Sanctity of Human Life Sunday & Post-Abortive People

Part One

Rachel Held-Evans has a popular segment on her very popular blog called “Ask A…”  During these posts, she has individuals, with differing experiences, answer questions from her readers.[1]  I appreciate the candor and transparency these dialogues create.  And I appreciate that we live in a culture for which personal, experiential narrative is paramount.  We want to know, to understand, to feel one another’s stories. 

Though Ms. Held-Evans has not yet contacted me regarding my experience as a woman in the Church who’s experienced an abortion, in spite of expounding a fair amount on the topic of abortion in general, I’ve decided to answer some questions I’ve been asked in the past, that are similar to those generally asked by her readers.[2]  I do this on the heels of Sanctity of Human Life Sunday with the hope that some who lead churches, some who are in churches, and some who are outside the Church can begin to understand what it’s like to be a Christ-follower who’s had an abortion. 

1.        What do you want pastors to know about post-abortive people in their congregations?

Primarily, I’d like pastors to know that there are post-abortive women and men in their congregations. In speaking to church leaders, and future church leaders, the general consensus is that people who have abortions don’t go to their churches; that is an outside issue.  To help current and future pastors, as well as their lay leaders, understand the dynamic of the post-abortive population, I begin with some statistics.  These numbers come from the Guttenmacher Institute, the research arm of Planned Parenthood.  And they help dispel the NIMBY {not in my backyard} aura surrounding people who’ve had abortions.

·         1 in 4 American women between the ages of 15 and 30 have had at least one abortion.  This also means that 1 in 4 men have also participated (whether volitionally or not) in at least one abortion.  That’s 25% of the population.

·         Of these post-abortive women, 79% report attending church, either Catholic or Protestant. 

·         Of the women who have had an abortion, 50% have had multiple abortions, and a majority of these are with different fathers.  This means that more than 1 in 4 men are affected by abortion.[3]   

These numbers serve the purpose of illuminating the fact that women who have had abortions are not staying away from churches; rather, a majority of us are hiding within her walls.  And mostly we are not the ones running from pew to parking lot, covering our faces lest we be recognized; though some might be.  We are the women who sign up and attend every Bible study, the man who shakes your hand on the way in, youth leaders, children of the church staff, men and women’s ministry leaders, and worship leaders.  We are seminary students, missionaries, and pastor’s spouses.  Because we are, just like everyone else, broken sinners in desperate need of a Savior. 

I also reference these demographics because at least once a year pastors are expected to preach on abortion.  Sanctity of Human Life Sunday.  And that’s only if it’s not an election year, in which congregants are urged to examine the issues of the political clime.  Or each time pastors are expected to guide their flocks in upright living and God-honoring behaviors. 

I want pastors to remember that the words they speak from the front of the church go directly to the hearts of their congregants.  Spouting theologically inept and cruel fallacies similar to the idea that there is a “special place in hell for abortionists” does no one any good.  You can’t back this statement up with scripture, so it’s irresponsible to begin with.  Yes, abortion is the willful ending of a human life, making it murder.  Yes, it is a sin.  Yes it grieves God; I believe very, very deeply.  But it is not an unforgivable sin.  Abortion does not render anyone unredeemable.  Insinuating so mocks the resurrection and belittles the grace of God. 

I also want pastors to remember that they are speaking to individuals who are hiding this secret deep within their person.  They are in your congregation looking for the face of Jesus.  They are desperate for His healing, whether they are fully able to admit this to themselves or not.  Thus post-abortive people need to hear Colossians 1:21-22, 1 Corinthians 6:9-12, and Ephesians 2:1-3 just as much as anyone else.  Just as much and as often as you, pastor, do yourself. 

Remembering that at the foot of the cross we are all the same, sinners in desperate need of a Savior, softens sharp words.  It opens the fist pounding on the lectern, making one able to embrace the broken and hurting among our company.  It lifts our eyes from just the words of scripture, making us able to see a person for whom scripture was penned.  It opens our hearts and minds to what the Savior has done for us, and what He has tasked us to do thereafter: be ministers of reconciliation.   

I want pastors to know that post-abortive women and men are in your congregations.  That we’re hurting and in need of Jesus, just like everybody else in those pews.  And we need you to show us, to teach us, to be for us the grace and mercy and love of Jesus Christ.            

