After checking-in at a bed and breakfast located in a quaint small town, a 74-year-old traveler, Emmie, went for a stroll. Before long, she came upon a stream of people entering a picturesque brick church with stained glass windows and a white steeple. Stopping to let attendees cross in front of her, Emmie read a front-lawn sandwich board on which the abortion debate occurring that evening was announced.
A few steps later, Emmie turned on an impulse, then headed for a rear seat near the entrance of the place of worship. Slipping hands into sweater pockets as she watched the pews fill, she suspected the individual taking the so-called pro-choice position wouldn’t be well received.
Moving behind one of two lecterns placed about six feet apart in front of the pews, the pastor, a fortyish man wearing a black suit and white collar, seemed a bit flustered. “Hello, everyone,” he began while rubbing the back of his neck.
The crowd fell silent.
“Most of you know me,” continued the cleric. “To the few who don’t, I’m Pastor Olon. I’m afraid I have some unfortunate news. The individual who agreed to debate me let me know a few minutes ago she has a transportation problem and, as a result, won’t be coming. Is there anyone here willing to take the pro-choice position?” he asked, hoping someone would volunteer.
Doubtful that anyone present would match wits with their pastor, church members saw no need to turn their heads.
“That’s an awfully difficult task for someone to take on, Pastor,” said a mother, sitting between her teenage daughters.
The town’s sheriff agreed. “Given we see things as you do, Pastor, we’d be hard-pressed to put up much of a stand.”
Pastor Olon scanned the pews, hoping to spot someone up for the challenge. “Perhaps one of the few attendees I don’t recognize will help us salvage the evening,” he suggested. Then, in a last ditch effort to deliver a debate, he locked eyes on Emmie. “Would the lady sitting at the end of the last pew be willing to help us?”
Caught off guard by the request, Emmie nervously looked around, then stood to cordially express a lack of confidence. “My name is Emmie. Though I’d like to try to be helpful, I’m afraid I’d very much be a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants haphazard fill-in.”
Believing the plainly dressed, soft-spoken elder would resort to arguments he’d easily countered in the past, the self-assured pastor persisted. “Given your poise and candor, I’m guessing you’re underestimating yourself,” he flattered
“I think it’s best if I pass,” replied Emmie as she again sat.
“I understand playing the devil’s advocate is an unenviable role, Emmie. No doubt, an honorable woman, such as yourself, finds merely feigning to defend abortions to be reprehensible.”
The pastor’s compliment rubbed Emmie the wrong way, so much so she suddenly again stood. Maybe I can prompt a tad of understanding, she thought before surprising all by announcing her willingness to debate. “I’ll give it a whirl,” she offered as she proceeded down the middle aisle.
Happy to see the stranger’s sudden willingness, Pastor Olon was enthusiastic. “Please tell us a little about yourself,” he requested as Emmie positioned herself behind the vacant lectern.
After a quick scan of the crowd, Emmie was brief and modest. “Your lovely town is about halfway between my home and a relative I intend to visit. I’ll be on my way in the morning. Suffice to say, my life can be summed up as humdrum; so, why don’t we get started,” she suggested as she turned to Pastor Olon. “I’d be grateful if you’ll go first and, by doing so, give me a chance to gather my thoughts.”
“Of course,” agreed Pastor Olon. “To keep things manageable, I suggest we take turns responding to what the other has said.”
“That’s fine,” answered Emmie.
Turning forward to engage church members, Pastor Olon began with a prepared statement. “In defense of our most vulnerable, I intend to offer not only the religious doctrine but also the scientific evidence that proves life starts at conception. . . . I also intent to point out that two armies—one pro-life and the other pro-choice—are involved in a monumental war. . . . Beyond battling the slaughter of the most innocent among us, the pro-life army seeks to save the souls of those who may be tempted to choose the horrific sinfulness we know abortion to be.”
After watching many in the crowd fervently nod agreement while Pastor Olon spoke, Emmie desided to begin by praising the pastor. “That was powerful,” she told him before turning to face rows of stern stares. “Pastor Olon’s premise, at least a hefty chunk of it, is that there are two multitudes: those against and those for abortion,” she noted as she pivoted to again face the pastor. “You’re objective is to lessen abortions by increasing the number of pro-life foot soldiers. Is that an accurate?”
