supporting the Republican platform means you support incest perpetrators

She was only ten when he started coming in to her room at night. “Just let me lie with you,” her Daddy said.

By the time she was sixteen they had sex once a week when her Mother was at the gym. Sometimes more often when her Mother was out of town.

The week before she went to college she found out she was pregnant. She had been with no other men. Only her Father.

The Republican platform would require this girl to carry that child to term. She would have no other legal or safe options.

Some of the Republicans who stray from their party’s official platform might require her to go ask her parents for permission to get an abortion. Imagine her asking her mother or father that question.

Abortion is complicated. No one thinks it is a simple issue. No one has clear answers. No honest person really believes it is ever easy.

Surely, though, we can all agree that this child abuser, this perpetrator of incest, this “Father,” shouldn’t have more rights than his daughter? Should she be forced to spend nine months carrying that baby?

The Republican platform says she must.

For those of you who so desperately cling to the idea that, “Oh, that’s just the freaks on the far right, *real* Republicans understand there are situations where a woman should have a right to an abortion,” consider this: Any Republican who wants to get financial support from the party must sign the platform. So, if they want to have the support of the Republican party they either they agree that abortion is always wrong, or they are liars.

supporting the Republican platform means you support rapists

Progressives have been a bunch of well-intentioned but misguided wuss-bags. Stuck in the Enlightenment version of how our minds work, we’ve missed the brain science boat conservatives jumped onto forty years ago.

Until I read George Lakoff’s The Political Mind and now as I’m finishing Drew Westen’s The Political Brain I was misguided, too. I thought it best to stay “above” the low-brow games the right wing played, appealing to people’s fears and encouraging misinformation. Turns out they’re just ahead of the game in understanding how our brains work.

Take Cathy*, the 24 year old administrative assistant in a small southern town. Avidly against abortion, a faithful church-goer, she’s just finished college and moved into her own place with a friend. The small two bedroom apartment is above a local dive bar, but the girls don’t mind. It’s exciting and makes it feel a bit like they’ve move to the big city without having to leave the comfort of home.

On her way home from work one evening, Cathy stops at the supermarket to get some eggs and cereal. As she leaves, crosses the street, and walks toward her new home, she doesn’t notice the man in the dark hooded sweatshirt following her. She gets to her door, opens it with her key (you can’t be too careful, even in small town America), and starts up the stairs. The stranger catches the door before it closes, slams Cathy onto the stairs, and rapes her. A month later, Cathy finds she is pregnant. She was going to wait until she was married before having sex. The rape has sent her into a tailspin over the last few weeks and now, finding she is pregnant, she feels lost. She considers killing herself, but knows that is a sin. Everyone she knows is against abortion. No one would understand. But even the thought of carrying this man’s baby makes her sick to her stomach. She cries herself to sleep for days.

The Republicans with their “abortion is always wrong” position believe Cathy must carry this child to term. They believe the rapist’s right to impregnate Cathy and control her life is more important than her right to end the pregnancy.

I tweeted about this today (supporting the Republican platform means you support rapists) and got a satisfactory response. I was called stupid, told I should think before I speak, and other pathetic attempts at insults. According to the Republican platform, a woman’s right to have an abortion is less important than a rapist’s right to force her to bear his child.

This is just one of many posts I expect I’ll be making about ditching old Enlightenment ideas of how our minds work (rational reasoning) in favor of the real processes with which we make decisions (emotions, metaphors, framing, neural networks). Progressives are going to keep losing, big time, and the Sarah Palins of the world are going to keep boggling our minds and blowing us out of the water if we don’t learn these lessons fast.
*The Cathy story is entirely fictional, but to be effective progressives need to tell stories illustrating their values and principles.

christian with a lowercase c

My four year old says, “I’m Mary and this is baby Jesus” and proceeds to sing all the words to “Oh Come, Oh Come, Emmanuel.” The time has come for me to explain why I’m christian. And why I’m not a Christian.

“I’m a Christian” vs. “I’m christian.”

First let’s be clear. I’m not “a Christian.” The right-wing fundamentalists have taken over that term with disturbing voracity. It makes me sick to my stomach to risk being grouped with such generally hateful sorts. Christian (with a C) now means to me, and to so many I talk with, an almost drug induced state of bliss (denial of questions or doubts), glazed eyes (from crying tears of joy when someone is “saved”), rigid rules. Mostly, Christian with a C requires following the strict-father model of living. It means a woman has no right to say what happens to her body. It means taxing the wealthy, stripping social services to nothing, and expecting the poorest among us to support it all. It means same-gender love is wrong. I want nothing to do with Christian with a C.

I am christian, though. I strive to live like Jesus did. That’s the essence of it, how I explain it to my daughter. In four year old terms, it’s pretty simple. Love everyone. Do whatever you can to help rid the world of injustice. Forgive yourself and others for our human frailties. Know that all you can do is your best and that is enough.

The magical fairyland of miracles.

