When I protested an abortion clinic

Psalm 115:4,8

But their idols are silver and gold, made by human hands…Those who make them will be like them, and so will all who trust in them.

I consider myself pro-life from womb to tomb. Over the years, in my giving and volunteering, I’ve supported people and ministries who have faithfully provided medical care and emotional support to women and their unborn and newly born children - whether or not those women and their families shared the same beliefs or ultimately decided to choose abortion or not. I’m part of a decentralized network of missional outposts where leaders - particularly women - have walked beside mothers in crisis who decided not to have an abortion. The result of those courageous choices are beautiful children who I sometimes see in the community. I’ve spoken on the sanctity of all human life from pulpits. I’ve posted about the same on my social media platforms. My wife and I have modestly donated to political organizations working to promote holistic policies supporting life - particularly within the Democratic Party. We’ve long known that Democrats on the ground and in our life are far more nuanced and varied in their views of abortion than the dominant media narratives might suggest, so we’ve sometimes been willing to support those working for a more pro-life-inclusive Democratic Party platform. To us, less political fundamentalism in the platforms of both parties seems to be a good thing. I know there are those who would strongly disagree with me in philosophy or practice, but that’s how we’ve engaged the issue.

But then there was the time all those years ago I protested at an abortion clinic. I was only in 5th grade.

My 9-year old self was attending an evangelical Christian school at the time, and in one of our classes we watched a video of then-contemporary Christian music artist Carmen balancing on a wall in front of the Capitol Building kinda singing, kinda dancing, kinda talking (in Carmen’s typical ambiguous genre of music - if you know, you know) about how “we need God in America again.” I was stirred.

Within a few weeks, I had started a little social action group with my 5th grade peers called “Christian Crusaders for Christ.” It had handwritten bylaws on ubiquitous gray notebook paper with blue lines the adults were always handing out to us in school, officers for the organization from among my classmates, and meeting times. Our first order of business? Protest an abortion clinic.

Pause here for just one moment. I want you to notice a thread I’ll examine in just a bit - Carmen’s song to crusader language to protesting an abortion clinic. I don’t remember how all the dots connected in my mind back then, but it was seamless.

My friends and I with the help of quite empowering adults in our lives made signs (I don’t remember specifically what they said, but they tried to strike a positive tone - “Support Life!”), picked a date, and drove to downtown Pittsburgh on a Saturday morning. There we joined a number of protestors who had gathered in front of a clinic behind barricades (I’m not sure where all of this falls in the timeline of legislation that eventually placed firm rules on these kinds of protests), and we walked in circles with our signs and Bibles.

My memories are fuzzy of that day, but I remember a few things. I remember signs held by other protestors that were decidedly not so positive - signs that were graphic and even threatening. I remember feeling unsettled by some of the other protestors. They scared me. I vaguely remember a woman walking into the clinic that day. I don’t remember what she looked like, I have no idea what she must have felt, and it was the first time I realized there were real humans involved in the debate that Carmen inspired me to do something about. I remember getting in the car to drive home and feeling sad.

I don’t remember the Christian Crusaders doing anything more after that. I’m pretty sure it came to an end - our one performance of social action.

In the wake of the recent Supreme Court ruling on Roe v. Wade, I’ve been reflecting on the meaning of all of this. Like many childhood memories, it’s hard to know what meaning was present at the time and what meaning I read back into events (our minds are always trying to make meaning of things!). But here’s some attempt at retrospective observation.

I’m kind of amazed at how my evangelical world discipled me with such passion, clarity, and purpose that it resulted in such zealous action so young. The milieu of evangelical teaching, radio, music, preaching, and education that filled my brain in those years was clearly effective in transmitting something that resulted in focused action from an elementary school kid. Many current discipleship programs in our churches would envy that kind of effectiveness.

But discipleship in what?

I did learn something about the value of human life and the historic Christian belief that every person is created in God’s own image. I’m grateful for this, and it hasn’t shifted in me all these years. I understand there are plenty of people who would disagree with me here, but I’ve remained unwavering in my convictions about the meaning of human life as revealed in Christ and the Scriptures.

But that wasn’t the only thing in which I was discipled.

Carmen’s video was laden with certain assumptions about American history, the role of Christianity in that history, the role of America on the global stage, and how Christians should relate to power in America. The messages about power embedded in my mind led me to pick the name “Christian Crusaders for Christ” - hearkening back to a particularly unsavory and violent epoch of church history when power-tripping kings sent soldiers to take up swords to expand the borders of their empires in the name of Jesus. Yikes. All of this seemed to mean to my 5th grade mind the first logical order of business for our little group, therefore, was to get bigger and louder. Make signs. Protest. It never occurred to me there might be other subversive ways to serve by going lower, listening, or becoming weaker.

