An Open Letter to Kim Davis

*This is a guest post from Megan Geiger, an Apostolic Pentecostal who shares her perspective with Kim Davis, the Rowan County, Kentucky court clerk who defied a U.S. Federal Court order requiring the issuing of marriage licenses to same-sex couples. She has been the center of a serious controversy for the last two weeks. 

Dear Sis. Davis,

Before I say anything else, I want to tell you that I’m sorry. I’m sorry that your life has come under such intense scrutiny. I’m sorry that your every word, and those of your husband, have become fodder for memes and tweets, that your picture is on every news feed across the country, and that your past has been brought forward for the world to see. I’m sorry that your work place, which I’m sure is full of people who you care about, routines with which you are comfortable, and actions that are familiar and fulfilling, has become a battleground. I’m sorry that you are experiencing the trial of imprisonment, which is painful for any human. I genuinely wish you were not going through this unsightly mess. I genuinely hope this situation will work out in the best way that it can for you.

However, I need to tell you something that may hurt you, and which will certainly make your many supporters question my motives and my spirit. I’m a believer in the same way that you are, and so what I’m about to say may seem confusing, or contradictory, or spiteful. At best, many will regard me as a young person under the influence of the liberal culture by which I am surrounded. At worst, they will say that I’m under the influence of Satan.I’ll leave it to you to decide. 

I am an Apostolic Pentecostal. And I do not stand with you. 

Many have said that what you are doing is brave, and I agree—it takes strength to face prison in defense of a worthy cause. The problem is, I don’t believe your cause to be worthy. 

When you accepted a position in our nation’s government, you no doubt took an oath of loyalty, or of submission to a certain set of rules.Your position requires you to submit to not just the written laws of our nation, but to the spirit that guides them, to the bureaucracy that manages them, and to the men and women who establish them. When you were given a desk and a nameplate, you were given a commission by this government, to serve and to follow. You made that choice.

I know that when you chose to become a clerk, you probably never foresaw the conflict in which you are now embedded. Even as the stirrings of Pro-LGBTQ legislation began to rise, you probably put your trust in the Lord and rested in the hope that our government would never allow the Christian principle of heterosexual marriage to pass out of its law books. You could not have seen this coming, and you certainly could not have stopped it.

Here is the issue: you pledged your allegiance and service to a non-Christian government. You are the servant of a non-Christian public. And that was your choice. 

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Kim Davis has courted controversy over her refusal to deny marriage licenses to same-sex couples. Not only that, but she has made many fellow Apostolic Pentecostals uncomfortable with the way she represents their faith in the public sphere. (Photo: Wikimedia)

The United States may have been founded by a group of Protestants, but it is no longer a nation governed by Christian principles. In fact, if we take Biblical prophecy seriously, it never will be. As Christians,we have the burden and the blessing of being a light of holiness in an ever-darkening world, and as we draw closer to His coming, we will continue to stand out more and more as symbols of his purity and goodness. However, the Bible does not guarantee us that our government will stand with us.

We call ourselves Apostolic, which means that we are called to live like the first century church. The first century church existed in a time when it was illegal to be a Christian, when worshiping Christ meant the high likelihood of a painful, early death. Early Christians endured in the midst of a government that not only despised their culture and practices, but one that literally sought to destroy them. 

As of yet, our government has not begun to persecute us in the same way. We are still free to worship openly, to choose our candidates and our political positions based on our interpretations of His Word. We are free, as Christians, to assert that marriage is between one man and one woman and to encourage others to see the same truth. 

But you, Sister, are not free to disobey the master to whom you pledged allegiance. At least, you can't do that and expect to stay in your desk. You have the right to believe what we believe as a citizen of the United States. But as our nation’s public servant, you do not have the right to sever your oath of allegiance because of your beliefs. Your roles as a Christian and a servant of our government are no longer compatible, and as you know, it's impossible for a man to serve two different masters. 

