Tag: Abortion

Hope Is in Our Gut

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Sermons Year BLeave a comment

Mark 6:30-34, 53-56

The disciples were sharing with Jesus all they have been doing while they were out on the road publicly being the church, proclaiming the way of love that Jesus taught and embodied. They were telling Jesus all they have been doing to make the world more peaceful, equitable, and just for all people, especially for the poor and those marginalized by sick religion and greedy politics, and for foreigners, including Samaritans. They were telling Jesus all they have been doing to make sure the hungry were fed, strangers were welcomed, and the sick received healthcare.

And, while they were sharing with Jesus, they must have looked like some of us are looking these days: exhausted, frustrated, and even afraid.

Because like in Jesus’ day, the times we live in are serious. The threats are critical. The dangers are real. The call for mass deportations of immigrants grows louder. Fascism grows more popular, while democracy loses favor. Sixty years of civil rights progress is being threatened. The rights women have enjoyed for fifty years have been taken away. The very identity of our nation is at risk. People today who claim to follow Jesus seem to be opposed to everything for which Jesus stood.  And we the people, we who are trying to follow Jesus, are tired and afraid.

Jesus looks at the weary disciples and says: “Come away to a deserted place and rest a while.” Then, they boarded a boat and went on a cruise.

Sounds wonderful, doesn’t it? That we could all just go to some place to get away from it all. How nice would it take a cruise for the next six months!

I remember that’s exactly what I did after one presidential election. For three months, I disengaged and withdrew from everything happening in Washington. From November to February, I avoided all news. If Lori was watching MSNBC in the living room, I would ask her to turn the channel before I walked into the room.

Unlike the disciples, I didn’t own a boat, but I did have something they didn’t. I had cable TV and something magical called ESPN!  So, I put my head in the sand by focusing all of my attention on basketball and football. I did whatever I could do to pretend that nothing bad had happened world, that none of my friends felt threatened or lost. For three months, my best friend was denial.

But notice what happened to Jesus and the disciples when they tried to get away from it all. As soon as the people saw them board the boat, they spread the word and hurried to Jesus’ port of arrival ahead of them.

Jesus sees the great crowd, and (here’s the good news) he has “compassion for them.”

To truly understand this good news, we need to know something about this rich Greek word in this verse translated “compassion” It is σπλαγχνίζομαι (splanch-nizo-mai).

It is a visceral word which literally means to feel something deep in the gut. When Jesus sees the crowd that had gathered and that the people seemed lost and felt threatened, like sheep without a shepherd, his concern for them is gut-wrenching. The fear and needs of the people turns his stomach.

So, he and the disciples immediately go back to work, proclaiming good news to the poor, recovery of the sight to the blind, and freedom to the oppressed, while opening up a free clinic for everyone onsite!

As I said last month, we all need a Sabbath. We all need a little time away. But for the follower of Jesus, our time away will always be short-lived, because when we are following Jesus, when we are out on the road with Jesus in the public square, when heads are out of the sand, when our eyes are wide-open in the world, we will always see a great crowd in need: people who are hungry for food and for dignity, hungry for their lives to matter; people who are thirsting for water and for equality, thirsting to be seen as the image of God.

And when we really get to know them, when walk in their shoes, when we understand where they are coming from, their pain will be like punch in our own gut. Our stomachs will turn. And experiencing gut-wrenching pain, we will be stirred to love-inspired action.

I have heard and I have said that our nation has “an empathy crisis.” But I am beginning to believe that might not be the case. Because, I believe most all human beings were born with the capacity for empathy. Of course, there are few exceptions— those with dark, narcissistic tendencies, those whose hearts have been hardened by fear, greed and selfishness. But I do not believe they are not the majority.

And this, I believe, is the good news. This is our hope. The hope is in our guts. The hope is that most people have really do have the capacity for empathy which leads them to love.

For example, when most people read Lori and my story of losing our first child, when half-way into the pregnancy we discovered the baby did not have an abdominal cavity to protect their organs, leading us to make the difficult and painful decision to abort the pregnancy, most people demonstrate great empathy. Our personal story moves them. Reading our story, people have said they felt our pain. They shared our grief. Some told me that our story changed their position on abortion, or it confirmed their belief that the decision to terminate a pregnancy should be left up to the woman and not to a government that is unfamiliar with the situation.