I hope I don’t sound angry at my evangelical background. I’m really not. In fact, many of the adults who touched this story were also people who taught me good things about the Scriptures, loved and protected me, and championed my emerging giftings (they gave a lot of time to this whole ordeal!). I often feel gratitude surrounding aspects of my upbringing. Furthermore, I haven’t tapped out of evangelical environments. I know some have felt like they’ve needed to leave those relationships, but I’m still here. I don’t sit above it or outside of it but within it. I own that reality, which is why I find myself reflecting and asking questions. I have, however, moved on from Carmen’s music. (If you know, you know.)

Since that protest in the mid-1990s, my experience around these issues has been affected by so many things that I’m also reflecting on these last couple of days.

I’m reflecting on why a religious system that so potently discipled me in loud action on abortion said almost nothing about the evils of racism and economic oppression - why it took me well into adulthood to meet nearly any Christians who could disciple me in these issues biblically and missiologically much less even say anything about it. I’m telling you, it was near complete silence from the religious authority figures in my life, but I heard the abortion message loud and clear. I see these things through a systemic lens, so I wonder about the ignorance of my own leaders. What was missing in their discipleship?

I’m wondering about individuals I know who vehemently oppose abortion in one breath but seem apathetic, cavalier - or at worst - even celebratory about things like war and the death penalty. As a pastor, I never thought I’d end up touching the criminal justice system as much as I have. I have a feeling if you spent time as I have listening to attorneys’ arguments, watching judges and juries deliberate, sometimes testifying yourself, and observing the system absolutely fail to render justice for those who don’t have financial resources - you’d be far less likely to have confidence this system has the moral capacity to fairly render something like a death sentence, if such a thing could be moral.

I’m wondering about why I’ve almost never heard anyone in churches say anything lacking in compassion about the unborn, but I have too often heard things lacking in compassion and even downright mean said about the poor.

I’m curious about why almost every time I’ve been at an evangelical Christian college campus to say something about racism or poverty, I typically navigate a line of students afterward who invariably have some kind of theological or political objection to my talk (I welcome the discourse), but I simply cannot imagine such a line forming if the topic was abortion. But maybe I’m wrong.

I’m wondering why I can’t recall ever mentioning abortion when I’ve spoken at a college campus. Was I afraid of what these students would think? Have I lacked courage? Where else have I lacked courage?

I’m thinking about evangelical cultures that make it hard for women to lead and do ministry or, even worse, shelter the abuse of women. My experience in often male-centered evangelicalism has witnessed too much of this kind of thing first hand, so I wonder about our claims to care for women in this debate.

I’m reflecting on the women who’ve told me about their abortions - the way they trusted me with that kind of story even though I couldn’t possibly understand. I’m remembering their tears and processing of shame, hearing them wonder if in the midst of the church’s political rhetoric there was even any room for them to tell anyone and still feel safe. I’ve had men cry with me too.

I’m remembering the time I visited a foreign nation with very restrictive abortion laws as part of their national program to restrict women’s rights in many other domains as well. In that country, I have missionary friends who have had to advocate for women being accused and imprisoned for abortion simply because they experienced a miscarriage or stillbirth. They also have to advocate for women who illegally chose abortion and the government’s only possible response is cruelty.

I’m remembering the time Planned Parenthood staff members invited us into their facility to run our children’s ministry program during a short-term mission trip to a low-income, migrant worker community. This one made me realize the Kingdom will manifest in all kinds of places if we only have eyes to see it and join in.

I’m thinking about the ways pastors get called to be present in the complexities of people’s medical journies. I’ve watched moms and dads agonize over ethically difficult decisions while they are also hurting, tired, and out of time. If we think every decision is ethically clear, we haven’t been in enough hospitals with people, and we probably haven’t learned the necessity of the Spirit to guide us into holiness when the letter of the law just isn’t enough.

I’m picturing the humble, gentle, patient people I know who have faithfully served women and their unborn children in their own communities. These aren’t politicians, and I’ve watched them serve people no matter who they are, what decision they ultimately make about abortion, and what they believe about God. While the national debates have raged on, they’ve served in quietness, humility, and obscurity no matter who is President. I wonder what’s been on their minds the last couple of days.

I’m thinking about how abortion has been galvanizing for a group of people called “evangelicals” that is really a political bloc rather than a religious expression or theological conviction - a political camp I really don’t identify with any longer. One time one of my unbelieving friends pulled out of his pocket a newspaper article covering an opportunity a Republican-led Congress had to pass pro-life legislation with a Republic President in office - and the legislation failed. He said to me, “It’s not about the actual ethics, Joel. It’s about the money; it’s about the power.” I wonder what my friend saw in religious political types that too many of us don’t see.

I’m thinking about a book I read this year - A Family Roe by Joshua Prager - that outlines the experiences of the individual behind Roe v. Wade. Prager clearly holds a different view on life than I do, so I cringed at some points while reading it. But his research and reporting will make you think - maybe this debate isn’t actually about things like feminism or Christianity or the Constitution. Maybe it is, indeed, about money and power on all sides. Maybe the politicians are playing us. I wonder.

