Health

Where will American religious groups fit into the newly electrified abortion debate?

Where will American religious groups fit into the newly electrified abortion debate?

The U.S. Supreme Court's agreement to review Mississippi's strict abortion law means that the public argument on this unending dispute will be the most intense in many years -- with a ruling due right in the midst of the 2022 election campaign.

Despite the Court's increased conservative majority, there's no certainty it will clamp new restrictions on abortion. Yet it's also possible that the Court might overthrow its own 1973 Roe v. Wade decision, which legalized most abortions nationwide in 1973.

If so, the impact will be momentous but not quite as apocalyptic as "pro-choice" advocates suggest. Abortion would remain widely available because decision-making would simply be returned to democratically elected state legislatures and many would maintain liberal policies. Charities might aid women in the "pro-life" states needing travel for out-of-state abortions.

For those covering the religion beat, the coming year is a major defining moment as America's variegated denominations state what they now believe about the morality of abortion and why.

After the Roe ruling, the 1976 conventions of the two major political parties began setting opposite stances. The Democrats' platform acknowledged that many Americans had "religious and ethical" concerns but opposed a Constitutional amendment to bar abortions. Similarly, the Republicans' platform stated that some in the party favored the Supreme Court's edict, but advocated such an amendment "to restore protection of the right to life for unborn children."

Religion writers well know how that basic split hardened and reshaped religious voters' political alignments. There's been less attention to the way the advent of open abortion turned around the Social Gospel thinking of Protestant liberals.


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New podcast: Religious wars over vaccines? They're more complex than those headlines

New podcast: Religious wars over vaccines? They're more complex than those headlines

Once again, it’s time for some time travel on the religion beat — as we ponder the current state of news coverage about the COVID-19 mask-and-vaccine wars.

Think back to Easter a year ago. Church leaders were wrestling with the real possibility that they would not be able to worship during Holy Week and on the holiest day on the Christian calendar. This was got lots of ink from the press, with good cause. There appeared to be two camps: (1) Crazy right-wingers (many journalists saw Donald Trump looming in the background) who wanted face-to-face worship at any cost and then (2) sensible, sane clergy willing to move to online worship and leave it at that.

The reality was more complex, especially since some (not all) government leaders seemed to think that worship was more dangerous than other forms of public life. During this week’s “Crossroads” podcast (click here to tune that in), host Todd Wilken and I discussed how it’s easy to see the same patterns in news reports on bitter battles over COVID-19 vaccines. For some on the left — see this fascinating Emma Green piece at The Atlantic — super-strict coronavirus rules have evolved into faith-based dogma.

Now for that early COVID-19 flashback. In a post and podcast a year ago, I argued that this wasn’t really a simplistic story about two groups (good churches vs. bad churches), but one in which there were at least five camps to cover:

Those five camps? They are (1) the 99% of religious leaders who cooperated and took worship online, (2) some religious leaders who (think drive-in worship or drive-thru confessions) who tried to create activities that followed [government] social-distancing standards, (3) a few preachers who rebelled, period, (4) lots of government leaders who established logical laws and tried to be consistent with sacred and secular activities and (5) some politicians who seemed to think drive-in religious events were more dangerous than their secular counterparts.

Say what? … Why were drive-in worship services — with, oh, 100 cars containing people in a big space — more dangerous than businesses and food pantry efforts that produced, well, several hundred cars in a parking lot?

These five camps still exist and we can see them in the vaccine wars.


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Plug-In: COVID-19 vaccines are still creating buzz on religion beat -- pro and con

Plug-In: COVID-19 vaccines are still creating buzz on religion beat -- pro and con

After sticking close to home for over a year, I’ve returned to in-person worship at my church in Oklahoma.

I’ve joined my sons and 2-year-old grandson in watching a game at my beloved Texas Rangers’ splashy new ballpark.

I’ve boarded an airplane and — for the first time since the pandemic hit — made a reporting trip (to Minneapolis this past weekend after Derek Chauvin’s conviction in George Floyd’s murder).

