Pride Before the Fall
A post-Roe polemic, joyful and without apology.
As of almost a week ago, Roe’s as lifeless as CNN Plus.
If reading about why that should be celebrated will be nothing but salt in a wound, you might want to turn back now. Or better yet, keep going and join the party.
Either way, seat belts on.
What A Run
Around the country, Christians, and those who prefer a jarring shift toward originalism over the creative liberty of left-wing judicial activism, are celebrating the Dobbs ruling. It’s monumental, to say the least… and as the Bible has it, and as those faster to the keyboard than I have already pointed out, Christians should be celebrating it.
Of course, there’s naysayers; those applauding through clenched teeth and a puckered face. But as I’ll argue in this here essay, the Dobbs ruling and ensuing celebration has sharpened yet another litmus test—and another opportunity for timid, well-intentioned, cultural relevance-seeking finger waggers to put down the book deal and do a little head scratching.
But not the rest of us.
Not with a victory, hand-delivered from the God of Israel.
And especially not—if you haven’t heard—when this year’s Pride month brought a whole volley of smaller, encouraging SCOTUS rulings on everything from:
School choice, with equal treatment (and in some cases, tax dollars) for religious schools that, just like charters, run circles around the public school monopolies.
Second Amendment restrictions.
to:
The unelected EPA’s ability to regulate whole industries via carbon emissions without approval from Congress. Or rather, a Constitutional lack of that ability.
What a run.
Talk about a hat trick, a three peat for choice, liberty, the energy industry, and individual empowerment—all of which just might stave off that ever-lurking Statism and its creepy white van.
Of course, what really tops this year’s Pride month, aside from the refreshing backlash from those blindly waving the flag of God’s promise or a few social points, is Roe versus Wade being overturned.
Lumbering crocodile that I am, I’m late to the party.
But while my home state’s population centers are fuming, bristling, and defending the baby killing clinics against imaginary enemies, my family, pastors, and close friends are all celebrating. And if you’re one of those who toasted the first week of Post-Roe living with a scotch whiskey and a cigar, or with a sunset bonfires on some tranquil Idaho knoll, I am a little jealous.
A Time to Celebrate
If I do this right, I’ll probably lose subscribers. But this late in the game, and having worn my team jersey where I can and without apology, that’s probably a good thing. After consulting all the crocodiles, word from the savannah is we’re a go.
Praise God for the Dobbs ruling, a culmination of prayer and effort and spunk and fighting spirit that goes back fifty years.
Praise Him for an originalist, Constitutionally-minded victory that will send abortion back to the states and their representatives.
Praise Him for the already 15,000 (and counting), young humans in states like Texas who already, and since the passing of the state’s Heartbeat Law a little earlier, have been saved from death.
Praise Him for a whole generation of immortal souls—newborn sons and daughters soon to be rug rats and schoolkids, and one day doctors, composers, craftsmen, influencers, pastors, parents, entrepreneurs—who won’t be throttled in the womb.
And Not in the Least…
Praise God for Donald J. Trump.
Again, and as Pastor-writer Douglas Wilson lays out with no trepidation, credit goes exactly where it’s due. If, for example, we were talking about President Biden’s clear support of Israel during last year’s rocket attacks, credit would be due there as well.
But we’re not.
We’re in a time where the God of miracles, resurrections, and trick shots like talking donkeys put all of us to shame with a garish New York huckster who, to everyone’s surprise and not the least this author’s, kept a campaign promise and elected a qualified, non-left judge to the highest court of the land, three times over.
Here’s Wilson on Blog and Mablog:
“This means that every last Christian, David French and Kevin Williamson included, ought to look for some way to express their gratitude for Donald J. Trump. This would not have happened without him. Because he kept his campaign promise to appoint a particular brand of justice to the Supreme Court, and because God then gave him the opportunity to appoint three of them, this decision was made possible. Elections have consequences, and the election of Trump in 2016 had this consequence.”
There’s a lot more to say on this… but having said it, back to the party.
Last Offramp
In times of God-given victory, one should dance.
I don’t think that’s rocket science.
If you read this far, this is where I take those who think brow-beating and apologizing is more nuanced, sensitive, and winsome than celebrating to task.
“When David returned home to bless his own family, Michal, the daughter of Saul, came out to meet him. She said in disgust, “How distinguished the king of Israel looked today, shamelessly exposing himself to the servant girls like any vulgar person might do!”
David retorted to Michal, “I was dancing before the Lord, who chose me above your father and all his family! He appointed me as the leader of Israel, the people of the Lord, so I celebrate before the Lord. Yes, and I am willing to look even more foolish than this, even to be humiliated in my own eyes!”
-Second Samuel, Chapter Six, 14 - 22
Dancing, and Fighting
When David of the Old Testament danced after a resounding victory, and a contemptuous, brooding Michal bashed him for it, who was vindicated in the end? All shortcoming and David’s own tragic arc aside, who was fruitful? Who did the Lord delight in, so much so that He called him a man after his own heart?1 And in that story, who’s prudish sniggering towers over time and history as cheap, spiteful mockery?
