Pulling on a lever you can't see

Great article on 40 Days for Life this morning from Patrick McIlheran of the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel.

"You guys are nuts!" shouted a woman driving past the Farwell Ave. sidewalk where Francis Dantzman stood.

She was right, in a way. A slight, retirement-aged man in red-plaid flannel, Dantzman rode his bike from his home in Mequon on a day of rain and tornado watches. He was going to ride it home. If he's not nuts, he's at least daring.

In between, around 3:45 on a momentarily sunny afternoon, he was holding a sign reading, "Abortion kills children." He was also holding a rosary, a big, folk-arty wooden one, praying for an end to the abortions taking place in the building behind him. He was praying silently, and he did not interact with anyone going in or out, other than simply to be seen.

So in a purely materialist sense, the notion he'd have an effect on the atrocities happening nearby was kind of nuts.

Dantzman, standing alone, wasn't really alone: He was part of 40 Days for Life, a series of prayer vigils that people opposed to abortion are holding in about 90 cities nationwide, including Appleton, Green Bay and Madison. The vigils began Sept. 26. So far, say organizers, at least here, there's been someone present every moment, except for one 15-minute stretch.

Yannick Ratnayake, 33, was in front of the building in a light drizzle much earlier in the day - about 5:15 a.m. With him were three other men, all about the age where they'd have to head off for work shortly thereafter, as Ratnayake would. Some held rosaries; all were praying. The signs were stacked nearby. At that hour, there would be practically no one to see them anyhow.

Being prayerful and present was as much the point as being seen, said Ratnayake. A father of four, he feels abortion not only ends a human life, it inflicts lasting harm on the women who undergo it and on the society that permits it. Prayer, fasting, repentance, giving up some sleep - "There's so much redemptive power in that," he says.

The Milwaukee vigil's been drawing about as many women as men, say organizers, though the men predominate during the night. For fathers particularly, says Ratnayake, it's a chance to show some moral leadership. If one looks for some sense in why the men would stand in front of a building that no one would enter or leave for hours, that might be a reason.

And praying seems to be what the pro-life movement can do these days. From the standpoint of politics, things are cloudy. Presidential front-runners in both parties favor legalized abortion. One of them, New York's Republican ex-mayor Rudy Giuliani, was in town that day, not a quarter-mile south. He probably didn't see the vigilists.

Ratnayake says the vigil is the first time he's protested anything. Other men said the same. One mentioned how he was moved by the emotional devastation still wracking a friend years after her abortion. Another, Jim Wassel, 51, of Merton, said he felt called to the issue when he rejoined the Catholic church a year ago.

"You can't just sit at home and not do anything," he said.

So, he was in front of the again-empty building at 9:30 p.m., as the rain held off and concert-goers took a smoking break in front of Shank Hall. A few came to talk now and then, said another late-night vigilist, David Prado. Mostly, said Wassel, the men were praying for the souls of the children killed that day and for the souls of the people who killed them. Prado said one evening, a woman walked up, said she'd had an abortion and asked if she was doomed to hell. No, Prado told her. They prayed for her, too.

Which tells us why it makes sense to just stand and pray. If one believes that abortion is a terrible evil, if one fears that, as Pope John Paul II put it, we're trapped in a "culture of death," and if one believes in the reality of a loving God, then repenting and praying and standing in front of an empty building make sense. They amount to pulling on a very powerful lever that can't be seen.

As John Paul also said, "In the designs of Providence, there are no mere coincidences."

Once, there were eight abortion clinics in Milwaukee, Dantzman points out. Now, there are two.

Patrick McIlheran is a Journal Sentinel editorial columnist. His e-mail address is pmcilheran@journalsentinel.com