However, there are a few people who continue to shock me with their cold-heartedness. Just last week on Facebook, someone I have not seen since high school, and to be honest, I don’t remember seeing her then, commenting on our story, called Lori “a murderer.” Can you believe that?

Which in my mind immediately raised the question about my high school classmate: “Is her heart really that cold? How can anyone’s heart, or gut, be so callous? To call Lori “a murderer?”

 But it occurred to me. The odds are that this woman is not a sociopath. Her problem is that she just doesn’t know Lori. And she certainly doesn’t know me very well. For everyone who truly knows us knows that if Lori was a murderer, I would have been dead a long time ago!

So, maybe our nation does not have so much of an empathy crisis as we have a proximity crisis. We have a too-many-people-living-in-a-bubble crisis. A too-many-people-tempted-to-keep-their-heads-in-the-sand crisis.

For too many have gone away to some deserted place with people who look like them and think like them in order to escape from anyone who is different or has lived a different experience.

Because if we truly knew one another, if we put ourselves in the proximity to understand one another, to know others as we know ourselves, personally, intimately, then our gut would prevent us from ever hurting another. We would feel it in our gut to truly love our neighbors as we love ourselves, which means to want for others the same protections, the same freedom, and the same justice that we want for ourselves.

Since I have been living in Lynchburg, I have been in awe of my colleague Rev. Dan Harrison’s great compassion for the Palestinian people. Dan seems to possess a passionate outspokenness for the Palestinians which is greater than mine. He seems to possess more of an urgency to loudly speak out for their humanity in Israel’s war with Hamas than I possess.

Could his heart be a bit softer than mine? Is he a more devout follower of Jesus than me? Perhaps. But I believe it is more likely because Dan has lived in that region of the world. It is because Dan has very close friends who are Palestinian. He knows their experience, because he has lived their experience. Dan has literally walked in their shoes. He knows them and understands them, personally and intimately. And when they are afraid, when they feel dehumanized, and otherized, Dan feels it in his gut. And he is stirred to action.

Dan would say that he is not more devout. He is just in more pain. And he is in that pain because of proximity.

I believe most of us have what we need in our guts to save us and to save democracy. We don’t need more capacity for empathy. What we need is to rediscover the power of proximity.

That is why, that no matter how dark things get, we must resist the temptation to withdraw completely from our world, to go off to some deserted place with people like us, to get away from all others, to completely disengage from the world and all of its problems, to turn off the news and immerse ourselves with ESPN, Hulu or Netflix, to stick our heads in the sand and ignore our neighbors who feel lost, keeping them out of sight, out of mind. For withdrawing only adds to our nation’s crisis of proximity.

Jesus didn’t feel like he was punched in the gut on that boat. Mark says he felt the gut-wrenching pain as soon as he “saw the crowds.”

After decades of supporting the Christian Right, ghostwriting autobiographies for Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson, Rev. Dr. Mel White came out of the closet writing his own autobiography Stranger at the Gate in 1994 and then became a full-time minster to the LGBTQIA+ community. In his latest book, Religion Gone Bad, Mel White issues a warning of the dangers of Christian Nationalism and its critical threat it is to democracy.

I love the stories of Mel White attending worship services at Thomas Road Baptist Church. I am told whenever Rev. Falwell would disparage queer people in a sermon, Rev. White would stand up so the entire congregation, including Falwell, would see him. Avoiding seeing Rev. White, standing tall and proud confronting the hate, was not an option for anyone.

The world today is a scary place, but for the follower of Jesus, sitting down is not an option. Getting on a boat to go on a cruise for the next six months may sound tempting, but for the follower of Jesus, it’s not an option.

Retreating, withdrawing and disengaging— it’s not an option.

Denial is not an option.

Being quiet on social media is not an option.

Avoiding talking about religion and politics with our family and friends because making them uncomfortable will stir up some trouble is not an option.

The times are too serious. The threat is too critical. The dangers are too real. And if you are a follower of Jesus, now is the time to get into some trouble, some good trouble.

Avoidance, politeness, moderation, even tolerance— it’s not an option. Now is the time for all who believe that the best thing we can do as humans to love our neighbors as ourselves to rise up with Mel White and stand tall allowing others to see and experience our suffering in their guts, which will then hopefully stir them to love-inspired action.

