When our national sin no longer unites us, then there will be a time for choosing.
Like millions of other Americans, for many years I have waited and prayed for the end of Roe v. Wade. Roe’s America has been, for my entire lifetime and then some, what St. Pope John Paul II called, in his 1995 encyclical Evangelium vitae, the “culture of death.” This has been “actively fostered by powerful cultural, economic and political currents which encourage an idea of society excessively concerned with efficiency,” the pontiff wrote, which in turn makes it “possible to speak in a certain sense of a war of the powerful against the weak.” Not just a war. A genocide. This culture of death has sent more than 63 million of my countrymen to a pre-birth grave since Roe (and Doe) gobsmacked America in 1973, just four and a half years before I was born.
