Passing Healthcare By

The only other protester we saw was dressed in bright yellow boxer shorts and a blue, pointed magician cap.

“That’s right!   That’s right!” he responded to our ‘Please Don’t Pass the Healthcare Bill’ sign.  “I think they’re spitting on us!”

It was Monday, March 15, 2010.  The day Bishop Paul Loverde of Arlington, Virginia called the people of his diocese to pray and fast for an end to the healthcare bill which haunts all people of good faith with the specter of having to pay for abortion.

We live in close proximity to the Nation’s Capital and feel a burden to physically represent the Americans who would like to march on Washington, but can’t.

So, after being fortified with the Holy Eucharist, we packed up the children and headed an hour east to Capitol Hill.

A chill wind and brooding sky reflected the mood.  Somber.  Threatening.

Along the way, we discussed the ramifications of our taxes being used to fund abortion.  Was it material participation?  Was there room for civil disobedience?  Which is more important, obeying God’s law or man’s?  Is there a difference between the rhetorical answer and the practical implications? Homeschool civics class.

There was consensus — the Bishop is a cool dude.  A shepherd, who sees a danger and uses his means to protect his flock.  A line of defense for the unborn.

“Lord, you know we need a parking pla…” I didn’t have to finish.  There was one at the head of the Mall, near the Museum of Art.  We plunked in four dollars worth of quarters for a two-hour stay and set off.

Our plan was to show our sign to as much traffic as possible, since the area around the Capitol building is filled with Senate and House of Representative office buildings, not to mention the Supreme Court.  We turned south.

“Hope you never lose your job!” said a jogger, not a minute after we set out.

“What does that mean, Mama?”

“It means he wants the healthcare bill to pass so people without jobs can go to the doctor.”

“Is that good?”

“Yes.”

“Then why don’t we want it?”

“We want to help people who need help, honey, it’s just that this bill says we have to pay people to kill babies, too.”

“That’s bad.”

Our five-year-old, a natural evangelist, took up our sign and held it high above his head.  Several people stopped to take his picture.

In front of the Supreme Court, a family passed by, the boy quizzing his dad about the sign.

“What’s healthcare, Dad?”

“The biggest screw-up this country’s ever seen.”

People honked and waved.  Staffers called down from the steps of one of the House Office Buildings.  Tourists thanked us.  A woman climbing into a cab said, “We agree!”

“Call your congressman!” I suggested.

“We did.  We’ve written, we’ve called, we’ve done it all.”

Another jogger, this time at the Northeast corner near Union Station, called, “Oh, come on.  Let your parents hold the sign.”

“What does that mean, Mama?”

“It means he doesn’t think you’re old enough to have an opinion.”

The child scoffed.

Twice, we walked the long block around the building, and when we finally took refuge from the wind and drizzle in the van, it was with a sense that the overwhelming majority of people agreed.

They don’t want the healthcare bill in its present state to pass.

You’ve probably written, called, emailed, and forwarded.  The only thing left to do now is follow Bishop Loverde’s lead.

Some things only come out by prayer and fasting.

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