         This is our hope. It’s in our gut. Amen.

He Is Not Here

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Easter, Short ArticlesLeave a comment

christian-pro-choice

As I was drinking coffee on Easter Sunday morning, I took the common risk of picking up my phone to scroll through my Facebook newsfeed. One of the first posts that I read was from a friend making the assertion that there was no way one could be a Christian if one did not hold a certain position on the reproductive rights of women.* Of course, this person is not the only friend of mine who has made such statements on social media. I have read countless posts from others asserting that one cannot be a Christian unless one believes “this” or “that.”

Then, I went to church and heard the good news:

“But the angel said to the women: ‘Do not be afraid; I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified. He is not here!’ (Matthew 28:5-6 NRSV).

The good news is: “He is not here!”

We cannot keep Jesus sealed in a tomb or behind four walls. We cannot keep Jesus in any little box we construct. We cannot keep Jesus confined to our limited and shallow understanding of the world and this mystery we call “life.”

“He is not here.” He cannot be retained in any enclosed tomb we devise. He cannot be locked up in any particular doctrine, creed or confession we write. He cannot be limited to any political ideology nor constrained to any religious belief.

Yes, perhaps the best news of all is: “He is not here.”

His love is bigger than we can imagine, and his grace is beyond anything we can create. His peace is beyond all understanding. With Jesus, there are no limits, no restrictions, no boundaries. The stone has been rolled away, and “he is not here.”

Then, where is Jesus? From what Matthew has taught us, I believe we know where.

Jesus is with the stranger, the sick, the hungry, the thirsty, the naked and the imprisoned. He is always with the least of these among us.

Jesus is with those who have been ostracized from community. He is with the outsider, the left out and the shut out. He is especially with those the self-righteous have labeled “not Christian” because of certain political or religious beliefs.

The good news is, that no matter what you may read on Facebook, Jesus is always with all of us, “to the end of the age” (Matthew 28:20 NRSV).

 

* For my thoughts on women’s reproductive rights read: Why This Christian Pastor Is Pro-Choice: It’s Personal.

The Way

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Easter2 Comments

ultrasound

John 14:1-14 NRSV

It was the summer 1993. Lori and I had been married five years and were expecting our first child. I had graduated from seminary the previous year and was serving with my first church as a pastor in rural Northeast Georgia. At our first OB/GYN appointment in Athens, we were told that our baby was due to be born on November 25. On Mother’s Day 1994, we were going to have some special reasons to celebrate.

During the last week of July, we were scheduled to have an ultrasound that would hopefully determine the gender of our child. I remember being more excited than anxious about this appointment. The baby was already moving and kicking quite a bit. Lori would call to me from another room in the house asking me to rush over to her. She would grab my hand and place it on the exact spot the baby was kicking so I could share her excitement. Lori was clearly showing at this time as strangers were beginning to approach us in public to offer their congratulations and to inquire when our baby was due.

As the doctor moved the ultrasound wand around on Lori’s abdomen and the black, white, and gray images of our baby appeared on a computer screen, I remember feeling like a wide-eyed child at Christmas getting a glimpse of the best present I could ever receive. We immediately heard a very strong and fast heartbeat. We then saw the outline of a head and a face. We saw arms, hands, legs, feet, even toes. After a minute or so, I remember growing impatient and asking the doctor if he could tell if it was a boy or a girl.

Following my question, my anticipation heightened as there was a brief period of silence in the room with the exception of the loud echo of a rapid heartbeat. Finally, the silence was broken as the doctor said, “It is really difficult to tell sometimes with our outdated equipment.” He moved the wand around for another minute and said, “The equipment that they have in Atlanta is far more advanced than mine. We probably need to make an appointment for you.” But before I could express any disappointment, he added: “There’s also something else going on that needs a better look.” He then handed the wand to the nurse and asked for us to come to his office where he would make an appointment for us to go to Atlanta. It was at that moment that my excitement was completely replaced by anxiety.

Suddenly, I no longer cared if it was a boy or a girl.

During the appointment in Atlanta, the doctor, who had been attentive yet quiet during the entire exam, spoke for the first time by pointing out a curvature in the spine. He called it a “neural tube defect.” This was the first time I had ever heard the term “neural tube.” However, upon hearing it one does not need to be familiar with it when the word “defect” is attached to it, as that word is more than enough to cause any parent-to-be’s heart to sink, especially when it is spoken to describe the spine of your unborn child’s spine.

