Tag Archives: right to life

The Cause for Life is Advancing

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I sure hope you don’t start reading this morning’s note and think, “Oh no, here he goes again.” That said, and while I know we’re well into spring, I heard on the way into the office this morning that it could snow tonight.

Ugh. Snow belongs to winter. And anyone who knows me well knows that I despise winter. I know the comment is trite. But I mean it. And it feels like I can’t say it enough. Winter is the worst.

Why do I live in Michigan? I blame my wife, Jennifer. I met her here in 1994. It was then, and only then, that Michigan laid claim to me. Well, on second thought, it’s more accurate to say that I’m here because this is where the Lord sent me. With that, Michigan’s grip extends through the hands of God’s people here at Our Savior in Hartland.

So, again, why do I live in Michigan? I suppose, because it’s where I belong.

But none of what I just said changes the fact that I thoroughly dislike Michigan’s seemingly endless winters. And I don’t mean that in the casual way people complain about a gray day or a cold morning. I mean that I can barely get to December’s midpoint before winter has already dragged on long enough for me. I practically crawl through and into the new year carrying every ounce of its emotional weight. Everything appears dead. Everything living has, almost literally, withdrawn into itself—and I’m miles past my threshold. I’m dying for warmth. I want summer’s colors.

Did I mention that it could snow tonight?

For the record, if you happen to see me standing in tonight’s potential snow and talking to myself with a stick in my hand, I’m not actually talking to myself, but I’m poking at the earth and saying, “Wake up!”

Of course, spring will eventually arrive. Technically, it began this year on March 20. As you can see, it didn’t arrive all at once. Admittedly, however, it started with signs. The ground softened. We started getting more daylight. I went for a short walk on Wednesday evening in between rain showers with my grandson, Preston, and along the way, I showed him the small green things beginning to press up through the earth. I lifted him near a neighbor’s tree to show him the buds appearing on branches. Those branches looked dead a week ago.

I suppose in another sense, spring is also messy. Anything messy is rarely spectacular by the world’s standards. But for me, the signs matter more than the mess. For me, they testify to life. They tell me that summer is coming. In a grander sense, they’re a reminder that what appeared dead was not beyond renewal.

I should mention that while spring is hopeful, it also brings its own kind of trouble for me. The extreme barometric pressure swings that come with the season always bring migraines. In other words, even in the season that finally feels like relief, there’s an element of pain. But there, again, is a lesson for me as I wait for summer. In a sense, spring tells the truth about growth. Life’s return is a beautiful thing. But it’s also messy, and often enough, struggle is a part of its process (Romans 8:22).

I’m thinking in this way this morning for a reason.

I spoke at the Lenawee County Right To Life dinner in Adrian this past Thursday, and, essentially, some of my remarks focused on how easy it can be to become discouraged in the middle of any long moral struggle. Discouragement settles in slowly, and after a while, all the surrounding winter-like noise can easily become mistaken for seasonal permanence. Relative to the cause for life, if folks aren’t careful, especially in the ungodly state of Michigan, it can eventually feel like the cultural winds only blow in one direction, and that the best anyone can ever expect is to brace for things to get worse. Over time, that kind of discouragement can become its own form of surrender. People continue doing the work outwardly while inwardly assuming that nothing will ever change.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that the presence of struggle doesn’t mean that nothing is growing. And spring itself is the perfect reminder. It’s messy, but even in the mess, there are signs of growth showing that, no matter the noise or the seemingly slow pace, the work is bearing fruit (Galatians 6:9).

I saw a few of those signs in real time on Thursday evening in Adrian. The evening itself is not necessarily the point here. The point is what the evening suggested. At the start of the dinner, the Lenawee County affiliate president, Julie, mentioned that the event had grown from 20 to 25 tables. That means forty more seats were filled than the year before. That’s 25 percent growth. I know those are some relatively simple numbers. But it’s a relatively simple story to tell. In short, more people came. More people wanted to participate. Most importantly, in a time when people are shunned for taking stands against abortion’s ungodliness, more people were willing to attach themselves publicly to the cause of life.

That alone is a spring-like bud on the cause’s tree.

During the dinner, Jennifer and I sat beside Amber Roseboom, the president of Michigan Right to Life. I’ve known Amber for a while now. I mentioned a statistic I’d read recently in passing. It was from Gallup’s 2025 age-trend data on abortion. One number in particular stood out. Among Americans ages eighteen to twenty-nine, 37 percent identified as pro-life. At first glance, we might think that’s an abysmal number. And yet, in 2022, that number was 26 percent. That’s an eleven-point increase.

