I Will Not Bury the Lead: Or, What I Will Say, to Whom, and How, about the Protests

#1. I will focus my energy on speaking out against state-sanctioned white supremacist lynching. I invite my fellow white folk to do the same. There would be zero protests—peaceful or otherwise—if there were not an epidemic of Black and Brown Bodies being slaughtered with impunity by a militarized police force that was engineered from the start to police Black Bodies and terrorize Black People into submission. That is the first and last issue. Everything else is secondary and/or a distraction.

#1.1. I do have empathy for those who are affected—in myriad ways—by protests that have tragically turned violent. I also care and have thoughts about the protests. I just refuse to be sidetracked into a debate about protest tactics until I know who I’m talking with and what we’re talking about. I won’t debate protest with you unless you have proven that my #1 is your #1, too.

#2. Because of #1, before I engage in any debate on social media about the protests, I must know we agree on what the problem is. I will check your social media accounts and see where you stand—and, more importantly, where you stood, on #1, before you started expressing [pick your emotion] about the [pick your noun to describe the protests, etc.].

#2.1. Also because of #1, we’re done before we start if your social media feeds say anything that even approximates these words:

“I was/we were/it was cool to be with them until they started looting.”

Because you were never “with them.” If property damage made you decide not to care anymore—or as much—about slaughtered Black and Brown Bodies, then your “solidarity” was cheap at best, and likely nonexistent. If you first started spending your emotional social media capital when some windows were smashed, but you haven’t invested a single Tweet (let alone actual time or energy) on agonizing over the constant terror inflicted on Black and Brown Bodies and Communities by a militarized police force propping up a tyrannical white supremacist System, then you were never with “them” in the first place. So what’s the point in discussing how “they” lost “you” when “you” were never with “them” at all?

You are entitled to your feelings. You’re just not entitled to my time engaging in a conversation about how “best” to protest about an issue you haven’t shown you care that much about.

Because #1 is the issue. I will discuss #1 with anyone, anywhere, anytime, even if you’re new to the discussion. I confess I have much to learn from folks of all kinds regarding #1. 

But until I know you care about #1, I won’t engage on the issue of protest. Again: There would be no protests if not for #1. And it demands all our attention.

#2.2. Also because of #1, the debate stops the minute I hear anything about “a few bad apples.”

Don’t get me wrong: I know some good cops. And because policing in the USA was constructed to keep families like mine safe from “people like them,” I’m mostly not afraid of cops. I respect the courage and sacrifice of all first-responders. I’m not “anti-cop.”

But I will not pretend the “problem” is “a few bad apples.” There are some—probably many—“good” cops who do their best, risking their lives to serve and protect, in the midst of a law-enforcement/criminal-(in)justice/correctional-industrial-slavery system (System) that is invested in white supremacy from its start and to its core.

“A few bad apples” is a failed analogy. There are some good apples trying to stay good in a basket of worm-infested produce that is aflame in a dumpster full of burning dogshit. That makes me appreciate the good ones even more, but I cannot allow my appreciation to distract me from the problem.

Perhaps a better analogy comes from my privileged travels around the globe, where people from every walk of life have told me something like, “We don’t hate Americans, we hate America.” I don’t hate cops, but I hate the System built to protect my white children at the expense of Black and Brown Bodies. I also am not the target of that System, so I refuse to judge those who can’t or won’t always draw the distinction.

#2.3. Also because of #1, the debate stops the minute I hear anything about “black-on-black crime” (BOBC).

(a) Most crime is intra-, not inter-racial, because of intimacy and segregation. We can have a sociological/criminological debate about that some other time. That’s not really the point, because (b):

(b) No white person talks about BOBC when BOBC is happening. It only comes up when Black people are murdered by the police and rise up in anger. It’s another distraction/deflection tactic, and I won’t engage it.

(c) Black Communities respond to BOBC all the time. We just don’t care or pay attention.

(d) The solution to BOBC, as with most issues in the USA, is full-scale investment in Black Empowerment, a reparations-scale Marshall Plan for communities we have underdeveloped, devastated, divested from, and ignored for 401 years.

So any talk of BOBC, and this conversation is dead in the water.

#3. Once we’ve established that #1 is your top priority, and you haven’t engaged in the distractions of #2, then—and only then—will I be willing to engage in a conversation about protest tactics.

