Church members with political differences unite to erase medical debt

WINSTON-SALEM, N.C. — Trinity Moravian Church sits near the old textile mills of Winston-Salem in a red-brick building that has stood for 114 years. Inside the congregation, political views range widely. Conservative Republicans sit beside liberal Democrats. Supporters of President Donald Trump worship alongside people who sharply criticize him. The Rev. John Jackman says it is, in his words, a purple congregation.

That mix of views has not stopped the church from uniting around one cause. Four years ago, Jackman proposed a new mission: raise money to help erase medical debt for people in the wider Winston-Salem area. He said there was no argument about it. In fact, he said it was the easiest money he had ever raised. Members gave small checks of $25 or $50, and the effort became one of the church’s most visible projects.

The work placed Trinity Moravian inside a broader response to a problem that has long frustrated patients and families. Healthcare has been one of the most politically charged issues in the country, with fierce arguments over the Affordable Care Act, Medicaid, and related policy fights. Yet the burden of medical debt seems to cut across those divisions. Church members said they were moved by the sense that it was deeply unfair for sick people to end up owing money they could not pay. The church’s efforts helped advance a movement among churches in North Carolina and elsewhere, and they also inspired state officials to take medical debt seriously. The campaign even received praise from conservative radio host Glenn Beck.

Earlier this year, Trinity completed its eighth medical debt campaign as part of what it calls the Debt Jubilee Project. The latest effort raised more than $17,000 and helped retire more than $2.2 million in debt. That is possible because medical debt can often be purchased for pennies on the dollar, since creditors expect many bills will never be paid. Nationally, an estimated 100 million adults have some form of healthcare debt, and more than half of U.S. adults have had such debt at some point.

At a church of about 200 members, stories about medical bills are not hard to find. Catherine Coe, who works in the accounting department of a hospital system, said she sees people going into debt all the time. She grew up attending Trinity with her grandmother, drifted away as an adult, and returned last year. Coe describes herself as conservative and said she voted for Trump. Still, she said medical debt crosses political lines. In her view, people are one medical bill away from financial ruin.

Terri Mabe, another longtime member, comes from the opposite side of the political spectrum. She said she cannot stand the president and believes he has shown no real concern for people in the country. Mabe, 70, spent years in the construction industry and said she saw medical debt up close. In that line of work, she explained, people can be between projects and without a job. Then they get sick, and suddenly they owe $5,000 or $10,000 that they cannot pay. After covering home expenses, there is often nothing left. Both Mabe and Coe said those political differences do not matter when it comes to medical debt. Coe said there is no political divide on the issue. It brings people together.

Jackman said the idea to do something about medical debt took shape during the pandemic, when more people came to the church for help. He kept hearing from people whose electric bills had gone unpaid because a short hospital stay had led to a huge bill that snowballed. He heard that pattern again and again. That led him to a nonprofit called Undue Medical Debt, which buys unpaid medical bills from hospitals and debt collectors so they can be retired.

The church’s first campaign, in 2022, aimed to raise $5,000 to retire about $500,000 in medical debt owed by residents of Forsyth County. It reached that goal in just six weeks, mostly through donations under $50. Jackman, who has been a pastor for more than four decades, said the church’s ethic played a role in the success. The congregation believes it cannot fix everything, but it should fix what it can in the place where it is planted.

Members said they see a system that can push sick people into debt even when they want to pay what they owe. Paul Sluder, 78, who does not identify with a political party, once worked for a credit union and spent time collecting debt before retiring. He said most people do want to pay their bills, but if they get sick they often have little choice but to borrow or fall behind. In his view, the system is out of whack and deeply unfair.

Polls suggest that concern is widely shared. In a 2025 survey for Undue Medical Debt, more than 75% of Republicans and Democrats said collection agencies should not be allowed to garnish patients’ wages to collect medical debt. In recent years, bipartisan measures to expand protections from medical debt have passed in blue states and red states alike. Coe said she would support even tighter limits on how much medical debt people can be made to carry. She asked why there could not be a cap on medical debt, after which the remaining balance would be written off or forgiven.

After this latest campaign ended, Trinity held a special celebration. Children from a local Scouting group helped mark the occasion. Jackman stood before the congregation with a sheet of paper covered in names of county residents whose debt had been bought and retired by the church. He announced that on the day of Jubilee the church was forgiving the debts of many neighbors as God had forgiven theirs.

Then, as the congregation stood, Jackman lit the paper on fire. The list of 1,631 names burned in yellow flame while the scouts set off confetti poppers, the choir sang, and the room broke into cheers. Afterward, people went downstairs for a spaghetti lunch in the church basement, served by the scouts.

Many members left the gathering hoping their example could reach beyond the church walls. Cynthia Tesh, 72, said there is too much division and too much anger. She said people need to look out for one another. If they do, she believes things can change. Her fellow members shared that hope, saying the church’s medical debt work could show others that people with very different politics can still come together to help their neighbors.