I remember remarking that it seemed too early to have Christmas lights up downtown. It was about 8 in the morning on a Wednesday in late October, and I was spending it like I do almost every week; wearing a blue vest over my jacket identifying me as a “Pro-Choice Escort” for the Red River Women’s Clinic in Fargo, North Dakota.
It was damp, slightly misting, and it had been so tempting to stay in bed until I absolutely had to get up for my 8:30 A.M. class. But, honestly, few things brightened up my day more than starting it off by supporting women’s choices in regards to their own bodies and reproductive health.
Standing in front of the door with two other women who I volunteered with, I noticed a man who was dressed in dark clothes emerge from a car on the other side of the street that was lined with trees looped with white Christmas lights.
As he approached the front of the clinic, and I could see what looked like a religious insignia on his jacket, I realized that he was a priest. Kneeling down on the colorful chalk messages of encouragement that clinic volunteers had drawn the night before, he began to pray out loud.
Unconsciously, I began to recite the prayers he was speaking, as these were the prayers I had been taught since I was a toddler at my local church. I was raised and confirmed Catholic, and could recall the prayers of “Our Father” and “Hail Mary” as easily as my own name.
It suddenly unnerved me at what opposite sides we were on; it was startling at how quickly I remembered these words even though I hadn’t said them in an organized fashion in at least 5 years.
As he continued to pray out loud and sprinkle holy water from a gallon jug on the sidewalk around him, it struck me how personal and flexible spiritual beliefs could be.
We had been taught the same verses, lessons, and songs every Sunday… one of us decided to make it their life’s work and use the words against women, and one of us decided to take the lessons we were taught about not passing judgment on others and ultimately supporting women and their choices.
Without delving too much into the specifics of one religion, I believe that this experience truly spoke to how religion and beliefs are different for everyone.
While this may seem like an extremely basic lesson, it never truly sunk in for me until I saw my childhood and teenage prayers being uttered by a man who was protesting against my belief that a woman has a right to determine what’s best for her body.
The priest has come back since that first time, and, while it’s hard to stop the words from coming to my mind, it doesn’t cause me as much discomfort as before.