For millions, the COVID-19 vaccines have brought joy and hope, and I count myself among them after receiving my two Moderna shots.

Weekend Plug-in has covered various angles related to the vaccines and religion — from whether the shots are “morally compromised” to efforts to overcome skepticism among wary African Americans.

Still, the topic remains timely and important, as evidenced by interesting stories published just this past week:

COVID-19 has hit the Amish community hard. Still, vaccines are a tough sell (by Anna Huntsman, NPR)

Francis Collins urges evangelicals: ‘Love your neighbor,’ get COVID-19 vaccine (by Adelle M. Banks, Religion News Service)

At Orange County mosques, they come for the halal tacos and stay for the vaccination (by Alejandra Molina, RNS)

Churches, Christian universities hosting COVID-19 vaccine clinics (by Chellie Ison, Christian Chronicle)

For evangelical leader Jamie Aten, advocating for vaccines led to a death threat (by Bob Smietana, RNS)

Also, in case you missed it last week, Ryan Burge offers fascinating analysis here at ReligionUnplugged on data showing White evangelicals and Catholics are more likely to get the vaccine than religious “nones” and the general public. Yes, you read that right.


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Ministry after 2020? The year when COVID-19 caused clergy stress to zoom to a new level

Ministry after 2020? The year when COVID-19 caused clergy stress to zoom to a new level

When training pastors and chaplains, educators frequently stress the need for "boundaries" between work and home.

Clergy need -- somehow -- to find "personal" time, along with face-to-face contact with loved ones. That challenge became more difficult in the age of smartphones, texting and emails, noted Marlon C. Robinson, pastoral care director at AdventHealth in Manchester, Ky., and a specialist in marriage and family therapy.

Then came the COVID-19 lockdowns and the pressures on clergy zoomed to a whole new level.

"Everything came home, all at once," said Robinson, reached by telephone. "Pastors were spending more and more time with their families -- jammed into one space. But this wasn't quality time. Everyone was at home, but they were staring at their own phones and computer screens. There was no intimacy, and all the pressures of ministry grew even more intense."

To make matters worse, the usual struggles with church leadership and finances were complicated by political warfare and conspiracy theories that, literally, began to shape how congregations handled worship, pastoral care, education and even efforts to keep sanctuaries clean and safe.

Instead of arguing -- to cite church clichés -- about the color of new carpet or outdated hymnals, the faithful were fighting about whether masks were necessary to save lives or merely "politically correct" virtue signals.

Meanwhile, people were sick, and some died, with their pastors and families on the other side of locked hospital or nursing-home doors. And it was illegal to have funerals? Attendance dropped, along with offerings. More than a few members vanished.

Ministers "are inundated with phone calls, emails, text and WhatsApp messages, and communications through a host of other platforms," wrote Robinson, in Ministry Magazine.

While it's impossible to know how many will flee the ministry, early research indicates pastors are "experiencing intensified stress levels that … put them at increased risk for developing a mental illness. …


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Pandora's box? Wall Street Journal piece on human-animal hybrids needs more than vague ethics

Pandora's box? Wall Street Journal piece on human-animal hybrids needs more than vague ethics

My $19/month Wall Street Journal subscription is pricey, I admit, but every so often there comes a story that makes the investment worthwhile.

Or at least causes you to do a double take.

Such was Monday’s piece titled “Creation of First Human-Monkey Embryos Causes Concern.”

Excuse me? Do read on:

Imagine pigs with human hearts or mice whose brains have a spark of human intelligence. Scientists are cultivating a flock of such experimental creations, called chimeras, by injecting potent human cells into mice, rats, pigs and cows. They hope the new combinations might one day be used to grow human organs for transplants, study human illnesses or to test new drugs.

In the latest advance, researchers in the U.S. and China announced earlier this month that they made embryos that combined human and monkey cells for the first time. So far, these human-monkey chimeras (pronounced ky-meer-uhs) are no more than bundles of budding cells in a lab dish, but the implications are far-reaching, ethics experts say. The use of primates so closely related to humans raises concerns about unintended consequences, animal welfare and the moral status of hybrid embryos, even if the scientific value of the work may be quite high.