2.       What’s it like to go to church as a Christian who’s had an abortion?

Before recovery, mostly your life is about hiding.  And striving.  And fear.  And feelings of worthlessness.  And loathing.  And masks.  And loneliness.  And more guilt and condemnation and shame than is allowed to be expressed in polite society.   

                A Fear and Loathing in Church Pews of sorts.

A post-abortive Christian is hiding from the truth that she/he has had an abortion.  I didn’t want anyone to know.  Secrecy is the reason I had an abortion in the first place.  And every day thereafter, I did what I could to keep people from finding out this truth.  Though the Officer and I (my then-boyfriend, now-husband) were both actively involved in the abortion, he and I couldn’t even speak the word to each other for almost a decade.  We avoided the topic in political conversations.  We did everything we could to keep up the appearance that for all intents and purposes, we were a Non-Abortive couple.  We wore masks; we couldn’t really be ourselves in church or bible studies or small groups or even as leaders.  Because we were afraid of what would happen if anyone found our dark secret out.   

It’s lonely because you can’t ever be truly vulnerable with anyone.  Because to do so would mean exposing your darkest deed to them.  And the very premise of abortion is that no one can know about it.  So I spend years carrying around this immense burden, but couldn’t speak about it to anyone.  Not even to my husband, who’d participated in the abortion with me.  It feels like you’re on an island, watching all your friends and family on a very near shore, enjoying themselves.  They’re waving you over, but you’ve got this anchor chained to your ankle and you know if you set one foot in the water, you’ll drown.  So you stay where you are, smile and wave back, and act like you’re having as good a time as they are.  All the while, making sure they don’t catch a glimpse of your chain and anchor. 

The striving.  Oh, the striving.  The wanting to be good-enough.  That’s probably another reason I had an abortion.  Not wanting to disappoint people, or myself.  Trying to keep up the outward appearance of good-enough, Christian-enough; and all the while, knowing deep down that I would never, ever live up to this ideal because of what I’d done in the past.  But I would keep trying; relying more on self than anyone ever should.  Believing the lie that if I could just try hard enough and live a good enough life, I might be worthy of the grace of Jesus.  Not that I could earn it, but eventually I might make it to a “normal” level of sinful – and be like everyone else – and then Jesus could forgive me.  Because I really doubted that His grace could reach far enough down for someone like me. 

Of course, I couldn’t ever be good-enough {no one can}.  So I loathed myself, my choice.  And I felt completely worthless; a deep and abiding worthlessness that isn’t self-pitying, it’s self-condemning.  I placed every single person around me on a higher pedestal – they’re holier and more righteous than me.  They deserve the love and blessings of the Lord.  I was just lucky to squeeze into heaven by the skin of my teeth.  That’s what I thought grace looked like for someone like me: I’m tolerated by Jesus because He’s committed to being the One forsaken for my sin.  I got eternity and salvation on a technicality.  I didn’t realize it at the time, but it’s a prideful perversion, this I’m too bad for Jesus’ grace.  I shamed and condemned myself more than any of the angriest anti-abortion activists ever could have.  And I did it so well and so often that it became my internal dialogue. 

So I’d keep trying harder each day, to be the Christian woman I should be.  So that maybe I could be worthy of a little more of God’s love than I could be, as a post-abortive woman. 

It’s a dark and lonely cycle that will devour your very life.               

Join us tomorrow for questions 3 & 4, again on Friday for questions 5 & 6, and on Saturday for closing remarks, in this mini-series: Sanctity of Human Life Sunday & Post-Abortive People.  

If you have experienced an abortion in your past, please know that you can reach out -- there are so many genuine and loving people who want to help you through your pain.  The links below are to ministries that I am personally acquainted with and trust.  Or you can contact me.  I am willing to answer any questions, offer what help I can, and pray with you -- confidentially.  Because you, dearest one, are loved by the Maker of the Stars.  

Surrendering the Secret (Nationally for women and couples)
Rachel's Vineyard (Nationally for women and men, Catholic)
ARIN (Nationally for women, men, and couples)
Life Choices Pregnancy Center (in Colorado)
Me: Jen Baros, jenbaros@gmail.com |or| @jenkbaros on twitter

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[1] You can find the list of Ms. Held-Evans’ “Ask A…” series here. 

