“The gospel is for all creation.” It’s a theological proclamation that is sometimes offered flippantly, words to check an ideological box marked “creation care,” disappearing only moments after they pass the speaker’s lips. When Dr. Andrew Wymer says them aloud, however, he is cleareyed that this conviction demands dramatic transformation for both how preachers address ecological concerns from the pulpit and the way many congregations view the relationship between God, humanity, and the natural world. Garrett Seminary’s Associate Professor of Preaching and Worship doesn’t claim to be an expert in ecotheologies, but insights from the field and his work in local environmental justice advocacy are prompting him to ask significant questions—ones that reframe how homiletics engages nature and neighbor—and invite students to do the same.

 

In many churches, the relationship between preaching and ecology still only extends to an Earth Day sermon, or perhaps questions of land sovereignty on Indigenous People’s Day. In those moments, the climate crisis looms large; an existential threat that, in the speakers’ telling, indicts our failure to serve as good stewards of the Earth. “To limit our thinking about creation to this present duress, to confine it neatly within ‘environmentalism,’ doesn’t fully reflect the record of ancient scriptures.” Dr. Wymer notes. “It doesn’tengage what it means to consider non-human actors in the biblical narratives and Christian tradition. But the other thing that is often missing from Earth Day or the Season of Creation is a critical awareness of power, the understanding that there are broader, systemic forces at play creating environmental and climate injustice.”

 

Indeed, the past two decades have witnessed much conflict in environmental non-profits about how climate messaging has often reflected and prioritized white, privileged concerns and downplayed environmental racism and other systemic harms. A parallel reckoning in churches is long overdue. “Single-issue environmentalism can be very dangerous and harmful to systemically marginalized communities,” Dr. Wymer says. “The job of the preacher, then, is to expand awareness—find out what is happening in your area and draw the connections between environmental injustice, racial injustice, poverty. This is not something you have to make up. You have to be attentive to where creation is not being cared for appropriately and how that is differently experienced by members of the community.”

 

But connecting environmental harm to other pressing justice concerns isn’t the only challenge that faces ecological preaching. There’s also an underlying anthropocentrism that is difficult to change. “If the gospel is for all creation, we can’t only center humans. What is the good news for the animals, plants, soil, and water in your neighborhood?” Dr. Wymer asks. “What does it mean to think of all creation praising God—that we worship in a broad and interconnected ecology of praise? What would it mean to learn how to preach from the birds—what creative possibilities could that lend to us in thinking about the structure of sermons, or how we engage a liturgical moment?” These questions reflect a strong influence from indigenous theologians and other voices who have advocated non-human personhood, unsettling long-held Western assumptions about a hierarchy within creation. “The systems changes we want to see in our world,” Dr. Wymer points out, “also require a systems change in our preaching.”

 

It’s fertile terrain he plans to explore with Garrett students. “In the coming year, I’m offering a course called ‘Praying with the Earth,’ and we will spend the entire course outside,” he notes. “I want to find ways and patterns and approaches to prayer that draw us into relationship with a wide variety of ecological contexts.” It’s not clear from the outset where that journey will lead, but Dr. Wymer wants that experience of collective discovery to be part of what he and students learn together, creating space for the Spirit to move in unexpected ways.

 

This inquisitive disposition is something he suggests more preachers follow. “It’s crucial to demonstrate to your congregation that you don’t always have to be the expert. You can model learning and expanding your own awareness,” he observes. It’s an approach that will likewise serve congregations as they seek to better understand ecological justice concerns in their communities. “A colleague and I did a research project in Flint, Michigan years ago. The lesson I took away from there at the direct urging of people who experienced the Flint Water Crisis was, ‘Go back to your home, because this is happening there, too. Find out where.” Dr. Wymer reports. “The relationships we build in our community and the justice work that we do together can be more important than any sermon we’ll preach.”

 

This calling is at the heart of Garrett’s Center for Ecological Regeneration, which is currently building a Midwest Bioregional Hub to nurture relationships between churches who are asking these crucial questions, and who will offer a . These offerings and more seek to partner with ministers and congregations to discern how to transform “creation care” from a siloed concern into an integrated part of their justice work—one that demands new theological frames. “Get embedded in your place,” Dr. Wymer counsels. “We can be in deep partnership with one another, and with creation.”

“Now Mary stood outside the tomb crying. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb.” (John 20:11)

 

This is how John begins his account of Jesus’ first appearance after the resurrection. Mary Magdalene arrives at the tomb distraught to find the stone rolled away. The disciples follow, approaching death gingerly, then swiftly departingonce they confirm Mary’s story, but none of them see the risen Christ. It is only when Mary returns to the tomb and faces the fullness of her grief—inclining her body toward the emptiness before her—that Jesus reveals himself and asks, “Who are you looking for?” In that moment, God proclaims that violence is not the ultimate force shaping our world.

