A pastoral encounter with abortion I’ll never forget
The teenager told me she was down to her last option: a hanger.
As I have followed the latest round of debate on abortion, provoked by the passage of stricter laws in several states, I’ve realized again that I don’t fit easily into any camp: I am both pro-choice and pro-life.
I remember the era before Roe v. Wade, when the pastor of the well-off suburban congregation my family attended helped certain teenagers from the church travel to Puerto Rico for abortions. I learned that the opportunity for abortion will always be found for children of privilege, even if the subterfuge involved in securing an abortion is laden with shame. Options for others were extremely limited and dangerous, even life-threatening—as people will surely find out in Alabama, Missouri, and other states, if the new laws are upheld.
I knew about the Puerto Rican trips because my mother was one of those church leaders who know about everything going on, and she trusted my discretion. My mother was unreservedly pro-choice, and I thought I was too. The rhetoric and positioning on the right on this issue have almost no credibility for me when so many pro-lifers seek the death penalty, feel no compunction about the children dying at our borders, lobby against life-giving health care, objectify women, and promote policies that threaten all life on our planet. I realize there are exceptions to this description. Nevertheless, those who are pro-life for authentic religious reasons have made a political alliance with those who demonstrate a craven disregard for many of God’s children and their beloved, beating hearts.
