Empowering young Australians to be a clear Christian voice
It was a bright warm sunny day two weeks ago. I held Diane’s hand (as I do) and we stepped together down Wellington Parade to the killing house. There they waited; first a rowdy mob chanted their slogans of death and displayed placards: “honk if ur pro-choice”, and “abortion on demand”. Next to them a few brave souls reverently touched rosaries and quietly prayed caring loving words.
Inside, women queued to have their children killed. Their tiny infants waited, unsuspecting, sharing trembling mother’s fear but trusting nature’s unbreakable bond. Fathers slipped arms around lovers’ shoulders, grateful for this quick solution; better babies’ death than the inconvenience of its life.
I had just read Orwell’s 1984 and Huxley’s Brave New World for the first time, and my Bible-moulded sensibility was ploughed and sowed. My body showed cool composure, while my mind raced and stirred to re-assemble new sounds, emotions and sights. Inner steel forged in thirty years of worship brightened in God’s refining fire.
I thought about 1984’s Winston who rejected society’s account of history and refused to believe the lie. He longed to be free, to know the truth, to slip out of oppressive manipulation and embrace real life. Finally he failed, and was brutally consigned to the thoughtless existence of all. I wondered: will we rebel against untruths fed us by media, government and “experts”, or will we believe the bible and the Spirit? Will we allow our Christian world-view to be crushed under overwhelming secularism? Will the flame of our love for Christ be snuffed? Will a few Catholics be the ones to share Winston’s courage, and will they suffer the same crushing end?
Outside the killing house, I watched the girls come out; occasionally defiant, using the service as a permissive-sex convenience, but most downcast, hands on empty invaded wombs, hearts of sorrow torn more by the killing than discomfort. Husbands and boyfriends, thankful the deed is done, their son or daughter dead, for now carefully tender, soon to be discarded themselves in the inevitable fallout of murder.
Through Brave New World I empathised with Helmholtz who asked “Do you sometimes feel that there is something inside trying to get out?” Like him, we resist a culture that sees so differently to our Voice inside. The high-tides of destiny beat against me that sunny day, my sensibility’s mental flesh already carrying the excitement of a new ministry to youth, and a recent Rabbi’s message that the Australian church is “asleep and dreaming it’s awake”.
Huxley’s Londoners celebrated their happiness with a “communion” of drug taking in the upper room. “The loving cup had made its circuit”; their man-moulded world so artificially happy and perfect that freedom itself was lost. They believed themselves “awake”, but were deluded. I hoped that Brave New World’s rebel, The Savage, would penetrate Lenina’s mind, then woo and win her. I hoped he would find a way to beat the system, or change it. Of course I was disappointed; in despair he took his own life.
As Diane and I prayed unobtrusively silently for the babies carried defencelessly to die, and our Catholic friends knelt humbly on the hard footpath outside East Melbourne Day Procedure Clinic, passers-by snarled their anger, unable to restrain their venom. A young woman walking her dog spat “shame, shame”, while traffic honked and hooted support for death. God’s conscience, shown in us, yelled Truth in our silence, that innocent real children were torn limb from limb inside; relentlessly, brutally, one by one, ten by ten, hundreds by hundreds – and the world hated us.
Huxley and Orwell presented possible futures. They prophesied worlds different to Jesus’ kingdom. Jesus claimed to be “The Way, the Truth, and the Life”. I believe him. He permits me to see truth, he allows me to choose to live it. The deliberate death of 100,000 babies each year in my country is only one of many lies, one of many carefully covered tragedies. The cup of porn is drained to its last drop by fathers, men and boys; told of its choicest taste, but not its poison. Drunk in its lust, they strip the innocence of nearly half our little girls. Low fertility rates amongst our women, allowing work and tax, inevitably silently signal the death of our culture. The rise of Islam, which kills apostates, is called religious freedom. Homosexuality becomes “gay” and sodomy “orientation”. Talk about it if you dare.
While Orwell’s and Huxley’s worlds were strong, inexorable and overwhelming, Jesus urges us to pray “Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth …” I am glad that Winston and The Savage are fiction. I’m glad that Jesus is Truth, we can overcome, we can resist, and we can win. For His sake, for His glory, and for the salvation of our nation, we must.
Peter Stevens, FamilyVoice Victoria state officer