Immediately following the ultrasound, we met with a team of doctors, nurses and genetic counselors in a large consultation room. In a compassionate, yet straightforward way, we were told that our baby’s spine “twisted,” probably during the early weeks of the pregnancy, and prevented the formation of an abdominal cavity. We were told that although our baby seemed to have healthy organs, there was nothing to contain those organs. Surgery was not an option. Our baby had absolutely no chance at life. A counselor put her hand on Lori’s shoulders and handed her a tissue to wipe the tears from her face.

After counseling and prayerfully considering all of our options, two days later, the pregnancy was terminated in the hospital without complications.

When we came home from the hospital, Lori went to bed where enormous grief she experienced kept her for days. She did not feel like talking to anyone, not even talk to her mother, who called several times a day, every day.

When Lori finally decided that she was ready to talk to people, the support from Christians came. However, some of the support came in ways that were more hurtful than helpful. It came in religious, pious, and judgmental ways. Almost everyday it came in ways that left us cold, empty, even resentful.

Now, I am sure it only came in these ways because these perhaps well-intended religious people understood it was their Christian duty to bring life, resurrection, restoration where there is death, despair and brokenness. And, maybe this was just the only way they thought they could bring it. Maybe this was the way they were taught on some church pew or in some Sunday School class. This was simply the only way they knew how to share the good news, proclaim the gospel, to be “a movement for wholeness in this fragmented world,” as we Disciples like to say.

But it came in ways that, for us, made the world even more fragmented. It came in preachy, accusatory ways, demeaning us for terminating the pregnancy. It came in the way of a theology lesson suggesting that we perhaps should have possessed more faith, that with prayer, God could have created a new body for our baby before he or she was born.

It came by the way of an ethics lecture insinuating that we were somehow “playing god.”

Then, came the support in ways that are all too familiar but never too helpful, all too religious-like but never too Christ-like. It came in the way of words that would have been best left unsaid.

“God knows best. God has God’s reasons. God does not make mistakes.” “God must have known you were just not ready to be parents.” “God must have needed another flower in heaven.” “You are young and can always try again.” One even said, “Perhaps God knew that your child was going to be a bad person or have a difficult life, so God, with the ability to see a future that we cannot, intervened and took your child.”

For some reason, Christians just feel compelled to say something, anything, even if it is hurtful.

We tried not to be angry with them, not to resent their ways of being religious. We defended them by saying, “Well, that is just her way, bless her heart.” We said, “Well, everyone knows the way he is.” It was just their way of doing what they thought would bring us some hope, their way of bringing us some wholeness, their way of bringing peace to our troubled hearts; and people, well, people have their ways.

Jesus, however, said that he was the way. “I am the way, and the truth, and the life; no one comes to the Father, but by me” (John 14:6).

As Frederick Buechner has reminded us:

He didn’t say that any particular ethic, doctrine, or religion was the way, the truth, and the life. He said that he was. He didn’t say that it was by believing or doing anything [or saying anything] in particular that you could “come to the Father.”

Jesus didn’t say the Bible-Belt-culture evangelicalism manufactured for the self-interest of the privileged was the way. He didn’t say some alternative gospel created to ignore God’s will for social justice was the truth. And he didn’t say that the fake good news made up to cheapen the grace of the irrefutable good news was the life. He said that he was.

Buechner continues:

He said that it was only by him – by living, participating in, being caught up by, the way of life that he embodied. That was his way.

And thank God, that others came to us in his way. People from our church came to us with silent but empathetic embraces. They came bringing nothing with them but their tears and their own broken hearts. Some came bringing a home-cooked meal or a homemade dessert. One came with a vase of freshly-cut flowers from their garden. They came graciously. They came faithfully. They came intentionally with the love and in the way of the Christ. They came with the face of God.

Andrew King poetically reflects on this love, this way and this face:

We thought you wore the skin

of thunder, spoke in verbs of stormwind,

majestic and mighty as lightning

upon summits,

unreachable

as the cold and silent fire

of distant stars; hidden behind

a curtain in the temple,

an untouchable invisibility approachable

by the highest priest only,

hands freshly bloodied

from an altar.