 

This is the scandal of resurrection: precisely when death seems triumphant and despair all-encompassing, when violence seems like the only path forward to transform the world, love breaks through its grip and shatters that illusion.

 

Mary’s story also reveals something about the faith required to experience this promise. When she first arrives at the tomb, she runs to tell the others—a faithful act, yet one that moves quickly past the sorrow of the moment. When she returns and allows herself to weep, allows herself to mourn the way violence and the misuse of power took from her the life of someone she deeply loves, she remains present to the grief she carries. Love meets loss, and in that encountershe glimpses a deeper reality: God still breathes.

 

It is a word for our own time. We live in a world where suffering, conflict, and uncertainty often seem to multiply around us, like the tombs that proliferate by the minute as a result of senseless, unjust violence. In moments like these, it can be tempting to rush past grief or to respond with the same fear and anger that shape so much of public life. Yet the resurrection reminds us that God meets us precisely in those places where hope appears most fragile.

 

This is the truth Jesus speaks even from the cross: “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” Those who crucified Jesus understood the pain they inflicted. What they could not see was that a world built on domination and death cannot endure. Violence, even when ostensibly wielded in the name of peace, only multiplies the very wounds it seeks to remedy. God’s work in Christ reveals a deeper power—the power of love that leads toward new life and liberation.

 

The challenge of faith is to hold fast to this truth without ignoring or minimizing the suffering around us. How do we grieve the senseless loss of life across our world, or the struggles faced by families in our own communities, without allowing despair to shape our vision? How do we not let our hearts succumb to the logic of violence, allowing space for an inverse hatred to masquerade as faithful response? How do we build communities of resurrection—places where God’s repair, healing, and hope take root?

 

I see that story unfolding every day in the witness of the expansive community we call Garrett-Evangelical. I witness students who, like Mary, bear a courageous faith that lets them fully weep beside the tomb, and face the realities of our world with honesty and faith. And our graduates continue that work in congregations and communities across the country and around the globe.

 

Crucifixion is real; suffering leaves a deep mark. The risen Christ still bears the wounds of the cross. Yet resurrection is real as well. Each act of compassion, each community shaped by justice and mercy, each faithful witness to hope bears witness to the God who brings life out of death.

 

This Easter, may we have the courage to linger beside the tomb long enough to encounter the God who meets us there. May we follow where Christ leads—toward a world where swords are turned into plowshares and spears into pruning hooks. And may we take up our calling not as saviors of the world, but as faithful servants who kindle hope instead of despair, and who proclaim that the violence and death that seems to reign will not have the final word.

 

Happy Easter,

 

Javier A. Viera, President

I first came to Garrett in 2017 as an international student, to learn about theology and think about my role in the ministry of the church. It was also a time when I began deeply questioningmy cultural identity—my Korean-born, New Zealand raised, English-speaking self that naturally passed as a Korean American—a confusing matter, on top of all the theological questions.

 

While I spent much time re-defining who I was, and what I belonged to, Garrett helped me unlearn and relearn about myself and my faith. My time in the M.DIV program (2017-2022) was liberating as I was able to explore myself beyond belongingness—it gave me a new language to describe my identity, my faith, and my theology, in addition to an expanded perspective onthe world. Garrett became a new home, and my comfort zone.

 

In unfortunate times, I had to return to Seoul during the COVID-19 pandemic, right in the middle of the 2020 spring semester. Although I was returning home, “home” required re-locating, re-adjusting and re-learning the context. Perhaps I returned a different self then when I left, but still, motherland seemed foreign. The newly updated-self spent a long time trying to translate this new language into the mother tongue—constantly seeking validation that what I learned in the U.S can be comprehended in Korea as well.

 

Amid it all, I continued with life. I served as a part-time pastor, an English tutor, and an online international student—now all in Korea. In close proximity, I experienced the diverse social landscape of children within the Korean Church. Especially during the pandemic, I saw how the church and congregations flexibly shifted, pushing through the unprepared and unfamiliar time. Experiencing Korea at a microscopic level expanded my perspective and understanding of my motherland to a very different level. Motherland did not need my translation, in fact, it required me to re-learn to speak in her way. I needed to see and understand home from a different perspective, through a different lens, with a different method, using different analogies. Being contextual, not from the outside, but from the inside, at the center.

 

Now, as a place of ministry, I am continuing my journey and efforts to keep my perspective from the inside. As part of the educational ministries for children, youth, and young adults in the local churches in Seoul, I am much better at reading the landscapes, the lives of the people, with a better understanding of the Korean Church. In deeper yearning to be educated to help the younger generation of Korea—in other words, future leaders of the Korean Church—I wanted to return to Garrett, this time staying in Korea.

