This Pro-Life Moment

Photo by Alain Nkingi

I grew up in the American evangelical Christianity of the 1980s. My father was a pastor, and our church included people who were active in local and state-level politics. It seemed obvious to us that commitment to Christian faith had important implications for our common life together. We understood that authentic Christianity included commitment to "the least and the lost." Like many others, we were energized by calls to stand up for the weakest and most vulnerable humans. As Christians in the Methodist tradition, we were inspired by the examples of John Wesley and the holiness movement. We knew that they had resisted social evils such as slavery and child labor, and we wanted to follow in their footsteps in our opposition to the great social evil of our time. We eagerly and enthusiastically "marched for life" and carried signs at the state capitol and participated in rallies in defense of unborn humans. We volunteered at local "crisis pregnancy centers" out of a commitment to offer a hopeful future to mothers and their children. We saw the common practice of abortion in the United States as a great evil; we were convinced that it was a moral blight that brought shame on our nation. And so we held bake sales and fundraisers; we volunteered our time and our sweat and even our tears; we raised our voices; we wielded our votes. 

Looking back, it seems undeniable that we were sometimes seen as a naïve voting bloc that could be manipulated by opportunistic politicians, and it seems painfully undeniable that sometimes we indeed were manipulated. From the distance of several decades we can recognize missteps, blind spots, and blunders committed by the "pro-life" movement. In spite of the mistakes, however, I continue to think that the basic commitments were right and good. We were right to oppose abortion as commonly (and legally) practiced in the United States. 

But while unborn humans are indeed vulnerable humans with a "right to life," and while it is right to do all that we can to protect them, it is also true that abortion is not the only "pro-life" issue. Other issues are right in front of us. For instance, earlier this year President Trump signed an executive order (EO 14169 "Reevaluating and Realigning United States Foreign Aid") that effectively eliminated humanitarian aid to many people in dire circumstances and truly desperate situations around the world. This came with another executive order (EO 14165) that sought to end the immigration of refugees into the United States. These actions raised concern and even alarm, but the critics were assured that no innocent people would be hurt in this process. Several months later, however, it is all too obvious that such actions are yielding disastrous results. There is ample evidence that sexual violence and human trafficking are on the rise in situations that were already horrific. The rise in malaria, tuberculosis, pneumonia, and HIV is dramatic, and the consequences are predictably dire. By some estimates, deaths (among people who formerly relied upon these programs) from disease and malnutrition already total over three hundred thousand. According to some calculations, our refusal to provide continued humanitarian aid to those who were relying upon it results in 103 deaths every hour. 

The response from evangelical Christians, including confessional and theologically conservative Methodists, is perplexing. I say this because there really isn't much of a response. Some of the people who led the "pro-life" movement against abortion are strangely silent. In fact, some of them actively work to squelch any statements of concern and to shut down any protest; it almost seems as if some will only speak up to defend the administration or deflect the concerns ("Well, what about this…" or, "But there is a lot of corruption"). This response is puzzling to me, for it seems so far removed from our historic Methodist commitments. And when seen in historical perspective, it is more than puzzling—it is worrisome. 

This past spring I taught a course in theological anthropology to a bright group of undergraduate students. When we turned our attention to issues in the twentieth century, the students were surprised to find that Hitler's rise to power was supported by a broad coalition of Protestant Christians, one that included not only classical liberal theologians but also some of the most conservative theologians and pastors. It is important to note that there was a spectrum of support from the German Christians; some were enthusiastic and even ecstatic, others were more cautious and measured but still unwavering in support. Some pastors and theologians were willing to revise and invent major doctrines in overt support of National Socialism and the Third Reich—indeed, parts of the New Testament were paraphrased in the production of a pro-Hitler Bible. But others were simply willing to go along with what was happening because they saw the rise of National Socialism and the leadership of Hitler as a way of securing the future of Christianity and their own place within it. Upon learning that conservative as well as liberal Christians were complicit in Hitler's agenda, a common response from the students went like this: "What? How could they do something so outrageous? How could they even go along with such evil? Of course I and my enlightened friends would never do such a thing—how did anyone endorse such madness?" 

The answer to such questions is fairly straightforward. And it is sobering. The reality is that some of the pastors and theologians (as well as lay Christians) who supported Hitler did not do so out of wholehearted commitment to everything he was doing. Instead, they supported him—in some cases overtly and very energetically, in other cases by a refusal to go against him and his agenda—because they were convinced that the good things he was doing were worth whatever else was going on. After all, they reasoned, our leader has promised to restore our great nation to its former glory. He has promised to bring economic stability and prosperity. He will not let other countries take advantage of us any longer. He is a law-and-order leader, and he cracks down on the anarchists who threaten our values and the rabble-rousers who disrupt our lives. He is adamantly opposed to Communists and other Marxist infiltrations. He is actively removing the parts of society that compromise our purity and who are parasitic upon our goodwill. Even if his own religious commitments are a bit murky, nonetheless he supports us. And so, they concluded, he is doing so much good that we dare not derail his work. Furthermore, if we criticize him we might alienate him, and of course we cannot afford that risk. 

I want to be absolutely clear: I am not drawing straight lines from Germany in the 1930s to the United States in the 2020s. The situations are much too different for that (and it is both untruthful and unhelpful to characterize all American Christians who find themselves faced with deeply flawed candidates as either "neo-Nazis," "fascists," or "Marxists"). My point is not that there is some kind of exact moral equivalence between Trump and Hitler; indeed, I am not even meaning to compare them. Instead I am pointing to a historical example of the way in which Christians have been seduced by power and have compromised their faith in the interest of pragmatic reasons.  It is all too easy to compromise our principles—and indeed to forfeit our discipleship—for political expediency. In this case, it is all too easy to be "pro-life" when it is politically advantageous and on issues where the party in power is supportive, and then to look the other way or even try to silence those who raise concerns on other issues. 

Returning to our contemporary situation, I do not doubt there is a lot of corruption, waste, and fraud embedded in USAID and similar programs (indeed, I would be quite skeptical of reports that there isn't any corruption). I think that we ought to encourage full review and accountability. But surely the way to do this is through thorough and sober analysis—not by eliminating programs entirely and dismantling them wholesale. To put the matter plainly, if any of us had a child receiving life-saving care at a hospital that was known for waste, fraud, and corruption, then surely we would want that hospital to be investigated and held accountable. But just as surely we would not want the hospital to be closed overnight and our child thrown into the street! And yet this is exactly what the recent actions of this administration are doing to multitudes of suffering people. 

I have been in refugee camps in Africa. I have seen the trauma of people who have fled political violence, sexual abuse, and torture. I have seen the desperation of people who hope to survive—fathers who want clean water and food for their families, mothers who long for something better for their children. I know we cannot help everyone. But we dare not refuse to help anyone. We dare not look away. We must not lose our nerve or compromise our commitment to follow our Lord. This is a pro-life moment. How will the "people called Methodists" respond? 

Thomas H. McCall holds the Timothy C. and Julie M. Tennent Chair of Theology at Asbury Theological Seminary.