"Today human relations are irregulars and
seconds at the closing days of the warehouse sale of life."
From Social Amnesia by Russell Jacoby
"O little town of Bethlehem."
Traditional Christmas carol
It was late in the morning the Saturday after Thanksgiving. My wife, Lisa,
and I had established a momentarily safe haven in our kitchen free from
the usual chaos that comes with the presence of four joyfully rambunctious
children. With equal measure of amazement and pleasure we'd managed to wrest
free a few minutes just to read the paper, enjoy a cup of coffee together,
and chat. It was nice!
For reasons I did not fully understand at the time,
when I read that the Salvation Army was experiencing a dramatic shortage
in volunteer bell ringers to man its traditional red kettles, I was so shocked
I instantly jumped up from the table and searched out the local number.
At first the man who answered mistakenly thought I was someone calling for
a paid position. When I assured him otherwise, he was so pathetically grateful
for my willingness to help them help the poor that a wave of shame washed
over me.
How many times, I thought, had I brushed past these magnanimous folks, futilely
waiting for some sign my heart was a few degrees warmer than the temperature
outside? How many times had these devoted volunteers registered as nothing
more to me than blank faces which blended into the brick facades behind
them?
I was mortified when I recalled that even though I had often given money,
never once had I emerged from my self-absorption long enough to actually
"see" them, let alone grasp what their silent vigil stood for.
Because I had always looked through them, they never really existed as flesh
and blood people. I hastily volunteered for several assignments. (In what
was surely a feeble attempt at expiation, I made sure that one of them was
on my birthday.)
The moral of this story needn't be belabored to tenderhearted pro-lifers.
When our culture "looks" at the vulnerable, all too often there
is a failure to recognize and therefore an inability to reach out in love
and compassion. This is never more true than in our morally impoverished
treatment of unborn babies.
However, it wasn't just because of the news account and the subsequent phone
call that I saw these kindly souls with new eyes. I was already predisposed,
because Christmas was approaching, to Christians the celebration of the
birth of the Messiah.
Even those who do not share the faith admire Jesus for his unconditional
commitment to the powerless - - the widows and orphans, the sick, and the
social outcasts - - and his robust, loving admonition to care passionately
for and about the least among us. This most assuredly included little children,
as Luke poignantly reminds us in his marvelous account.
At this time of the year, pro-lifers are irresistibly drawn to narratives
which remind us that the survival of any nation requires that the attitude
of adults toward dependent children be one of sacrificial love. For me,
few stories more powerfully teach this ageless truth than Oscar Wilde's
"The Selfish Giant."
There once was a lovely garden so beautiful and fruitful, the story goes,
that children loved to stop and play. But when the owner, a selfish Giant,
returned one day he gruffly chased the children away. He erected a high
wall with a sign which read, "Trespassers Will Be Prosecuted."
When spring came all the countryside came alive with the beauty of the new
season. Everywhere, that is, except in the Giant's garden. Spring never
did come, nor did summer, nor did autumn. It was always winter in his private
preserve.
One day the Giant heard lovely music and caught a waft of a fragrant perfume.
Thinking spring had finally arrived he leaped out of bed. But instead of
blossoms and birds the Giant found children. Having crawled through a small
hole in the wall, they were sitting in the branches of the trees. The trees
were so happy to have them back they were waving their arms gently above
the children's heads.
But winter still reigned in one section of the garden where there sat a
small child too tiny to reach the tree. Seeing him, the Giant's frozen heart
melted and he realized that he had been very selfish.
When he went down into the garden, all the children ran away in fear - -
all but the little boy whose eyes were filled with tears. The Giant gently
lifted him into the tree and it leapt to wondrous life. Birds returned and
the little boy stretched out his arms and kissed the Giant.
The penitent Giant knocked down the wall, and the children happily returned.
At the end of the afternoon the children bade the Giant goodbye - - all
except for the little boy, who had already gone away.
For many years every afternoon the children played in the Giant's garden.
Though delighted by their presence, he longed for his first friend. One
winter the old Giant awoke, looked out, rubbed his eyes, and saw to his
delight the little boy.
He ran to him and as he neared, stopped. Angrily he asked, "Who hath
dared to wound thee?" For on the palms of the child's hands and feet
were the prints of two nails. The Giant demanded the name of those who had
hurt the boy that he might slay them. "Nay," answered the child.
"But these are the wounds of Love."
The child smiled on the Giant who then understood and knelt down in awe.
"You let me play once in your garden," the Child said. "Today
you shall come with me to my garden, which is Paradise."
Jesus made whole the lame, the blind, and the halt out of a deep sense of
compassion. He healed those whose bodies and hearts were weighed down with
physical and emotional burdens. He was also teaching you and me a profound
lesson: unless we are willing to open our eyes, we, too, will be blind to
the hurting around us.
It is not my intention to idealize pro-lifers, but they do demonstrate a
tremendous capacity to truly "see" where others either cannot
or choose not to. It is no accident that pro-lifers defend unborn babies,
for love and concern for the downtrodden, the dispossessed, and the marginalized
is what gives their lives a rich unity of purpose.
As you and I have been about the business of defending unborn children,
I have come to appreciate that only the most vivid lessons can reorient
moral imaginations. Such moments are few and far between because fundamental
turnabouts typically take place only when circumstances conspire to force
us to confront the contrast between whom we really are and whom we think
we are.
But that is the great hope of the Pro-Life Movement. For all our nation's
many failures, the self-image of Americans is deservedly of a good people,
blessed in a unique way. That is why the long-term significance of the debate
over partial-birth abortion cannot be exaggerated.
People needn't be anywhere near where we are on abortion to be virtually
sent reeling. Witnessing even a simple line drawing of this abomination
can turn opinions upside down. A pseudo-serious support for "choice"
in the abstract will find it difficult to coexist for very long with the
concrete reality of this brutal assassination of helpless children. Over
time many, many people's head knowledge will become heart knowledge and
their ambivalence will gradually mature into empathy.
Our culture willfully suppresses what it always knew - - that unborn children
are children yet to be born, a classic example of what historian
Russell Jacoby once called "social amnesia." But the monstrous
evil that is partial-birth abortion - - a procedure that is essentially
indistinguishable from infanticide - - is shearing away the excuse people
have used from time immemorial to explain away complicity in evil: "I
didn't know."
And because eyes are being opened, ears unstopped, and hearts unshackled,
what William McKenna calls the "unforced revulsion" to abortion
is finding a growing audience outside our own ranks. These telltale signs
suggest we are cutting through the static of lies and distortions, establishing
a clear channel to convey our message of love and hope for mother and child.
One day soon, the ethos of discrimination and brutality toward the unborn
will prove itself to have been an aberration, an artifact of a less civilized
era when for a season care, compassion, and consideration for the helpless
collapsed. And that glorious day will come because you have proven
yourselves to be an antidote to the disease of cruelty and indifference.
Let me say, humbly, bless you for all you have done.
dha