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The lessons I’ve learned praying on the sidewalk
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April 3, 2023When I first started praying regularly at our area’s abortion facility nearly a decade ago, I thought I was doing it for the good of others. I didn’t realize then how much I would learn about God and myself.
Gratefully, too, I’ve discovered that what I’ve learned standing vigil there isn’t confined to that space. My faith has grown so much from this ministry, in ways I couldn’t have anticipated when I first stepped into the ring.
Perhaps the most important lesson is that we cannot see the hidden workings of God. We simply have to trust that he is working. On abortion day, it’s tempting to feel like our efforts are fruitless. We can go months without seeing any hopeful signs. It’s always an encouragement to know that our time, prioritized over myriad other possibilities, has made a difference.
But on the days and in the hours that have seemed pointless, I’ve had to remind myself that God is much more patient than I, and the fruits may simply be beyond my current range of view.
Perhaps someone drove by and, seeing our presence, decided not to make or go through with an appointment. Maybe a boyfriend’s conscience was provoked, and though a change in heart might not come soon enough to save that child, in 10 years, the seeds planted could take root in some incredible way.
We cannot dictate the timing of when God’s work will become evident, but we can widen our trust in God and believe our presence and prayers mean something to him. As the Body of Christ, we are his hands and feet. Like Mary’s “yes,” ours is an act of faith and love. Our presence may simply be the humanity that bridges others to him.
This lesson has become valuable in other situations away from the sidewalk. Whenever I begin to feel that God is not moving quickly enough, or that evil has won, I place myself back there in my mind, and try to recall the wise words of saints, like Padre Pio, “Pray, hope and don’t worry.” Lord, it’s so hard at times, but I will try.
I think, too, of St. Mother Teresa’s famous utterance, that we are only asked to be faithful, not successful.
Praying on the sidewalk also has taught me a level of humility I had not grasped before accepting this challenge. It is humbling to be mocked, discounted, derided, ignored, scoffed at, laughed at, yelled at, and to know that responding in kind—despite the human temptation to do so—is not representing Christ well. I’m always amazed at how emotionally draining Wednesdays can be. We must summon superhuman strength to withstand something we’re not equipped to endure well. Only by God’s grace.
The sidewalk also has helped me begin to take a deeper look at the heart. Oftentimes, “newbies” go through a growth process. Initially, they cannot get over the reality that anyone could seek, not to mention go through with, an abortion, and they might end up stuck there. It is mystifying, to be sure. But the longer we participate, the more we can begin to contemplate what might move someone to land on the sidewalk.
We don’t know the situation of the mother, and the various factors that might be playing a role in her oftentimes panicked decision. What kind of pressures are on her? Does she have anyone supporting her into a life-giving decision? Has she ever felt the love of God? Has she been given the gift of faith that could help her endure such a cross?
Not just reading about the sidewalk, but actually being there, puts one in the place of having to consider such things. It’s not that we could ever conclude that abortion is good, but at the very least, we might begin to see that the woman seeking this procedure is not our adversary, but someone who likely simply lacks the bounty that has been given us by God.
When we begin to think and see with a merciful gaze—at the clients and also the workers, who are likely deeply wounded in some way—we can begin to see as Christ.
Lent has been a good time to look back at the lessons I’ve learned on the sidewalk, about patience, humility, and faith. Easter is a good time to remember that no matter what it might look like, death does not have the last word. For indeed, “O death, where is your victory. O death, where is your sting” (1 Cor. 15:55)?
