As another human being, I am capable of showing compassion, and expressing and giving, grace to someone who may have chosen abortion.
As I did not understand the religious nuances behind "giving grace," I did some (admittedly limited) reading about that particular "bestowal of forgiveness." The best (worst) practical example that I found went something like this:
"In our family, when we apologize to one another, we don't just say, "I'm sorry." Rather, we make sure that each person specifically admits
what he did wrong and then specifically asks forgiveness for that wrong. The person forgiving must reply with a specific
"I forgive you" instead of saying, "Oh, it's OK."
It wasn't OK. It was wrong! It is, however, forgiven."
And therein lies the rub:
- It is you (and your god) who decide if folks are justified in how they live their lives.
- It is you (and your god) who negate every other spiritual-belief system, including one's right not to believe.
- It is you (and your god) who decide that (even seconds after conception) abortion is the "murder of a human being."
- It is you (and your god) who proclaim that those who do not follow your tenets must either seek your forgiveness or live in sin.
My fundamental questions are, Who put you in charge of doling out forgiveness, and what exactly do you get out of it? Does it make the world a better place--or does it severely widen the human divide? I'd also ask whether people of specific religious sects ever ask themselves what religion they might follow had they been born in another part of the globe. Would you be Muslim, Hindu, Atheist, Sikh, Rastafarian? Life is a lottery, and as far as I understand, war and murder have most often been the results of every religious crusade throughout history. (Hardly a pro-life stance.)
In his mid-forties, one of my oldest friends was religiously reborn. This man, who had many "bad habits" throughout life, was now standing in my kitchen quoting the Bible and strongly implying that I was doomed to Hell. Well, my logical response is always to ask such a person a question that I doubt they can answer. So I asked, "Mike, I've known your mother for 30 years. She is kind-hearted, generous, self-sacrificing, and has been a wonderful parent to you; however, I also know that she does not study the Bible or attend church regularly. Where do you profess that your mother is going when she dies?" Well, he scowled and he grimaced, he hemmed and he hawed, and then he said, "I worry about that every day because if she does not adopt MY religion she's bound to go to Hell." That is when I asked him to leave.