 

Gratefully, with the option of studying overseas, I am currently an online international Master of Arts in Theology and Ministry student, with a concentration in educational leadership. Learning online helps me to stay in stronger connection to my context; while continuing studies in the new languages I have attained. Grateful to Garrett’s new and developingtechnological environment, my learning spaces are expanded not just to the U.S, but with students from all over the world. Not only do I get to stay close to the roots of my education, I am given the opportunity to experiment, apply and adapt these lessons to our lives, in our contexts, and ministries. I am also supported with faculty and staff attentive to the diversity of culture, faith, and time differences, helping students not just to learn, but also to think about each other’s contexts. The intentional learning community Garrett has built is an inspiration, and kindles hope for the ministries that we imagine together.

 

For me, Garrett is a place that redefines who I am through critical education and theological journey. It continues to help me stay a striving learner, a practical theologian, and a passionate minister today. Feeling closer and at home more than ever, I am excited to continue dreaming how we can raise generations of Christian leaders in Korea, who will empower my people, our Church, and the world.

 

“It’s scary, but that’s exactly why we show up for our community in these hard times.” Nellie Quintana is resolute when I ask her about the Via Crucis procession’s importance for Chicago’s Pilsen neighborhood. For half a century, Good Friday has brought thousands of people into the streets, as costumed performers enact the way of the cross down the center of 18th street. Quintana first participated in 1989 as a ten year-old child; almost forty years later, the annual celebration still invokes God’s presence. “We do this for the community, out of love for our neighbors,” she explains. “We’re going to support each other as brothers and sisters in Christ.”

 

That support is deeply needed in a year where ICE raids have terrorized Latine communities throughout Chicagoland, with particular focus on Pilsen’s streets. organized a clergy delegation the past two years to bring love and support to the procession, and Collective director rev. abby mohaupt knew that ministry of presence was even more important now. “Since I came to Garrett in 2023, it’s been a deep privilege to collaborate with Nellie to build a supportive relationship between the collective and Via Crucis,” rev. mohaupt says. “We come to Pilsen and to Via Crucis as witnesses and collaborators.” Quintana feels that care, and is thankful for how the Collective brings people together. “Garrett has been wonderful. abby has been meeting with me once a month—I know they’ll have whistle packages and two people standing on every corner. But they’re also bringing clergy, lay folks, and secular activists, just as they did last year,” she explains. “When I introduce abby, I tell people what she’s doing. But I also say, ‘You might see her here, but behind her there’s a whole team that’s coming with her to support us.’ The participants are tremendously grateful.” These partnerships represent a core part of the Collective’s mission: While the digital platform makes myriad free and low-cost theological resources online, it’s also deeply committed to journeying with grassroots faith communities.

 

Pilsen Via Crucis always adjusts the fourteen stations of the cross to tie into what’s happening in the neighborhood, but this year the parallels write themselves. “Jesus was persecuted, just like our people,” Quintana notes. “I was given a book by a mom who comes with her four children, cartoonish drawings for children that show the stations of the cross. It deeply pertains to us: ‘What would you do if someone attacks you? What would Jesus do? I carry this cross, Jesus carried his, how will you carry the cross for your neighbor?” Centrally important in her telling, however, is the refusal to let state violence have the final word. “We’re frustrated, we’re angry, we feel attacked, but we have to pray and have hope that things are going to be okay,” she says. “We’re offering prayer to support families who have been affected, prayer cards with the Jesus immigrant prayer that we’ll distribute, QR codes with resources. We want people to feel as safe as possible.”

 

While the annual gathering initially began as a Catholic procession, through the years it’s grown beyond any one church or denomination. “It’s now a community non-profit. On our board, we have an atheist who sits next to a Jehovah’s Witness. Catholics participate alongside other Christians,” Quintana explains. “All these different religious traditions join together because of the love they have for Pilsen.” Part of what the 91PORN is doing is to help widen that base of support, to embody a city that knows what it means to love our neighbors as ourselves. “We walk Via Crucis as a way to let our feet and our presence become an embodied prayer for our neighbors’ wellbeing,” says Rev. Joseph L. Morrow, Associate Pastor at Fourth Presbyterian Church. “Showing up with and for our neighbors in Pilsen is a way for us to learn, grow and broaden our experience of Christian solidarity in this holiest of weeks.”

 

Ultimately, Quintana finds the most hope in participants stories, the faith they bring into the streets. “A woman, her daughter, and her cousin are coming to Via Crucis for the first time this year,” she offers as an example. “They told me that they had always wanted to participate as a family with the woman’s husband, but her husband passed away six months ago. So they’re honoring him with this year’s Pilsen Via Crucis. That’s what communal hope looks like.” Another woman approached Quintana with her special-needs child, fearful that he wouldn’t be able to participate. “She said that he wanted to play a soldier, and asked how much the costume costs. I told her nothing, we’ll provide it,” Quintana recalls. “You could see the faith in her child’s eyes, and she was so grateful that he could participate. This is a community that welcomes everybody.”