#3.1. I have little to say, because I have lots of words but not a lot of blood in the game regarding #1. I’ve mostly avoided #2, but I protected myself and my family for 15 years as a pastor in the whitest denomination in the USA by keeping mostly quiet about #1 because I got shat on over and over by folk who thought I was “too political” for being 1/100th as “political” as I wanted, and I believe the Gospel called me, to be. But that’s another story, and this is not about me. I’m called mostly to keep my mouth shut unless I am speaking in full-throated support of those who struggle for Black Lives to Matter for once, again, more, and forever.

#3.2. My B.A. is in Peace Studies, a comprehensive study of sources of conflicts and actively nonviolent means to resolve them. Of course I don’t “condone” violent protest—much less “encourage” it. I am, however, far less concerned about property damage than I am about the murder of Black and Brown Beloved Children of God. But I’m not unsympathetic about the loss of livelihoods. I’m particularly empathetic about the fear in which many of my friends live as their communities experience this violence. I worry for my friends’ lives first, and, secondarily, their property and jobs. That is a perfectly legitimate emotion, and I feel it too—from the comfort of my suburban home.

#3.3. I agree—to a point—that violent protest may not be strategically helpful. I’m pragmatic at heart, and because the System still listens to me, I want to see effective, strategic protest.

I’m also aware that literally nothing Black and Brown People have done to protest the System has done a damn thing to move the hearts of those who belong to, benefit from, and prop up the System. Every form of Black and Brown Protest bothers white folk.

“I was with ‘them’ until ‘they’ started looting” is a bold-faced lie. The truth is: “‘You’ were 'with' ‘them’ until ‘they’ knelt for the anthem, marched without a permit, gave a speech at the Oscars, elected a Black president, made a movie or performed a comedy routine you couldn’t handle, said ‘Black Lives Matter’ out-loud, spoke too loudly, dated your white daughter/son, preached a prophetic sermon, blocked a highway, prayed for justice in front of the legislature, tried to vote, and on and on and on and on…”

As in: You were never with “them,” no matter the “strategy.” That makes conversation about the “strategic value” of any form of protest a little empty.

#3.4. Violent protest is profoundly “American,” and it has, indeed, been strategically successful.

The craziest asshats in Congress belong to a caucus that is literally named for a violent protest in which a disguised horde trespassed onto corporate property and destroyed [at present-value] millions of dollars of merchandise in Boston Harbor. In response, the legitimate legal authorities waged war. Which ones are our heroes today?

The Revolutionary War was almost exclusively won by guerillas who sabotaged, stole, and destroyed (often private) property.

More recently, the Queer Movement was catapulted by Drag Queens throwing bricks at the police—because the police had been raiding, raping, beating, and otherwise terrorizing marginally “safe” Queer spaces, and the Queens were no longer having it. If not for Stonewall, many of my dearest friends would not be legally married. (By the way, most of the Queens of Stonewall were People of Color. Intersectional rioting is as American as collard greens and bratwurst.)

So sometimes it works. And it’s certainly understandable. Even if I don’t personally condone it, I have trouble accepting the argument that it’s never right and/or effective, in light of our history.

On the other hand, the peaceful demonstrations of the Civil Rights Movement accomplished some great things (legislatively). They were also met by fascist violence, no matter how peaceful the march--a pattern being repeated today. Also, many of their accomplishments are being systematically rolled back by Congress, executive action, and the Supreme Court. So strategically, it’s hard to say what works better.

I’m still an advocate for active-nonviolent protest, but I’m also aware that for most of my white cohort, nothing Black or Brown Communities do in protest makes a damn bit of difference, so I’m not going to judge.

I won’t say some Black and Brown People engaged in violent uprising is right, and I also won’t say it’s categorically wrong. I will always value people over property, and until Black Lives Matter as much as every other life, let alone as much as private property, I’m not going to invest too much energy over property damage.

Keep in mind: The US has been waging war against Black and Brown Bodies for centuries. In a war zone, collateral property damage is sad but normal. I wonder if part of the reason “we” get so uncomfortable about protest and property damage is because US soil hasn’t known a declared war since 1865. Of course, Black and Brown Communities have been under siege for centuries, but white folk have mostly been able to avoid the collateral property damage of war. Most of Europe has burned and been rebuilt countless times. Jerusalem probably wins the wager. And unless you care as much about collateral property damage in Kabul and Baghdad as you do about the same in Minneapolis, your bias is showing alongside your historical privilege and/or ignorance. That doesn’t make it right; it just puts it in perspective.

Also, the reason we have to hear and say “Black Lives Matter” is because Black Lives were officially personal property from 1619-1865, and then many became state property by virtue of the 13th Amendment and the prison-industrial-slavery complex. So talk of “property” has a sting to it that we should also be aware of.