I’m pondering how legislative social reforms - of both conservative and liberal varieties - often create unintended consequences that hurt people. It’s always the most vulnerable who get hurt, even when we’re trying to help.

I’m remembering how the Old Testament prophet Amos reveals a God who is so thoroughly concerned about empire’s destruction of human life that he calls them out on their war crimes (Amos 1:11), murder of pregnant women and their unborn children (Amos 1:13), and even disrespect of dead corpses (Amos 2:1) only to go on to prophesy against God’s own people who oppress the poor (Amos 2:6-8). Here God sees the mistreatment of the poor as akin to the war crimes of pagan nations.

And tonight as I write this I’m thinking about those big-eyed, chubby-faced kids who might have been aborted but now are part of my life and the life of my neighborhood because people mobilized to serve, pray, give rides to the doctor, provide employment opportunities, and got into the story of poverty and pain - but mostly, because a mom made a brave choice for life. Women truly are amazing.

I’m thinking about all of that tonight. It doesn’t make for a neat headline or a catchy Facebook post. It doesn’t represent all perspectives - particularly the perspectives of women. It’s just my limited perspective. But for me, tonight, it’s real.

All of these experiences from 5th grade on have placed me on a journey of repentance these last 15 years from the religious system that on one hand empowered me to action in the world and believed in me so young but also simplified things to one issue, empowered violent rhetoric, and assumed getting louder and bigger was the only strategy for engagement. Again, I’m not bitter. In fact, it’s the responsibility of every generation to reform the church where it needs change. I hope faithful people will reform what I leave behind as incomplete or disobedient. Repentance is a gift, and I’m still turning.

I don’t agree with the view of history and power presented in the music video I saw all those years back. I think I have a healthy affection for my country. It’s good to love the place we call home. But I believe its economic, government, and social structures - like every human system ever built by people anywhere - is summed up in what the Apostle John calls “Babylon” (Revelation 18:1-3). This doesn’t make me hate it. In fact, it gives me something of a roadmap by which I can try to figure out how to love people within it while resisting and challenging its idolatries.

“Babylon,“ in its various manifestations of empire throughout history, loves power. And power is ultimately reinforced by empire’s violence. This is Scripture’s own testimony. This is why a sanitized version of our own history that misses the social and physical violence executed against certain groups of people misses an important theological point as well - every empire eventually reaches for violence. From the viewpoint of some social groups in American history, it’s no surprise that we are so violent. For them, it’s always been their American experience.

For this reason, I think it’s always wrong for Christians to reach for violence, even for what feels to be righteous causes. I reflect with a chill down my spine when I think how the term “Crusader” felt so natural to me. I don’t think anyone was training me to attack abortion clinics, but I was absorbing violent rhetoric. I don’t have to tell you that in today’s world, violent rhetoric too often turns into violent acts. Empire can get bigger, louder, and more violent, but it really doesn’t know how to love. So when we love, we subvert the whole thing.

And maybe all of that is why in my adulthood I haven’t returned to an abortion protest. I’m not saying there aren’t appropriate times to protest on social issues. I believe there is a time to protest. I’m just saying my experience in 5th grade didn’t feel like love to me. Maybe that’s why I haven’t returned. Because if we aren’t loving, what are we doing?

I believe Roe v. Wade to be a manifestation of so many cultural idolatries that aren’t as obvious as our debates about abortion might present. And while many Christians will celebrate the overturning of Roe as an obvious pro-life victory after their many years of organizing and praying, I’m concerned about the church’s ability in this moment to recognize the idolatries, resist them, and repent. Whatever Roe v. Wade was, we helped make it too by our complicity with idolatry. We become like the things we worship (Psalm 115:4,8), and our false desires shape the whole system. I’m afraid too many of the values that shaped Roe are actually also shaping our churches in more religiously tolerable forms. Do our churches really have the capacity to disciple people out of the idolatrous individualism that provides logic to something like Roe when too many of us celebrate individualism within the church? And now, with the rhetoric amping up and the camps polarizing, I’m concerned for the church’s ability to navigate the seductions of these idolatries. Every camp wants you on its side, but Jesus’ voice is calling us to be with Him.

Enough concern and critique though. What gives me hope today is all the people I know - ordinary, obscure, humble people - who have supported women and their children, born and unborn, in their own context. They’re teaching me a different way of gentle action rather than the kind of protest and rhetoric from all those years ago. I’m thinking about the women who have experienced abortion and go on to minister hope and healing to others instead of being imprisoned by shame. I’m inspired by women who in a thousand ways choose life - and choose it over and over again, even for others. They make our communities better.

We often don’t embrace gentleness, even though it’s what God is like (Galatians 5:23), because we can’t imagine how this actually works. But neither can empire. Empire lacks imagination. Paradoxically, gentleness - a way of being that among other things respects people’s power of choice - can actually protect and nurture life. I’ve seen it happen, and it makes me want to follow people who know this secret away from the debates about power into the neighborhood. It takes bravery to be gentle. It takes faith to believe God works His wonders there.