 

While Pilsen offers abundant welcome, it needs reciprocal support. “We want to get the word out to the rest of the city. Please, come join us,” Quintana says. “I would love to see more collaboration between the Pilsen Via Crucis and other organizations throughout the city because, honestly, I haven’t seen them.” As mohaupt helps to organize a 91PORN delegation and spread the word about the importance of this year’s procession, she knows that, ultimately, we control and are responsible for the ways that we show up. “We are there to witness, to be with the community, but also to observe how the State treated Jesus,” she concludes with determination. “State officials took Jesus, abused him, and killed him violently. Then as now, that violence will not be the final word.”

The opportunity to begin theological education remotely in India, while preparing for future in-person study, has been both a gift and a meaningful step in my vocational journey.

 

My call to study theology emerged through my involvement in church ministry and teaching the Bible to young people. Over time, I sensed a deeper desire to understand Scripture more carefully and to engage theology in a way that would strengthen both my faith and my ministry. Garrett’s academic reputation—its commitment to thoughtful theological reflection, and its openness to global perspectives—attracted me here to pursue this calling.

 

However, like many students around the world, I faced practical realities that made immediate relocation difficult. Financial considerations, family responsibilities, and logistical challenges meant that moving abroad for study would take time to arrange. Without the possibility of remote study, I would have needed to postpone my theological education entirely. Instead, Garrett’s remote learning structure made it possible for me to begin my studies without delay, allowing me to start engaging with coursework, professors, and fellow students while remaining in India.

 

Studying remotely has also given me a unique advantage: I am able to remain deeply connected to my local church and community while I learn. Rather than separating academic theology from ministry, my studies constantly interact with the realities of everyday life. When I read theological texts, discuss doctrine, or reflect on the church’s mission in the world, I do so while actively participating in the life of my congregation. This allows theological ideas to be tested, refined, and lived out in real contexts.

 

Teaching and discussing Scripture with young people in my community has been especially meaningful during this time. As I learn new perspectives and engage different theological traditions through my coursework, I share those insights with others in my church. At the same time, the questions and experiences of the people I serve often shape how I approach my studies. This two-way relationship between learning and ministry has made remote study not only practical but spiritually enriching.

 

Another benefit of studying remotely is the opportunity to participate in a truly global learning environment. Though I am physically located in India, the classroom extends far beyond geographical boundaries. I interact with students and faculty who come from different cultural, theological, and ecclesial backgrounds. These conversations expand my understanding of the church as a global community and remind me that theology is always shaped by diverse voices and experiences.

 

Of course, studying remotely also requires discipline and perseverance. Managing time zones, maintaining focus in a digital learning environment, and balancing academic work with ministry responsibilities can be challenging. Yet these challenges have also helped me develop habits of commitment and resilience that will serve me well in future studies and ministry.

 

Looking ahead, I hope to eventually continue my education in person at Garrett. Being able to study on campus would allow for deeper relationships with faculty and classmates and greater immersion in the seminary community. However, beginning my education remotely has already provided a strong foundation for that next step. It has let me start this journey now rather than waiting for the perfect circumstances.

 

In many ways, remote study reflects the reality of the global church today. Faith communities are connected across cultures, languages, and nations; theological education must adapt to this interconnected world. Garrett’s commitment to supporting students in different parts of the world demonstrates a vision of theological education that is both accessible and globally engaged.

 

For me, studying remotely has not been merely a temporary arrangement. It has been a meaningful way to begin my theological formation while remaining rooted in the community that first nurtured my calling. I am grateful for the opportunity to learn, grow, and serve simultaneously, and I look forward to continuing this journey with Garrett in the years ahead.

 

May God richly bless the leadership, teaching faculty, and staff of Garrett for making it possible for students to pursue their dreams of theological education, even from the farthest corners of the world. Their dedication and support have opened doors for many students to learn, grow, and serve faithfully in their calling.

 

Garrett Seminary joins United Theological Seminary in celebrating the Reverend Dr. Mark R. Teasdale, Garrett’s E. Stanley Jones Professor of Evangelism, who has accepted the call to serve as United’s next President. “Mark has been a trusted and vital member of our faculty and a beloved teacher and advisor to our students. After 18 years of faithful teaching and serving in multiple administrative and leadership roles, we wish Mark all success in this new endeavor, and thank him for all he has given to Garrett,” says President Javier A. Viera. “United Theological Seminary will be well-served by the care and intention he brings to his work, by his scholarly and leadership prowess, and by his passion for growing Christian communities.”