#3.5. A lot of the current street violence is, apparently, being provoked and accelerated by outside forces with dubious and/or downright evil motives. Largely white people from the extremes (apparently mostly from the far-“right” white supremacist wings) are apparently coming in from out of town and causing trouble—race-war-enthusiasts, anarchists, bored corona-stir-crazy suburbanites, etc.

That’s crazy and wrong and should be condemned wholesale.

#3.6. It’s hard to tell who’s who, but it absolutely makes a difference. Some people are burning shit down because they are justifiably angry about 401 years of “American” white supremacist tyranny. Some people are burning shit down because they are bored or, much worse, because they’re actively trying to provoke a race war. One of these things is not like the other. It’s hard to tell who’s who, but it matters. What a mess.

#3.7. Because of #3.6, it probably makes sense to arrest anyone actually caught destroying property, with an emphasis on those who initiate the destruction. Arrest them, don’t shoot them. Use tear gas, pepper spray, rubber/plastic bullets, etc., as an absolute last resort. Get them off the streets, let them cool down a bit—or at least hold them until the streets cool down a bit—and then decide who to charge with what.

If I were D.A.—and this is why I’ll never be elected D.A.—I would probably not charge any Black or Brown person caught destroying or stealing property during these protests. I would, however, charge any white agitator, from either end of the political spectrum, and especially those from out of state. But that’s just me. 

The point is, it makes sense to calm things down a bit, and it also makes sense to focus punishment on those who stir up trouble without having borne the pain that sparked the protests in the first place. I’m aware that’s racial profiling—but it would be super ironic if white folk suddenly started to care about that.

That said, people matter more than property, so obviously I categorically condemn any violence against other people—civilians, press, or cops—and believe perpetrators of violence against persons should be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. Badge or not. That’s kind of the whole point here: Murder is wrong.

But I damn well wish cops who murder would be prosecuted with the same intensity as cop-killers. Otherwise, we're just repeating the narrative and sowing the seeds. Unfortunately, our laws structurally aggravate crimes against people in uniform, and that should change. Murder is murder, no matter who is on either side of the weapon.

#3.8. I have profound empathy for those who live in and/or are impacted by collateral violence somehow associated with protests over white supremacist police brutality and murder. I confess my empathy is on a scale—like everyone else’s—and I’m more worried about folks in the line of literal fire, those whose livelihoods depend on impacted community businesses, those who have to close their windows to keep out smoke and tear gas, etc., than I am about folks who just don’t like to see this stuff on TV. But yes, it is possible to be concerned about the [whatever you're calling it] while also caring most about what matters first.

But, as I’ve said repeatedly, I won’t invest that empathy in dialog about protests with you unless your concern about property damage and other collateral concerns follows way behind a demonstrated, actual, heartfelt, and historical concern for the murder of Black and Brown Beloveds-of-God at the hands of the police.

Which brings us back to #1. Rinse and repeat until clean.

There Are No Good Guys with Guns

I grew up in the suburbs, which means I suckled the teat of well-fed angst alongside Ben Folds. I thought I had plenty of things to be angry about, but I mostly lacked the physical strength and bravado to do much about my relatively minor grievances.

Despite later earning a BA in Peace Studies, I spent many a lonely afternoon nursing my anger and imagining violence. A favorite mental exercise was imagining I had a superpower: From a distance, I could—with my mind—cause the heads of my perceived enemies explode like a Gallagher melon. I rewound the cannon shot from Glory a million times to get the splatter just right.

My father hates guns, so there never was one in our home. Judging by my ability to find anything remotely related to sex hiding in our house, I’m confident I could have found a gun, too. Knives we had, but that seemed too intimate. Absent a long-range weapon, my imagined superpower had to suffice.

Was I “disturbed”? Maybe. I never had a therapist until college (though I probably could have used one), but I’d like to think I was a fairly normal boy growing up in a macho culture saturated with violent imagery and its pervasive myths of dominance and vengeance. Aside from a spate of playground fights in early elementary school, I never acted out my imagined revenge. But I sure wanted to, and I’m hard-pressed to pinpoint exactly what force kept me from crossing that line.

When another mass shooting piques the national consciousness, a number of tired tropes get trotted out. “Mental illness” is one. But what passes for “mental illness” that might bar a person from having unfettered access to semi-automatic weaponry is notoriously unclear. Should 17-year-old me have been able to possess an AR-15? What mechanism would have stopped me? We need comprehensive access to mental health care for all people in this country, but even with that on board, we wouldn’t even begin to solve our addiction to violence and the tools to act our vengeful fantasies out.