I ended up sharing that statistic during my talk, if only because nobody should pretend that an eleven-point shift in a younger age bracket is meaningless drift. It’s a sign of spring. It suggests an emerging openness. If anything, it suggests that younger Americans are not as uniform in their thinking as so many in our culture insist.

Interestingly, Amber mentioned both in private and during her moment at the microphone that the Michigan affiliates are growing. All of these details—the table count, the percentage increase, and the affiliate increase—together hint at a pattern. They suggest that the cause of life is not in retreat. It’s not even just barely holding the line. It’s advancing.

For far too long, the culture has spoken as though the rising generation belonged almost entirely among abortion’s defenders. They’ve treated that assumption as a settled fact, like it’s some sort of already rendered verdict, and that only the backwater idiots are the ones failing to recognize it. For my part, I try never to forget that human beings are far more complicated than the scripts the culture writes for them. Not to mention, God made us. His Law written into our hearts is still a thing. His natural law is still a thing, too. And so, the sight of vulnerable life still stirs something in people. The moral weight of what abortion actually is, when presented truthfully, still bears down on hearts and minds, even when every available euphemism is deployed to soften the reality. Younger people, like every other generation before them, are still capable of seeing through lies and changing their minds.

I appreciate Albert Camus’ famous saying, “In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer.” Some consider it overused. I don’t see it that way. I think the words are a near-perfect description of hope. Relative to what I’ve written so far, in the seemingly perpetual dreadfulness of abortion’s winter, they speak of hope’s presence, and they anticipate hope’s emerging buds. A local dinner grows by 25 percent. State affiliates increase. Younger adults show a measurable increase in pro-life identification. Each sign by itself may seem small to someone determined to dismiss it. But like a grampa lifting his grandson to the tree to see for himself, God does the same with us on occasion. He lifts His children to these small signs and encourages us, “Keep going. Summer is coming.”

For Christians, I suppose this hope reaches even deeper still, especially so close to Easter. By faith, we know our hope is already fulfilled in Christ. He has already entered death and shattered it from the inside. He has already secured the victory over sin, death, and hell by His cross and resurrection. Which means every small sign of life, every bud of renewal, and every encouragement along the way arrives to us as more than wishful thinking. They come as reminders of a future already guaranteed by the risen Lord (1 Corinthians 15:20). Indeed, summer is coming because Christ is risen, and in Him the final spring has already begun.

With that knowledge tucked into our hearts, we can endure the lingering cold, keep watch for the buds, and go about the business of defending life, assured that the Lord who has promised the summer is already bringing it.

A Beeline to Faithfulness

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That was quite the wind and rain we experienced last week, wouldn’t you say? I think it’s safe to say that autumn has arrived.

Being unable to move very quickly because of my injury, the normally simple inconvenience rain causes became a bit more concerning. At one point on Tuesday, my daughter, Evelyn, and I were standing beneath the canopy near the church’s main entrance trying to decide how we would go about making our way to the car in what had suddenly become a torrential downpour. Thankfully, I had already moved the car into the circle drive near the entrance, so it was only about fifty feet away from us. Still, she was concerned that at my pace, I would be drenched by the time I made it, and so she offered to run to the car to fetch my umbrella and then come right back, and then together we’d make our way over.

What a sweetie.

In the end, we decided just to make a run for it. Well, she ran. I hobbled with fierce determination. Although, we only did this after first calculating another option and its possible outcomes. Essentially, we measured a simple dash to the car against Evelyn running to the vehicle, opening the hatch to retrieve the umbrella, and then running back to me, only for the two of us to then return to the car holding the sail-like device amid the blustering rainstorm, stopping at one door to allow one of us to climb inside as the other then circled around to the other to get in, being sure to first close and shake the umbrella. In the end, a beeline to the car seemed the better plan. Taking a hint from Longfellow, sometimes the best thing any of us can do when it’s raining is to let it rain. In other words, sometimes things are what they are and there’s nothing we can do to change them.

I suppose another lesson to be learned by this artless scenario is that our over-contemplated attempts at avoiding the discomforting things in life often result in making things worse rather than better. Digging even deeper into the moment, I’d say we sorted through the distinction between simply talking about doing and actually doing. As Evelyn and I negotiated, the rain only seemed to get worse. Had we made straight for the car when we first came out, we’d have been a lot less wet. But we didn’t. We stood there trying to decide what we were going to do, which involved a second option involving excessive details that, the more we talked about them, the more cumbersome and toll-exacting they seemed to become. I don’t know if it relates completely, but as I type this, I’m remembering the way Saint Paul often spends time in his epistles dealing with the contours of the Christian life.

