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I fought back tears in American Her­itage as I realized one of my biggest fears had come true: I had become the Christian I swore I’d never be. My head and heart throbbed as we read Martin Luther King Jr.’s “A Letter from a Birm­ingham City Jail Cell.” King’s plea haunted me. He had begged the church to fight for equal rights, and for so long, his cry remained mostly unan­swered. His words struck my soul: “I have been dis­ap­pointed with the Church…some have been out­right oppo­nents, refusing to under­stand the freedom movement and mis­rep­re­senting its leaders; all too many others have been more cau­tious than coura­geous and have remained silent behind the anes­thetizing security of stained glass windows.” I was stunned by the reality of the sit­u­ation. How could a Christian ignore the injustice of seg­re­gation? If I had lived back then, would I have helped fight injustice? I told myself I would have tried to make a dif­ference. I would have fought to see my African American brothers and sisters treated as equal human beings, made in God’s image.

But that day, I realized injustice hap­pened in my hometown and I did little to stop it. Thou­sands of babies were bru­tally torn apart daily. I knew people who had expe­ri­enced unplanned preg­nancies. I knew where the Planned Par­enthood was in my town, but I didn’t know where my local Preg­nancy Resource Center was located. The oppor­tunity to fight the injustice of abortion was right in front of me. Yet I was content to live my life unaf­fected by the reality that abortion was the mass murder of mil­lions of unborn children. And there I was, in American Her­itage, with the audacity to believe I would have fought to end the injustice of King’s gen­er­ation when I wasn’t even fighting the injustice of my own.

I was the Christian with whom King pleaded. When I thought about it, abortion dis­turbed me, but I never decided to do any­thing about it. I wasn’t advo­cating for the rights of these little children who had no voice of their own with which to cry for help. I had a duty as a Christian to stand up against this evil, but I didn’t. Guilt plagued me as I counted down the minutes until I could leave class and go weep. I dis­gusted myself. What kind of hyp­ocrite was I?

That day changed my life. It was the first of many days I woke up grieving abortion and thinking of how to end it in America. I was an over com­mitted sophomore in college who didn’t know how to pro­nounce “abor­ti­fa­cient.” But I was des­perate to calm my con­science. I emailed the pres­ident of Hillsdale College for Life and asked to be on the board. The board elec­tions had already passed, but I had to ask. I’m still sur­prised she said yes.

For years, I made excuses for myself, and many of my fellow Chris­tians do as well. We sub­con­sciously think: “I can’t save anyone,” “No one will listen to me,” “I don’t have time,” “I’ll care about that when I’m older,” “Pol­itics isn’t my thing.” Many of these excuses lived quietly in my head, without ever announcing their exis­tence. And as a result, many well-meaning Chris­tians have stepped back from the arena, afraid to speak up, afraid of being per­sonally attacked or being regarded as unworthy of an opinion. Sadly, I was one of them. I began to believe the lie that abortion was not my fight.

Many of these lies have been fed to us by the pro-abortion movement. This culture tells us that men can’t advocate against abortion because it’s not their body in question. They claim that people are not pro-life unless they par­tic­ipate in all kinds of human­i­tarian aid. They tell us that we can believe that abortion is murder as long as we don’t impose this belief on others. All of these are lies that say we have no place to fight to end abortion.

I believed these lies for far too long. But if I sit back now, I am no dif­ferent than the Chris­tians who saw the prej­u­diced, hate-filled dehu­man­ization of the Jim Crow era and did nothing. I am no dif­ferent from those who saw the horror and anni­hi­lation of the Holo­caust, yet were too afraid to fight injustice. I know about the injustice of abortion and I have a duty to do what I can to stop it.

The time to act is now. For far too long, I have been, as King put it, “more cau­tious than coura­geous and have remained silent behind the anes­thetizing security of stained glass windows.” I’ve had enough of that.

What will you do about the injustice of America? I’m not here to tell you what more you should be doing. But I am here to ask, if you are doing nothing about it, what should you be doing? Not everyone is called to do pro-life work for their career. But each and every one of us is called to stand up against injustice when we have the oppor­tunity.

We all have a duty, to God and to man, to speak up for those without a voice — those who are defenseless. We can no longer ignore that duty. The time to act is now.