And then somehow the veil was parted:

we gained glimpses of the glory

of the nearness of your love

as the hurting were healed,

the outcast befriended,

the lost restored,

and everywhere the powers of death

had their dominion challenged,

by the son of a Jewish carpenter

from Galilee.

If you have seen me,

said Jesus, you have seen the Father.

And we do see you there,

in the Gospels,

healing in synagogues

and in houses,

feeding the hungry on hillsides,

embracing the lepers and the sinners,

turning over the tables

in the temple,

nailed to a cross of injustice

but risen,

greeting women at

the graveside,

sharing bread with your friends,

the dominion of death

overturned.

Approachable, reachable,

the accessible God,

visible in the skin of Jesus.

But you are not done,

not content to wear

such skin only in the pages

of the Gospels.

The many-colored, multi-shaped

body of Christ – the Church

wide as the nations of the world –

bears your image where it acts

in your love:

still feeding,

still healing,

still teaching mercy,

making you visible

not in great

structures nor

in high saints alone,

but in the ordinary

persons in the pews,

as here, on a day like any other,

a woman making dinner,

and packing it,

knocking on the door of a neighbor

newly home from surgery for cancer:

the face of the one receiving it

lit with thankfulness,

the face of the one freely giving

like the face

of God.

When our hearts were troubled, because of the many faces of God that came to us in his way, in the visible skin of the body of Christ, although we were without child, on Mother’s Day in 1994, we still had special reasons to celebrate.

And on Mother’s Day in 2017, I can stand here today confidently proclaiming that Jesus—not religion, not ethics, not any doctrine—Jesus is the way, the truth and the life.

Let us pray,

God, embolden us to live, participate in, be caught up by, the way of life embodied by the Christ. Amen.

Invitation to the Table

The way to this table of communion this morning is not religion. The way to the bread of life is not ethics. The way to the cup of salvation is not any doctrine. The way to the life and to the truth that is represented here is only Jesus. And since Jesus lived and died to make a way for all, all are invited.

Why This Christian Pastor Is Pro-Choice: It’s Personal

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Longer Articles15 Comments

abortion-debate

Introduction

As a married, father-of-two, Christian pastor who was raised in the rural South as an evangelical Southern Baptist, many are quick to make many assumptions about me.

The most prevalent assumption is that I am on the Pro-Life side of the abortion debate, as many assume that one simply cannot be both a Christian and Pro-Choice. Many believe it is a black and white issue, a simple decision between good and evil, life and murder.

As a married, father-of-two, Christian pastor, I strongly support the 1973 decision of the United States Supreme Court in the case of Roe v. Wade. And, of course, I do not believe I am supporting evil. My convictions about abortion are strong, because my convictions are personal.

Our Personal Story

It was the summer 1993. My wife Lori and I had been married five years and were expecting our first child. I had graduated from seminary the previous year and was serving with my first church as a Southern Baptist pastor in rural, Northeast Georgia. At our first OB/GYN appointment in Athens, we were told that our baby was due to be born on November 25.

During the last week of July, we drove to Athens for a highly anticipated appointment with our OB/GYN. We were scheduled to have an ultrasound that would hopefully determine the sex of our child. I remember being more excited than anxious about this appointment. The baby was already moving and kicking quite a bit. Lori would often call to me from another room in the house asking me to rush over to her. She would grab my hand and place it on the exact spot the baby was kicking so I could share her excitement. Lori was clearly showing at this time as strangers were beginning to approach us in public to offer their congratulations and to inquire when our baby was due.

As the doctor moved the ultrasound wand around on Lori’s abdomen and the black, white, and gray images of our baby appeared on a computer screen, I remember feeling like a wide-eyed child at Christmas getting a glimpse of the best present I could ever receive. We immediately heard a very strong and fast heartbeat. We then saw the outline of a head and a face. We saw arms, hands, legs, feet, even toes. After a minute or so, I impatiently asked: “Can you tell if it is a boy or a girl?”