Another trope is the “good guys.” Sometimes euphemized as “law-abiding citizens,” the argument goes that good guys with more guns will solve the problem of “bad guys” with guns. Arm the teachers. Station militias on school grounds. We’ll all be safer if every public place is militarized by the “good guys” who can take out the “bad guys” before another kindergartner’s chest is torn open. You know, like in all the first-person shooter games whose graphics get more spectacularly real with each iteration.

The notion that we can solve a gun problem with more guns seems absurd to many of us on its face. But let’s give it the benefit of the doubt: We can solve the problem of bad guys with guns by giving more guns to the good guys.

Here’s where I, as a Lutheran theologian, cannot abide the fundamental premise:

There are no good guys.

Within every person—at any age, though especially before the frontal lobe really settles in around age 25—there resides enormous capacity for both “good” and “evil.” Even without a diagnosable mental illness (and there are myriad to choose from) or mind-altering substances onboard, anyone is capable of either acting out the dominant narrative of “redemptive violence,” or engaging the counter-narratives of compassion and kindness, on any given day. Other narratives of race and religion make it easy to mislabel nearly anyone as “good” or “bad” based on painfully insufficient categories.

Folks with no criminal record, a nominally clean bill of mental health, and judiciously restrained online activity, can easily “snap” and make all manner of imagined gore become a real-life bloodbath.

The record is replete with police officers and military personnel—“good guys” if there ever were any—employing itchy trigger fingers against folks who, while often imperfect, ought not be targets of summary execution.

There were teachers in my district growing up who threw chalk, used yardsticks for purposes other than measurement, and physically mishandled students when the stress of teaching unruly kids pushed them over the edge.

And I regularly imagined popping the heads off people who called me names, locked me in lockers, and spread rumors about me.

We can—and should—have a complex debate about what measures, if any, constitute “reasonable gun control.” The history of interpreting what “right” inheres in the Second Amendment is fascinating and complicated.

But every “bad” person was “good” until they weren’t. Everyone is “law-abiding” until they aren’t. (And yes, I’m one of those hopelessly generous people who believe that people who have done wrong retain the capacity to be and make good.)

Which means I have no idea how to tell which neighbor of mine “should” be armed to the teeth today, because I have no idea what they are capable of doing tomorrow.

In the meantime, I send my children into a warzone every weekday morning and pray like hell they make it home. Pardon me for doubting that pouring more guns into that battlefield will make them any safer.

That’s [not?] what he said: Logic and Trump’s “Second Amendment people”

            Another day, another news cycle dominated by The Donald. This time it’s hemming and hawing over what he did or did not say about “Second Amendment people” doing something about Hillary “if she gets to pick her judges.” And we’re off: Trump goes off the cuff (and off the rails) and then gets to enjoy millions in free publicity while he and his surrogates equivocate and his opponents exacerbate.

            I realize it’s a fool’s errand to apply logic to virtually anything DJT says, but I still believe in the rules of language and reason, so let’s try.

            Set aside the lowest-common-denominator divisiveness. (The US is divided by which amendment(s) we like most?)

            Never mind that Hillary has no interest in “abolish[ing] the Second Amendment.” (She is an advocate for the right to bear arms in balance with concerns for public safety and health.)

            And let’s not quibble over “whose” judges they are. (The Supreme Court belongs to The People, not the President who nominated them or the Senate who confirmed them.)

            Let’s just focus on the sentences that have everyone up in arms:

“By the way, if she gets to pick, if she gets to pick her judges, nothing you can do, folks. Although the Second Amendment people, maybe there is, I don't know.”

His opponents claim he was inciting violence: Tacitly (coyly) encouraging his supporters to think about assassination if Hillary were elected. That would, indeed, be egregious. (To be fair, I’ve heard more than one person romanticize about killing Hitler before 1933 in direct relation to the current campaign. But Clinton has never even hinted at such a scenario, which is a yuuuge difference.)

Trump and his surrogates are claiming he was misinterpreted: He was actually talking about the voting power of gun rights advocates: “Donald Trump is absolutely correct,” said Jennifer Baker, a strategist for the National Rifle Association. “If Hillary Clinton is elected, there is nothing we can do to stop her from nominating an anti-gun Supreme Court justice who will vote to overturn the individual right of law-abiding citizens to own a gun in their home for protection.”

That’s their argument: He’s not talking about taking up arms; he’s talking about the voting power of gun enthusiasts.

