieve that goal is protect the funding of Planned Parenthood!
While the Right has been calling themselves “Pro-Life,” the Left has been actively working to preserve life and protect life by keeping abortion legal. While the Right has been calling themselves “anti-abortion,” the Left has been actively reducing the rates of incidents of abortion by increasing access to education and contraceptives. For this reason, the Left is truly the “Pro-Life” position while the Right, if they had their way, would actual be responsible for more abortions (by decreasing access to sexual education and contraceptives provided by Planned Parenthood et al), and more dead mothers (by making abortion illegal). The Left should abandon their attempt to change the conversation and should instead turn and face the Right and beat them on their own terms.
In my experience, however, the more religious factions of the Right are not moved by this empirical data. They either dismiss it outright or they respond by saying that abortion is immoral and should therefore be illegal. This is an entirely different argument, however, as what is moral and what is legal rarely overlap. Racism is immoral though it is entirely legal. Sexism is immoral and legal. The dehumanization of the poor is evil and it is the backbone of: capitalism, prosperity gospel, red-zoning, gerrymandering, “right to work” laws, city ordinances targeting unhoused people, the war on drugs, “three strikes and you’re out,” the private prison industry, and the list goes on and on.
The other argument the Right makes is that women who get abortions deserve to die, therefore their deaths should not be factored into the equation. Ordained Evangelical ministers have argued to my face that these women’s lives should not be their concern – the concern of ministers. When I’ve told them the stories I’ve listened to, when I’ve told them about Pam, they responded with mistrust – they didn’t believe her. They discredit her story and her in order to hold on to their ideological position, their hatred. This kind of hatred cannot be argued against intellectually; it must be confronted theologically.
Just as any position that advocates for making abortion illegal must not be called “Pro-Life,” but must instead be called “Pro-Punishment,” or “Pro-Death,” for the sake of accuracy, any person who is not advocating for the preservation of life, even the life of a teenage girl who got an abortion or for Pam who was coerced into the pregnancy and forced to have an abortion, must not call themselves a “Christian,” for the sake of accuracy. They must instead accept that theirs is a position of retribution, and is therefore the opposite of our self-sacrificing Christ.
In conclusion, I believe the Left has given too much ground to the anti-choice movement by dismissing the theological claims at hand. The facts are clear, though one must read beyond the abstract of the study. Regardless of when life begins, overturning Roe v. Wade would result in more deaths – with the same number of aborted fetuses and more dead women. To advocate for the deaths of these women by making abortion illegal, even though it would not save even one fetus, is not “Pro-Life,” it is not morally superior, and it certainly is not like Christ. If the Right is truly Pro-Life, they will end their campaign for retributive death and join those of us who are actually trying to stop abortion – by focusing their efforts on fighting the systems like rape culture that produce unwanted pregnancies, keeping abortion legal, and funding Planned Parenthood so that more women can have access to education and contraceptives. What happened to Pam is a terrible tragedy. It would have been a greater tragedy if she had died.