Abortion by the Numbers

And here’s the news today:

·         Fetus # 3,567 was aborted today in New York. It would have been a male, but shortly after its demise, its identifying genitals were harvested for a company’s continuing research on “male characteristics.” The company intends to makes its finding public in about 10 years, by which time Fetus # 3,567 would have reached the age of 10 and been a wonder athlete at fencing. Twenty-five years from now, Fetus # 3,567 would have married and started a peaceful, productive life of its own with three children and a career in botanical gardening.

However, the Determiners decided that Fetus # 3,567’s biological mother was too poor to raise the Fetus properly, and no one else cared much about its future. So it was cut out of its safe space and discarded (except for its valuable genitals).

·         Fetus # 5,240 was also aborted today in Beijing. It was not hard to guess that its “assigned gender” had been female, but it was considered undesirable, so its organs weren’t even harvested.

About twenty years from now, Fetus # 5,240 would have written a book about Jesus Christ that would have touched the heart of the Chinese leader, and radically transformed the direction of that country. In forty years, it would have traveled the globe, touching even the hardest of heart with its God-given message.

However, the Determiners decided that Fetus # 5,240’s parents had exceeded their allotted number of children, so the Fetus was taken by force and left to die (it was a swift death) in a covered trash can. No one – thankfully – heard the infant’s last gasp in darkness and pain.

·         Fetus # 4,210 was aborted today in Oklahoma. The abortionist was late for his golf game, so he pitched the formerly-alive baby into the collection dish and ordered his assistant death-dealer to take the “matter” to the lab immediately. He then left for his game, allowing his assistant to clean up the formerly-pregnant female lying on the table as best she could.

Fetus # 4,210 was rather unique; it would have been the only autistic female child in the state who could flawlessly perform Chopin and Beethoven on the piano by the age of 12.

However, the Determiner – its own mother – was so career-driven that she could not bear the thought of the inconvenience its piano practicing would cause. And so Fetus # 4,210 disappeared into a stainless steel dish and vanished into the “body parts” freezer after being dissected.

·         All of these numbered fetuses would have brought smiles to others at some point in their lives, had they been allowed to breathe air and grow.

·         All of them would have cried for sheer joy at some point in their lives.

·         All of them would have loved someone else at some point in their lives.

·         All of them went back to their Creator with their purpose – to be a human on earth – unfulfilled.

·         All of them woke up in eternity and were comforted by the love of God, instead of the love of a mother and father who had engaged in their procreation.

·         We call them numbers; God calls them Human Beings.

Chapter 1 from POLYCARP: "The Boy and the Fish"

The young boy sat on the low, dusty stone wall and watched the old man move slowly down the narrow street.

            “Karpus!” one of his playmates called. “What are you doing? Get up and play with us!”

            “Not just now,” the sober eight-year-old called back. “I have something to do.”

            Knowing Karpus’ whimsical ways, the other youngster shrugged and ran quickly back down the street, away from the eight-year-old and the object of his attention.

            Karpus knew exactly what he wanted to do today: talk to this old, decrepit man. He had heard the men in the marketplace refer to him as the “Beloved Disciple,” and while he knew what a disciple was, he had very little idea of what “beloved” meant. Of course, he knew that his elders were to be respected at all times – storge was the Greek term – but this man elicited more than just respect from those around him.

            It was devotion – yes, that was it! Somehow, people were devoted to this ancient figure. Like when the boy and his father Antonius would worship at the Temple of Homer. His father always bowed low to the attending priests and treated them with the utmost deference, even when the younger ones – always cockier than the older guardians of the shrine – seemed to take their duties lightly. They would rush the prayers and burn the sacrifice carelessly. Their incense was always on the skimpy side, and they never lingered long enough to assure his father of the god’s blessing. Karpus was bored most of the times he accompanied his father, but he had been taught to be a dutiful son, and he would never disappoint his father by showing his boredom.

            Something was awakening in Karpus regarding the gods, however. He questioned everything he had been taught about them. Why didn’t they always answer his father’s prayers? Why were they always doing things his own father taught him never to do? Why did he feel nothing akin to his father’s devotion when he went to the temple with him?

            In a mysterious, simplistic way, Karpus felt that this old man had an answer – maybe even the answer. People whispered and gossiped about the followers of the Christos all the time, mainly because they seemed eccentric, even a little mad. But Karpus knew they held a secret; he believed it lay in the sign of the Fish – ichthus.

            Karpus’ memory took him back to his fifth birthday – a day for celebrating amongst the people of his culture. Babies and toddlers died all the time, some from disease and some from accidents, but a child who had reached five years in this life was congratulated and embraced. His mother Penelope and his father Antonius proclaimed that the gods had smiled on them, granting their firstborn the ability to survive. And so they had solemnized his name – “Karpus” – “fruit” – affirming their hope that he would be the first of many children in their household.