I’m guessing there are plenty of folks who, when they visit with those portions of Paul’s writings in which he speaks about genuine Godliness, figure he’s being prescriptive, that is, he’s telling his readers how to live their lives in the world. That may be true some of the time, but not always. Occasionally he’s being descriptive, which means he’s simply describing what Christians have become by the power of the Holy Spirit through the Gospel for faith in Christ. When he does this, there’s an accompanying sense that enough time has already been spent talking about what it all means and now it’s time to just go and be it. I suppose in a practical sense, the more time we spend being unnecessarily cerebral about all of it, the more allowance for devastation our inaction seems to prove.

Think about it in a localized sense. There’s a reason why Saint Paul urges Christians not to let the sun go down on their anger (Ephesians 4:26). He knows the tendencies of Man. He knows that the longer we wait to reconcile, the more likely it is that the rainstorm of hatred will intensify. Of course, as the hatred grows fiercer, the worse things become and the less likely it will be that the two people will ever truly dry off in peace. On a larger scale, the more sedentary Christians remain, prattling away on social media about our troubled world without ever lifting a finger to change anything, the worse things are likely to become. One only needs to look around to see the necessity of Christian action. A glance will reveal the spin-rate of this world’s undoneness is continually picking up speed. School Boards across the country are often unopposed when they introduce sexually explicit materials and Critical Race Theory curriculums in their districts, often beginning as early as preschool. Christian business owners are taken to court and oftentimes fined out of existence simply for holding to the tenets of their faith and the basic science of Natural Law. What was once the quieter, but nonetheless satanic, mantra of “safe but rare” has become the full-throated cry of “Shout your abortion!” and the call for legalized slaughter of full term infants.

The rain is falling, folks. Sure, you can take some time to examine the best way through it, but one way or the other, you’re going to have to get wet. So, stop talking about it and get going. Make a beeline for faithfulness. Of course, the best place to start is by going to church. There’s not much use in trying to weather the storms if you haven’t been equipped accordingly to do so. You need what Christ gives by His Word and Sacrament gifts. Strengthened by these, may I suggest your next few steps for steering into the downpour be ones of faithfulness in your vocation as parent, child, friend, or worker? A lot can be accomplished simply by teaching your little ones while standing true to Christian conviction before family, friends, and co-workers. As you pick up speed in this, think about getting involved with your local Pro-life organization. Or perhaps you might help register Christian voters before the next election. Heck, I say if the Spirit is carrying you along with a brisk enough stride, take a chance at running for office. I already hinted at how holding a seat on your local School Board could make all the difference in the world to the next generation of citizens.

Whatever you’re thinking about doing, don’t think too long. Get out there and be who God has already made you to be. Yes, you’re going to get wet. That comes with the territory. But no matter the outcomes, the calculations for a beeline to your eternal life were already made by Christ through His life, death, and resurrection. By His victory, the courage you need for the first few steps has already been delivered. The words “It is finished!” (John 19:30) are the clarion call.

Let’s Be Honest About Death

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Just yesterday (Saturday, February 20), the Life Team of Our Savior blessed our church and community by offering an “End of Life” seminar. It was well attended. I was glad for that.

The keynote speaker for the event was Genevieve Marnon, the Legislative Director for Right to Life of Michigan. I know Genevieve. She’s a great servant of the cause for life, and as you’d expect, she gave great insight into a multitude of things facing the Church in America when it comes to end-of-life decision making. All who took advantage of the day’s events were well fed.

We were also joined by Gary Borg from Lynch and Sons Funeral Home. I know the folks at Lynch and Sons well. Some years ago, Thomas Lynch, being the friend and writer that he is, wrote a kindly endorsement for my first volume of The Angels’ Portion. Knowing Tom’s directors to be top-notch, as expected, Gary’s words were valuable as he explained the funeral home’s role in the process, giving helpful tips to families for navigating what is likely to be a taxing and turbulent time.

I was tasked with kicking off the event. My topic: “How to Prepare for a Funeral Service and Beyond.” Of course, I did what I could to fulfill the expectations of this topic, being sure to talk about the nature and theology of a funeral service, as well as emphasizing and encouraging faithful practices. I talked about how to be proactive in planning one’s own funeral, and I went through the basic steps of what families should do when a loved one’s last breath occurs.

But before I could speak to any of these things, I felt the need to steer into an honest discussion of what sits at the core of the conversation.

Death.