[2] The questions in this article are similar to those in Ms. Held-Evan’s “Ask A Recovering Alcoholic,” though each has been asked of me or my husband personally in various settings.  http://rachelheldevans.com/blog/ask-a-recovering-alcopholic-response-heather-kopp.  Accessed 1/20/14 at 09:50MST.
[3] “Facts on Induced Abortion in the United States.”  Guttmacher Institute. http://www.guttmacher.org/pubs/fb_induced_abortion.html  Accessed 1/21/14 11:46MST

A Watery Gospel

A few weeks ago, I wrote this post outlining 6 ways Christians should deal with the topic of abortion.  A good friend, whose thoughtful insight I respect, responded to my social media wall, in part:

“One problem is that we have watered down the gospel message to make it palatable to the non-believer as opposed to letting the Holy Spirit change the hearts of people. Jesus called for repentance of sin (Go and Sin no More), yet our churches talk about love being sufficient…Though there is no need for hate speech, preaching the true gospel as Jesus did, is not hate speech and unfortunately it seems to be labeled by the world AND A LARGE PORTION OF THE CHURCH as such.” – Jason Laurie, of School of Fish {www.schooloffish.wordpress.com}

I then read this post by Rachel Held Evans, and have been ruminating on the pendulous views of these two believers; for I see therein the scope of contemporary Christianity regarding abortion.  Thus I return again to the topic, for clarification, for those who may not yet have the courage or ability to speak, and for those who simply aren’t sure what to say.

                   

FOR GOD SO LOVED THE WORLD…

There is no price for which I would kill my only son.  There is no price for which I would sacrifice my only daughter.  Frankly, should you all be damned, I will never sacrifice my children on your behalf. 

                Thank God I’m not Him.   

But God, in His love, sent His Only Son, Jesus Christ, to die for you and for me.  Yet before Christ was sentenced to death, He sought out people who were ravaged by sin, so mired in it, so broken by it that the religious people of their day would have nothing to do with them.  And He saved the lost.  He healed the broken.  He restored the sinners.  Jesus, Divinity incarnate, sought out these people not to demand repentance of them so that He could heal them; Jesus healed them so that they could repent.  And when Jesus admonished the adulteress woman to “go and sin no more,” it is only after her accusers have dispersed (John 8:2-11).  It was a moment shared between only God’s Son and this sinner.  Meant for her heart – not for public consumption.  Meant to work out her salvation in her, meant to form her spirit, meant to protect her from the further evils of which each human being drawing breath is capable.  Repentance is not a clarion call the religious folk are told to make prior to offering God’s Grace – it is Christ’s, it is the Holy Spirit’s, it is God’s.  For each one of us is filthy and decrepit and worthless.  Each one of us is a condemned sinner.

                                                BUT FOR THE BLOOD OF JESUS.

  Of the 75 times the Bible calls for repentance, 48 are in the books of the prophets.  These men issued the call for repentance to the Nation of Israel because she had abandoned her primary role of caring for the “least of these” (Jeremiah, Daniel, Matthew 24).  Effectively, most Israelites were leaving those who had no standing in the patriarchal society that was bent on keeping the outcast, foreigner, single woman, and orphan from the promised blessings of Yahweh (land, generational proliferation, relation to the messianic kingdom) to fend for themselves.  Abandoning those who, without assistance, would never be able to be free from their poverty, station,  or un-cleanness.  Forsaking these people so that they were without hope, without protection, without help.  Yes, the call to repent was a call to return to Yahweh; but that return required behaving as Yahweh had instructed: to care for these who could not care for themselves and who were just as loved by the Almighty as those who brought fellowship offerings out of their abundance.

In the contemporary context, one must admit that the unborn must be among “least of these.”    

But what about the women, pregnant and frightened, who feel they have nowhere else to turn – that they have no one other than the friendly folks down at Planned Parenthood to trust?

 If women in crisis feel their only hope lies with the Kermit Gosnells of this world, what would God say to His church in light of this?

 

Dearest one, let me be perfectly clear: Love is not accepting or tolerating or enabling sinful behavior.  Love is recognizing that not a single person is free from sin – save JESUS CHRIST, Himself.  Love is the truth that every person ever is guilty of sin unto death.  Be it murder of the unborn or self-focused pride.  Every single one of us deserves death.  I, beloved, deserve to die.  As do you. 

                                                BUT FOR JESUS. 

