Progress is not a Christian notion. Writing to the Church at Ephesus, Paul could have offered triumphal assurances of eventual victory, or at least the prospect of earthly ease. Had Christ not conquered sin and death? Weren’t His followers now spreading His message with vigor and zeal? Paul, however, does not conjure dreams of immanent success but offers, instead, only a chastening exhortation to the Church to be wise, “redeeming the days for they are evil.” (Eph 5:16) He urges the Ephesians to “walk then as children of the light,” (5:8) to become living beacons in dark times.
The man born as Saul of Tarsus was beheaded by Nero in the 7th decade of the first century, having spent the second half of his life wandering the known world, preaching a religion he once persecuted. And what was the state of that creed after a lifetime of evangelical labour? The Gospel had been brought to the world’s capital, but was heeded by only an odd handful whom the imperial power would persecute without mercy. In addition to these, there were a few far-flung, fledgling outposts, constantly in need of epistles full of his encouragement, instruction, and correction. When Paul was executed as a criminal outside the gates of Rome, there was no reason to think that these Churches would survive for any great length of time, let alone outlast the Empire itself.
Paul died in obscurity and disgrace, his life’s work a failure by any measure save one: he had lived the message of which he was also a witness, and had been as faithful in death as he was in life. Without seeing the Basilica that now rises from his tomb, nor hearing his inspired words echo throughout the world’s languages, Paul was consoled only by the possession of faith, “the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” (Heb 11.1)
We in the pro-life movement espouse beliefs that elicit sneers, slanders, and – with distressing frequency – scurrilous legal persecutions for the offense we give to guilty consciences. Opportunistic politicians attack us relentlessly, and our gambits and strategies in support of just causes always seem to fail. We defend the unborn and strive to protect the moral pillars of our civilization; and, for troubles, we, like Paul, are “beaten with rods” of calumnies and are “pelted with stones” hailing from the peanut gallery of a corroded culture; we, too, “have labored and toiled and have often gone without sleep.” (2 Cor 11:26, 28)
Paul could have pled for his life on his way from Caesarea to Rome; he could have abandoned the charge he received on his way to Damascus, and lived out his days in peace. But he did not. Paul went to Rome knowing that he would never see the fruits of his labour, knowing that, in order to succeed, he had to resign himself to failure’s outward form.
Progress is not a Christian notion; hope, however, is. We know not what our example will do for future generations, nor what harvest will come from the seeds that we sow. Our duty is not to calculate the odds of our success, nor to look for thanks from the very culture we are trying to save. Our duty, rather, is only to persevere, to witness to the truth. Even if our age wilfully forgets the truth (and resents our witness to it), we must steadfastly preserve it as a kind of hearth-fire for history, for a future we cannot forecast. When the winds that beat against us calm, and later ages once again prefer reality to their whims, they will be able to warm themselves with the fire we have kept aflame. Thus must we keep kindled the embers that will blaze in later times, delivering to the future, as of first importance, what we also received (cf. 1 Cor 15:3).
