Rita Helgessen studied her list of people who had left Waverly church over the abortion issue. There were checks by many of the last names. These were people who had refused Jim’s and her invitation to dinner. Most had been politely firm. “No, we’ve found another church and are satisfied, but thank you, anyway.” “We just felt it was time to move on, and we’ve done that.” “We’re too busy right now, but thanks for the invitation.” One man had responded, “Nope, no thanks,” and had hung up abruptly.
Jim and Rita were both discouraged and ready to give up, but Rita told Jim she would have a hard time facing Patrice without having put out one hundred percent effort. That was when Jim Helgessen made the decision to go in person on a Tuesday night to the home of one of his former board members who had also been a close friend.
“Fred!” Jim exclaimed, when the man opened the door. Before the man could respond, caught off guard as he was, Jim reached out and grabbed his hand, heartily shaking it as he went on. “We’ve missed you, and we’ve got to talk. We know you and Danielle are no longer attending Waverly, and that’s OK. But we’ve been friends several years—good friends—and we just aren’t ready to give that up.” He looked at the man inside the doorway and pleaded, “Can we… can we… just talk?”
“I don’t think there’s much to say,” Fred replied.
“There is—you know there is, Fred. We can agree to disagree, but let’s talk so we can at least stay friends. You both know how much Danielle’s support has meant to Rita through the years—especially now since they’ve both gone through this… cancer thing.”
“Is Waverly having a hard time? I know a lot of people have left.”
“Well… no. It’s actually grown,” Jim answered apologetically as if in natural response to his knowing that Fred might perhaps like to see the church struggle under the circumstances. “But the church isn’t the issue, believe me. It’s our friendship—it’s you, Fred. We are brothers in our faith. And Danielle. It’s not right that there should be this rift between us. Let’s talk things out; after all, there are so many things we agree on.”
“Well, let’s agree on those things and leave the rest alone,” Fred replied flatly.
“And I say, let’s be transparent with each other and before the Lord. Let’s get together so that we can remain brothers in Christ.”
The other man took a deep breath. “I’ll talk with Danielle and let you know.”
“Can you talk with her now? We’re willing to meet any time, any place. We just want to get together to pray and talk. We know we’ve offended you. We can’t leave it like that.” He looked earnestly at Fred. “Please.”
“All right. You can come over tomorrow night at seven.”
“Thanks, man!” Jim grabbed his hand again and squeezed it tightly. “You can’t know how much this means to me.”
“Well, you can thank Danielle tomorrow night,” Fred replied.
“I will,” Jim said, over his shoulder, as he walked briskly to his car, waving in appreciation.
……….
The next day it rained off and on most of the day, but about six o’clock the sun came out, shining as though it were making up for lost time. The water steamed off the sidewalks, and the flowers seemed to be outdoing themselves in vibrant color.
At a minute after seven, Jim rang Fred and Danielle’s doorbell as Rita stood beside him. She mouthed the words, “I’m nervous,” just as the door started opening.
“Hey, Fred,” Jim said with a warm smile.
“Uhm… Actually…” Fred started to say, but didn’t get any further. “Ah, come on in. A friend of Danielle’s stopped by, and we just finished dinner.” He glanced toward the kitchen and raised his voice. “Danielle, Jim and Rita are here.”
From the kitchen came the sound of a brief interchange of words before Fred’s wife appeared, followed by a young woman.
“Patrice!” Rita exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
“Rita! This is a surprise.” Patrice smiled. “I just happened to stop by. Danielle and I go back a ways.”
Rita turned to Danielle. “Hi, Danielle,” she stammered. “I’m sorry. I’m… I didn’t know you and Patrice knew each other.” She grinned. “It is a small world, isn’t it?”
“Apparently so. How do you two know each other?” Danielle looked first at Patrice and then at Rita, then abruptly greeted the pastor. “Hi, Jim.”
Jim returned the greeting, looking at Rita questioningly. Rita turned to Patrice, giving her the opportunity to qualify their friendship any way she wanted.
“Rita’s worked at Marc’s office for years.” Patrice’s reply was simple and noncommittal, and just fine with Rita.
“And you two?” It was Rita’s turn to query, and Patrice passed the baton to Danielle with a look that said, “I’m not sure how much you want to disclose.”
Danielle stood a little straighter and arched her eyebrows. “I met her outside a little restaurant one day. She was upset after having made a difficult decision, and we became friends—simple as that.”
Patrice nodded as she added, “She was really there for me.”
“That’s good to hear,” Rita offered.
“Uh… about tonight… I think we should postpone our meeting,” Danielle said.