But let’s parse what he actually said: If she gets to pick her judges, then there’s nothing anyone can do, except “maybe” the Second Amendment folks...

Of course, DJT’s acquaintance with the US Constitution is vague at best, but here’s a refresher: You don’t get to pick judges until after you are elected. You know, after the people (Second Amendment people and Fourteenth Amendment people and other people) have already voted.

In which case (i.e., after the election), according to Trump, there’s nothing anyone can do. Except… (wink) maybe the Second Amendment people… I don’t know…

(I disagree with Trump: The NRA has tons of influence after the polls have closed to influence legislation, confirmation hearings, etc. But that’s not what he said. Not at first. At first he was talking about voting. You know, the thing that happens before Clinton gets to pick “her” judges. After which, it’s only the Second Amendment people who can…maybe… do “something.”)

Considering the Second Amendment deals with guns, and only guns (and a well-regulated militia… but what’s that?), it is not a reach to argue that Trump may have been coyly encouraging violence against Hillary after the election to prevent her from picking “her” judges. If, in fact, he was actually aware of what he was saying when he was saying it (a yuuuge assumption). At the very least, it’s not a stretch to say he was tacitly planting that seed in the minds of some of his most fervent supporters.

(Of course, you’d have to take out Kaine, too… but then Paul Ryan gets to be President, and Ryan scores a 93% from the NRA.)

Did he say that? Clearly not. Could he have meant something else? Sure – but any other deduction is just as speculative, since his equivocations have confused the issue. No one knows what he was actually trying to say (least of all him, it seems), so we just have to speculate from what he actually said, and then try and find our way through the spin cycle afterward.

Nevertheless, this kind of ambiguous coded language is clearly meant to incite fear, and it wouldn’t be the first time Trump has incited violence. It just happens to be both more explicitly dangerous (guns) and more vague (“I don’t know…”) than wanting to punch Michael Bloomberg in the face or recalling the “good old days” when you could “beat the crap out of” protestors with impunity.

Either way, it is not true that his words are being misinterpreted. The words themselves were describing an after the election scenario, at which point voting for the person who gets to pick judges is moot for four more years. To say he was encouraging violence is not the only plausible interpretation, but it is well within reasonable parameters.

If, as he claims, he was talking about voting, then he “misspoke.” But to say that would mean admitting that sometimes The Donald just runs off at the mouth without knowing the implications of what he’s saying (like inviting Putin to spy on Clinton). That happens daily with DJT. But he wants folks to believe that the “mainstream media” and those who don’t already love him just doesn’t “get” what he does. We just don’t understand him.

But we do. We hear what he’s saying. Sometimes folks draw conclusions that go a bridge too far. But actually listening to what DJT says is enough to be fearful for the fate of language and reason, not to mention the whole world, if he is elected. This is just the most recent, albeit not even the most dangerous, example.

Bobby what now?: Transgender friends and the power of the name

I have several friends whose birth certificates read "Robert."

Some go by Rob. Others Bob. Some Robert. One - and only one - is called Bobby. I have yet to meet a Robby (except when they* were in trouble with their moms), but I've heard they exist.

When someone introduces themselves as "Robert," I call them Robert.

When someone introduces themselves as "Bob," I call them Bob.

Friends I know who prefer "Bob" will threaten to punch me in the genitals if I call them "Bobby."

Friends I know who prefer "Robert" will slap me upside the head if I call them Rob or Robby.

So, out of respect (and self-preservation), I call them by the name they ask to be called.

That's not "political correctness" - it's decency and kindness and common sense.

This is why I'm confused by the transgender backlash hoopla. I know people who absolutely refuse to call a person by the pronoun or name they prefer, no matter how often they ask. Those folks are making some kind of stand: defending the sex organs said person was born with, I suppose.

And yep, then it gets all kinds of weird when folks have to pee. (I can't tell you how little time I spend watching other people pee. But apparently this is a thing.)

I don't get it. I would never say to a "Bob": "Damnit! You shall be called Robert, as your parents and God ordained it!"

I would never say to a "Robert": "Jesus says thou shalt be called Bobby, no matter what ye think!"

Nope: I call Bob, Bob. I call Rob, Rob. I call Robert, Robert.

And I call Diego, Diego - and refer to him as he/him/his. Because he asked me to. Even though he was called "she/her/hers" and carried another name for most of his early life. That doesn't mean I don't sometimes fumble and say the wrong thing. And when I do, I apologize. Profusely. Not least because he can pack a punch. You should see his gauges and ink.

Seems to me, that's just what civil people do.

