McCullen v. Coakley: What would Jesus do?

Unless you've been living under a rock, you've heard that the Supreme Court heard arguments this week about a Massachusetts law that requires a 35-foot buffer zone at abortion clinics.  If I were a betting woman, I'd say that SCOTUS is going to overturn the law, and rule in favor of anti-abortion activists.  But that's conjecture, I guess, neither here nor there.

I started volunteering as an escort in college, and continued providing that support at women's clinics for many years after.  I could tell all kinds of stories about those experiences, but that's not the point of the current exercise.

Nine years ago this coming May, I sat in the parking lot of one of the few clinics left in the state of Wisconsin where you can get an abortion.  I was a little over a month pregnant, I was a couple of weeks away from being unemployed with very little savings to speak of and no job prospects, and I was completely and utterly alone.  I had no idea what I was going to do, what I wanted to do, but I knew I needed to think about all of the possible ways that pregnancy would, or wouldn't, play out.  To say I was emotionally distraught was an understatement.

I sat in my car for several minutes shaking, tearing up, and that was before I saw the people standing with signs, shouting things at other women, some with partners, many without.  The things they were saying were unbelievable.  I'd heard them all before, but not like this, not when I was vulnerable myself.  I was terrified, and I wasn't even there to have an abortion.

Then a woman and a man appeared, older than my parents but younger than grandparents, standing between my car and the protestors.  She handed me a tissue as I got out of the car, tucked in next to me as we headed for the doors and talked about the weather, or the upcoming weekend.  To be honest, I don't remember.  I remember how gentle her voice was, the silver in her hair, how much safer I felt for the presence of the quiet man who took a defensive position behind us.  In the midst of all that hatred was this oasis of kindness and compassion that got me to the clinic doors and then back to my car again later.

If you know me, you know how this story ends, but this isn't about that decision.  This is about who we are as a people, how we treat our fellow humans.  I have identified as a Christian for most of my life, and the people who were the most Christ-like at that clinic that day?  They weren't the ones judging from the sidewalk, terrorizing already terrified women in every way they knew how.  They were the men and women who put themselves in the line of fire to provide shelter, to provide comfort, to provide safety to total strangers and I will be forever grateful.

Whatever ruling the Supreme Court hands down won't change what is fundamentally wrong about the tactics demonstrated so consistently by the anti-abortion protesters at these clinics around the country. Hate and fear don't win hearts and minds. If you want to end abortion, then you need to go back a whole lot further in the cycle to address the root causes.  You need to commit to a whole lot of work around social justice and education, to a ministry of reconciliation and love.  Or you can go the route of bullies and cowards, and stand on a sidewalk demonizing those already in pain.  What's a good Christian to do?