Jesus first healed, restored, and saved people from their illnesses, demons, and sins, because no person can come to the Lord righteous and clean without this work of Christ first.  Jesus didn’t require public repentance, didn’t first demand righteousness from those in need of Him.  He knew that He was their only hope.  As His followers, should we not emulate Jesus and seek these people out where they are – to find them in their hurt, to minister to them in their confusion and brokenness, to go ourselves into the sinful places so that we might bring this hope and light with us?  

One wonders – How many Christians have sat in the waiting rooms of Planned Parenthood – ready only to hold the hands or catch the frightened tears of those in line to exterminate their babies?  How many Christ-followers are there now, wanting only to show love to these lost and broken women? 

Yes, that is an extreme thought, but dial it back a bit: HOW MANY CHRISTIANS HAVE EVER EVEN CROSSED THAT THRESHOLD?  Or stood outside, not in angry picket lines, but with a tender smile and the offer of a cup of coffee over which to talk and a listening ear, not to preach, but to know – to witness – the hurt and fear of the woman struggling with this life-ending choice?   

It’s safer to sit behind our computer screens and pass judgment, to meet in our coffee shops and blast the lost for being deceived, to smugly pat ourselves on the back for not being one of those.  Or, worse, to posit such ambiguity and confusion regarding the topic of abortion under the guise of I-don’t-know-what-to-do that we are left impotent and useless on a national stage. *

I’m going to suggest, dear one, that until we as a church can say that we have done this, until we’ve taken a deep breath and ventured into a Planned Parenthood Clinic {dear, God – WHY are they most prolific in the poorest neighborhoods?!  What does this say about whom we as a society value—the richest, the whitest, the most suburban of all children?}, we cannot sit self-righteously in condemnation.  For the propensity of this evil lives in each one of us: we are all capable of murder.  Jesus said thus in his Olivet Discourse.  We are all guilty of murder in our hearts.  And only God is righteous to judge. 

Friends, we must remember that it is not our place to accept anyone into the kingdom – that honor rests solely with Almighty God, for it is His Kingdom, and His alone.  We are the adopted children, filthy sinners, who have been invited in and covered in His Son’s clothes of bloody righteousness.  We are not the arbiters of who’s in and who’s out.  And the moment we forget this, we become the Pharisees.  We have been given the distinct privilege and honor of sharing the Gospel, and of rejoicing with the angels when this truth is rooted into another life.     

Because, as capable of evil as every human is, Christ followers -- empowered by the Holy Spirit are capable of the most beautiful light.  We have the power and ability, through the resurrected Christ and the Holy Spirit indwelling us, to alter this world for good.  To change one life at a time.  To save one baby.  To rescue one mother.  To restore one father.  To advance the glorious kingdom of Almighty God, for the good of all humanity and creation, by the power of Grace within us.    

May we ever be amazed by the Lord’s Grace.  May it never cease to be as magnificent as when we first received it.  May we, like a fount, overflow it into the darkest places in our fallen world.  For the coming of Christ and the Kingdom of God. 

~Amen.

 

*{This article by Rachel Held Evans and all the comments thereto are a tragic example of what contemporary “progressive” Christians think about abortion.  I am compelled to clarify that I generally admire Ms. Held Evan’s work on behalf of women, and advocate for her views thus.  But as this article and its comments show, an entire generation of Christians (and non) have absorbed the lies spouted by the abortion industry, yet try to hold this view in conjunction with their faith and end up with a discordant struggle because the two are necessarily, mutually exclusive.  Confusion of the issue, as Ms. Held Evans presents here, is exactly why we are a nation in desperate need of truth – both in their realm of science (no self-respecting embryologist would claim that life begins at any point other than at conception) and in our churches.}                

 

Confession

I have a confession.   It comes on the heels of #FemFest, a huge link-up of bloggers last week who devoted three days to different topics concerning feminism today.  It was beautiful.  And sad.  I was desperately so because I had too much to get done and I could not participate.  This link-up screamed my name – quite literally in my sleep.  I composed posts in the shower, on my drive, and even, if I am honest, while watching some of my online lectures.  Which, when I realized that I had been writing in my head instead of listening, I had to then rewind to where I’d tuned out and discipline myself to focus; because papers, tests, and graded discussions don’t care about blogger link-ups.  It’s not that the lectures weren’t engaging – they were.  It’s not that the topics covered therein aren’t important – they are.  It’s simply that a discussion on the silencing of women, particularly in the church, is a dialogue I’ve longed for ever since I was shown that this conversation isn’t sinful.  And last week, as this dialogue was actually happening, my circumstances forced me to miss it. 