“Danielle, please don’t change your plans on my account,” Patrice offered.
“I think it might be best.” There was finality to Danielle’s words.
Rita looked at Jim, and he took the cue. “It’s a funny thing. Actually we’re here indirectly because of Patrice.”
“What?” Patrice exclaimed.
“Yes,” Rita affirmed, looking at Patrice. “It was your suggestion that we dialogue with our friends who left Waverly… to get their perspective.” She turned to Fred and Danielle. “Most people have turned us down, but we couldn’t let you guys off the hook, because your friendship is very important to us.”
“Let’s do it another night,” Danielle persisted.
“Danielle, if you’re going to be talking about abortion, I wouldn’t mind sticking around for the discussion. Trust me, I can handle it.”
“No, Patrice, I don’t think so.”
“I insist—it won’t be the first time or the last, I’m sure. But, of course, I don’t have to stay, if you really would rather I go.”
Danielle quickly responded. “No, Patrice, we wouldn’t rather you’d go.”
Jim squeezed Rita’s hand as they absorbed the rebuff, while Fred and Danielle looked at each other. The latter put on a gracious smile of resignation. “All right. Let’s go sit down,” she said quietly.
Everybody did, one couple on the couch, the other on the love seat, and Patrice in the easy chair.
Small talk ensued for the next five minutes until Jim cleared his throat and asked if he could pray. After a short prayer, invoking God’s blessing on each person present as well as on their conversation, he said, “So, Fred—or Danielle, what prompted you to leave Waverly?”
Fred responded, “I guess we felt the church had taken a turn in a direction we didn’t feel had the backing of the majority. And we didn’t want to support a project that would surely prove divisive.”
“The Wall?”
“Yes.” There was a defining manner to Fred’s nod. “To be frank, Jim, Waverly’s always had more pro-choice members than anti-abortion, but we’ve never been in each other’s face. So it was a little hard to swallow when you—our pastor—not only left the majority, but came on so strong.”
“I know I came on strong—especially in view of where I’d been.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I admit it was an about-face and pretty much a shock to everyone. Actually, when Rita first approached me with her ‘good news,’ I have to admit it was quite a pill for me to swallow, too—until I made the determination to allow my heart to be opened. I don’t mean to sound self-righteous, but that’s what it took—opening my heart to the work of the Holy Spirit. That’s what allowed me to change my mind. So… I still have to ask. Would you have left if we hadn’t started the Wall project?”
“Yes,” Danielle spoke up. “We had pretty much decided to look for another church after Rita gave her talk.” She looked at Rita. “I know you both have had this ‘experience’ or encounter with God, and it’s supposedly changed your life and your outlook on…things. But not all of us feel we need to repent of having had an abortion. You two might feel guilty; we don’t. We felt it was the best decision at the time.”
“As did we,” Rita acknowledged.
“Maybe the division can be traced more fundamentally to whether we trust our own judgment or God’s,” Jim commented thoughtfully.
“I do trust God,” Danielle insisted.
“So do I,” Fred added emphatically.
“But how do we know His character? How do we know how He feels about abortion?”
“Abortion’s not even mentioned in the Bible.”
“You’re right, Danielle. It’s not. But we can assume that unwanted pregnancies have always been around, don’t you think?”
“Sure, of course.” She shrugged her right shoulder.
“So people have always had to cope with unwanted pregnancies—unwanted children, right?”
“So…?” Fred responded.
“Do you remember reading about Moloch, an idol in the Old Testament?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Fred answered, putting his right arm on the back of the loveseat behind Danielle.
“Well, you certainly wouldn’t have heard about Moloch at Waverly—at least not in any of my sermons. I would never have picked the topic as long as I was pro-choice. You see, Moloch was the national god of the Ammonites, descendants of Lot, and he demanded a particular sacrifice—child sacrifice.”
“Whatever.” Fred muttered, making every effort to appear disinterested.
But Jim was prompted to explain, “I feel ‘Moloch’ is relevant to our discussion.” He hesitated for just a moment, then asked, “Can I take just a few minutes to share what I’ve learned about this pagan god?”
Fred exhaled an exasperated sigh, crossing his arms. “If you feel you must.”
Both Jim and Rita looked at Danielle. With her mouth pursed and eyebrows arched, she silently gave a reluctant consent. But when Rita glanced at Patrice, she was encouraged to see genuine curiosity on the young woman’s face.
