On Friday my twitter feed was alive with links to the atrocities of a man who makes his living by injuring the powerless to murder the even more helpless. I gave message after message a push forward in cyberland, wanting more eyes to see his actions with clarity, to really see, to understand the horror of abortion. To just make it stop.
And yet in the middle of it all, there were other messages I wanted to send forward too, messages I didn’t see on twitter that day. Messages about the misery of those women, the feelings they must have had to walk into that building, the powerlessness and hopelessness and aloneness that led them there. How lives can spin so sad and out of control that this could truly feel like the only choice. How they needed real men instead of the ones who led them here.
And I thought how my sent-forward messages might send women I care about backward, women whose pasts I don’t know. Back to a time of misery and shame. And I don’t think we as Christians can defend the unborn without also looking with compassion upon their mothers. We need to be willing to reach out and support and care no matter their circumstances. Yes, especially when lives don’t line up Sunday-school pretty.
I think of the Samaritan woman with five husbands, and the way my Jesus sat down beside her, like no synagogue-Pharisee would have dared- or cared– to do, and spoke gentle clear life-changing truth into her heart.
The way my Jesus cradled noisy inconvenient children in his arms, when his disciples wanted to send them away unseen.
The way my Jesus spoke to a penitent thief on the cross moments before death and invited him into the very gates of heaven.
Jesus loves us all with an everlasting love. In our zeal to love and protect the precious unborn, we must be equally willing to love and support their mothers.