Following my question, my anticipation heightened as there was a brief period of silence in the room, with the exception of the loud echo of a rapid heartbeat. Finally, the silence was broken as the doctor said, “It is really difficult to tell sometimes with our outdated equipment.” He moved the wand around for another minute and said, “The equipment that they have in Atlanta is far more advanced than mine. We probably need to make an appointment for you.” But before I could express any disappointment, he added: “There’s also something else going on that needs a better look.” He then handed the wand to the nurse and asked for us to come to his office where he would make an appointment for us to go to Atlanta. It was at that moment that my excitement was completely replaced by anxiety. Suddenly I no longer cared if it was a boy or a girl.

In his office, our doctor tried to break the news to us as compassionately as he could break it. It was obvious that he was struggling to communicate. At first, he seemed to blame the bulk of his concern on what he called his “antiquated ultrasound equipment.” I remember being irritated as I had no sympathy for the envy he possessed towards the doctors in Atlanta. As he seemed to be avoiding telling us anything specific, frustrated, I remember asking him directly, “But you suspect that there could be something wrong with our baby. Don’t you?”

He responded, “Yes.” A wave of anxiety came over me intensifying my stress. But then he added, “Again, you need another ultrasound before we can really determine how bad it is.”

It was a long and difficult two weeks before we could see the doctor in Atlanta.  Every time our baby moved or kicked, it produced a wide-range of emotions in both of us. We did not know whether to cry, giving into grief; or smile, opening ourselves to the prospects of hope. Of course, hope is what we wanted. It is much easier to hope than it is to accept anything that brings grief. We asked one another: “How can there be something wrong with a baby whose heart is strong?” We conjectured: “Perhaps the more advanced ultrasound equipment in Atlanta will tell us that everything is ok.” The second week in August, we nervously drove to Atlanta holding on to hope, even if was just a sliver.

I will never forget the way we were greeted by the medical team we met in Atlanta. They could not have been more hospitable and caring. After they greeted us like family, we proceeded to an examination room for the ultrasound. Again, as soon as the gel on the wand touched Lori’s abdomen, we heard the heartbeat, a beat that was so strong that it could not help but to grow that little sliver of hope. As he moved the wand, we could see the same beautiful images, perhaps a little clearer, that we saw in Athens. We easily recognized a beautiful head, but this time, we saw more pronounced facial features, a nose, lips, even eyes. Again, limbs, hands, feet, fingers and toes came into focus. Nevertheless, I still did not possess enough hope to allow one thought to cross my mind about trying to determine the sex of our unborn child.

The doctor, who had been attentive yet quiet during the entire exam, spoke for the first time by pointing out a curvature in the spine. He called it a “neural tube defect.” This was the first time I had ever heard of a “neural tube.” However, upon hearing the term, one does not need to be familiar with the importance of the neural tube to be alarmed, as the word “defect” that was attached to it is more than enough to cause one’s heart to sink, especially when it is said to describe your unborn child’s spine.

Immediately following the ultrasound, we met with the team of doctors, nurses and a genetic counselor in a large consultation room. In a compassionate, yet straightforward way, we were told that our baby’s spine “twisted,” probably during the early weeks of the pregnancy, and prevented the formation of an abdominal cavity. We were told that although our baby seemed to have healthy organs, there was nothing to contain those organs. Surgery was not an option. Our baby will certainly die during the birthing process. A counselor put her hand on Lori’s shoulders and handed her a tissue to wipe tears from her face.

The team graciously addressed all of our questions. They told us that many severe neural tube defects end in miscarriage in the first trimester, but in some unfortunate cases such as ours, they do not. They assured us that we could soon try again to have a child, as they believed the defect was more of an anomaly than it was genetic. They then presented us with our options.

One option was to do nothing but wait until the pregnancy reaches full term and the baby is able to be born naturally or by C-section. However, because of the severity of the defect, we would be unable to hold our dead child, and may not want to see him or her. Our baby’s remains would be immediately prepared for a funeral service.

abortoin-is-murderThe second option was to terminate the pregnancy immediately. However, if we chose this option, it would be considered an abortion, and due to the political climate of the day, there was only one hospital in the state of Georgia which would perform an abortion this late in the pregnancy. He said that we could go to several clinics, but we may have to endure picket signs and possibly hecklers from religious groups opposed to abortion. The thought of my wife, who was still wiping tears from her eyes, being called a “murderer” or a “baby killer” by people claiming to follow Jesus, people who had no idea who we were, or what we were going through, made me furious. We were also told that although our child had a strong heartbeat, because of politics, for the record they would state that our child had “no viable heartbeat.”