* - intentionally bad grammar, for obvious reasons. The most recent OED has decided they're cool with it.

The gift and necessity of particularity: The funeral as analogy for #BlackLivesMatter

                When we gather for a funeral, we do not shrug our shoulders and say, “You know, everybody dies. This day is no different from any other.”

                Of course not. Rather, on this day, this person’s death matters most. Not because they were more precious than anyone else’s spouse, child, parent or friend. But because in this room, on this day, this is the crisis into which the Gospel must be proclaimed. This is the rupture in the fabric of time and space for these people who have lost this person.

                I’ve been to funerals where it is clear that the pastor did not know the deceased – and didn’t bother getting to know them much posthumously. They fumble through a generic sermon pulled from the archives and preach platitudes and pablum into a room full of broken hearts. Hearts that have been specifically broken by this particular death.

                Those are not good funerals. And on the occasions when I have been that pastor, I have failed to do my job.

                Particularity matters. By speaking specifically about this person who has died, we do not thereby dismiss or diminish the lives of others. Yes: Tomorrow, someone else will die. And her life matters. When we gather for her funeral, hers will be the most heart-wrenching death to which the Gospel must be applied. By grieving this man today, we do not in any way forestall the grief we will bear when we gather for that woman’s funeral tomorrow.

                See how that works? The Gospel is not generic. It is always particular. Universal, of course – but also immanently specific.

                And so, into this particular historical moment, when a 12-year-old Black child (Tamir Rice) can be shot with impunity within seconds of the police pulling over to “investigate” him playing in the park; when Dontre Hamilton can be shot with impunity for having the audacity to sleep in a public square; when Trayvon Martin can be shot with impunity for carrying Skittles and iced tea through a white suburban neighborhood; when Eric Garner can be choked to death on camera, his death declared a homicide by the medical examiner, and still no charges are brought; when Freddie Gray can be tousled about in the back of a paddy-wagon with no seat belt and his hands and feet shackled such that he cannot protect himself, and no jury can be found to convict anyone responsible for his murder by vehicular manslaughter and official neglect… and on and on and on and on and on….

                …then, yes, in this particular moment, we must listen to those who stake the claim that Black Lives Matter. For this is the rupture in the fabric of our lives that is breaking hearts wide open. To say “Black Lives Matter” does not in any way diminish or demean or dismiss any other lives – police lives, trans* lives, white lives, or any lives. To say “Black Lives Matter” does not mean – by default – that “all lives” don’t.

                It simply claims that these precious lives are being lost and diminished – and that ought to matter.          

                Until death is no more, we will continue to gather for each particular death and speak of the attention God pays to that person’s life and death.

                Likewise, until racism is no more and all lives truly do matter fully and equally, we must speak out loud, with particularity, the truth that God knows but we so often deny by word and deed, individually and systemically: That these actual, specific lives matter. No more, and no less, than any other life.

                “All lives matter” is generic pablum and platitude spoken in a world crying out for specific justice and mercy. It’s not untrue – any more than a generic sermon at a funeral is untrue; but neither is it helpful – not, at least, as helpful as an unequivocally specific claim that this life, this grief, and this moment truly matters most, today. 

Matters of Life and Death: Ethics in a Complex World

                Last week, I watched two events closely. On Capitol Hill, legislators interrogated Planned Parenthood and considered cutting funding for one of the nation’s largest women’s health care providers. In Georgia, Kelly Gissendaner was executed – the first woman to be killed by the state of Georgia in 70 years. I weighed in on both stories in a variety of settings.

                A friend asked me to help think through an apparent contradiction that we both share: We oppose the death penalty; yet, we also believe that abortion should be safe, legal, and rare. It seems inconsistent: You’re either “pro-life” or not. Roman Catholic social teachings are exceptionally consistent on this account – opposing war, capital punishment, abortion, euthanasia, birth control, etc., with one ethic that promotes a “seamless tapestry of life.” It’s beautiful in its simplicity and breadth.

                It’s also only one way to think through these issues. Here is my attempt at another:

1.       My Lutheran tradition believes that “sin” is not so much an act as a condition. That is, individual acts are not “sinful”; rather, all actions take place in the context of the brokenness of humanity and creation itself. (We tend to have a very low anthropology.)

2.       Thus, context matters. There are often no good (ethical, moral, “sinless”) choices. Luther (and, famously, Bonhoeffer) approached ethics contextually and situationally, not universally.

3.       Women (and men) have proven an innate desire to have control over their own bodies and reproductive health. Not only is this a basic human right, it is a social good. Planned, healthy pregnancies and family life are basic building blocks of a strong society.