 

For his part, Dr. Teasdale shares that he feels his time at Garrett has been the best possible training ground for learning how to shepherd United through its next chapter. “Garrett has taught me how to appreciate, understand, and engage across such a phenomenally broad spectrum of theological, cultural, and ethnic difference,” Dr. Teasdale says. “That’s a big part of what I’m bringing to my new role: United is home to students from 55 denominations, more than half of whom are African-American. I want to be the kind of leader who empowers the unique gifts everyone brings, not someone who layers over them with my vision for how we do things.”

 

Indeed, reflecting on nearly two decades serving Garrett, Dr. Teasdale expresses admiration for how the seminary uses shared Christian values to cultivate community without suppressing particularity. “There’s clarity about Jesus being at the center of our shared life. Who we see Jesus to be may be very different—we don’t have to agree even on all big-ticket issues in the social or political arena—but we can all agree that Jesus is good, that we all have value,” he explains. “That’s really important, because one of the things that happens in a polarized world is that it becomes easy to diminish or even disregard the value of another human being, just because we disagree with them. But the Garrett seminary classroom has always been a place to bring people together.”

 

Dr. Teasdale’s commitment to building connection, even across significant difference, is manifest in his relationships among Garrett’s faculty, as well. “Mark is deeply collegial in his work. He is deeply committed to building a culture of collaboration where diverse voices are reflected in the decisions we make together as faculty and administrators.” says Dr. Jennifer Harvey, Garrett’s Vice President for Academic Affairs. “At the same time, he brings this same intention and integrity to Garrett’s academic culture supporting students in their projects and in achieving the high expectations he sets. So many students share with me that he is huge reason they’ve felt at home in our midst.”

 

That collegiality doesn’t stop simply because Dr. Teasdale is no longer on the faculty. “I look forward to relating to President Viera as a colleague in the broader work of fostering and sustaining theological education,” he says. “I’m hoping Garrett is not somewhere I’m leaving behind but is instead a place that I now get to relate to in a new way.”

 

In reciprocating that collegiality, President Viera emphasizes their shared commitment to strengthening the church and academy. “Mark is wondrously thoughtful about how Christian communities can spiritually and ethically engage the world around them, inviting people into our spiritual life while also collaborating to mend a fractured culture,” he says. “We need more seminarians who are trained in that spirit. I look forward to continuing to have Mark as a strategic partner and collaborator in that work.”

 

Ultimately, as he prepares to move into a new seminary home, Dr. Teasdale is filled with gratitude. “I’ve had the opportunity to work for multiple presidents, multiple deans. They put trust in me, not just to teach but to also serve administratively—even the opportunity in last couple years to be part of the real estate task force and negotiate with Northwestern University as we prepare to move into new buildings,” he notes. “It’s been an honor to serve this community.” Ever the evangelist, he’s keen to offer reflection on the gospel values that guide faithful institutional stewardship. “As leaders, we’re not here to serve ourselves,” he concludes with a smile. “We bear fruit and the fruit is for the world to eat, not for us. It’s how the seeds go out and get planted elsewhere. Trees don’t bear fruit for themselves—they do it for the next generation and for others.”

 

 

Dr. Kate Ott is the Jerre and Mary Joy Stead professor of Christian social ethics at Garrett Seminary, and director of the . She is also one of the scholars building the , a research study compiling hundreds of abortion stories across multiple religious traditions, recorded through in-depth interviews. At a moment when 41 states have legislated either full or partial abortion bans, these stories offer crucial context that is typically overlooked in our national debates. I took the opportunity to interview Dr. Ott about her research—what she feels it can offer to women who are discerning reproductive healthcare choices, religious leaders, and a cultural dialogue that badly needs more complexity and nuance. A transcription of our conversation is below, edited for length and clarity.

 

Benjamin Perry (BP): Debate about abortion is often portrayed as “secular folks who want abortions” set against “religious folks who oppose abortions.” What does that cultural framing miss?

 

Dr. Kate Ott (KO): First, many, many women or pregnant people who have abortions are religious.1 They come from all major religious traditions, but overwhelmingly in the United States, they’re Christian. It’seasier to have a public debate about abortion if we create neat boxes for how people can approach the issue—labels like “pro-life” and “pro-choice.” What I have experienced overwhelmingly in these interviews is that this framing causes extreme stress for women who are deciding whether to seek an abortion. They think “If I’m Christian, I can’t do this,” or “If I’m a mother, I can’t do this,” because we also have this myth that people who have children don’t have abortions, which is absolutely not true. Many women choose to have an abortion because they’re trying to care for the children they already have. These boxes serve political agendas, and what our study is trying to demonstrate is that if we listen to real women’s lives and the complexity of their decision-making, all of these dichotomies fall apart.

 

BP: You interview Catholic women for the study. What factors do you hear in these interviews that influence their moral decision-making process?

