Why I’m Done Debating Human Dignity
Until someone has even started the work of awareness and lament, there can be no meaningful conversation, much less reconciliation. You can't reconcile with someone who won't even acknowledge the harm they're causing.
I'm a fan of Neil DeGrasse Tyson's stance on Six Day Creationists - he won't debate them. Period. Debating them creates a false equivalence. It's like setting up a debate between watering your plants and sacrificing a goat to make them grow. One has evidence; the other is mythology.
We see this play out in cable news all the time. CNN puts two people in split screen - one representing the 97% of scientists who affirm human-caused climate change, the other representing...well, something else entirely. The visual framing suggests these views deserve equal consideration. They don't.
In DC recently, there was event focused on "navigating theological differences," particularly around LGBTQ+ inclusion. And while I appreciate the desire for unity and understanding, I have some real concerns about these kinds of conversations.
The Problem: Debating Human Dignity
Here's the thing - these events often feature people who believe that queer folks shouldn't be allowed to lead churches or get married. You can also find debates or "conversations" that argue if Christian nationalism and authoritarianism are compatible with following Jesus. We're meant to see these as just different perspectives on the "theological spectrum." But is it really just theology when one side is actively working to deny basic human rights and dignity? When they're supporting political movements that deliberately harm marginalized communities?
What if instead we started with some basic assumptions: that LGBTQ+ people are fully, unquestionably human; that democracy and pluralism better reflect God's kingdom than authoritarianism; that everyone deserves equal access to justice, healthcare, and freedom from harassment? Then we could explore actual ideological differences within that framework of human dignity.
No Reconciliation Without Accountability
I'll admit that I can find myself torn. On one hand, I recognize that many Christians hold harmful theological and political views. Should I try to engage with them? Build bridges? Or is platforming these views just giving oxygen to ideas that need to die out?
I'll also admit that I have some relational pain here. I lived and worked in rural Iowa for ten years. I pastored hundreds of people. I can count on two hands the number of folks I feel like I influenced away from harmful ideology. And too many more who have fallen for conspiracy theories, bigotry, and authoritarian politics.
Trying to be winsome didn’t work. Trying to be confrontational didn’t either.
I'm deeply influenced by LaTasha Morrison's framework for true reconciliation. She outlines a clear path:
- Awareness
- Lament
- Guilt and Shame
- Confession
- Forgiveness
- Repentance
- Reparation
- Reconciliation
Here's what strikes me—until someone has even started the work of awareness and lament, there can be no meaningful conversation, much less reconciliation. You can't reconcile with someone who won't even acknowledge the harm they're causing. These days, I'm leaning toward simply living out my values and letting my life be the argument. As Jesus said, "Wisdom is proved right by her deeds."
Check Your Privilege
Here's where it gets complicated for me personally. As a straight, cis, able-bodied male pastor, I carry a lot of privilege. If someone belongs to a marginalized group, they have zero obligation to engage in conversations that might harm them. But what about me? Should I use my privilege to engage in these difficult conversations?
I'm increasingly convinced that my role isn't to debate with those causing harm, but rather to stand alongside those being harmed. To use my privilege to amplify marginalized voices and create spaces where all people can flourish.
What Would Jesus Do? (No, Really)
Looking at Jesus' life, I notice he wasn't big on theological debate with the powerful. Instead, he asked provocative questions, called out religious bigotry, and told his disciples that when someone wouldn't listen, they should just shake the dust off their feet and move on. Not a bad approach, honestly.
Moving Forward
I don't have this all figured out. While I'm increasingly convinced that engaging with harmful theology and politics isn't the best use of my time and energy, I remain open to being wrong about this. For now, I'll keep focusing on creating spaces where all people can flourish, rather than debating whether they should be allowed to exist.
The Gospel isn't really an ideology up for debate anyway. It's meant to be lived. And living it means standing firmly against those who would use it as a weapon of oppression.
Remember this: Jesus reserved his harshest words not for the marginalized or the outcasts, but for religious leaders who placed heavy burdens on others while refusing to lift a finger to help. The most Christ-like thing we can do is say "no" to false unity that perpetuates harm.