This week the supreme court heard opening arguments in a
case regarding the constitutionality of “buffer zones” around Planned
Parenthood clinics in Massachusetts, zones that sit 35 feet from clinic
entrances marked by a yellow line. Those arguing in favor of the zone suggest
it exists to prohibit patients from being “harassed,” either physically or
verbally, as they enter. Those opposed contend that the zones are an
infringement on their free speech and access to public space.
I am sympathetic to the frustration of those heavily engaged
in the pro-life movement. I am inspired by their dedication to rescue unborn
children and recognize that the overwhelming majority of those who stand
outside of clinics are there for the purpose of praying, counseling, and sharing the gospel in a spirit of love and grace.
On the other hand, I also recognize that in 1994 a lone
gunman entered a clinic in Brookline, MA and killed two workers. I was entering
my senior year in high school about an hour from the scene. It was the third
shooting at a clinic in less than 2 years and the public was coming to grips
with the fact that the issue of abortion was becoming, quite literally, a
culture war.
I am opposed to murder; the kind of murder that motivates
people to stand in the front of clinics and gently persuade patients who are
entering to consider another way. I am
also opposed to the kind of murder that provokes clinics to establish buffer
zones around their buildings. I don’t find a simple answer to the question
facing the courts today.
While the parties debate I do want to draw our attention
back to a simple fact. It is an important fact that is often lost sometimes on those
who are engaged in a seemingly endless fight for “rights.” While they fight for the rights they are loosing,
they often fail to take advantage of the rights they still have.
There is no buffer zone around my kitchen table. There is no
buffer zone in my local coffee shop. There is no buffer zone inside my car, or on a
park bench, or on my phone. There is no buffer zone at the art show in my kid’s
school, or the Friday night football game. So I look at it like this, there is
only one place that I am not allowed
to comfort and counsel those considering abortion and it is 35 feet from the
clinic they may enter. Every space outside of that little yellow line is
available. My prayer is that no one is walking alone for the thousands of long
steps before they reach that line because their neighbor, their co-worker, that
other soccer mom or that family they met at the school play, or the woman they
see every day at the gym was willing to step over the invisible lines we draw
around each other constantly and say…”I am here to listen, and I will help in any way that I can.”
