Archive: Pride Before the Fall
Celebrating the Fall of Roe Two Years Ago
Almost two years ago, Pride month collapsed like a house of cards and became Life Month. To celebrate now as I did then, here’s an article I wrote two years ago.
It’s perfect timing because this month or early next, my wife and I will be adding another small crocodile to the family (that’s two young crocs so far).
With that, happy reading—and Happy Life Month, readers.
As things go, I’ll probably see you a few months from now with some thoughts on Henrik Ibsen and his play ‘An Enemy of the People’ (it’s been playing on Broadway with Jeremy Strong and Michael Imperioli for about a $1,000 a seat… so it’s about time I throw on my old drama cape.)
If you’re new, by the way, then welcome. Read on for a little trial by fire action to see if Shelf of Croc is a fit for you.
If, like most of us, you’re celebrating the 2022 Dobbs ruling that ended Roe v. Wade and continues to put a dent in the ongoing abortion holocaust, then take a deep breath.
You’re in good company, friend.
Pride Before the Fall
From the archive, June of 2022
Around the country, those who prefer originalism over the creative liberty of left-wing judicial activism, are celebrating the Dobbs ruling. It’s monumental, to say the least… and as those faster to the keyboard than I have already pointed out, Christians should be celebrating.
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 gives us yet another litmus test—and another opportunity for those who can’t or won’t cheer wins courtesy of the religious right to put down the book deal and do some soul searching.
But not the rest of us.
Not with a victory, hand-delivered from the God of Israel.
And especially—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, they 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 school choice, liberty, and the energy industry. Three more volleys against that ever-lurking Statism and its creepy white van.
Of course, Roe tops all of that… and some still waving the flag that pilfers God’s promise have yet to realize they are 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 bonfire 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 three qualified, non-left wing judges to the highest court of the land.
“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, Fighting
In times of God-given victory, one should dance.
I don’t think that’s rocket science.
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
I’d like to end by giving a shout to cracking article on this very topic—Pastor Kevin DeYoung’s fine work of satire 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.
As sweet and timely a metaphor for Post-Roe finger-wagging as any I’ve found so far.
Coming Up
As always, thanks for reading!
If you’re so inclined, please the crocodiles with a like, a comment, a share, or a restack.
Until next time.