4.       Still, girls and women often get pregnant – sometimes by accident, sometimes by force – without wanting to. Absurdly, there is a broad spectrum of opinion among people, including (mostly male) power brokers, about what constitutes “consent” or “rape.” Until that gets settled, I don’t want legislators anywhere near my wife or my daughter’s body and reproductive health – not if they don’t trust her to decide when or how she actually wants to have sex, let alone get pregnant.

5.       A zygote, implanted in the uterine wall, is a distinct human being – genetically speaking. Quickly that distinct being begins to develop all the signs of what would – if uninterrupted – be real, viable human life – however, when that line is crossed is a matter of debate and equal access to medical technology.

6.       When an otherwise viable pregnancy is terminated, death occurs. This is not immaterial to the conversation. This reality complicates the pregnant woman’s exclusive claim to ownership over her body and reproductive health, but it does not mitigate or dismiss that claim. It means, simply, that we have two competing concerns: a woman’s ownership of her body and reproduction; and the life potential of a fetus that would, if uninterrupted, likely develop into a healthy baby.

7.       This choice is not to be taken likely; however, it is impossible to legislate how an individual woman can or should wrestle with the weight of this choice. Too many factors are involved, and any attempt to externally control the decision would violate a woman’s ownership over her own body.

8.       Every study indicates that instances of unplanned pregnancy (and, thus, termination) decrease dramatically when all children, youth, and adults (of all genders) have ready access to comprehensive sex education and a wide range of birth control options. Alas, this is not the case everywhere (really, sadly, anywhere). This is precisely why organizations like Planned Parenthood should receive more, not less, funding – because this is their primary work: to foster a culture of healthy bodies, sexuality and reproductive life.

9.       I live in a world where children are longing to be adopted – and folks of all kinds are longing to adopt – and every kind of bureaucratic obstacle stands in the way. I’m also aware that even if the red tape disappeared overnight, there are not enough homes with willing and able adoptive parents in the world to receive the babies that would be born if no one ever made the choice to terminate a pregnancy. Not even close.

10.   Even if we could assure that every zygote could have a home, history proves that abortion will still happen. It always has. For the vast majority of human history, it has happened in excruciatingly unsafe ways and places. Regulating and restricting access to abortion has never eliminated abortion; it has only made it less safe. Until every fetus results from sex (not rape) among people who are ready and prepared to have and raise a child (or other means that enable non-fertile couples to conceive), then abortion will happen. If it is not legal, it will not be safe.

11.   Thus, while we continue to work toward healthy bodies, sexuality, and reproductive life for all people everywhere – to make unplanned pregnancy rare, we have a moral obligation to provide safe and legal options for pregnancy termination. To fail to do so not only jeopardizes women’s health, but also places women under state control and violates their right to own their own bodies and lives.

12.   That does not mean that we must believe that abortion in and of itself is “good” (I don’t know anyone who believes that). It means we believe it is one hard choice among many in a world that is broken and longing for redemption. We have to do ethics in the world as it actually exists, even while we hope and trust in the coming of a world that will be better.

Now, as for the death penalty:

a.       Killing is wrong.

b.      However, there are times when it is morally legitimate (not “good,” but legitimate and, even, necessary) to take life. Bonhoeffer famously joined the plot to assassinate Hitler, not because it was the “good” thing to do, but because it was necessary. If a sociopathic bus driver is driving a bus full of children toward the edge of a cliff, one has a moral obligation to stop him – which may mean taking his life. That doesn’t make it “good,” but in context, it was legitimate and even necessary.

c.       If possible, it is in everyone’s best interest to capture a killer alive. S/he could be connected to a larger plot; motive could be discovered; bombs may be planted, etc. Not to mention, killing is wrong, and even murderers have a right to live – and maybe even change. As a Christian, I believe in the capacity of God to transform and redeem even the most corrupted life.

d.      Once a killer is in custody and incarcerated, s/he ceases to be an imminent threat. At this point, killing him/her is unnecessary. It serves no purpose other than vengeance and punishment. It becomes a pre-meditated act of murder committed by the state.

e.      Study after study have shown that capital punishment has no deterrent effect. Societies with the death penalty are more, not less, violent. (Correlation does not mean causation, but it’s worth pondering if there is a connection there.)

f.        Capital punishment is exceedingly expensive and draws out the grieving/healing process for all involved. Yet, the appeals process is absolutely necessary, because the only thing worse than the state plotting to murder a guilty killer is for the state to plot and kill someone who was actually innocent of the crime.