The pastor was quick to respond. “Yes! An abortion is the premeditated taking of a life—a murderous abomination that must be vigilantly combated by a devout legion,” he confirmed as he turned to the crowd. “The righteousness of everyone is being tested!”
Still facing Pastor Olon, Emmie expressed curiosity. “What if there isn’t a multitude who’s for abortion?” she posed, accentuating the word for.
“All anyone has to do is look at the statistics. Millions of worldwide abortions occur each year!” pointed out the pastor.
A composed Emmie countered. “OK, but isn’t it possible that those who abort aren’t in favor of doing so? Don’t desperate people often make very regrettable choices, despite believing such choices are wrong?”
Preferring to face the crowd, Pastor Olon sharply disagreed. “Not so! They do what is abhorrent due to a lack of virtue. A steadfast sense of morality needs to be instilled.”
Emmie sought common ground. “Will you agree that the instilling you speak of isn’t something that can be over and done with?”
Again hearing a question he hadn’t anticipated, the pastor once more repeated something he’d contended many times. “Sanctity taught well endures well. Those committed to righteousness are firmly-rooted sturdy tree trunks, not branches that flail and snap when a storm passes.”
Explaining despair isn’t easy, thought Emmie before also addressing the audience. “But don’t ravaging hurricanes and trampling tornadoes sometimes uproot what was thought to be well anchored? Could it be that desperation can be an unrelenting, overpowering gale?”
Pastor Olon was insistent. “The devout, bolstered by daily prayer, find the strength they need to weather the worst of times. A devotion to godliness overcomes all.”
Failing to draw out the understanding she sought, Emmie again tried to find something on which they might concur. “Maybe we can at least agree that it’s important to replace talk of having a baby with talk of having a person who’ll require at least two decades of parental resources and self-sacrifice. Better planning would lessen abortions, wouldn’t it?” she posed.
Believing what he’d just heard was deceptive, the pastor pounced. “I’m quite skeptical of the so-called planning that you’re talking about! Too often, such planning includes what I call contraception abortions!”
Emmie felt misunderstood. “Can we at least agree that a greater emphasis on preparing for parenthood might lessen unplanned pregnancies,” she clarified while trying to make eye contact with the pastor.
A zealous Pastor Olon continued to face his parishioners. “I’ll agree that hearing firsthand of the guilt that haunts those who’ve had abortions is a deterrent. Will you do the same?”
Be flexible, thought Emmie, realizing the gulf between them was widening. “When exposing such regret isn’t just an opportunity for individuals to hack at their self-worth, it might be useful.”
The pastor fired back. “If the result of such confessions is possibly dissuading others from the same horrible fate, I unabashedly call for them!”
Emmie turned to the crowd to plead for understanding. “There hasn’t been a lack of shaming on the planet. . . . Who here hasn’t experienced the merciless remorse brought about by a retaliating conscience?” she asked.
Again, the pastor was quick to counter. “Everyone has regretted an occasional misdeed. We all sin. But we’re not debating a time when a lack of civility prompts us to blurt a putdown or a lack of patience prompts us to cut corners. We’re talking about times people chose to end a life!” he declared as others nodded their agreement.
No longer able to believe she might stir a bit of softheartedness, Emmie let shoulders droop. “There’s an underappreciated means of lessening abortions. . . . Better guidance, not more condemnation, is what’s needed!” she claimed.
A seventyish brash man, holding a cowboy hat and wearing an eye-catching empty six-shooter holster, stood to protest. “I’ve heard enough! . . . I think we got us somebody who ain’t fakin’ she’s OK with baby killin’—someone who’d likely also want to take our guns.”
Wanting the debate to resume, Pastor Olon requested order. “Emmie is our guest, Mel. Please sit and let us continue!”
Mel remained ornery. “I ain’t heard her deny what I said.”
The sheriff, who was sitting to the right of Mel, spoke up. “Let them continue, Mel!”
“I’m willin’ to refrain from gun totin’ while in the lord’s house, but expectin’ me to sit here and take it on the chin from a baby killer is askin’ too much!” complained Mel as he finally plunked down while thrusting folded arms against chest.
