The perils of press conference theology

Imagine you’re the quarterback of an NFL team. One glorious Sunday night, you throw for eight touchdowns and 600 yards with a 95% completion rate. After the game, reporters ask you how it feels to have turned in the greatest statistical performance ever. You reply, “Hey, football is a team sport, and everybody else played great today. I’m not any more important than the other 52 guys on the roster.”

The next morning, your general manager calls you into his office and tells you he’s going to give everybody else on the team a raise by cutting your pay by $30 million. When you object, he smiles and tells you, “Hey, you said you’re no more important than anyone else. You may not have meant it, but I’m holding you to it.”

“Press conference theology,” as we might call it, can be a dangerous thing. There are certain spiritual or doctrinal statements we make, not so much because we firmly believe them but because they seem like the right thing to say, will make us look humble or accepting, and will rescue us from conflict or criticism. Some of these statements are Biblically sound, others aren’t. But what unites all forms of press conference theology is that things get ugly when you’re expected to prove your loyalty to statements you never really believed. You can find a good example of this in a recent New York Times article, in which Catherine Pearson profiles a handful of boomers and Gen Xers living under a common problem: the crushing realization that they will never become grandparents.

There’s Lydia Birk, 56, who laments that there’s “no changing their minds” in referring to her children, who have all decided not to have children of their own. There’s Christine Kutt, 69, whose dreams of teaching grandchildren family recipes have been dashed by the same non-procreative problem. There’s Jill Perry, 69, who feels a sense of purposelessness after not having grandchildren to care for at a time when she’s free to do so.

It’s a tragic thing. My heart breaks for these women who are being robbed of a treasure every parent should be able to experience. And yet, if these women wish to understand why they’re afflicted by this sorrow, it might be helpful for them to consider the caveats they’ve all tossed atop their pile of sorrow. Birk says that her children’s decision is “right for them.” Kutt “vacillates between feeling supportive of her daughter’s choice and quietly hoping she might change her mind.” Perry “said her two daughters—both in their 30s and child-free—should be able to make their own choices about parenthood, and they have her full support.”

Ah, well, if it’s safe to assume these women all made statements like this to their children throughout their lives, we may have spotted the problem: press conference theology. These women have articulated a spiritual view of childbearing that they don’t actually hold and found themselves buried underneath an avalanche of grief when their children expected them to honor the words they spoke.

“If you don’t feel having children is right for you, that’s the right decision.”

“You don’t have to give me grandchildren for me to be happy.”

“How could anyone bring children into a world like this?”

A generation of parents have made these statements, it seems, to appease the phantasmal gods of moral relativism and non-judgmentalism they believed were looming over them. They taught their children these beliefs because they seemed like the open-minded, non-judgmental, or politically conscious thing to say, but they never actually believed these statements. They didn’t, but their children did and lived accordingly. Enter our nation’s plummeting birth rates and the tear-filled eyes of those who will never know the embrace of grandchildren.

“Let your ‘yes’ be yes and your ‘no’ be no, so that you may not fall under condemnation,” says James in Chapter 5 of his epistle. And while James spoke those words regarding oaths, those who see their children embracing barrenness would do well to apply them to their own words. If you think your children are making a mistake, robbing themselves of the joy of children, just come right out and say it. And don’t just say it, say it in a way that reflects some measure of culpability.

“I know I’ve told you that, if you don’t feel having children is right for you, that’s the right decision. But here’s what I really believe: Having kids or not having kids isn’t like choosing between a Netflix or a Max subscription. Having children is simply an extension of being human. Choosing not to do that is like choosing not to grow in wisdom. You’re making the wrong choice. I hope you’ll change your mind.”

“I may have told you that you don’t have to give me grandchildren for me to be happy, but the truth is that refusing to have children hurts me. I love you. I want to see you in the faces of my grandchildren, and I have the right to tell you that denying yourself and me the greatest treasure you can experience is short-sighted.”

“Yes, I’ve expressed despair over the state of the world by wondering how anyone could bring children into it. But I shouldn’t have. So, please have some perspective. The vast majority of people in history have been born into hardships your children will never know, and yet they filled their parents’ lives with beauty and peace. So even if the world is swallowed up by darkness, have children. They will be your light, just like you were for me.”

Time is short. Biological clocks are running out. If you’re afraid that you won’t hold your grandchildren in your arms before you breathe your last, drop the press conference theology and speak honestly.