Last Sunday’s message[i] was on the meaning of submission in marriage. I did not have time for this closing illustration. So consider this an application at the end of that message. The point is that my mother’s submissive role in relation to my father was not owing to lesser competencies. It was owing to the God-given nature of manhood and womanhood and how they are designed in marriage to display the covenant relationship between Christ and the church.
I grew up in a home where my father was away for about two-thirds of each year. He was an evangelist. He held about twenty-five crusades each year ranging in length from one to three weeks. He would leave on Saturday, be gone for one to three weeks, and come home on Monday afternoon. I went to the Greenville airport hundreds of times. And some of the sweetest memories of my childhood are the smile of my father’s face as he came out of the plane and down the steps and almost ran across the runway to hug me and kiss me (no skyways in those days).
This meant that my sister and I were reared and trained mostly by my mother. She taught me almost everything practical that I know. She taught me how to cut the grass without skippers and keep a checkbook and ride a bike and drive a car and make notes for a speech and set the table with the fork in the right place and make pancakes (notice when the bubbles form on the edges). She paid the bills, handled repairs, cleaned house, cooked meals, helped me with my homework, took us to church, led us in devotions. She was superintendent of the Intermediate Department at church, head of the community garden club, and tireless doer of good for others.
She was incredibly strong in her loneliness. The early sixties were the days in Greenville, SC, when civil rights were in the air. The church took a vote one Wednesday night on a resolution not to allow black people to worship in the church. When the vote was taken, she stood, as I recall, entirely alone in opposition. And when my sister was married in the church in 1963 and one of the ushers tried to seat some black friends of our family all alone in the balcony, my mother indignantly marched out of the sanctuary and sat them herself on the main floor with everyone else.
I have never known anyone quite like Ruth Piper. She seemed to me omni-competent and overflowing with love and energy.

But here is my point. When my father came home, my mother had the extraordinary ability and biblical wisdom and humility to honor him as the head of the home. She was, in the best sense of the word, submissive to him. It was an amazing thing to watch week after week as my father came and went. He went, and my mother ruled the whole house with a firm and competent and loving hand. And he came, and my mother deferred to his leadership.

Now that he was home, he is the one who prayed at the meals. Now it was he that led in devotions. Now it was he that drove us to worship, and watched over us in the pew, and answered our questions. My fear of disobedience shifted from my mother’s wrath to my father’s, for there, too, he took the lead.
But I never heard my father attack my mother or put her down in any way. They sang together and laughed together and put their heads together to bring each other up-to-date on the state of the family. It was a gift of God that I could never begin to pay for or earn.

And here is what I learned—a biblical truth before I knew it was in the Bible. There is no correlation between submission and incompetence. There is such a thing as masculine leadership that does not demean a wife. There is such thing as submission that is not weak or mindless or manipulative.

It never entered my mind until I began to hear feminist rhetoric in the late sixties that this beautiful design in my home was somehow owing to anyone’s inferiority. It wasn’t. It was owing to this: My mother and my father put their hope in God and believed that obedience to his word would create the best of all possible families—and it did. So I exhort you with all my heart, consider these things with great seriousness, and do not let the world squeeze you into its mold.

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[i] http://www.desiringgod.org/ResourceLibrary/Sermons/ByDate/2007/2088_The_Beautiful_Faith_of_Fearless_Submission/

If your conscience required it, could you turn your back on the job you’d dedicated your entire adult life to?

That’s what Abby Johnson did. After nine years as director of the Planned Parenthood clinic in Bryan, Texas, Johnson left in October to join the Coalition for Life, a group that holds prayer rallies outside that same clinic — and a group of which she had once been a vocal critic.

Johnson cites two reasons for her decision to walk away from Planned Parenthood. First, she says, it bothered her that the organization was so focused on performing more and more abortions in order to bring in more and more money.

Johnson had believed that pregnancy prevention was Planned Parenthood’s main goal. But, she says, “It seemed like maybe that’s not what a lot of people were believing anymore, because that’s not where the money was. The money wasn’t in family planning, the money wasn’t in prevention, the money was in abortion.” And Johnson reports she had “a problem with that.”

But as Johnson tells it, the moment that really changed her heart occurred when she was called in to help with an actual abortion procedure, which was not part of her regular duties.

This was her first time watching the procedure on an ultrasound. She says, “I could see the whole profile of the baby…I could see the whole side profile. I could see the probe. I could see the baby try to move away from the probe….I just thought, ‘What am I doing?’…And then I thought, ‘Never again.’”

Two weeks later, looking out the clinic window and seeing members of Coalition for Life outside praying, Johnson walked out of the clinic and joined them.

She has never looked back.

As you might expect, no one at Planned Parenthood knows quite what to make of Abby Johnson. The recriminations have been flying thick and fast. They’re accusing her of lying about why she left, of stealing files from the clinic where she used to work, of any number of other things.

Apparently, they don’t know how to handle the idea that her conscience might have convicted her.

But Johnson’s story should serve as a cautionary tale for pro-lifers. For all of us as a matter of fact. Especially when we’re dealing with polarizing issues like abortion, we Christians must remember that our fellow human beings are not the enemy. Here’s one where we thought the woman was. But she saw the truth.

Remember, Paul spells it out so clearly for us in Ephesians: “For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.”

So even as we fight to save lives (and we’re reminded this week of the importance of that with the anniversary of Roe v. Wade) we must still keep our minds on our larger mission, which is to love the world. And it’s the only way we’re going to bring change.

Martin Luther King said it beautifully: He whom you would change, you must first love. This means every human being — pro-life and pro-choice — because everyone is made in God’s image. And we all, as the result of the Fall, stand in need of redemption.

So we need to do everything we can to reach out to the Abby Johnsons of the world, and pray that God will change their hearts — for their sake, and for His glory.

If it happened here with Abby Johnson; it can happen again.