Pro-Life. Such a small word, with that awkward hyphen, and yet it is a word that is made of layers of meanings and different connotations, like the petals of the rose that is its symbol. Say that you are pro-life among some of the people I know, and they will spring at your throat, claws extended, ready to tear all that you may believe to shreds. Other people smile condescendingly, whip out their label-maker and stroll on, leaving you behind with "IDEALIST" stamped on your forehead. Some will argue intelligently with you about pros and cons, admitting at least that your opinion is valid. A few will tell you that you are right, and then pull dynamite out of their pockets and say, "Which clinic first?" Maybe several will tell you that they are pro-life too, and then turn back to their papers, where they decide how best to exploit the poor of Nicaragua, or execute the condemned criminal. And finally, having torn all of these dried, dying petals from the rose, you reach the living rose, the people who are at the heart of the movement, those who will kneel down with you and bind the wounds of a bleeding world.
The people who struggle sincerely to make the word "pro-life" their way of life are a motley crew, drawn from many different faiths and viewpoints. For me, however, being pro-life is the same as being Catholic. When I say that I stand for the right to life, it is as much of a lifelong commitment and challenge as it is to say that I stand forever as a Christian. In the deepest part of my soul, I believe in the indestructible humanity of the unborn child, the criminal, the elderly person, the suffering. That precious humanity cannot be removed under any circumstances because my God’s incredible love thrives in every living soul; his fingerprints are impressed on humanity. Cardinal Bernardin of Chicago once spoke of the necessity to honor "the seamless fabric of life." That seamless fabric is a complex weave of billions of souls, each born with a purpose and vocation, each worthy of honor and love. I have founded that the sanctity of life has nothing to do with my opinions or with society’s perception of the value of an individual life. It has everything to do with a person who is very much wanted in the world by the creator of that world.
I understood for the first time how little the beautiful mystery of life has to do with any power that I might possess to proclaim it when I participated in a Pro-Life Youth Rally sponsored by the Diocese of Arlington. The diocese had invited a musician named Bob Rice to come and play at the rally. I remember how I stood with my friends in the pro-life club, laughing as we struggled to master the hand motions that were meant to accompany one of the songs. We were still suppressing smiles when the musician slowed down the music and strummed his guitar gently until the auditorium was quiet. Then, without a silly smile or a tap to his foot, he leaned toward the microphone and sang softly and serenely. "It’s all for the kingdom/It’s all for the King/You are my all and all/You are my everything…" The audience picked up the refrain quickly and soon some of us were humming along, all for the King. I looked up at the huge wooden cross that stood tall up on the stage and realized that I wanted to be the sort of pro-lifer who is nothing but a channel for the truth. There is so much shouting, arguing, and name-calling when it comes to the pro-life controversy, especially over abortion; I wanted to be nothing but a prism through which a real light could shine.
Light belongs to everyone; the sun doesn’t decide that some people must live without its illumination. In the same way, the truth about life has to spill out of me everywhere I go. It certainly cannot be restricted to the lives of people who I will never meet; a vital part of being pro-life is to see what is loveable in a person who is repulsive. If I cannot find the worth in the people I know, how can I begin to find the worth in an unborn child who may not survive until birth? If I believe that that every life is loved and that every life has a purpose, then I have no choice but to search for the real person to love in everyone I meet. No matter how annoying she is, no matter how cruel he is, I have to squint to see the real person who is or might come to be. Once that picture begins to come into focus, then it is possible to stretch my arms out to the rest of the world.
It is a dangerous business to stretch your arms out to the world. There is at least one person who had nails pushed into his hands when he spread his arms wide, and I have finally begun to realize that I have to be aware of what I am embracing when I reach out. Madeleine L’Engle wrote that "it is dangerous to be both a pacifist and naïve." In addition, it is dangerous to be both pro-life and naïve. It is vitally important to be aware of the ugliness that is perpetrated by humans at times. Sometimes, children are born addicted to cocaine because their mothers were slaves to the drug. Sometimes, a girl is raped and becomes pregnant from that act of violence and hatred that was completely beyond her control. Sometimes, a criminal commits a crime so heinous that it is difficult to imagine letting him or her live. Sometimes, an old woman is suffering terminal cancer without support of a loving family. So many "sometimes", and it can seem that the only possible way to answer the devil pain that rides the back of the world is to introduce a sleep of death, to annihilate pain. The people I know who are most sincere in their respect for life, however, recognize those awful circumstances that may appear to make death a better choice than life, and they attempt to minister to them. They know that death marks only the victory of brutality and inhuman behavior; injustice cannot be ended by further injustice. They choose to resist violence with life and hope in the potential for renewal and redemption in every person. I am trying to learn from them.