There is the temptation to avoid the word “death” altogether. I, on the other hand, give the word a capital “D” in every sermon I write. Why? Because Death is no small thing. It’s owed our attention. It’s big. It’s powerful. When it’s lurking, you know it’s there. When it steps onto the scene, there’s no questioning its intentions. Shakespeare personified Death in this way, too, describing it as keeping court, as sitting and scoffing at the pomp of man, waiting for the inevitable moment (Richard II, III, ii, I, 160). When Death has passed through, the devastation is real. It leaves behind things that are tangible to each of the human senses. You can see its shadow in the pale skin of the deceased. You can touch and know the coldness of its labor. It even has its own smell. The people who’ve been powerless to stop its savage work on a loved one have red cheeks and bloodshot eyes. They’ve tasted the salt of their own tears. When there’s no more heavy breathing and the life-support machines have been stopped, the silence is thunderous.

W.B. Yeats once wrote that Man knows Death to the bone (Death, 1933). And he’s right. For the victim, it leaves nothing untouched. For those left behind, it cuts into the depths of their being, and its scars are long-lasting.

Against the overwhelming evidence of Death’s strangling might, in an attempt to be at peace with its inescapable work, I’ve heard some refer to Death as a friend, something to embrace as good. Yes, it’s true that an end to mortal suffering can be counted as a blessing. But the verity of such a statement isn’t so for the reasons the mortal flesh would conjure. Death is not a blessing. It’s a curse. It’s not natural. It’s completely foreign to God’s design for creation. He makes sure we understand these things in the Garden of Eden in Genesis 3:19. In 1 Corinthians 15:26, Saint Paul makes sure we never utter the words, “Death is a friend.” It’s not a friend. It’s the last bitterest enemy of Man.

Before we can even begin to fathom the glorious purpose and momentum of a Christian funeral, we need to be wise to what we’re actually dealing with. Death is everything I’ve described. It’s real, and it’s coming for all. Each of us will breathe our last and be returned to the bosom of the earth. We don’t know how or when it will happen, we just know that it will. And when it does, what will we do? What shall we expect from and for those around us? Where is our hope in the midst of the mess?

A Christian funeral beholds Christ right in the middle of it.

In the midst of the initial sadness—Christ. When the machines are being unplugged and rolled away—Christ. When the plans are being made at the funeral home—Christ. When the readings and hymns are being selected and the obituary is being crafted from memories—Christ. When the bell tolls and the service begins, when the casket is closed and the mortal remains are covered by the pall—Christ. When the sermon is ringing out to the listeners—Christ and more Christ! Yes, the loved-one in the casket will be remembered, and likely in some heart-warming ways. Nevertheless, none of these will rise to the prominent station of “most important.” At a Christian funeral, Jesus owns that spot. And so the unmistakable communiqué to be dispatched to the troubled community will be the Good News of Death’s cure—the great heralding of Death’s utter defeat at the hands of Christ.

A Christian funeral is to be nothing less than the proclamation of this Gospel—the overabundant proclamation of the world-splitting news that Death no longer rules the spaces between heaven and hell because of the person and work of Jesus Christ. Because of Jesus, Death is no longer the believer’s lord. It is not the believer’s master. It is not the believer’s end. Jesus has seen to this. He said so Himself: “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live” (John 11:25). Trusting in the divine Son of God, the One who throttled Death by His own demise on Calvary’s cross, believers—both in the casket and in the pews—can be sure that Death has been remedied. The process itself, no matter how it may unfold, is now only for believers to close their eyes and exhale a last breath in mortality, and then to open their eyes and inhale the freshness of eternal life in the nearest presence of Christ in heaven.

Christ made sure of this.

If we don’t understand these things, a funeral can devolve into a circus sideshow very quickly. If we don’t empower our pastors to direct our funerals in a Godly way, being sure to leave behind very clear instructions for our families, then our own funerals very well could become less of what Christ would desire and more of what the unbelieving world would do to find peace, which ultimately means everyone in attendance will be left searching for hope in all the wrong places.

Lent is a good time to have a seminar like the one we had. This is true because Lent takes seriously what plagues humanity, knowing the immensity of the Lord’s work to save us from it, while at the same time knowing that Easter is on the very near horizon.

My prayer for you this day is that you would know the immensity of the Lord’s work, too, and that you would look to Him in all things, being assured of eternal life through faith in Him. Lent reminds us of the serious nature of the wage for Sin, which is Death. Easter reminds us that neither has a hold on Jesus. This being true, by faith in Him, they don’t have a hold on you, either.