 

KO: Most women I interview are experiencing what scholars would describes as “moral stress.” That’s partly because they’ve grown up with an absolutist narrative that says, “if you have an abortion, you’re going to hell.” So, in their moral reasoning, they do mental gymnastics. They can repeat back what they’ve heard is church teaching, but then they’ll say things like “I hope at some point God will forgive me.” In other cases, women will say things like “God is with me. I don’t know what that means as it relates to church teaching, but no one is going to tell me that God is not with me.”

 

BP: Have researchers who interview women from other religious traditions also noticed this moral stress?

 

KO: Yes, colleagues who are listening to women in Protestant traditions, in Jewish traditions and Islam, repeatedly hear that women have internalized that same teaching, regardless of whether their institution supports abortion as a moral choice. So, for example, many of the Protestant women come from traditions that have explicit doctrines that are so supportive of women’s access to reproductive healthcare, decision-making, and abortion, and yet they are still subjected to this moral imaginary that abortion is always wrong—that God and churches do not support it. Part of what we want to do is help religious traditions who do want to support women understand that—when they stay silent because they think they’ve already done enough teaching about this, or because they’re in a state that has better abortion access—women are still hearing loud, contrary voices. The whole purpose of this study is to break the silence, but that responsibility should not only fall on women who have had abortions. It must be picked up by our religious leaders, across traditions.

 

BP: Why does it seem like there are fewer institutional voices who praise reproductive decision-making as a moral good, when compared to an issue like celebrating queer people in religious spaces?

 

KO: If we look at scholarship on abortion in the theological circles that affirm women as whole humans who can make moral decisions, the library is far smaller than it should be. In the ‘80s we get Beverly Harrison’s and Dan McGuire was doing lots of writing through the 90’s, but for the most part within academic settings—because of how much religious institutions control theological education—many scholars were silenced, creating a significant scholarship gap. Recently we get Rebecca Todd Peters’ , we have Tara Carlton and Jill Snodgrass’ , and now Emily Reimer-Barry’s new book —all three are radical texts. But if we’re thinking about a tradition of theological work on a significant social issue, it probably has the least amount of attention. And I would argue that so much of that is the product of a very organized silencing—the repercussions that came for scholars if they talked about abortion.

 

BP: How do you locate yourself, as a scholar, in the movement to push back against this kind of academic censorship? How can we begin to shift those deeply-entrenched public narratives that create moral stress for women who seek an abortion?

 

KO: It’s interesting, the most feedback I’ve received for something I’ve written on abortion is from a very short piece I contributed to an edited volume of public theology, where I talked about my own experience of having an abortion. I often talk publicly about it, partly because it breaks the silence, but also because it puts everyone off their stereotypes. I was married. This was a child we wanted. We had already been given a diagnosis of fetal demise. My health was at risk. When you put all those together, people generally say, “Well, of course you should be able to get an abortion in that context.” In fact, many don’t even want to label that procedure an abortion. But then they’re forced to admit that we are still legislating against exactly this kind of healthcare choice—one where I knew nothing would happen to me, where I could be with my loved ones and we could say goodbye to this child that we very much wanted. Most women in the United States now can’t make that same choice.

 

BP: A central emphasis of this study is to record stories of women like yourself. Why is storytelling such a crucial part of changing our public imaginary?

 

KO: On many sides of the political divide around abortion, people have chosen to avoid stories because they’re complex. They also deploy certain stories: The story of someone who’s gotten an abortion and has experienced extreme mental stress over it, to suggest that everyone will experience that. Or, on the other side, a radical individualist approach that says women’s lives are not impacted at all by abortion. Neither reduction is helpful to women making these choices, but complexity is not politically expedient. Recording these stories pushes back against those simplistic narratives.

 

BP: How do you care for the women who are sharing this moral stress with you?

 

KO: The practice we’ve developed is that, when the interview is done and the recording is off, we will share other supportive theological resources within their tradition. But also, one of the questions I ask is what they would tell another woman in their tradition who is seeking an abortion. If they have given me an answer that runs counter to theology they espoused about how God will judge their own choice, I repeat their own words back to them. I’ll say something like, “You said, ‘I want them to know that God is always with them, that this is an extremely difficult decision, but they should know that their love for everyone around them will carry them through it.” So I end by saying, “I want you to know that this is not just true for someone else. It’s true for you, too.“

 

BP: As an ethicist, how has the experience of conducting these interviews changed the way that you think about abortion?

 

KO: My past advocacy experience and this research have taught me that there is no perfect abortion story. In ethics debates, like political debates, we want to create clean categories of good and bad moral reasoning and divide good and evil into neat, predetermined outcomes. Most ethical decisions are complex. Reproductive health decisions are even more difficult because of the interlocking systemic, communal, and personal factors involved. It requires we do ethics grounded in justice and care, which necessitates listening and giving voice to this moral complexity. 

