The freedom to practice religion without empathy

While I have little sympathy for the views behind these state RFRA laws that have created so much controversy, it’s hard to dismiss their explicit arguments out of hand. Religious freedom is indeed a bedrock of U.S. culture and tradition. So, for better or for worse, are assertions of individual rights—and competing assertions of rights don’t lend themselves to easy answers. Unless you’re prepared to say one or the other claim is wholly illegitimate, some sort of accommodation must be reached.

Yes, this particular flavor of religious freedom can taste pretty sour. I reject the idea that opposition to same-sex marriage is a tenet of Christianity, central or otherwise, and even if it were it’s not clear to me how keeping your hands clean of someone else’s celebration somehow amounts to Christian practice. Besides, I’d like to think that any conversation about religious freedom and marriage would take as its starting point that a civil marriage ceremony has nothing to say for or against my religious views or anybody else’s.

Yet I get that these aren’t legal arguments—and that U.S. courts and legislatures are loathe to officially agree with me or anyone else as to what religious practice should be. That’s our tradition of separation of church and state, also known as our tradition of religious freedom. Yes, this tradition has brought us such loophole absurdities as online ordination mills and Pastafarians; it’s also brought us a rich and lively religious landscape. So while I happen to think that refusing to bake a cake for a gay wedding that isn’t even happening at your own church is a distortion of what it means to follow Jesus, this is more lament than argument. It makes me sad; and our religious freedom tradition, quite rightly, isn’t particularly concerned about my sadness.