The idea of chimeras brings up images of half-human, half-beast gargoyles.

The bottom line: This story screams for some kind of input from religious leaders and academics. After all, doesn’t the creation of these … things have something to do with the whole concept of what is human or not?


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Stunning AP photos of mass cremations in India: But what about religious traditions?

Stunning AP photos of mass cremations in India: But what about religious traditions?

Draw up a list of the world’s most religious nations and India (population 1.4 billion) will almost always be somewhere near the top — especially if you focus on the world’s largest nations, in terms of population.

What makes India unique, however, is its incredible religious complexity. While Hindu believers make up about 80% of the population, 15% of the population is Muslim. In terms of sheer numbers, India has the world’s second largest Muslim population (after Indonesia). India has small, but historically important, Christian communities, mostly Catholic and Anglican.

The tensions between India’s various traditions are quite stunning and complex. But so are they way that the major faith groups overlap and blend into a larger whole. The bottom line: There are very few issues in this amazing land that are not, to some degree, touched by religious traditions — even if people struggle to describe the details.

This brings me to a stunning Associated Press photo feature that ran with this headline: “Mass funeral pyres reflect India’s COVID crisis.

Pause for a minute and ponder this question: How many story angles — some of them quite controversial — can you imagine that are linked to funeral pyres and Hindu traditions? Now, imagine the complex issues that waves of COVID-19 deaths would create in India’s faith communities, with their unique traditions linked to death and dying.

Now imagine dedicating a mere one sentence to only one of those angles. Here is the overture, describing the larger crisis:

NEW DELHI (AP) — Delhi has been cremating so many bodies of COVID-19 victims that authorities are getting requests to start cutting down trees in city parks for kindling, as a record surge of illness is collapsing India’s tattered health care system.

Outside graveyards in cities like Delhi, which currently has the highest daily cases, ambulance after ambulance waits in line to cremate the dead. Burial grounds are running out of space in many cities as glowing funeral pyres blaze through the night.


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Lots of Mississippi folks don't want COVID-19 vaccines: They're white evangelicals, right?

Lots of Mississippi folks don't want COVID-19 vaccines: They're white evangelicals, right?

One of the snarkiest things an editor can say to a reporter — after reading a story that has been turned in for editing — is this: You really need to read your own newspaper.

Most of the time, this means that a reporter has produced a story about a topic the newspaper has already covered, yet the new story failed to engage with some of the previously reported information. Maybe the new material even clashes with an earlier story. That may be good, but the earlier reporting still needs to be acknowledged.

I thought about this while reading a New York Times piece that ran with this double-decker headline:

Why Mississippi Has Few Takers for 73,000 Covid Shots

The good news: There are more shots available. The challenge is getting people to take them.

Now, what I’m about to say may sound strange, in light of what I argued in last week’s “Crossroads” podcast, the one linked to the post with this headline: “New podcast: Familiar splits among white 'evangelicals,' only now they're about vaccines.

That post/podcast focused, in large part, on a recent Times piece that claimed believers inside the dreaded white-evangelical monolith were America’s biggest pandemic problem, in terms of flyover-country people who are refusing to get their COVID-19 vaccine shots. A quotation linked to that thesis said:

“If we can’t get a significant number of white evangelicals to come around on this, the pandemic is going to last much longer than it needs to,” said Jamie Aten, founder and executive director of the Humanitarian Disaster Institute at Wheaton College, an evangelical institution in Illinois.

The story cited a poll indicating that 45% of white evangelicals planned to refuse their shots, while 55% planned to cooperate with anti-pandemic programs. I noted that these numbers were solid evidence of a DIVISION inside white evangelicalism, not a sign of unity in opposition to vaccines.

What is the big problem in Mississippi, where there are lots of empty slots on the lists where people sign up for appointments to get shots?


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New podcast: Familiar splits among white 'evangelicals,' only now they're about vaccines

New podcast: Familiar splits among white 'evangelicals,' only now they're about vaccines

It’s really a matter of simple math and logic.