“I said Moloch was the national god of the Ammonites, but actually this idol was worshipped by several ancient people groups, each giving the idol a different name, like ‘Ashtoreth.’ In Egypt it was called Amun-Ra, ‘the king of gods.’ So Moloch was the Amun-Ra of the Ammonites. This idol was made of bronze and had the head of a calf but human-like arms that reached out in a welcoming gesture. The statue was seated on a throne, also of bronze, and the whole idol was heated red-hot by fire inside. Children were made to ‘pass through the fire to Moloch.’ No one knows for sure exactly what that meant. One idea is that the children may have been swept through the arms quickly or maybe shaken briefly between them—to insure that the child wouldn’t die in infancy. But that idea is probably not feasible because of the the risk of burns to the child as well as to the parents.”
Danielle and Patrice briefly exchanged horrified looks.
“However, there are several scriptures that clearly associate Moloch worship with the purposeful killing of babies. As we agreed before, unwanted pregnancies and hence unwanted children have been around a long time. Maybe that’s the reason Moloch worship was so prevalent. Regardless of the reason, God certainly disapproved. In Leviticus, the Israelites were strictly forbidden—on penalty of death—to give their ‘seed’ to Moloch. God said it would profane his holy name to do so. Ahaz and Manasseh, two of Judah’s most wicked kings, made their own sons ‘pass through the fire’—quite an example of leadership.” There was a cynical tone to Jim’s voice. “And what was God’s take on it? He called it abomination.”
“But these were children already born,” Fred protested testily. “Of course, that’s wrong. It’s not a baby until it’s born and breathing.”
“So a still-born child never was a baby?” Jim retorted. He apologized immediately. “I’m sorry, Fred. The last thing I want to do is argue. Anyway, this discussion isn’t about what you think, or what I think. It’s about what God thinks.” He smiled as he added, almost apologetically, “I do have to mention, though, that in South Korea a person’s age includes those first nine months.”
Fred shrugged. “That’s Korea. This is America.”
“True enough. And what we’re after now is what God thinks, anyway.” He took a deep breath. “I have a scripture to read. Do you mind?” There was silence except for the sound of page turning as the pastor flipped through his Bible.
“Psalm 139, verse 16. ‘Thine eyes did see my substance, yet being unperfect; and in thy book all my members were written, which in continuance were fashioned, when as yet there was none of them.’ Basically, this verse says that in God’s book, all our members were ‘written’ before we were ‘formed’.” Jim smiled, glancing at Patrice, and then directed his words to Fred and Danielle. “Now I have to tell you that I’ve read this scripture many times, but I had never really contemplated—and certainly not absorbed—what this says: that our individual existence—this gift of life—doesn’t start at birth. It starts in God’s book. You and I can look at it a hundred different ways, Fred, but Scripture tells us exactly how God looks at it. The world doesn’t care about ‘God’s book,’ but we do, because we’re part of His kingdom.”
Rita spoke up, looking at her husband. “Jim and I aborted our baby—and that baby was my second child. My first one I also paid to have killed. God knows I’m sorry—I wish I could bring them back. But when I acknowledge them as my first and second children, it’s like being able to wrap my arms around each of them—in my heart. I’m not abandoning them anymore. They are my children, and I believe I will meet them when I get to heaven.”
Fred, aware of his wife’s tears, reached his arm around Danielle again and squeezed her to his side, as she said, “We know you had two abortions, Rita; you’ve already told us that.” She cleared her throat. “And I’m not crying because I’m sad. I’m just frustrated that you’re trying to criminalize this perfectly legal act that allows women not to be smothered with children. Do you really want to send us back to the dark ages when we couldn’t plan our families and couldn’t limit the number of our children to what we could handle—with love?”
Jim closed the Bible and waited just a moment. Then he spoke softly. “You know, Danielle, the reality is that our society is a pretty sordid picture today, with or without abortion, because we’ve created our own gods to fit our own agendas. It’s not too different from the national gods of those ancient civilizations, when you look at it. We go after money and wealth—a comfortable life—and sacrifice children if they get in the way. We create our own gods, and that’s the real sin that filters down into other sins—like abortion. Let me read one more scripture. You know Micah 6:8—‘He hath shown thee, O man…’”
“We know,” Danielle interrupted. “…what is good, and what does the Lord require of thee but to do good and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God.”
“Well, this is the verse right before that one—verse 7. I think if verse 7 had been as well known as verse 8, things would be different in our country. Here it is. ‘Will the Lord be pleased with thousands of rams, or with ten thousands of rivers of oil? Shall I give my firstborn for my transgression, the fruit of my body for the sin of my soul?’ Listen to that.” Jim repeated the second sentence yet once more, and then continued.