            Somehow, the gods had not seen it in the same way as Karpus’ family had. Another child came along the next year – another boy – but the child had been born prematurely and died within a few hours. Karpus vividly remembered the wailing women gathered in the anteroom, and the men walking solemnly in and out of the courtyard, bearing wine and fruit and bread as an offering to the family’s household gods. His father had accepted his guests with dignity and restraint, but Karpus saw and heard the deep disappointment in his father’s voice. Why are the gods so angry at my abba? the little boy had thought. He worships them all the time, and yet they let my baby brother die. Somehow, this question had loomed large in the boy’s psyche, and even now – three years later – he burned with a need to know, to understand.

            Karpus got down from the wall and started to follow the elderly man, who was already far ahead of Karpus on the street. Fortunately, the man had stopped to talk to a man many years his junior, so Karpus had a chance to catch up with him. He noticed that though the man moved slowly, his head was raised. In the quiet street, Karpus thought he heard the old man saying something as he walked along.

            Suddenly, the man stopped and turned around. He looked right at Karpus and smiled.

            “A pleasant day for a walk, don’t you think?” the man said. Karpus was caught totally off guard.

            “I…am…sorry…sir,” stammered the boy.

            The man chuckled. “It is a strange thing to say about such a beautiful morning,” he said.

            “I…meant…I…mean” the boy began again.

            “Do the morning hours always affect your tongue like this?” the man said with mock seriousness.

            Karpus saw the amusement on the man’s face and started to relax. The man stretched out his hand and gently laid it on Karpus’ shoulder.

            “Let us begin our friendship again. I am John, the lowly servant of Jesus the Christos. I serve as shepherd of the followers of the Way. And you, my young friend?” he said.

            “I am Karpus, son of Antonius the merchant,” said the boy.

            “And what does your father sell?”

            “He sells cloth, reverend Father.”

            “Hush, lad! The Christos taught us never to give exalted titles to people who are no kin to us.”

            The boy was embarrassed. “I only meant…” he said weakly.

            “Fear not, Karpus. My purpose is not to chide you; my purpose is to teach you.”

            “I have no money with which to pay you, reverend…” and the boy stopped, frustrated that he had almost erred again.

             “The knowledge of the Christos is free to all,” said John gently. “Will you come with me as I buy my daily bread?”

            “My father will be expecting me soon.”

            “I see.”

            “But I would like to know…” he started, but then the boy’s shyness took over completely.

            “…More?” said John.

            “More, Sir.”

            John chuckled. “Only if you stop calling me ‘sir.’ I am Brother John – nothing more.”

            “Yes…Brother John.”

            “Can you come visit me during the rest hour this afternoon?”

            “I can.”

            The old man turned Karpus around so that he could direct him to his abode.

            “I live back the way we came. Follow this street until it bears to the left. You will see a narrower passageway on the right. Walk ten pechys[1] down that passage and look for the Sign of the Fish on the doorpost of a grey door. Knock and you will be admitted.” The old man turned to go. “And now, young friend, if you will permit me, I must attend to my flock.”

            Karpus’ young mind did not understand the metaphor. “You have sheep in the city?”

            John laughed. “Sheep…fish…there is quite a menagerie for me to shepherd for the Lord Jesus!”

            They both laughed. Then John turned and resumed his walk to the marketplace.

            Karpus looked at the old man until his form blended with other people at a nearby intersection. Then the boy looked upwards.

            “I want to know You – whoever You are.”

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[1] Greek name for a cubit (a little over 18 inches).

Thoughts on Entering a New Year

The weather today is pretty chilly – in fact, the heater is running fairly regularly, even though we don’t have it set all that high. In between watching reruns of Tony Shahloub’s brilliant Monk (the “Defective Detective”) and accomplishing small acts of sewing repair (like replacing buttons that have been separated from their respective materials for over 6 months), I have been contemplating what constitutes a “good” year.

First, I have to ask myself, “Who defines what is ‘good’?” According to Common Doctrine (you know, the kind that “everyone knows”), good  is relative, individualistic, and highly personal. CD dictates that one must “find one’s bliss” according to one’s own moral code, and espouse it at every turn. It is important to realize that, in CD parlance, moral codes are tightly bound to feelings, which in turn spring from the depths of experience, which…well, we’re getting a bit complicated, aren’t we?

If we return to the word good, we can save ourselves a great deal of trouble if we just acknowledge that we, ourselves, have no real idea of what constitutes good or where the State of Goodness is located. (Colin Kaepernick is certain it does not exist in the U.S.) Although CD openly declares that we all know what is good, in the privacy of our hearts we also know that that is not true. (There are a few possible exceptions: Barack and Michelle, Hillary and Bill, and even Al Franken all state that they are good people.) How can I make such statements? Because, as individuals, we just don’t know what is good and what is not good, unless and until we have checked with other people – often our own political crowd. And – more often than not – our informants are wrong – and we end up confused and in the State of Contradiction.

So where does that leave us? We still don’t know – can’t know – what constitutes goodness by ourselves. We don’t always recognize good  in all its “goodness," and we can’t be certain that any other fallible human being has the right answers, either.

OK, does this mean that I am saying that this quest is futile? Not at all. In fact, I am going to turn this whole conversation right around and suggest the most fantastic idea ever: there is an Answer, and it was given centuries ago by the Person who knows exactly what is and is not good.

Care to know Him? We just celebrated His birthday a few days ago… 

And with Him, you can certainly have a good year.