Op - Ed - Lynne Zielinski

Remember Us
The Holocaust is still being fought, right in your town.

Imagine yourself a Polish peasant in the early 1940s, tilling your fields just outside of Dachau, Treblinka or Auschwitz. You smell the stench of burning flesh. Realizing the nature and source of the odor, you throw down your hoe and run — run to the village, calling out to your neighbors. As a body, the crowd rushes to the killing place, the body swelling in numbers as others, horrified, merge with the crowd. Like unto an army of God, the people storm the buildings, free the innocents; peace and sanity are restored. The slaughter is stopped because the people stepped out of their fields, however briefly.

Some take great umbrage at the analogy of the Nazi Holocaust to the Silent Holocaust — the continued killing of millions of unborn babies. For me, the correlation is crystal clear. Many years ago, I watched a two-hour documentary entitled, Remember Us; two hours of the bestiality of Nazi death camps and gas ovens, two horrendous hours which challenged my faith and sent me into a spiritual tailspin. It took years to recover. Yet, when spiritual balance was regained, I was left with a tremendous compassion; a solidarity with Jews everywhere. A pair of empty Jewish shoes from that era would set me to weeping. What did God want me to do with this compassion? It was so strong, surely it had a purpose. Was I to visit rabbis, try to convert them and their communities, to go and live in a kibbutz? This puzzle plagued me for years. Then, in 1983, I witnessed the abortion documentary, The Silent Scream. The moment that unborn child opened his little mouth to title the film, the correlation between the holocausts were manifestly incontestable. I had found my moriah.

I understand that my moriah may not be your mission. There are many workers tending God's earthly gardens — many laborers plowing in varied fields; the bishops, the priests, the social workers, advocates for the poor and the homeless. God's workers toil in women's abuse centers and crisis pregnancy organizations. The list is endless, the goals meritorious. While we all go about performing good works, however, there is an unpopular area that many pro-lifers have abandoned — the sidewalks of this nation's abortion mills.

Sometime ago, there was a small, consistent presence outside the killing places. Clergy of every denomination put in an appearance, a few came regularly. Even pro-life atheists came, but they didn't remain atheistic, thanks be to God. In some areas, Christians came out in such numbers — to pray, to be a silent witness — the clinics couldn't stand the prayer pressure. They shut down or moved their nefarious enterprise, leaving behind cities where the love of God had supremacy over devout men and women.

Since Clinton's first term and passage of the Freedom of Access to Clinics Act, the number of witnesses has steadily declined. Perhaps, after the crushing defeat of pro-life legislation, we lost heart. Perhaps new regulations frightened us away. Did we begin to believe the rhetoric that sidewalk-counselors and picketers were harsh, judgemental and angry; angry to the point of violence?

In years past, outside the abortion mill in my town, 20 to 25 people came regularly. Sometimes the number was higher. On special days, eg. Mother's Day, Good Friday or the Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe, the crowds would increase to 100, even 200. Not all Catholic, each little group would pray in their own way, yet all were united in one purpose. Many unborn babies were saved on those wondrous occasions. Various evenings of the week, rain or shine, one would see small groups praying the Rosary outside the mill. Another group would be anointing the area and praying in tongues.

I treasure a very poignant memory from that time. One afternoon, after the killing was done, all victims and workers gone for the day, I happened to drive by. A solitary figure was walking back and forth on the sidewalk, softly praying aloud, head bent over his prayer book. He was a local pediatrician mourning the little ones who had died that day . . . "Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted" (Matt. 5:4).

Presently, we are a crowd if we have five good folk outside during the killing. We never see a clergyman of any stripe. Sheep without shepherds, we ask our priests. They reply, "Ah, but I speak on abortion twice a year." Two homilies a year! Often these sermons obfuscate the horror even more. Have our poor priests bowed to the pressure of those Catholics who have the audacity to chastise their priests for speaking truth?

Let's examine some reasons why folks don't engage in this field:

Reason: I get too angry.
Response: This is a wonderful arena to understand the importance of conquering anger. God will bless you with special grace to overcome anger more effectively than you ever dreamed. After a time, you'll find yourself praying for your enemies, even loving them, as Jesus loves — and weeps for them. When you can conquer here, you can conquer anywhere.

Reason: I may get arrested.
Response: Simply praying, carrying signs, and offering help to the mothers is all perfectly legal. In the unlikely event you're arrested, God will bless your commitment, friends will rally to your side. All will be well. Trust Him. Judges have become tired; they no longer allow frivolous charges to come to fruition. "God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power" (2 Tim. 1:7).

Reason: I may cry.
Response: Don't these children deserve someone to cry for them? Henry Hyde once said, "When the time comes . . . when we face the terrible judgement . . . there will be a chorus of tiny voices, never heard in this world, that will plead, 'Spare them for they have loved us.' "

Many, many babies have been saved as a result of sidewalk counselors and lifesavers. We asked mothers what changed their minds. They told us: The numbers of people impressed them, particularly those on their knees, praying. Their hearts felt such guilt, yet the pro-life people weren't judgemental at all. There was so much love and help offered to them, they were brought to repentance.

Some women told us signs were the determining factor. I recall a 16-year-old girl who said our cartoon sign of a sad clown captioned, "Every Child Deserves a Birthday" compelled her to choose life. Others said the ghastly photos of dismembered babies made them realize what abortion truly is.

There are many other factors, but the one that impresses me most is God. He often jumps into our mouths, and out comes the precise word for a particular mother or father. Once, I called out to a 30-something woman, "Choose life for your child, you'll never be lonely again." She came back out and left. Her nephew told me her boyfriend had abandoned her and she was very lonely. I never said that phrase before, and I've not said it since. God said it.

These women want us — they need us. The unborn child and the soul of the mother are at risk.

The personal rewards are endless and bountiful. A heart of deep compassion is developed, the value and reason for life are better understood. There is an immense expansion of faith. This work is truly an ecumenical communion; one body confronting The Deceiver, one body sharing its love, and one body witnessing to the community that abortion is still not acceptable. What a privilege it is to hold a little child, born because you answered the call to "rescue those who are being taken away to death" (Prov. 24:11). Who can ever convince me that this is wrong?

Whatever field you are working in, whatever good works you are accomplishing, remember the words of Pope John Paul II as he bid farewell to America in 1979, "If you want equal justice for all, and true freedom and lasting peace, then, America, defend life! Feeding the poor . . . reinforcing the social fabric . . . promoting true advancement of women . . . securing the rights of minorities . . . pursuing disarmament while guaranteeing legitimate defense: all this will succeed only if respect for life is granted for every human being from conception to natural death." Life is fundamental to all social justice issues.

Throw down your rakes and hoes for just a little while each week. Step away from your desks and committees and come to the killing places. Come — "loose the bonds of wickedness" (Is. 58:6). Join the brethren at the front lines to pray; witness and grow with us. God will bless you with mercy, honor and grace.

Each week, in your hometown, the little ones are calling out, "Remember us . . . remember us."

Lynne Zielinski is a mother of seven and grandmother of 13. For 11 years she has been on the front lines, defending the helpless in the war against children.