Though sure Mel wasn’t the only one taking exception to her comments, Emmie took a chest-bulging breath, then surrendered her privacy. “Throughout my life, even when I knew better, I’ve sometimes let fear rule. . . . One of those times occurred many years ago,” she shared, pausing before continuing. . . . “Overwhelmed by an unplanned pregnancy, I had an abortion. While I know many of you won’t believe me, I have never been for having an abortion.”
“I knew it!” blurted Mel, bouncing palms off knees.
Maybe there’s a young woman in the crowd who’ll benefit, thought Emmie before sharing an enduring desire. “I’ve long been hoping an overdue crusade that calls for prevention rather than punishment—a crusade that strives to ensure getting pregnant is a reason for celebration,” she noted.
“Wishful thinkin’ ain’t never gonna replace righteousness, right, Pastor Olon?” insisted Mel, prompting others to mutter their agreement.
The pastor turned to Emmie. “Is their anything else you’d like to say?”
Aware she had angered the audience, Emmie offered a brief heartfelt concluding statement. “There isn’t a lack of grief,” she assured.
“The grief I care about is knowin’ baby killers got a good reason to want to take guns from those who want the baby killin’ to stop,” railed Mel.
A 22-year-old young man, who had been sitting in a rear corner, found the debate especially upsetting. Too agitated to stay put, he sprang from his seat and bolted from the church.
Following the fellow out the door were two middle-aged couples, shaking their heads in displeasure.
Realizing the debate had been derailed, Pastor Olon wrapped up the evening. “I think it’s safe to say we’ve run aground. Because I was unable to review all the arguments I sought to detail, I’ll set up another debate,” he noted before turning to Emmie. “Thanks for participating, Emmie.”
A weary Emmie headed for the exit.
While making her way to the bed and breakfast, Emmie found the town shut down. With no one in sight and only the dim glow from a half moon, she focused on her plans for the following day.
Her solitude was, however, short-lived. Suddenly sensing she was no longer alone, she pivoted to scan her surroundings. To her surprise, the young man first to leave the church was heading toward her from the other side of the street. With no open stores to duck into, she stayed put as he approached.
Slowing his pace as he neared, the slight, but intense, fellow did something alarming: He opened his windbreaker in order to reveal the butt of the handgun tucked into his pants.
Frozen in place, Emmie stuttered her alarm. “What’s, what’s going, what’s going on?” she asked.
The tremor in the fellow’s voice contradicted his effort to appear composed. “My name is Arland. No need to fret. I carry a gun for protection. . . . There’s something I’d like to ask you in my mother’s sewing shop,” he told Emmie as he pointed to a store two doors down.
While glancing toward the small shop, Emmie was sure she preferred to remain put. “I can answer right here.”
“Someone might show up. I want privacy,” insisted Arland as he gripped his gun’s stock.
Wary of the fellow’s mental state, Emmie anxiously twisted backwards. Confirming there was no one to call to, she reluctantly started for the shop.
Once through the front door, Arland led the elder to a small cluttered room in the rear—a cramped space lit by a wall nightlight. “Sit,” he instructed as he, too, plopped down in one of two comfort chairs.
Emmie fumbled through an apology of sorts as she sat. “Given you were, you were the first to, to leave the church, I’m guessing, I’m guessing you’re still displeased with what I said. It wasn’t my intent to upset anyone.”
Squinting as he jerked his head sideways, Arland caressed his gun, then began rubbing thighs. “I want us to have our own debate. You be against guns, and I’ll be for them. I’ll go first. . . . Without a gun, people, like me, get picked on and pushed around. We wouldn’t have a way to protect ourselves. . . . Your turn.”
Finding what was unfolding disturbing, a quivering Emmie blurted her worse fear. “Are you going to end my life?” she fearfully asked.
“I told you my gun is for protection. . . . Say something against guns, baby killer!” he ordered while twitching head and shoulders.
Hearing the fellow call her a baby killer sent a chill through Emmie. Be careful, she warned herself before replying. “I’m guessing we have something in common when it comes to guns,” she squeaked as she wrapped arms across chest to squeeze biceps.