Although the second option sounded dishonest, even illegal, it was obvious to us that it was the best, most compassionate option. I could not imagine Lori waiting three more months, feeling the baby move and kick, feeling another life inside of her, all the while knowing that this life will never have a chance. We scheduled an appointment for a procedure to end the pregnancy two days later.

That night, we checked into an Atlanta hotel to await our next appointment. The grief we experienced was immense. All of our dreams for the future were suddenly taken away from us. Furthermore, although the doctors and genetic counselors assured us we could one day have a child, we knew that in life there were never any guarantees.

That evening, we decided to go see a movie to try to get our mind off our grief. Although I never second guessed our decision to terminate the pregnancy, our decision was affirmed by a stranger as we stood in line to purchase our movie tickets. A woman who was also obviously expecting to have a baby approached us. She smiled and said, “Aww. When is your baby due?”

My chest tightened as I looked at Lori and saw tears begin to well up in her eyes once more. I was amazed when Lori smiled at the stranger and said, “November 25.” She then somehow found the courage to graciously reciprocate the question. Politely, she asked the woman who was glowing with anticipation, “When is your baby due?” So much for us trying to escape our grief.

During the movie, Lori put her hands on her abdomen and told me that the baby was moving. I thought to myself that these next two days were going to be a living hell. I could not imagine asking Lori to wait three more months, not only feeling the baby’s movement, but to endure more oohing and awing and questions from well-meaning strangers, for me, was as unconscionable as it was inhumane. As I watched the movie that I really never watched, I remember thanking God for the gift of medical science and compassionate physicians that could help bring healing and wholeness to our broken lives.

As planned, two days later, the pregnancy was terminated in the hospital without complications. However, as the next several weeks and even months proved, terminating the pregnancy did nothing to immediately heal our enormous grief. When we came home from the hospital, Lori went to bed and stayed there for nearly a week. She did not feel like talking to anyone. During that mournful week Lori would not even talk to her mother, who called several times a day, every day.

Now, over twenty years later, our grief has long subsided as Lori and I are the proud parents of a 19-year-old son and 17-year-old daughter. However, because of our experience, I continue to possess a very personal interest in the abortion debate which continues in our country.

Conclusion

The abortion debate centers around the Roe v. Wade Supreme Court decision of 1973. If many evangelical Christians had their way, and the Roe v. Wade decision was overturned in 1993, Lori would have been forced by the government to endure three more months of her pregnancy. Although her physical health was not in danger, as mentioned above, I cannot imagine the psychological trauma that continuing the doomed pregnancy would incur upon Lori. Today, we continue to be grateful to God for the healing gift of medical science, a compassionate team of doctors and nurses, and for the opportunity and freedom to make a safe and humane choice, a choice that we and our doctors believed would bring us the most wholeness and healing.

The issue of abortion is a complicated one. Like every person I have ever talked to about the subject, I do not believe abortion should be used as birth control. As a follower of Jesus who gave his life standing up for the rights of the poor and the marginalized (including the rights of women who were treated unjustly by a patriarchal system), I believe very strongly in the sanctity of life. This is the reason I do not support capital punishment. However, the decision to terminate a pregnancy is a personal and oftentimes complicated matter. Thus, I believe the only ones who should be a part of that decision are the parents of the unborn child, especially the mother, the doctors and God. The government should not be involved.

I fully understand the strong, moral desire of Christians to limit abortions in America. However, I do not think a government can legislate morality. This is why I believe the church should always be strong proponents of sex education and of the use of contraceptives. Unfortunately, the church has been either silent when it comes to sex education and contraceptives or has flat-out discouraged both. It is strange to me that many Christians who are against the Roe v. Wade decision are supportive of the Hobby Lobby Supreme Court decision to deny women healthcare coverage for contraceptives. It is also interesting to me that many Christians who claim to support a limited government are also the same ones who believe the government should be involved in matters as personal as pregnancies.

Life is not easy. Sometimes difficult decisions have to be made. Sometimes the solutions are not black and white. Sometimes those decisions are not between a clear good and a clear evil. Sometimes we are forced to choose the lesser of two evils. I want to live in a country where I am free to prayerfully make such difficult choices, especially choices that are so personal in nature, without any interference from the government.

2007 Disicples of Christ Resolution Regarding Abortion