 

Zachary Nyquest grew up in Calumet, Iowa, population 99. Dr. Ebenezer Concepción grew up in Union City, New Jersey, just a stone’s throw away from New York City. Neither students’ childhood religious tradition could hold the fullness of the men they would become. Both fell away from church for years, as they learned to embrace their sexualities and live into the abundance God intends for their lives. Now, both are pursuing their Master of Divinity degree, so they can create spaces of thriving—nurturing a more loving world than the one they inherited. While there are broad commonalities between their journeys, it’s the differences between their stories that reveal the breadth of Garrett Seminary’s community—space for all people to explore the particularities of their faiths and callings.

 

Concepción’s childhood was powerfully shaped by Latiné Pentecostalism, rooted in a Puerto Rican community where the boundaries between church and family were thin. “I often say I was born and raised in the gospel,” he says with a smile. “From a very young age, I grew up singing in the church. I was the leader of the children’s group, and a youth pastor when I was in college.” But those college years were also a period of personal transformation. “At that time, I was awakening to my sexuality as a queer person,” Concepción remembers. “Pentecostalism, for the most part, leans more conservative. Being gay was not okay. It wasn’t until I started to take classes on Latiné queer literature—topics of gender, sexuality, and power—that I began to understand how I could connect my queerness to my cultural heritage.”

 

The conservatism of Nyquest’s home church was of the white evangelical persuasion, but it held similarly scant space for his burgeoning identity. Moreover, its theology could not help him parse that stirring longing. “Growing up, theology was easy: I just had to listen to the pastor and that was my theology,” Nyquest recalls. “But all of a sudden, I had these big theological questions that defied simple answers. My entire theological foundation crumbled and I was too scared to rebuild it, in case it crumbled again.” In that fearful moment, joining the National Guard provided stability he so badly needed. “I joined when I was 17, a junior in high school,” he says. “When my life was going crazy, the National Guard was the one thing that was consistent—and that consistency helped me get out of that dark place.”

 

After graduating from college, Concepción accepted a public policy fellowship in Washington D.C. and began a path that would lead him away from the Pentecostalism of his youth, and through a doctoral program at The University of Chicago. After completing a post-doc, he accepted a Leading Edge Fellowship from the American Council of Learned Societies, which brought him back to Chicago for a job with YWCA Metropolitan Chicago. “I lead their prevention work against gender-based and community violence,” he explains, “but I’m still reconciling with my faith as well, trying to find how I can follow Jesus without all these things that have been imposed onto him.” Nyquest similarly found that even when he rejected his childhood Christianity, he couldn’t shake the feeling of divine interconnectedness. “I ran away from church as fast as I could,” he laughs. “But the harder I pushed back against God, the more I believed in Him and His love.”

 

Eventually, that spiritual discernment led Nyquest through a Presbyterian Church (USA) congregation that offered affirming theologies that helped him integrate his queerness and his faith. But it was the military that continued to shape his sense of call: In the middle of a particularly intense drill weekend, he had an awakening that illuminated the road ahead. “During a religious service while the chaplain was talking with us, I was praying and suddenly knew: I could be in that chaplain’s position, helping those who struggle,” he confesses. “The stress and physical exhaustion lifted from my body. I knew my calling was to be the person who I needed when I first joined.”

 

When he describes what led him to study at Garrett, Concepción’s words reverberate that desire to create the space for people who follow in his footsteps. “I want to create a curriculum for LGBTQ+ people of color, particularly Latiné folks, so they can better understand the history of Christianity and religious violence and how it intersects with race, ethnicity, queerness, and transness,” he explains. “The YWCA doesn’t only do prevention work, we also offer counseling for survivors. I want to give better tools to survivors of religious or spiritual violence and engage more deeply with faith communities.” In some ways, this is a natural extension of the work the YWCA is already doing. “I want to be more structured and intentional about it, though,” Concepción adds. “Garrett will not only give me the theological foundation I need. Its practical components and encouragement to intersectionality will also set me up for what I want to do.”

 

At Garrett, their experiences join those of their classmates. The seminary’s wide diversity offers both the resonance that feeds belonging and a difference that spurs growth. “There’s such a wide range of faiths and ethnic heritage, we’re exposed to so many different thoughts, opinions, and ideas,” Nyquest excitedly reports. “Some people who grew up in the United Methodist Church are very strong in that faith. Then you have someone like me who completely forgot faith but came back, but we’re all sharing ideas and beliefs, and growing together.” While he attends a United Church of Christ congregation now, pieces of Concepción’s Pentecostal heritage still inform how he experiences the learning community. “God is real. The Spirit, however we name it, does great things—it brings renewal, happiness, and joy,” he concludes. “God is just becoming more expansive, welcoming, even rebellious. Every new perspective adds nuance, strengthening faith so we can approach it through a different lens.”