g.       Capital punishment is imposed by a justice system that is corrupted by racism and classism. Even if everyone on death row were guilty (and not all are), the folks who end up on death row are not representative of society as a whole or of those who commit violent crime. As such, intentional or not, the death penalty is one more tool of historic injustice.

h.      Capital punishment removes the possibility of reform and rehabilitation. Kelly Gissendaner is a perfect example: She became an agent of grace and mercy, while owning her crime and seeking forgiveness and amendment of life. Nevertheless, even hardened criminals with no remorse should not be killed by the state – it simply brings the state down to the level of the murderer. That’s not company we should seek to keep.

i.         There is no context in which it is morally right, legitimate, or necessary for the state to kill a person who is safely sequestered and posing no meaningful threat to public safety. Unlike in the case of abortion, there are no mitigating factors or contexts that introduce any moral ambiguity into the situation: This is taking life for no good reason other than vengeance. Nothing good can possibly come of it.

These are two completely different issues, calling for different moral considerations. Complicated, to be sure, but we live in the world as it is, not as we wish it were, and the world is a complicated place.

Karma Chameleon: Doing Theology with Boy George and a 6yo girl

For reasons known only to the Holy Spirit, I had the Culture Club’s Karma Chameleon running through my head the other day. Being an extrovert, I sang it out loud while I was cooking dinner for my kids. My daughter (6yo) told me to 'stop it!' (common); but instead, I pulled up the ridiculous music video from the 80s and made her and her brother watch and listen. 

(This created an amazing teachable moment about gender, trans*, and sexual diversity as well, of which I am unashamedly proud... but that’s a story for another day.)

Two days later, I was driving her to the Y for an afternoon of swimming. The song was still in my head. So I was singing it. With all her 6yo (but eerily adolescent) sass, she asked me to explain what the song was about.

Thankfully, she’s seen Tangled, so we had a place to start re: chameleons. They can change color depending on their environment.

“So what do you think it means to call a person a ‘chameleon’?”

“I guess,” she ventured, “it means they’re different people in different places. But that doesn’t make any sense.”

“Have you ever seen someone act one way one day and another way another day? They’re nice to you one day, but the next day they’re not?”

She paused, and then she told me a story. About how - in the 1st grade - she’s already run into the Mean Girls phenomenon. Two friends from last year have decided they like other girls better than her, so if those other girls are around, they don’t like to play with my kid. When they aren’t around, then her old friends are all kinds of friendly. I may have been imagining it, but I believe I heard her voice crack a bit. I was glad I was driving, so I couldn’t see her face. I think it made her feel more free to talk.

So I told her my own story. About my two best friends in third grade who decided in fourth grade that I was no longer “cool.” Unless, of course, the more cool kids weren’t around. It broke my heart. But it taught me to be kind to people who other people don’t like. And, eventually, it taught me to believe that my value does not depend on what the cool kids think about me. I know now that what really matters is how God feels about me.

And she said, “Jesus loves you, Daddy. And so do I.” 

This is the blessing we share every night before bed, while tracing the sign of the cross on each other’s foreheads. 

I returned the favor - and I believe she may have heard my voice crack a bit. I was glad I was driving, so she couldn’t see my face. I think it made me feel more free to talk.

Then she asked, “but Daddy, what’s karma?” 

Sweet. Eastern religion on the way to the Y, on the heels of a heartbreaking conversation about mean girls and boys and the endless, unconditional love of God. What more could a pastor/theology-nerd/father ask for?

“It’s an idea,” I fumbled, “that says that if you do good things, good things will happen to you. And if you do bad things, bad things will happen to you.” 

(Yes, I understand it’s more complicated than that... but, seriously, she’s six years old.)

She didn’t skip a beat. “But that’s not true. I was nice to those girls, and they were mean to me.”

She was dead right. 

“Yup. And sometimes, I do really dumb things - like lose my temper and yell at you, or forget to listen before I talk - and every night, you tell me that Jesus loves me, and so do you. And I can’t tell you how much that makes my heart happy.”

And that, my friends, is Grace. Capital “G” Grace. 

People are mean - and wonderful. Life is hard - and beautiful. Friends, enemies, frenemies, dads, daughters - they are all complicated. And logic, karma, whatever - it doesn’t always hold.

But what holds the center - and our selves together - is this: Jesus loves you (for reasons known only to Jesus), and so do I (although some days that is really, really hard).

Being a dad is at least as theologically formative as a seminary education. And probably much more expensive (which is saying something). But so, so worth it, IMHO.