It’s integrity, not labeling, that matters

Afriend asked me the other day, “What do you stand for?” The question was in reference to abortion as he is staunchly pro-choice, and I think wishes I would declare myself as such, since in general, though we may spar about it from time to time, we agree about the issue.

I don’t know why the label is so uncomfortable for me except to say that I am uncomfortable with most labels. They are like clothes that don’t quite fit. I either feel too constricted like I do in my many hated pairs of Spanx, or swallowed, so that important nuances get lost under a covering that is much too big.

I can—and sometimes do—describe myself as pro-life and prochoice, because for me the two are not mutually exclusive. The Bible teacher Beth Moore uses the term “pro-whole life,” which I like.

I tried to use that term to explain where I stand one time with a political group. But they were not interested in extrapolating the term or envisioning the idea of a middle ground, and ostracized me because I didn’t check their “pro-choice” box.

I guarantee there will be those who read this column and decide to do that from the other side since I cannot check the “pro-life” box either without qualifications. And that’s the real problem with labels— they tend to sort people into boxes.

When those with money and power co-opt a label, it’s as if they own it and can weaponize it for political gain. Meaning gets swallowed up by a bigger agenda. Nuances are purposefully obscured. Everyone stays in their boxes, closed off from others who don’t wear the label. This effectively ends conversations that really need to be had, which is why such strict labels are unhealthy for human relations in general but on a larger scale, democracy.

I have been thinking about this in terms of my religious upbringing. I grew up in a Southern Baptist Church where most of my Sunday School teachers were also public-school teachers. We had two pastors through my childhood and adolescence; both were married to public-school teachers.

My dad, a public-school principal, was a deacon, and of the rest of the deacon body I recall at least half were either public-school employees or married to one. Same for the song leaders. It would have been absolutely absurd for a political party that denigrates public schools and teachers to claim to represent that church’s membership.

Yet today, association with any other party would likely cause the members to question your status as a Christian. The current leaders of that church home-school their children. And I just learned from a friend that the other Baptist church in town is about to hire a pastor whose family homeschools their seven children.

I am not saying it is bad to homeschool. I have plenty of friends who home-school their children for various reasons; I considered it as I am a teacher and mother hen who likes to keep my kids close.

I once had a vision of giving my kids a classical education they could not access in rural Arkansas, learning Latin alongside them, the whole bit. I remember sitting on my deck with Grace, 5, and Harper, 3, and trying to cast this vision by asking them what they wanted to learn that year. “Spanish? French? Multiplication tables?”

Grace said those might be OK but first she wanted to learn to ride her bike without training wheels. Harper took a swig of his sippy cup and licked the apple juice from his lips. Then told me in no uncertain terms: “I don’t really care about that stuff. I want to learn not to be scared of Grand-daddy Longlegs.”

I am happy to report we did achieve both of those learning objectives that year, if nothing else. Grace headed to County Line Elementary School the next fall. Harper followed her in two years. Public school was right for my family, but I would never take away parents’ right to homeschool if they choose.

The point I am trying to make is that the culture has shifted from a place in which evangelical Christians love their public schools to a place where they are indoctrinated to fear them. It feels like it happened overnight, but it didn’t. Angie Maxwell traces the shift over years and years in her masterpiece “The Long Southern Strategy.” There’s another book by Kristin Kobes Du Mez that makes a good accompaniment, “Jesus and John Wayne.” Both cover many aspects of this shift, including the framing of the abortion debate, but it is the public-school thing that I find most puzzling. When did evangelical become synonymous with isolationist, which is the polar opposite of the gospel of Jesus?

For those of us who believe Matthew’s New Testament account, Jesus said in verses 19-20 for us to go out and teach everyone the good news, and that he would be with us. That is what Jesus-loving teachers like me around this state do every day in public schools. We don’t hide our light under a bushel. We take Jesus with us out into the world and try to love kids like he did, regardless of their backgrounds, abilities, socioeconomic levels, religion, gender, sexuality, or anything else. We try to keep them safe and teach them so they can learn the skills they need to be successful.

I told my friend I stand for schools that are free and open to all students, and I don’t stand for political parties that expect me to be a robot who checks all the boxes they tell me or else. I stand for building a culture where the label is a lot less important than the integrity of the person who wears it.

I stand for people thinking—and reaching and reading and writing and speaking and working and playing and praying and preaching and teaching and living and loving and learning and dancing and voting— outside the box.