“But in God’s mind, there was never a reason to abort our children—because He looks at them as His children. Bear with me for one more scripture. It’s God speaking through the prophet Ezekiel, Chapter 16, verses 20 and 21.” He smiled and glanced up. “As you can tell, I’ve really been researching this. Here it is: Moreover thou hast taken thy sons and thy daughters, whom thou hast borne unto me, and these hast thou sacrificed unto them (the idols) to be devoured. Is this of thy whoredoms a small matter, that thou hast slain my children, and delivered them to cause them to pass through the fire for them?
“You see, every single child God creates uniquely, and He records that child’s creation—in very careful detail—in His book. So for us to discard that child is to profane His name—to belittle this creation by Him, in His own image, of another human being. It doesn’t matter whether it’s legal in our society. We are profaning our Creator God.”
Fred and Danielle sat with their eyes focused on their laps. So did Patrice, but there was a thoughtfulness about her that Rita couldn’t help but notice, giving her a guarded elation deep inside. It helped balance the feeling of being shut out by both Fred and Danielle.
“Caring for a child requires a monumental amount of time and energy, and money—and a huge investment of love,” Jim continued. “But when we trust in God, He always provides. We might not have everything we want, but we have everything we need when we trust in Him. Paul writes in Romans, ‘So then everyone of us shall give account of himself before God.’ One day when each of us stands before Him, all alone, don’t we want Him to see us as His child who was thankful for the gift of Life, who looked up to Him as Father, who respected His Word, who lived by His commands? And right along with that, He wants us to lean on His forgiveness of our failures, and to rely upon His provision through Jesus Christ for that forgiveness.”
“That’s what led Rita to repent—and me, too—from the depths of our hearts for what we had done to our children—and to sincerely seek His face and His forgiveness. And, amazingly, He gave us His grace—no surprise from our God, but still amazing.” Jim spoke with kindness and compassion.
Rita laid her hand on his arm, saying, “You know, when God gave me the grace to repent of what I had done to my children—to God’s children whom He’d entrusted to me, I felt such incredible peace. I had such a desire to share that peace, and that’s what gave me the strength to face the congregation with my confession—to tell all. I wanted every woman—every man—to have the gift I’d been given.”
“The gift?” Danielle asked, dubiously.
“Yes. The gift of the grace to repent in order to receive God’s wonderful forgiveness.” She slowly shook her head with a gentle smile, concluding, “He is so good.”
A silence fell, until Danielle addressed Patrice. “You’ve been quiet over there, Patrice. Do you have anything you want to say?”
“No,” Patrice answered, raising her eyebrows. “I don’t. It’s very interesting, because this is completely new to me. I’m not a Christian and I don’t know the first thing about the Bible. I’ve always believed in evolution—that the children we choose to have are the fittest. Simple as that.”
“Well, I have some ideas on that, too,” Jim said, “but I’m trying to gather evidence before expressing myself.”
“I know what your ideas are.” Danielle spoke softly.
“You do?” Jim looked at her in surprise.
“Our Jerry. Would he fit into your theory? Now tell the truth.” Her voice was almost demanding.
“Well, it’s interesting that you ask.” Jim observed, curiously. “But I honestly have to say I don’t know. And probably never will. What I do know is just what we’ve discussed tonight—that children are His gifts to us, and He doesn’t take it lightly when we throw them away and totally abandon them. I believe it grieves Him, and we leave ourselves—and our families—open to attacks by the enemy of our souls. And that enemy—he’s a nasty one.” Jim turned to Fred. “How is Jerry, by the way?”
“He’s hanging in there. He seems to like the staff at Sunrise Center. You should visit him again. He always likes seeing you.”
“I’ll do that.” Jim put his arm around Rita. “We’ll do that—Sunday afternoon, perhaps. He’s a good kid.”
Danielle had tears in her eyes again. She rose and the rest followed suit. “I think I’d like to turn in early tonight,” she announced, then looked at Patrice. “I’m afraid you got more than you bargained for when you stopped by tonight, but it was good to see you again.”
“You, too.” Patrice reached out her hand, but Danielle embraced her instead, wiping her eyes with her hand as she hugged her friend. She turned to Jim and Rita.
“Well, we had our talk. I know you meant well.”
Rita smiled, feeling the sting of rejection. “No matter what you might think, Danielle, I love you. You too, Patrice.”
“Sometimes we just have to agree to disagree,” Patrice said, smiling at Danielle first, then Rita, “but we can still be friends.”
Rita nodded her head, her eyebrows raised in hopeful agreement.
The ride home was a quiet one, with Jim’s hand wrapped around Rita’s almost the entire way home.