My heart is broken about this, not just because of your discomfort and anxiety. I am broken because you have become the face of Apostolic Pentecostalism all over this country, and you are now being used by the World as a symbol of homophobia, ignorance, and hate. I don't believe you to be guilty of any of those things, but I have to say that your choice to loudly rebel against your employer has caused us a few problems. 

I look like you. I have uncut hair and a long skirt. I worship with the same fervor. I feel the same Spirit. And now when I try to reach out to gay students on my campus, to liberal-minded young people, to non-Christians, they will not see my face. They will not hear my message of Christ’s love, of his forgiveness, of his everlasting mercy. They will not see me.

Instead they will look at my hair and my skirt and they will see a stereotype. They will avoid our church because they will expect it to be full of homophobia, and ignorance, and hate. They will put up barriers. They will build walls. 

What you have done, Sister, is brave. But I question whether it is wise, and I fear the consequences.

I send you my prayers. I send you my hope for comfort, and for peace. I send you my deep and sincere apologies for what you must be feeling. But I do not send you my support. 

May our Savior give you favor with judges, a sentence that is not debilitating, and a lifetime of peace after this storm. 

In Christ,

Megan Geiger

A Pentecostal in Hijab?

*This is a guest blog from Megan Geiger. Megan is a graduate student in the University of Florida's religion department. She focuses on Pentecostalism, changes in social discourses among Pentecostals, immigration and Pentecostalism, Latin American holiness movements, American religious history, and the role of women in Christian fundamentalism. She is an active member of the United Pentecostal Church, International and recently took part in Islam on Campus UF's "wear hijab for a day" program. This is her story from the day:

My first thought was, “This is definitely harder than doing my hair.”  The scarf was finally secured against my head thanks to the multiple straight pins keeping it in place (and the corresponding pinpricks in my fingers and scalp). After watching several YouTube tutorials that claimed to demonstrate “Easy Hijab Styles for Beginners,” I had managed to fashion the bright pink scarf into a series of somewhat-graceful folds across the crown of my head and under my neck. In my opinion, it looked pretty convincing, although I was sure it would take a practiced Hijabi only seconds to realize that I was completely unused to the veil. 

In fact, covering my hair is almost a redundancy; being Pentecostal I’ve left my hair uncut for my entire life so that it could serve as a covering for me, as recommended by scripture in 1 Corinthians 11.  On this particular day, however, I had chosen to adopt a style of covering that was not my own.

Now, usually a fundamentalist Christian choosing to wear the head covering of a Muslim woman would probably be considered a gross act of cultural insensitivity, but don’t worry; I was invited. A Muslim students’ group on my university campus was hosting Hijab Day, during which non-hijabis were asked to wear the veil during the day and meet to discuss their experiences afterwards. Given my interest in religion and modesty, it was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up.

That said, I felt some trepidation as I adjusted my scarf one final time and left my house that morning. The religious landscape that I inhabit on a daily basis has been notoriously hostile to Muslims—members of my own church community have expressed horror at my involvement in Muslim activities on campus, and Gainesville itself (home of the 2012 Qur’an burning scandal) is no stranger to militant Islamophobia. Hijab day seemed to me to be a unique opportunity to point out that Muslims and Pentecostals have a lot in common when it comes to modesty and covering; however, I also expected a lot of negative responses from my fellow Christians. I snapped a picture for Instagram, added ‘#modesty’ to it, and braced myself. I was prepared to be criticized for my decision. I wasn’t prepared for the critiques I would bring upon myself. 

As I went through my day on a busy college campus, the recurring question that came to me was “Does that person think I’m Muslim?” The question both had to do with my respectful desire to wear hijab “the right way,” and my hesitation at abandoning my own religious identity for a day. I questioned whether in putting on the hijab I was electing to set aside my own agenda as an evangelical Christian, and what that meant in terms of my mission to save souls…what if veiling myself cost me an opportunity to share the gospel? What if I was damaging my authority as a Christian by temporarily presenting myself as a Muslim? This tension came to light during one surreal moment in my day in which I actually taught a Bible study to another UF student, all while wearing an overtly Muslim symbol of modesty. I explained why I was doing it and the study went on without a hitch, but as I listened to myself discuss Jesus’ sacrifice on the cross as eternal payment for our sins, I wondered if my headgear was somehow marring the message. Or was it the other way around?

