Pages: 1 2

I met Jesus in April 1970 in an encounter both dramatic and intimate while proctoring an exam in a public high school in San Diego, California. Two years prior, I helped two friends abort their pregnancies; I found a doctor willing to perform (then) illegal abortions and borrowed the money from a relative. I had nothing to do with creating these pregnancies; but in my mind, there was no higher value than having your friends’ backs. I did what I believed needed to be done. When I met Jesus, He did not condemn me for what I had done in 1968. It did not come up at all for a few weeks.

In a Holy Spirit show of irony, this hippy (me) was led into one of the most traditional and structured denominations; they even practiced “going to confession.” When I asked the pastor what I should do next – as a new member with no previous experience of church – he told me to show up for confession the coming Saturday. When I asked how I should prepare – seeing as how I lacked even a grasp of what might be called sin – he told me to write down everything I could think of in my past that might stand between me and God. He said I should include even the apparently trivial, and then he said something I thought odd but encouraging. He said if some sinful incident came to mind after my confession, I was not to worry about it; if the Lord had wanted me to deal with it, then He would have brought it up in time for the confession.


Advertisement


I was surprised at how much I remembered of clearly out-of-bounds behavior, even to someone as clueless as myself; I had a laundry list by the time I got into that little booth I had only seen in movies before. Midway through the exercise, I heard a voice as clear as my own saying, “Don’t forget the abortions.” There was no condemnation of me as a murderer of the unborn; neither were excuses offered on account of my ignorance. There was only the instruction. I walked out of that confessional convinced of two things. Abortion is murder – the unjustified killing of a human being – and I dare not condemn those who have done what I did; I must speak the truth about this heinous act in love and humility.

Pages: 1 2

The views expressed in this opinion article are solely those of their author and are not necessarily either shared or endorsed by WesternJournalism.com.


Don't Miss Out. Subscribe By Email Or Facebook

Email

Facebook