Healthcare, Civil Rights, and Marginalized Voices

Jason

Let’s begin by sitting with the reality of this freeze on Title Ten funding—sixty-five point eight million dollars, withheld from clinics that provide reproductive health services to low-income individuals across twenty-three states. Think about that. This isn’t just an abstract number; it’s the livelihood of 846,000 people—actual people—who now face losing access to care that sustains their health and, in many cases, their lives.

Jason

Imagine being a single mom, already working two jobs, racing against the clock to get your children to school, to get food on the table, and now... now you learn the clinic you’ve relied on for contraception or a cancer screening may have to close its doors. So, where do you go? Who steps in to fill that gap? The harsh answer is that often... nobody does. The impact ripples outward—families suffer, communities suffer.

Jason

And it’s not an evenly distributed burden. Marginalized groups—people of color, LGBTQ individuals, those living in poverty—are disproportionately affected. These clinics don’t just serve as healthcare providers; they are lifelines. For many, these are the only spaces where they feel seen and cared for without question or judgment.

Jason

But sadly, this decision is emblematic of something far, far bigger. It reflects a systematic effort, one aimed at eroding access to services that empower the vulnerable. And and by framing this as a so-called moral victory, certain political narratives distract us from the very real harm inflicted—harm that we, as people of faith, cannot ignore.

Jason

Theologically, this is about more than politics; this is about morality. Healthcare is not just a privilege for the few who can afford it. No. It is, I believe, a God-given right. And when access to it is stripped away, when families are forced to decide between paying the rent or seeking basic medical care, well, that’s a failure of society to uphold the very justice we are called to pursue. I I think we have to wrestle with that.

Jason

The prophet Amos spoke of justice rolling down like waters. Does this look like justice to you? To let low-income families drown in a sea of unnecessary suffering while those in power celebrate so-called victories? To deny someone the right to live with dignity? There is no justice in that. None at all.

Jason

And that’s why I think, as faith communities, we are challenged to advocate boldly. Not just for policies, but for people—the moms, the dads, and the countless others whose lives are thrown into turmoil because their healthcare is now out of reach. Kinda makes you wonder, doesn’t it, what we’re willing to fight for?

Jason

Let’s turn our attention to something that... may not have grabbed national headlines but is no less significant—what’s happening within the United States Commission on Civil Rights. You see, there’s an ongoing push to replace the current chair with someone whose priorities don’t exactly align with what the Commission was established to ensure: protecting civil rights, particularly for marginalized communities.

Jason

So, what does this mean, practically? Well, it’s not just about a shift in leadership. It’s about a potential shift in focus—one that could deprioritize longstanding issues like racial discrimination, voting rights, or educational equality. And, and you know, it makes me wonder: who gets left behind when the very institutions charged with safeguarding freedoms are redirected?

Jason

The pattern doesn’t stop there. We’ve also seen the Education Department quietly pulling out of agreements aimed at addressing disparities specifically impacting Native American students—a community already fighting, fighting for recognition and equity. What message does that send? And what are the consequences for those families, those children?

Jason

Here’s a glimpse, one story among many. I read about a young Native American high schooler who was repeatedly disciplined—suspended multiple times—for behaviors that, in another context, might’ve been chalked up to stress or even trauma. And it’s the same old story, isn’t it? Disparities in discipline get brushed off while kids shoulder the weight of systemic failures. They fall behind, lose confidence, and eventually... some fade out of the system altogether.

Jason

For me, as a pastor, these issues aren’t some abstract policy debate. They... they cut to the very heart of what our faith demands from us—to care for the least of these, to dismantle systems that perpetuate inequity, and to build a table where all are welcome. Honestly, how do we reconcile that mission with the reality we see unfolding—a reality where protections for the vulnerable are eroded, not strengthened?

Jason

Theologically, justice isn’t justice if it’s conditional. You don’t get to cherry-pick who deserves fairness and equality. In the Gospel, Jesus doesn’t make exceptions. He doesn’t say, "Love your neighbor... so long as they look, think, or behave like you." No. The call is radical, unconditional. It’s a justice that stands firm, even when it’s inconvenient or unpopular.

Jason

I know some may argue that leadership changes or withdrawing from disciplinary agreements are just administrative moves, that they don’t really mean anything for the big picture. But, if you look closer, the pattern tells a story—a story of stepping back when we’re called to step forward. And honestly... what does that say about us?

Jason

Let’s start with the rhetoric—calling gender-affirming care for transgender youth “child abuse.” Let that sink in for a moment. Not only does this stigmatize transgender young people—who, let’s be honest, already face immense challenges—it fundamentally misrepresents the healthcare decisions families and doctors are making to ensure these kids can thrive. It’s cruel, and it’s dangerous.

Jason

Think about the ripple effect this kind of rhetoric has. It doesn’t just stop at words. It feeds a hostile environment that can fuel policies limiting access to care. And for something as deeply personal and life-giving as gender-affirming healthcare? Denying that care can devastate someone’s mental, physical, and spiritual well-being. Suicide rates are already disproportionately high among transgender youth. We’re talking about decisions with life-or-death consequences.

Jason

Now, stepping beyond our borders—let’s talk about Africa and PEPFAR, the President’s Emergency Plan for AIDS Relief. The budget cuts to this program aren't just numbers on a spreadsheet; they represent the erasure of literal lifelines for LGBTQ+ individuals and others who rely on these healthcare services. Imagine being in a community where stigma is already rampant and then losing access to HIV testing, prevention, and treatment because funding runs out. It’s unconscionable, isn’t it?

Jason

I’ve seen this impact firsthand. I’ve been fortunate to join Pride events in Africa—beautiful, defiant celebrations of identity and resilience. I’ve met people whose lives were saved because they had access to healthcare supported by PEPFAR funding. I’m gonna be honest, when you sit with someone who tells you, "I’m alive because I got this care," it changes you. It grounds you in the reality that fighting for equity isn’t just about policies; it’s about people who are counting on us to show up.

Jason

And yet, here we are—seeing cuts that disproportionately harm populations already struggling under the weight of systemic inequalities. It’s heartbreaking, and frankly, it’s a betrayal of our shared humanity. Our faith teaches us to love, to lift one another up. Yet, the systems we see being reinforced are doing the opposite—tearing people down.

Jason

I won’t pretend to have all the answers. But I do know this: the work of justice requires our voices, our hands, and our hearts. It requires standing in solidarity with marginalized communities and saying, “You matter. Your lives, your dignity, your rights—they matter.” And we can’t afford to wait for someone else to do it. We have to step in now, boldly and without hesitation.

Jason

As we close today, I want you to reflect on what justice and compassion look like in your own life. Ask yourself, how can I show up for those who need me most? Because when we show up, when we commit to building a world that upholds equity and human dignity, we embody that rolling justice Amos spoke of. And that’s where we’ll find hope. That’s where we’ll find healing. Until next time, beloved community, may peace and justice guide your path.