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Photo: Megan Geiger

I was not the only one to have these thoughts. One Pentecostal Instagram user went as far as to say that to don the veil, even for a day, even with the best intentions at heart, was to give place to the demonic influences of Islam—in terms of spiritual warfare, this was the equivalent of flying a white flag over the Pentagon. My insecurities deepened. 

To my surprise, that was the only negative comment about my participation in Hijab Day that I received. Instead, I was flooded with a wave of affirmation and support from other Pentecostal women, who praised the elegance of hijab, the value of interreligious understanding, and the practice of modesty in any form. A couple of my Pentecostal friends went so far as to join me in covering—the veiled selfie one friend sent me was accompanied by the fervent declaration “Modesty is beautiful!” It was clear that I had sold my own people short—these women leapt at the opportunity to bridge the gap between our two religious cultures. There were plenty of “likes” from Pentecostal men as well, even from several ministers. I was shocked. And I was a bit ashamed that I was shocked. 

As I sat in the Hijab Day discussion and listened to a panel of young Muslim women talk about their unique reasons for veiling and their individual journeys of faith, I thought deeply about my own. Being Pentecostal has a lot to do with living in the borders of things—we’re a people of first century doctrine and twenty-first century technologies, old-fashioned dress standards and newfangled beauty standards, living “in the world but not of the world.” That also means we live in the tensions between culture and politics, tolerance and literal interpretations of scripture, the soon-coming apocalypse and the need to coexist with our neighbors in the coming week. For some the hijab is a reminder that there are people whose faith contradicts our own. For some it’s a place of connection, a hole in the fence between Islam and Christianity where ideas can be exchanged. 

I won’t have the opportunity to wear hijab every day (for which my scalp is grateful). Still, my one day with the veil showed me that I am not the only member of my faith who is ready, even anxious, to talk about the things we have in common with Muslims. There is space for exchange. In our covering, we may find a haven for connection. 

Let’s start talking. 

Being an Apostolic fashionista

*A guest post from Megan Geiger. 

Thank God for winter.

Summer in Florida is not the easiest time to be Apostolic. With temperatures in the high 90’s and enough humidity to make the mosquitoes grumpy, the daily task of choosing an outfit becomes something of a test of ingenuity. 

As an Apostolic Pentecostal, I belong to a group of believers that adheres to standards of dress that promote modesty, based on scriptural interpretations of covering with a little Bible belt flavor and fashion thrown in. That means that my body is covered from my knees to my neck to the middle of my bicep in every season, no matter the heat index.

Today’s fashion world and shopping scene present some challenges to the Apostolic girl looking for modest clothing. Outfits are often feats of layering, pieced together from store-bought articles that would be considered immodest by themselves. Knee-length pencil skirts are often too tight to be worn alone, but are perfect for lengthening the hem of a cocktail dress that only falls to mid-thigh, sleeveless tops are only wearable under jackets or as a way to raise the neckline of another shirt, and thin, long-sleeved undershirts are worth their weight in platinum as all-purpose coverage under sleeveless dresses, tank-tops, and sheer materials. On any given day an Apostolic girl may leave her house wearing two or three tops and multiple skirts (never pants, by the way, as those are considered to be “the apparel of a man”). 

A solution to this problem of overdressing would be to revert to making our own clothing, sewing modest pieces from a single piece of fabric and leaving the layers for the snowbirds. But for us, an essential part of living our Christian walk “in the world but not of the world” is looking modestly stylish, approachable, and even attractive. It simply won’t do to just walk away from modern fashion and resort to homemade gingham shifts; there’s a great feeling of accomplishment that comes with taking a “worldly” aesthetic and turning it into something holy, and even haute.

