Roots that Shape Resistance
- Laura Beville
- Oct 6
- 4 min read
I’ve been thinking a lot about the times we are living in—a season where our president continually makes choices that are the antithesis of what I was raised to believe about how we share this world with other humans and creation. As both a mom and a clergyperson, I wrestle with how to resist destructive beliefs and practices prevelant today. Messages that tell us to "other" people who are different, not care about creation, and to be OK with armed state violence in our cities. Lately, my heart has returned to my roots: to where I came from, and how I arrived to believe what I believe about who God is and humanity’s place in the world.
When I was growing up, my mom was a progressive at heart. She was the original “crunchy mom”—carob not chocolate, no red dye, canning the garden, scratch cooking, and cloth diapers before they became mainstream again. She was also the picture of June Cleaver: She was a stay-at-home mama who made cookies and filled our bellies with crockpot dishes – rarely TV dinners. Then she went back to work to do what she loved. But unbeknownst to even her, she raised me with a vision of what the world could look like with an eye on justice, love and compassion - values that have never left me.
The church that nurtured me was led by clergy who believed faith demanded justice—1980s style. We lived in a fairly conservative community, the kind of place that sparked the creationism-in-schools debate in the mid-1990s. (Receipts: Vista Board OKs Teaching of Creationism) Our church pushed back. We tried to counter that narrative by raising our voices for truth and justice.
Some of my earliest memories of church life are shaped by people who chose the harder path of resistance. Members of our congregation stood with immigrants crossing the Mexicali border in the 1980s. Others advocated for Ben Sasaway, a draft resister who drew national attention for refusing to register with the Selective Service after its revival. This was huge, since we were neighbors with a local US Marine base, and my Dad, and other members of the congregation were retired Marines. We believed our faith compelled us to act, to stand with those who were marginalized or criminalized for their convictions.
We also took a countercultural approach to human sexuality. While the community around us doubled down on purity culture and creationism, our congregation offered something radical: a teen “Sexuality Seminar,” where we learned to hold our Christian faith alongside inclusive, affirming understandings of human sexuality. It was a bold act of resistance—and a gift that shaped my own sense of what it means to be a Christian committed to love and justice.
Of course, not everyone agreed. I know there were people in my home church who bristled at these stances and eventually chose to leave. At the time, it felt like loss. But in hindsight, I can see how that departure freed the Spirit to move more boldly in those who remained. The Spirit has a way of clearing space for new growth when old roots no longer want to be nourished. Even in division, God’s presence can create room for deeper courage, clearer vision, and more authentic community.
I’ve been visiting my mom’s church during my renewal leave. It’s not the church I grew up in, but I needed a touchstone, a place to be steadied. This last weekend, Jim and Jean Strathdee were there: a Saturday concert that offered encouragement and joy as an act of resistance, and then leading worship on Sunday morning. It was a treat to hear them live again —especially now that they don’t tour much anymore—and to witness how their music still calls people toward love, compassion, and peace. Hearing once again their gift of music reminded me that resistance isn’t only speeches and protests; it can be a hymn sung with others, a small act of hospitality, a lifetime of faithful witness.
That reminder brought me back to a deep memory from my call to ministry: Standing in the sanctuary where I was nurtured, surrounded by people who had loved and believed in me, we sang “The Spirit of the Lord” (Luke 4:18–19). (Link: The Spirit of the Lord) In that moment I felt God’s Spirit upon me—an anointing to bring good news to the poor, to proclaim release to the captives, to let the oppressed go free. I felt seen and sent. It is not an external trophy but a calling rooted in community and history. (You can read my entire call story here: https://www.parsonspretties.com/post/spirit-origins-midwives.)
Today, when leadership at the highest level seems to erode mercy, peace, justice, and truth, I lean on those roots. Resistance was planted in me by my parents, modeled by my church, sung into me by faithful musicians, and confirmed by the Spirit’s call. I resist as a pastor—and as a parent—because my children deserve a world where justice is real, where truth is spoken, and where faith is spacious enough to embrace every person.
So here’s what I know: resistance is not just political. It’s spiritual. It’s remembering that the Spirit of the Lord is upon us—each of us—to proclaim good news, to set people free, to help one another see. That’s not only our heritage. It’s our call.
What are the roots of resistance in your own life, and how might the Spirit be inviting you to draw on them today?
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