Let’s start with this question, stripped of the political and journalism questions attached to it: Which of the following numbers is larger and, thus, more important — 45 or 55?

If you said “45,” then you’re ready to write headlines and edit controversial stories for The New York Times.

Before we move on, let’s ask another question that was at the heart of this week’s “Crossroads” podcast (click here to tune that in). I’ll frame this in as neutral a manner as possible: If members of the Democratic Party were divided 55% “yes” to 45% “no” on a major decision, would you see this (a) as a sign that Democrats were united in opposition to the question at hand or (b) that Democrats were starkly divided on the question, with a majority taking a positive stance? I should mention that the 55% “yes” vote includes virtually all of leaders of major institutions within the world of Democratic Party life.

With that in mind, let’s contemplate the story under the following double-decker headline from the Times:

White Evangelical Resistance Is Obstacle in Vaccination Effort

Millions of white evangelical adults in the U.S. do not intend to get vaccinated against Covid-19. Tenets of faith and mistrust of science play a role; so does politics.

This brings us to the crucial summary material in this story:

The opposition is rooted in a mix of religious faith and a longstanding wariness of mainstream science, and it is fueled by broader cultural distrust of institutions and gravitation to online conspiracy theories. The sheer size of the community poses a major problem for the country’s ability to recover from a pandemic that has resulted in the deaths of half a million Americans. And evangelical ideas and instincts have a way of spreading, even internationally.

There are about 41 million white evangelical adults in the U.S. About 45 percent said in late February that they would not get vaccinated against Covid-19, making them among the least likely demographic groups to do so, according to the Pew Research Center.

“If we can’t get a significant number of white evangelicals to come around on this, the pandemic is going to last much longer than it needs to,” said Jamie Aten, founder and executive director of the Humanitarian Disaster Institute at Wheaton College, an evangelical institution in Illinois.


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'I Love Jesus, But I Want to Die' -- A sobering message to church leaders on mental health

'I Love Jesus, But I Want to Die' -- A sobering message to church leaders on mental health

The first time Sarah J. Robinson tried to kill herself was eight months after she became a born-again Christian.

She had struggled with suicidal thoughts since elementary school. She would imagine jumping into highway traffic or fill her hand with pills and consider swallowing them. But her depression only deepened after she was baptized as a teen and poured herself into Bible studies and upbeat youth-group projects.

She felt like a failure. Finally, she pressed a knife harder and harder into her skin -- but she couldn't force herself to end it all on the kitchen floor. Looking back, she wrote: "I didn't want my family to find me there, so I got up and put the knife away. I climbed into bed, put on a worship CD, cursed God and went to sleep."

Robinson kept stacks of journals and they provided crucial material for "I Love Jesus, But I Want to Die," a book written during three years of struggle and research. Her battles with depression have continued, even during her years working as a youth minister.

Images of handwritten pages appear in the book, including this 2007 plea: "Lord, I'm struggling. I need your help. This week has been really rough -- I've been sad & lonely & angry & numb. I cut myself and berated myself, wished for the end, tried so hard to hide it. I'm not just empty -- I've become a vacuum, taking on more and more of the absence of your presence. … God, please don't let me be lost."

It was hard to be that vulnerable, said Robinson, reached by telephone in Nashville. But including actual journal pages "seemed like a no-brainer" if the goal was to "let other people who are hurting know they are not alone. I wanted them to know that I've been there -- in that kind of midnight."

Among secular researchers, it's common to find two views of mental-health issues, said Robinson, citing the work of Stanford University researcher Carol Dweck. The first is a "fixed mindset" that assumes these conditions are predetermined and unchangeable. Thus, "setbacks and failures reveal who we really are and will always be," said Robinson." The second is a "growth mindset" that says individuals can adapt and change.

In pews and pulpits, many believers simply assume all mental-health struggles represent a lack of faith. Strugglers will be healed if they dedicate themselves to Bible study and prayer, while turning away from their sins. Church-based "pastoral counseling" is an option.

"The idea is that if I put the right things into the spiritual vending machine, then I'll get the right things out," said Robinson.


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