Yet, as became move apparent through my week, there was another reason for my inability to participate.  I needed bigger eyes on the subject.  And a more humble heart.

You see, I am very attentive to the outward signs of androcentric organization in the American Evangelical movement.  My antennae are hyper-aware as I walk into a church or small group or para-church; I note that only men wear the tags marked, “Lead,” around their necks in the mega-church we have been frequenting of late.  I see that their leadership consists of both sexes, but women don’t teach anyone other than themselves or children; they worship, they administer, they facilitate, they are not visible when Christ is preached.  I hear the “man” read aloud when “humanity” might be equally appropriate.  I shake my head when the women are encouraged to be particularly attentive to stories of women in the bible and to model themselves after the characters of men therein,; but the books of Ruth or Ester or the story of Sarah or a Samarian woman at Jacob’s well are not generalized to the men.  There is no talk about the fact that the privilege of first resurrection annunciation was given to a woman, or that Timothy’s mother and grandmother taught him the faith well enough that he was able to be Paul’s apprentice.   Every place I go, I keep a mental tally sheet of all the ways that it is obvious that the men are in charge, and the women are left out.    

I build walls against this – I tuck into myself, recognizing the hurt that these practices cause,

the segregated, left-out-ness that is so very much

the female experience of church.

And yet, I have to recognize that while my experience cannot invalidate that of a community of fellow bloggers, I cannot allow the community’s experience to shape mine.  I am a female graduate student enrolled in a Masters of Divinity program at a well-respected seminary.  No one there has ever told me I could not do something simply because of my sex.  My husband is very supportive of my career thus, and is the main encourager for my studies; in truth, had he not suggested it, I likely would not have even considered it.  I attend a bible study that is hosted effortlessly by a wife and husband duo who teach, pray, and encourage those under them to do the same, regardless of gender.  Theirs is the picture of equality and mutuality in Christ.

Yes, I have been told that for a woman to call herself a “pastor” or “elder” is a sin.  Yes, I have been told that women have no authority to teach men.  Yes, I have been told that to pursue theological education, as a woman, is an abject abandonment of my role as wife and mother and is thus a direct affront to God’s design.  I have experienced all this and can thus understand and relate to my sisters and brothers who form this community crying aloud for the minimization of women to stop.

{confession}

But I have to be aware.  I sat in theology class last week, pondering the topic of women in the church.  And I noted that of the eleven people seated on the front row, eight were men.  As I compared this ratio to the exact opposite of the second row (eight women, three men), I was literally stopped mid-thought.  For, as I was lamenting the apparent domination of males in this field, I had to be honest with myself:

I sat on the second row.

I, and no one else, chose my seat.  I swallow my questions when gender roles and ontology and discussed.  I stay silent when the same scriptures are used over and again to keep women out of full inclusion in the body of Christ.  And I do so because I am afraid.  Afraid that I won’t communicate my position well; that by my ill-formed or poorly articulated argument, the opposing side will be strengthened.  And I will have set us back instead of helping to press forward. 

So first, I must confess that I harbor a prejudice against my brethren.  I assume that for the most part, they are willful mechanisms in the problem.  I do not allow them a chance to speak for themselves.  I pass judgment, without their input, the plank protruding from my own eye.

Thus, I resolve, with the help of the Holy Spirit, to see my brothers in Christ as benevolent men who desire to build up the entire kingdom of God for His glory.  I will allow the actions and words of each individual believer to speak the truth of his/her heart.

Secondly, I confess my fear of failure.  And that this fear is indicative of a lack of trust in God.  My fear has its root in my performance or articulation and not in the work of the Spirit in the hearts of my fellow believers.

Therefore I will push outside of my safety bubble – I will speak up when I disagree with what is being taught.  Not out of obstinate hardheartedness, but mindful of the unity that is to mark the body of Christ-followers; seeking to understand the scriptures more fully, and to honor Christ first and foremost in my interactions with my fellow children of God.  And I will trust that the Spirit of God is responsible for changing the heart of any believer should he/she be so willing.

 

For the glory of God the Father, His Son, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit. 

Amen.