 

It all began as an experiment in saying “yes” to God. Becca Baughman had just graduated from college and enrolled as a United Methodist global missions fellow in Tampa. Before she left home, she promised herself that—for the next year—she would place any fears and doubts aside and follow God wherever the Spirit led. Three years later, she’sserving as a licensed solo pastor in rural Indiana, pursuing her MDiv at Garrett Seminary, seeking ordination as an Elder. None of this is what she intended when she left for Florida, but somewhere along the way that “yes” transformed from an experiment into a habit—and God had different plans.

 

Almost immediately, her carefully laid-out vision began to go awry. The night before she left, she discovered that the fellow who was supposed to serve beside her in Tampa had to leave the program. “She was supposed to serve at the church full-time, and I was going to serve at a community home and shelter. I was like, ‘Okay, but what does that I mean for where I’m supposed to meet you? Where am I living?’” Baughman recalls with a chuckle. “They told me not to worry—they would figure things out while I drove, and I would have a place to stay when I got there.” When she arrived, she learned that her time would be split between the two locations—a program she had planned to be entirely devoted to social services would now include growing the church’s family and community ministries. “I was like, ‘Dang it! I told God I would walk through doors, so I said ‘yes,’” Baughman says. “I learned so much about putting my faith into action across extremely different environments—one a local church, one with unhoused people and families, and all the trauma that goes with that.”

 

And still, the surprises just kept coming. The Sunday after Christmas, a guest preacher fell through and the pastor came calling. “She said, ‘You never have to do it again, but would you be willing to preach that Sunday?’” Baughman reports, again with a laugh. The sermon went better than she could have imagined and, before long, Baughman was led repeatedly into the pulpit. In one memorable instance, her supervisor at the shelter asked her to lead their weekly worship in her absence. “When my supervisor came back from vacation, her supervisor told her ‘This girl has a gift for preaching, we need to make sure she goes into ministry,’” Baughman smiles. “So, I started my journey to become an ordained Deacon in the United Methodist Church.”

 

Home in Indiana after her program, however, that firm intention began to shift. While working at a UMC summer camp, she met Garrett alum and district superintendent Marti Lundy, who quickly affirmed the same call to parish ministry that others had sensed in Tampa. “She told me, ‘I have a small church in DeMotte, Indiana that could really use a part-time pastor like you. It’s a really great congregation, and they want a pastor who can bring young people into their church,’” Baughman says. “The more I thought and prayed, the answer started to become ‘yes.’”

 

Now, she’s already one semester into her program, juggling the demands of seminary and parish life, and—to her surprise but evidently no one else’s—she’s thriving. “I started working, getting into the groove, and I thought, ‘Oh no. I really like this. I think I’m called to be in the local church,” she laughs, last to the joke. “I don’t know how to describe it except my heart is here.”

 

Fortunately, she’s found Garrett Seminary to be an exceptional place to study while also serving in ministry. “I’m far from alone in being both a student and a pastor. That’s helped so much, because there’s a whole community to whom I can reach out and say, ‘Classes are a lot. Pastoring is a lot. Finals are coming, but I also have to be ready for Advent,’” she reports. “And a lot of professors are either currently in parish ministry or have been in parish ministry. They’re always so intentional about how we can take the knowledge we’re receiving and bring bite-sized pieces of it into the congregation. It’s giving me a toolkit to do ministry and do it well.”

 

The academic format also facilitates a balance between church and coursework. Asynchronous classes help her fit academia into her ministry schedule, and week-long intensives in Evanston offer doorways into deeper spiritual formation. “Even though I don’t live on campus, I have access to all the resources that I need. And not just physical resources but spiritual resources as well. I’m not left alone on an island to figure out how to pastor and student at the same time,” she grins. “Garrett is also really good at making sure that events are not just on campus but also hosted online. In our Welcome Week, for example, there was a library tour for people who were on campus, but there was also an online tour guiding us to library resources that are available to us while we’re far away.”

 

Ultimately, Baughman has found a sacred reciprocity: All those “yesses” she offered to God are returning her way in spades. “In Northwest Indiana, if I say that I go to Garrett, it’s highly likely someone will say ‘Oh, I’m an alumni!’” she shares. “It’s really helped me connect with other people in my conference as a young pastor.” Requirements like field education become simpler, too: She’s already serving in the field. “My field education mentor Brittany Stephan (G-ETS ’18) is also an alum,” Baughman notes. “I’m so glad to partner with someone who’s in her 30s, closer to my own age, who can walk beside me.” The biggest affirmation, however, comes from the work itself. “I just love discipleship and helping people grow,” she concludes with clear contentment. “Even if it’s just one person, I love being able to watch them take the next step in their faith.”