“What’s that?” grumbled Arland while clutching knees.
“We both believe people, not guns, do the killing, right?” pointed out Emmie. “Sometimes provoked and sometimes just careless, trigger-happy people are the problem, right?”
Arland had his own example. “Don’t forget all the jinxed people who do themselves in,” he noted before complaining about Emmie’s performance. “You’re not arguing against guns!”
Emmie tried to convince Arland otherwise while also suggesting he might be about to do something he’d greatly regret. “Sure, I am. When a gun is involved, it only takes a split second in bananasville to do what can’t be undone. . . . I’m saying people’s imperfection, especially their impulsiveness, makes them unfit to possess guns. Isn’t it illogical to put such an instant means of snuffing out a life in the hands of such a flawed species? Shouldn’t we be striving for a world that isn’t flooded with firepower?”
After dropping head downward, Arland suddenly became meek. “People make a lot of mistakes, don’t they?” he whimpered.
Though unsure what Arland’s change in mood meant, Emmie strived to be agreeable. “People flounder most when they try to get away with pretending not being nice is OK,” she offered.
Arland rested forearms on thighs in order to cover face with hands, then began to weep. “The gun, the gun isn’t loaded. . . . I don’t have the guts to load it.”
Wanting to believe Arland, Emmie guessed what was happening. “We’re not here to debate guns, are we? . . . There’s something troubling you—something you need to share. . . . We all sometimes take roundabout routes when struggling to deal with regret,” she suggested.
While continuing to sob, Arland nodded that Emmie was correct. Then, after gasping to settle his chest, he stood, turned and stepped into the darkness.
Give him time, Emmie told herself.
Following a long silence, Arland revealed the guilt weighing on him “A year ago, . . . I provided the money and transportation. . .that made my girlfriend’s abortion possible. . . . I’m a baby killer, too.”
Emmie spoke softly. “Like me and many others, you fell into a dark pit of desperation. . . . People can be plunged back into that pit when shame is brought up.”
Arland took a few deep breaths, then continued to share his misery. “Pastor Olon says good deeds aren’t sufficient, and that only people who truly repent are forgiven. . . . I’ve failed at repenting,” he bemoaned while returning and sitting. “Maybe if my girlfriend and I found the courage to do what you did—admit our sin in front of the congregation—we’d feel forgiven.”
“Hmmm,” hesitated Emmie, leery of Arland’s suggestion. “I’m not sure about that. . . . Keep in mind that, rather than confessing sorrow to those who know me, I was venting frustration to strangers. . . . Besides, wouldn’t you both be trying to get from others something you must get from yourselves,” she pointed out.
“We don’t know how to forgive ourselves,” bemoaned Arland.
Emmie shared what she had learned. “I, too, felt doomed for some time. Only after embracing the humility I’d been dabbling in did I realize I hadn’t truly been striving to heal. . . . Things didn’t get better until I realized I wasn’t taking advantage of opportunities to be a nice person. . . . I know that’s at odds with what Pastor Olon told you,” she conceded.
“Striving to be a nice person can’t be all there is to making amends. There’s got to be more to it,” insisted Arland as he lifted hands above head.
After rubbing eyes with finger tips, Emmie shrugged. “It’s not my place to say someone oughta stop wishing for more. . . . All I can do is share that things got better for me after I replaced trying to repent my way to mercy and forgiveness with searching for the wisdom it takes to truly be kind and fair to others and myself. . . . Maybe all I’m doing is crowding out nasty memories with nice ones. . . . Whatever the case, it’s the only means of healing I’ve found helpful.”
While slouching as he eased hands in pockets, Arland let a hopeful, though fragile, insight grab hold. “The strange calm I’m feeling tells me I’m not completely closed to what you’ve said,” he asked.
“Sounds like a humble beginning,” encouraged Emmie.
1. What basic premise did Emmie suggest needed to be explored?
2. What did Emmie think needs to happen to better ensure pregnancy is a reason for celebration?
3. Why did Arland want to debate guns with Emmie?
4. How did having humility help Emmie?
5. Is being a nice person—someone kind and fair—easy? Explain your answer.