But what about the “miracles,” the loaves and fishes, the healing blindness, bringing people back from the dead? Or, as Maya asked today at lunch, “Are angels real?” My answer is also pretty simple. I don’t get hung up on whether or not those things are literally true (it might lean into the sort of magical fairyland kind of thing, would it not?) or if they are only metaphors and lessons. I recognize that humans wrote the Bible, so the stories are most likely stories. I take the lessons from them and move on.

But what about the rising from the dead? Again, I don’t get hung up. Literal or not it isn’t a huge deal to me. The lessons that we’re all Okay, that we are always forgiven for our mistakes, and that the power of god is bigger than any human — that’s enough for me.

The truth is, though, at this moment I believe Jesus literally came back to life. When I’m in my “maybe it didn’t literally happen” times, it doesn’t scare me. Those thoughts fit perfectly in my faith, believing the truth of it as miracle or metaphor doesn’t change the message.

I recognize being raised by a minister and faithfully christian mother has a great deal to do with the likelihood that I’ll not find the story of the resurrection in the land with dragons, trolls, and fairies. Then again, as we all know, it could have pushed me farther away from believing the story. And, again, while I do happen to believe it actually happened, it’s not the biggest part of christianity for me.

I believe christianity is a religion of social justice. Jesus ate with and talked with women. With tax collectors. With sinners and untouchables of all sorts. Talking seriously with such non-people was rebelious enough, but to wash their feet or share a table with them was truly radical. He told poor people that they were the most special of all. He said people should love their enemies. He was a teacher.

After the sadness and revulsion I feel for those people I feel are butchering Jesus’ messages, those cap C’s, I realized there was another great obstacle preventing me from embracing the christian label.

I don’t believe Jesus would want our worship. The Jesus I understand would not want us to bow down to him. He would not want to be treated as someone more special than any other person. He certainly wouldn’t want me calling him “Lord.” Teacher, sure, but Lord, no way.

So, how could I be christian if I won’t pray to Jesus? That’s the question I grappled with for about the last ten years. But my truth has found me and I know now that, for me, being christian means I want to be as much like Jesus as possible. I want to be bold, courageous, and intelligent. I want to stay centered in my connection with god in all times of my life, as much as I can. I want to forgive myself and others every minute of every day. And, most of all, I want to help change the world. I want to help my neighbors near and far. I want people who are suffering to find justice, and I want to help make that happen.

What about Jesus as 100% god and 100% human?

The other hangup I had when I didn’t consider myself christian was the stance that Jesus was 100% God, different than us humans. As with so many of my understandings of my christianity, I realize it’s an issue of translation. The miracles were probably story telling tools. Jesus was a great healer (this is historical fact, not religious belief, though the ideas of what kind of healing he did are disputed), but was he as powerful as god? In my view, no. In my view, Jesus was astoundingly good at staying connected to god. He was clearly “centered” as we might say today. Serene. At peace most of the time. In no great hurry.

Again, I find Jesus to be a role model for my spiritual life. I know from my own experience that staying connected to what I call god keeps me relatively sane. I know peace when I am strongly connected to that strength. It’s my view that Jesus really got it– he found a way to stay connected more often than he was distracted by daily life. He was the ultimately god-connected person. Whether that was through prayer and meditation, through yoga, through great conversations with loved ones, or through times of quiet, I don’t know. But from what I know of the man named Jesus, I can tell he wasn’t easily distracted from his source of peace and strength.

But surely, you won’t stand for the Father Lord King garbage, will you?

No. I won’t stand for it. Mostly. My conception of god is not at all paternal. I certainly don’t think Jesus would dig that kind of reference in this day and age. But, in those days when women were dismissed and not counted, using paternal references to describe power and strength makes sense. In the days of rulers like Kings and Emperors it makes sense that Jesus and others would use the language of the day. Shortcuts, if you will, to explain they believed that god was extraordinarily powerful.

When I go to church with my parents, or continue our search for a church that meets our own family’s needs, I spend a lot of time translating so I can tolerate the paternal and inegalitarian concepts and language used. I usually don’t even like to use a capital letter G on god, it’s too high-and-mighty for me. Through the translation, though, I can still hear the message:

  • Be kind.
  • Be just.
  • Be brave.
  • Care for those who need help.
  • Don’t put up with shit from hateful people.
  • Love yourself and others.
So as Maya plays Mary, sings the Christmas hymns with all her might, and hears a bit more of the Christmas story every morning when we sing Oh Come, Oh Come Emmanuel at breakfast, I feel good being christian. I feel honored that our child asks such probing questions, forcing me to articulate in the simplest terms what I believe. I always begin by saying, “Well, not everyone believes this,” or, “Some people believe that is true, but I don’t.” But I almost always end up telling her the truest truth I know. The most important thing is that we try to love everyone in the world and help people who need it most.
Later that day she was playing store and announced, “I work for the giving store. We prepare food to give to people who don’t have enough.”

I believe Jesus would be glad.