OPM says be “generous” with religion-based telework… just as other agencies start interrogating disabled workers about their need for accommodations. Because apparently, Jesus needs Zoom more than your spinal cord does.
Well, would you look at that? The Office of Personnel Management (OPM), that ever-pulsing heartbeat of bureaucratic brilliance, has delivered unto us a memo. And not just any memo—no, this one practically glows with holy light. In his first official act since Senate confirmation, OPM Director Scott Kupor has anointed a new golden rule: Thou shalt be generous in granting telework accommodations for religious observances. Hallelujah! Blessed be the bandwidth.
But let’s pause the hymn for a second. Because while the Lord’s followers are being told they can pray from their living rooms, disabled federal workers are simultaneously being frog-marched back into cubicles. Yes, just days before this gospel of remote righteousness dropped, the Department of Veterans Affairs started reviewing whether employees with disabilities actually deserve the telework accommodations they’ve been relying on. The optics? Roughly equivalent to handing out water to marathon runners while simultaneously yanking away wheelchairs from people on the sidelines.
Let’s talk about the holy elephant in the Zoom room: Why is religion suddenly getting the velvet rope treatment, while disability accommodations are being treated like fake IDs at a casino?
The Gospel According to Groff
The OPM memo leans heavily on the 2023 Supreme Court case Groff v. DeJoy, which might as well be titled Jesus Wants Sundays Off, Damn It. In that ruling, the Court decided that employers can’t deny religious accommodations unless they can prove a “substantial increased cost.” And because nothing says “cost-efficient” like having your devout workforce operate from their kitchen table while fasting for Ramadan or avoiding pork at the office potluck, OPM now insists that agencies approach these requests with generosity. Not caution. Not fairness. Generosity. Which is ironic, considering how stingy Uncle Sam is suddenly feeling about disability accommodations.
Kupor writes, “Telework is often a low-cost solution that aligns with the Groff standard.” Ah yes, the age-old legal principle of Blessed are the bandwidth savers. Meanwhile, veterans with PTSD, employees undergoing chemo, or anyone else relying on the accessibility of working from home, are now being asked to prove—again—that they’re not just lazy freeloaders riding the COVID coattails into indefinite pajama-based productivity.
Fasting for Faith = Fine. Fasting from Chemotherapy? Not So Much.
Let’s not forget, just six months ago the Trump administration gleefully nuked pandemic-era telework norms, returning federal workforces to the office with all the subtlety of a wrecking ball in a glassware shop. Exceptions were carved out—if you were married to someone in the military, or if you had a disability so well-documented it could pass for a medical textbook entry, maybe, maybe you could keep your laptop at home.
And now? The script has flipped. If you tell your boss you need to work from home to pray, meditate, or prepare a ceremonial goat stew, OPM wants agencies to practically roll out the digital red carpet. But if your spine is fused with metal rods or your immune system is a bit more fragile than average, well—get ready to prove yourself, again. After all, you’re not trying to save your soul. You’re just trying to not die.
Welcome to the Telework Hunger Games
Let’s say you’re a federal employee who observes the Sabbath. Under this new guidance, you might qualify for:
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A telework day to avoid driving or using electronics.
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Flexible work hours so you can end the day before sunset.
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Paid or unpaid leave to fast or pray.
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Compensatory time—basically a choose-your-own-overtime adventure.
Sounds heavenly, right? Now compare that to a disabled employee asking for the same setup. Suddenly, the process becomes less about accommodation and more about interrogation. You’ll be asked for documentation, evidence, medical certification, functional capacity assessments, and probably a blood sample. All while being treated like your real disability is laziness.
You see, under this spiritual telework revival, agencies are told to collaborate in good faith with employees making religious accommodation requests. But when it comes to disabilities? The faith dies quickly. That’s when the paperwork starts to look like a Kafka novel.
