“All Life Is Beautiful,” the sign said. “Protect All Human Life: the unborn, the imprisoned, the immigrant, the refugee, the disabled.” My girlfriend sent me photos of the poster board that sat next to her on the bus as she traveled to Washington, D.C. for the March for Life last Friday.
She had made the sign because she felt conflicted about being at the March. She wanted to be clear just who and what it was she had come there to support—to advocate for protection and defense of all human life, especially lives commonly forgotten or neglected. We talked about the constantly narrowing scope of the pro-life movement to a single issue, the increasingly charged political atmosphere surrounding that issue, the rapidly escalating anger from passionate people on both sides, and how a person who calls for the protection of the unborn, the incarcerated, the immigrant, the refugee, the veteran, the person with disabilities, and the homeless doesn’t fit neatly into existing political categories.
And so today I’m going to defend human life by attempting to uncover the nature of humanity. So… small fish to fry.
The defense of human life must be a universal, seamless endeavor, one that safeguards the nature of humanity in addition to the dignity and biological life of each individual human being. When we reduce the pro-life movement to a single issue, it devolves into the kind of angry, incoherent, lunacy which leads a person to say that women who get abortions should be incarcerated, gay people should be electrocuted to cure them of their depravity, and innocent refugees fleeing war-torn countries shouldn’t bother knocking on our door for help. None of these things are “pro-life.” 1
A great deal of our problems stem from the fact that we are all constantly lied to about what it actually does mean to be human. These lies enter my consciousness in myriad ways: some innocuous, others grotesque, still others tantalizing. When I attach myself to these lies, I sow seeds of division and separation that are harmful to individuals, to communities, and to society at large. I am told that to be human is to achieve great things: the greater and more impressive my achievements, the more human I am. I am told that to be human is to buy things: the more things I buy, and the more expensive those things are, the more human I am. I am told that to be human is to have sex: the more sex I have, and the more exciting that sex is, the more human I am.
I am told that I get to decide what it means to be human, and so then I begin to draw lines that divide the human family: lines based on age, or race, or nationality, or creed, or gender, or economic status, or sexual desire, or political affiliation. I start drawing these lines, and then I attempt to define myself based on which side of these lines I happen to fall on. In doing so, I inadvertently define myself by how I am different from people on the other side of these lines; once those people on the other side of the line are defined as different from me, then I have made myself separate from them, and have re-arranged the world based on my own perceptions of it.
We are all told these things by the culture in which we are formed as human beings: every television show, every tweet, every billboard, every radio ad, every political debate is a data point that contributes to the constantly evolving understanding of self and its relationship to the other selves that make up the human family. We cannot set the record straight and begin to form a culture that emphasizes life until we rediscover what it truly means to be human.
A true Christian view of the world, one that isn’t weaponized for political purposes, must be coherent and unifying, with no other center than Christ himself.2 If I make myself the sole definer of human nature, and I attempt to decide who “counts” as human enough to be deserving of actual, authentic, self-giving love instead of mere lip service, then I follow in the footsteps of Adam and Eve by trying to assume for myself divine authority. I toss out the created order of things in favor of my own, as if I know better than the Creator how things ought to be.
Christ is the fullness of God’s revelation. By taking on a human nature, God reveals humanity to itself and makes clear its very high calling. 3 Nowhere is that nature and calling made more clear, more befuddling, or more terrifying than in the Eucharist, where Christ unreservedly gives himself to each and every human person. In the Eucharist, Christ brings us all into perfect unity with him and with one another, and reveals the nature of every human being—to embody this radical, unmeasured self-gift with our lives.
Saint Paul writes that “Christ Jesus, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God something to be grasped, but rather emptied himself.” 4 Catholics believe that the Eucharist is the real presence of Christ, and is therefore a demonstration of this self-emptying love: the Word which gives life and meaning to all things and is without end or limit willfully chooses to be made known to us in the form of a tiny, paper-thin wafer. The Son of God becomes truly present in an object that has absolutely no agency, whose only purpose is to be eaten.
He does not do this simply to demonstrate his humility or his love for us, for the Eucharist is not just a sign but also an instrument: it realizes what it signifies. The Eucharist illustrates the radical extent of God’s self-gift, and it is also the means by which we are incorporated into his Body and therefore his kenotic action. The grace received in the Sacrament empowers me to give myself away as he does, because it is no longer I who live but Christ who lives in me—I am his eyes, his ears, his hands, his body. Christ desires perfect unity among all humans, and in the Eucharist he asks me to allow him to work through me to achieve this end.
When I encounter Christ and invite him to begin working in me, I discover that picking and choosing whose life is worth protecting is as impossible as picking and choosing the color of the sky. Every person, from every corner of the earth, at every stage of life, is loved into being by God, and therefore needs our love and respect as well—even if they don’t want it!
Being human isn’t about achievement or possessions or sex or any of the other crap we feed ourselves; it’s about realizing how radically we are loved, and loving in response—giving ourselves away freely and totally. When I stop being so concerned with myself—my identity, my beliefs, my vocation, my life—and begin to practice self-gift, I discover that my nature is love.
I shouldn’t have to be nervous about loved ones gathering for a celebration of life. But despite the nerves, and despite the weird political ambiguity, it’s crucially important that we march. One goal of the March for Life may be to bring about a change in the laws regarding abortion in the US, but the ultimate goal of every social movement—and of society itself—ought to be the flourishing of human community, flourishing that can only be achieved by protecting and attending to the needs of the most poor and vulnerable among us. As Mother Theresa shrewdly recognized, “we have forgotten that we belong to one another.” No one will remember unless we start talking about it.
In the Eucharist, Jesus shows me who I am. More importantly, he shows me who other people are, which in the end is not determined by age, race, gender, creed, nationality, economic status, sexual desire, or political affiliation, but by God. Jesus reveals humanity to be defined by the act of self-gift, and in receiving his gift of self, we are empowered to go and do likewise. We love because he first loved us.
1 Which seems obvious to me, but apparently is not obvious enough for elected officials to understand.↩
2 Which, again, seems obvious to me, but is apparently not obvious enough for our elected officials to understand.↩
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ReplyDeleteA true Christian view of the world, one that isn’t weaponized for political purposes, must be coherent and unifying, with no other center than Christ himself.