With a legal, long-suffering victory, and around a third of my generation felled before their time in a ‘safe and rare’ procedure, I’ll risk losing street creed with those who think this is the time for pained empathy, listening, ash and sackcloth, a dozen more mea culpas to the tune of Christians, conservatives, Trump voters, Pro-Lifers, and the Right in general not being ready for this kind of victory.
Why not?
Because those who see racism everywhere but won’t bat an eye at sixty to seventy million abortions, (with a disproportionate number of young black lives buried in that hecatomb) don’t like seeing their god toppled?
Because groveling and shaming ourselves might win us their respect? Or show them we believe what we say all the more seriously?
Because admitting we’re toxic and encouraging the notion that they’ve been right all along might make one foot soldier among thousands leave the secular intifada in education, culture, healthcare, sports, the workplace and everywhere else? That could happen, but think again, Neville.
When an idol topples, when the laws of a sullied nation finally tilt righteous, and when an opportunity to save future generations with life-honoring, commonsense jurisprudence falls into place, self-flagellation has all the attraction of a prom dress covered in garbage.
If it’s not a mature sign of Stockholm Syndrome, it might be something worse. Rather, and to wrap up this soapbox, it’s time to celebrate.
It’s also, just as it’s always been, time to rush to the care of anyone scared, vulnerable and truly cornered; anyone making the selfless decision to carry an unwanted or unplanned pregnancy to term, and through adoption, parenting, or some redemptive combination of both, giving a precious unborn human a chance at life. Where there’s no quarter for the debbie downers, or for the cool kids might let us back in their dodgeball game if we grovel a little more, there’s no diminishing the courage and sacrifice of those walking that out particular journey.
There’s always room at the table. And at churches, pregnancy centers, adoption agencies, after school programs… let’s make room for more.
A Russian Connection
I promised books along with ideas, and I’m not one to disappoint.
I found this morsel in the second half of Dostoevsky’s bleak, slow-cooking, and very troublesome Demons, there’s a scene of scalding joy.
After clawing his way out of a radical, revolutionary circle in a small Russian town, a disillusioned student named Shatov reunites with his wife after a long separation… only to learn that she’s nine months pregnant with another character’s baby. Before long, she’s in labor, right then and there, and despite the bristling events that led to their separation and her having someone else’s child, Shatov (via Dostoevsky) spills out joy and fascination in plain language.
“At last a cry was heard, a new cry that made Shatov shudder and jump up from his knees; it was a baby’s cry, weak and discordant. He made the sign of the cross and went rushing into the room. In her arms Arina crying and moving its tiny arms and legs; it was terrifyingly helpless and, like a speck of dust, at the mercy of the first breath of wind. But it was crying and proclaiming that it too had every right to exist.”
A little later, and with a wizened midwife treating the birth like another just another night on the job Shatov sees the miracle in front of him for what it is.
“Shatov mumbled incoherently, stupefied and enraptured. It was as if something was reeling around inside his head, ‘There were two people, and all of a sudden there’s a third being, a new spirit, whole and complete, such that no human hands could ever create; new thought and new love; it’s frightening actually… There’s nothing greater on earth!”2
Nothing indeed.
A miracle worth every bit of fight, legislation, and backlash we can muster.
Speaker’s Corner
A few of you have recommended Shelf of Crocodiles on your own Substack homepage.
Much appreciated—and you’re on my radar for future newsletters.
But while I’m still freshening up my own recommendations list, this month’s shout goes to a crackling article by Pastor Kevin DeYoung published in World.org.
With the fable-sharing tone of a book like Animal Farm, DeYoung retells the ending of Star Wars: A New Hope… and reminds that the true gift of the Death Star’s implosion was that it gave the Rebels a chance to reflect on their own shortcomings.
“By the end of the movie, they had won a great victory, a victory for life and freedom. And yet, what really made the movie resonate in so many hearts was the way the victory was met with many critical self-reflections and mild recriminations. Turns out the best way for the Rebel Alliance to commemorate the destruction of the Death Star was to remind everyone that many of the Empire’s criticisms were worth considering.”
-Kevin DeYoung, When Roe Was Overturned
It’s brilliant.
It’s as sweet and timely a metaphor for Post-Roe finger-wagging as any I’ve found so far.
Word on the Pond
Sometime this month, a tiny crocodile’s coming home from the hospital.
He’ll be the first addition to our family and we’re excited to meet him.
With that commitment hovering over this month’s calendar, I’m honored to have writer and fellow New Saint Andrews student Noelle McEachran stepping up with some thoughts on how Jane Austen takes a scalpel to our own subtle bias, and the universal tendency of seeing exactly what we want to say.
Later this month, she’ll share some thoughtful words that you don’t want to miss.
Until then, celebrate, watch some fireworks… and if you’re fired up one way or the other by what you read here, like, comment, share… or simply forward this email along to someone you care about.
The crocodiles just love email forwards.
As always, thank you so much for reading.
See First Samuel, 13:14, and Acts 13:22
This was by far the most enjoyable post-Roe article I read—the prophetic jeremiad with a lyrical tinge.
I love this!