The tipping point against abortion is coming. It may well be here.
Planned Parenthood is on the run. It may be giving out awards to one mainstream journalist after another, but no matter. It senses the change in the wind. The abortion industry is a sham. It bills itself as medical. It presents itself as aimed at women’s health. Perhaps in some distant corner closet of the great towering monolith that is the abortion industry, there are people who genuinely are helping women. But the halls echo with silent screams. The walls are painted in antiseptic blood. If you look closely, the building is not made with stone or wood. The whole thing, including the modernized Planned Parenthood logo, is made of rotting bodies. It smells like death and it stinks like the valley where the worm does not die.
Soon, the whole building will crash into the sea. Like Egypt’s well-funded army, powered by the best PR and crony capitalism the Ancient Near East could buy, the whole thing will be torn asunder. You will look into the waves, and you will see forceps floating by, scissors sinking quietly into the abyss. These instruments found their target. They crushed tiny skulls and cut open tiny heads. You will see them, and then the deep blue pockets of the sea will swallow them.
The judgment of God on sin is fundamentally this: cessation. Sin is never more offended, and the demons never thrash more angrily, than when they are stopped, than when Jesus sends them churning into the water. Sin hates to be stopped. It has one instinct: to live, for to live is to devour and destroy. But God stops sin. He overcomes it. He judges it, and when his arm stretches out, he sends it crashing without dignity into oblivion.
Jesus will rise. But his enemies, those who never repented, who never wanted sin to stop, will not. If they do not repent they will soon swim in the sea. The complex industries of death they created through legalese and bureaucracy and glad-handing will convulse and heave and smash in ten billion pieces, every one of them wicked. The whole fetid apparatus will plummet into the waves.
The forceps and Plan B pills and dilation tools are primed to destroy once more, and arms will reach out of the waves for one last death stroke, but the infants will float safely out of the waters. The Egyptian midwives are with us. They have stood outside a thousand clinics. They have prayed for these children. They have showed up, morning after morning, stifling sobs, feeling helpless. They were helpless, but they prayed to one who is not helpless. He is both the just judge and the gracious deliverer.
The waters of judgment are rising. Abortion is imperiled. There is much thrashing to come, and the powers of death do not take shutdowns nicely. But the infants are in their Moses baskets, and a thousand midwives are praying them out of Egypt. The chariots are in hot pursuit. The swords are ready to sink into soft flesh, the spears poised to pierce infant skulls. The waters are rising. The waves are churning. The abortion industry is lashing out to kill one last time, but the whole stinking army is falling, torquing, crashing in ten billion pieces into the deep blue pockets of the sea.
To build a convictional pro-life witness, see my new book The Colson Way: Loving Your Neighbor and Living with Faith in a Hostile World.