That’s not to say that our style choices allow us to blend in. On the contrary, we’re supposed to stick out; as evangelicals with a world to save, the way we style our bodies is sometimes our greatest missionary resource, opening doors for non-threatening conversations with strangers. A big part of that is the hair. 

Oh, the hair. 

Based on several verses, 1 Corinthians 11 adjures women to enter sacred spaces with their heads covered and also say that long hair is a glory for females. The majority of Apostolic women choose to leave their hair uncut. While hair length depends largely on genetics and diet, many women sport tresses that fall well past their waists, some with locks that drag the ground, a living rebuttal to the myth that split ends prevent growth. For many of us, our hair is a canvas for artistic expression, a marker of our identity. 

And let me tell you, we’ve gotten good at fixin’ it. 

Anyone who believes that hair teasing died with the 1980’s has never set foot in an Apostolic rally or convention. While the days of using mini cereal boxes and paper towel rolls as structural aids to support massive beehive ‘dos are gone, big hair has never fallen out of vogue completely. Each stylist has her own set of tools and tricks to use in sculpting her Sunday silhouette. Even loyalty to particular brands of hairspray, mousse, bobby pins, clips, and volumizing products is fierce. At important events, like national conferences, women can expect to spend anywhere from twenty minutes to an hour on their hairdos, rendering striking results. Styles vary from couture, asymmetrical constructions of spirals and braids to slightly more tame arrangements that resemble something from a wedding magazine or a prom picture. Even the most ornate styles are tested before service to make sure they will stay in place throughout the vigorous worship that accompanies Pentecostal devotion; bobby pins make mean shrapnel if flung with enough speed during a good “shout song.” However, it’s expected that we’ll all leave service looking a little rough, since worship isn’t about looking pretty and the hair and clothes are less about looking good and more about being a part of the community.

To be honest, a well-layered outfit and a well-coiffed hairdo has little to do with piety and more to do with identity. It would be easy to adhere to our standards of modesty without bothering so much with fashion, and some ladies do choose to stick to more low-maintenance styles. Still, for plenty of young women, experiments in Apostolic fashion are a way to stay separated from ‘the World’ while remaining tied in to a larger community of practitioners. It’s a marker of belonging, and a common aesthetic that we can be proud of, despite feeling different in the context of mainstream American culture.

All of us Apostolic girls have at some point lived the following scenario: a familiar silhouette catches my eye in a crowded mall or at a theme park. The woman walking towards me is wearing a skirt that falls well past her knee, a long-sleeved shirt, and a contrasting camisole that covers her chest nearly to her collarbone, despite the heat of the day. I quickly check her wrists and ears for jewelry; there is none. Another covert sweep confirms that she isn’t wearing any noticeable makeup. A slightly too-ornate bun at the back of her neck seals the deal; she’s one of us. If our eyes meet, we exchange a quick smile and perhaps a small wave.

Maybe it’s a sign of solidarity, of letting each other know that we’re not alone in the struggle to be different from the norm. Or maybe it’s just an appreciation of something in others that we see in ourselves. The Pentecostal “Namaste.” 

Either way, it’s assurance for each of us that our culture is being preserved and promoted, and that our distinctiveness has neither been swallowed up by worldly fashions nor succumbed to dowdiness. It reminds us that our bodies are the billboards of our faith. Even during long-sleeved Florida summers, it’s something we prize. 

*Thanks to Megan Geiger for her guest post. Megan is a fellow graduate student at University of Florida and received her B.A. in Spanish with a dual minor in Anthropology and English Literature from the Harriet L. Wilkes Honors College of Florida Atlantic University, where she was chosen as the Stan and Renee Wimberly Scholar for the class of 2014. Her undergraduate thesis focused on the changes in the social discourses present in an archive of sermons from a Pentecostal church, and she aims to continue in that vein of research during her time in the Master’s program. Her other research interests include Pentecostalism and immigration, Pentecostalism in Latin America, American religious history, and the role of women in Christian fundamentalism. She is an active member of the United Pentecostal Church, International.

*This post is also available at Faith Goes Pop with Read the Spirit and Sacred Duty with Houston Belief.