From Holy Rollers to Hollow Rhetoric
Now, to be clear: no one’s saying people of faith shouldn’t be accommodated. Religious liberty is important. But what makes this whole charade so galling is the glaring hypocrisy. The Trump administration’s stance on telework has been cold, punitive, and skeptical—except when it comes wrapped in scripture. Suddenly, the same agencies that claimed remote work was a “productivity killer” are now serenading us with Psalms about how easy it is to let people work from home if God is involved.
Kupor’s memo says agencies must justify denials of religious telework by showing a “significant operational impact.” Amazing. That’s a bar so high it might actually require effort. For religious folks, at least.
Disabled employees, on the other hand, still face a much lower bar for denial: vague notions of “business need,” “presence,” and the classic HR cop-out—“this role requires in-office collaboration.” Which, of course, is only a rule until someone brings Jesus into the chat window.
Religious Accommodation vs. Disability Accommodation: A Tale of Two Standards
Here’s the true absurdity: the legal foundation for disability accommodations—The Americans with Disabilities Act—has existed since 1990. You’d think that by now, it would be the gold standard in workplace inclusion.
But apparently, that standard is no longer trendy enough. Title VII of the Civil Rights Act is getting a glow-up thanks to the Groff ruling, and suddenly it’s the hot new kid on the HR block. Agencies are bending over backward to align with the Court’s guidance about what constitutes “undue hardship” for religious accommodations. Meanwhile, the definition of “reasonable” for disability-based telework is being twisted like a balloon animal at a toddler’s birthday party.
So, Who’s Gaming the System?
Let’s just address the elephant in the pew: Yes, some people will exploit this. That’s what happens when you create an unequal system that rewards certain types of claims more than others. Don’t be surprised when “I found Jesus” starts trending as a workaround for “my back still hurts from three years of pandemic telework.”
Already, whispers are making the rounds: employees casually discovering faith right around Rosh Hashanah or Eid. Supervisors squinting at prayer beads like they’re forged documentation. HR offices dusting off Google to determine whether a given observance requires someone to skip the weekly staff meeting.
It’s not cynical to anticipate this—it’s inevitable. When you incentivize religious accommodations over disability accommodations, you create a telework caste system. One where prayer outranks pain, scripture beats surgery, and fasting for God is nobler than fasting because chemo made you nauseated.
Bureaucracy with a Side of Bible
The OPM memo doesn’t just encourage generosity. It practically demands spiritual sensitivity training. “Engage in a good-faith interactive process,” Kupor says. Sure. But the only faith most managers have is that if they ignore your request long enough, it’ll disappear into the HR Bermuda Triangle.
Now, with this memo, religious telework claims are about to become the most HR-proof request in the game. Managers will tiptoe around them, terrified of committing a Title VII sin. Meanwhile, disabled employees can expect another round of “justifying your existence,” complete with review boards and possibly a carrier pigeon delivering your new return-to-office schedule.
The Takeaway: Thou Shalt Not Compare Disabilities to Devotion
In the end, what this memo reveals is not the government’s commitment to equity—but its flair for selective compassion.
Religious accommodations are now graced with buzzwords like “generosity,” “collaboration,” and “interactive process.” Meanwhile, disability accommodations are being rebranded with phrases like “eligibility scrutiny” and “reassessment.”
Telework—once the great equalizer—is now being partitioned into tiers of moral and bureaucratic worthiness. Want to skip the commute to observe Lent? The government’s here for it. Want to skip the commute because you have degenerative disc disease? Get ready to resubmit Form B-127-Disability-Telework-Evaluation-v14. In triplicate.
Amen and Out
So here we are. In the spiritual age of telework, the federal government has made its priorities blessedly clear: It’s easier to get a laptop blessed by your pastor than cleared by your doctor. Religion is the new VPN. Prayer beads are your access badge. And if you’re hoping for flexibility based on your medical needs?
Well… start praying.
Because at the intersection of bureaucracy and belief, only one kind of accommodation is currently being treated like it descended from heaven. The rest? Still stuck in the waiting room.