Bernard Nathanson died nearly 15 years ago. His story matters now more than ever. Not because he was famous, though he was. Not because he was influential, though few Americans shaped the culture more profoundly. His story matters because it proves that no one is beyond redemption — and that truth has a way of breaking through, no matter how determined we are to suppress it.

Nathanson was born in New York to Jewish parents. He became an obstetrician and gynecologist like his father. But unlike his father, he devoted his career to ending pregnancies rather than delivering babies. At one point, he directed the Center for Reproductive and Sexual Health, then the largest abortion facility in the world. He later claimed responsibility for more than 75,000 abortions. Among them was his own child.

Our age desperately needs this kind of conversion — the courage to admit complicity and the humility to seek forgiveness.

He wasn’t merely performing abortions. In many ways, he helped build the movement that made them legal. Nathanson was among the central activists whose efforts culminated in Roe v. Wade. Today, nearly 30% of American pregnancies are unintended; about 40% of those end in abortion — roughly 1,500 to 2,500 each day, between 550,000 and 910,000 annually. Those numbers cast a long shadow over Nathanson’s legacy.

By his own account, he was an atheist. He married four times. He lived without God and, for a time, without guilt.

Then came the ultrasound.

Signs of life

In the 1970s, advances in medical imaging made it possible to view the womb in real time. For the first time, doctors could watch a living fetus during an abortion procedure. Nathanson asked a colleague who performed 15 to 20 abortions daily to record one on ultrasound. What they saw unsettled him permanently.

“Ultrasound opened up a new world,” Nathanson later wrote. “For the first time I could really see the human fetus, measure it, observe it, watch it, and indeed bond with it and love it.”

This was his first conversion — not religious, but moral. Fetal development was no longer a medical abstraction. It was human life unfolding along a continuous path. To interrupt that life became, in his words, intolerable.

He went farther. He called abortion a crime. He did not exempt himself. He knew he had not been a bystander but a central participant. The reckoning was unavoidable.

No looking away

In 1984, he directed “The Silent Scream,” a film featuring ultrasound footage of an abortion in progress. It removed abstraction. What had been hidden behind euphemism became visible. The film galvanized pro-life movements worldwide because it forced viewers to see what had long been described away.

Nathanson became the abortion movement’s most formidable opponent precisely because he had once been its architect. He understood its language and its strategy. He knew how clinical terms soften moral reality. As he later admitted, statistics had been inflated and rhetoric sharpened to sway public opinion. He had helped construct the narrative.

Yet moral clarity did not bring him peace. The weight of 75,000 deaths — including his own child’s — pressed on his conscience. Ethical reversal is not the same as absolution.

In search of mercy

Through conversations with Father John McCloskey, an Opus Dei priest, Nathanson began his second conversion. This one was spiritual. In December 1996, Cardinal John O’Connor baptized him in a private Mass at St. Patrick’s Cathedral. He received confirmation and first communion that same day.

When asked why he chose Catholicism, his answer was simple: “No religion matches the special role for forgiveness that is afforded by the Catholic Church.”

That sentence reveals what ideology never could: Guilt demands more than argument. It demands mercy.

Father Gerald Murray, who preached at Nathanson’s funeral, compared him to Whittaker Chambers, the former Soviet spy who renounced communism and testified against it at immense personal cost. The comparison was deliberate. Both men had served destructive causes with conviction. Both knew their systems from the inside. And both chose to speak because silence was no longer possible.

Neither escaped consequences. Yet each chose truth over self-preservation.

Hard truth

Some readers will struggle to forgive what Nathanson did. The harm was real. It cannot be undone. But what he chose once he could no longer deny the truth also matters. The screams he confronted were silent, visible only through ultrasound. Once seen, they could not be unseen.

Our age desperately needs this kind of conversion — the courage to admit complicity and the humility to seek forgiveness. Wrongdoing is softened by clinical language. Responsibility is buried beneath justification. Technology makes victims invisible.

Nathanson’s life reminds us that seeing clearly carries a cost — but refusing to see carries a greater one.

He spent half his life destroying life and the other half defending it. Many spend their entire lives destroying life and never confront it.

​Faith, Abide, Christianity, Lifestyle, Conversion, Converts, Abortion, Bernard nathanson, The silent scream, Catholicism, Pro-life 

If you’re of a certain age, you probably remember Captain and Tennille — a married duo with a ridiculously catchy hit that topped the charts and won a Grammy. “Love Will Keep Us Together” made forever feel effortless. For the younger crowd, click the link for a glimpse of how music used to sound — and how optimism used to look.

They don’t make songs like that anymore.

There is a forever love — and it really does hold us together. And it’s summed up in three simple words.

And as it turns out, they don’t make love like that either. Love didn’t actually keep Captain and Tennille together. They divorced in 2014 after almost four decades, reminding us that the world’s idea of lasting love is fragile, conditional, and almost always temporary.

So … happy Valentine’s?

Well, scripture offers something entirely different. There is a forever love — and it really does hold us together. And it’s summed up in three simple words:

Love one another.

That’s it. It sounds easy. But it isn’t — because we are saints who still sin. And when we turn inward, even subtly, we fail to love one another the way Christ commands. So let’s unpack what He actually meant.

Love your neighbor vs. love one another

So how does “love one another” differ from “love your neighbor”?

We tend to think of a neighbor as someone who lives nearby. But Jesus was asked that exact question and answered it with the parable of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:25-37). From His explanation, we learn that a neighbor is anyone in need who crosses our path. Loving our neighbor, then, is about how we treat those who are not yet part of God’s family.

But “one another” means something more specific.

Throughout the New Testament, “one another” almost always refers to fellow believers — our brothers and sisters in Christ. Practically speaking, one another is your church family. Which is one of many reasons you need a church family.

What ‘love one another’ actually looks like

The New Testament gives us roughly 50 instructions for how we are to treat one another — commands that spell out what love looks like in real life. Someone helpfully compiled them all in one place, and it’s worth reading through carefully.

Not surprisingly, the most frequently repeated command in that list is this one: love one another.

And when we wonder how to do that — especially when some people are genuinely hard to love — the answer is found in the rest of the list. Things like:

Serve one anotherForgive one anotherEncourage one anotherPray for one another

These aren’t abstract ideals. They’re concrete actions. And as we prayerfully consider them, the Holy Spirit may well bring specific people to mind.

Or consider this, from Romans 12:

“Let love be without hypocrisy — by abhorring what is evil, clinging to what is good, being devoted to one another in brotherly love, giving preference to one another in honor … contributing to the needs of the saints, pursuing hospitality” (Romans 12:9-13).

That’s a lot of practical instruction packed into a few verses. And hospitality, in particular, is an area where most of us fall woefully short.

This kind of love doesn’t stay theoretical. It shows up in schedules, homes, meals, and patience.

Why Jesus called this command ‘new’

In John 13:34, Jesus says something that can sound puzzling at first:

“A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another.”

After all, the people of the Old Testament had always been called to love. The Law itself was built on loving God and loving others. So what was different?

“… even as I have loved you.”

That’s the new part.

Jesus didn’t just tell the disciples what to do — He showed them how to do it. For three years, He walked with them, served them, corrected them, bore with them, and loved them patiently.

And then — immediately after washing their feet, including Judas’ — He issued this new command, on the eve of His betrayal and death.

Love like I do.

The cost — and the witness

This is a staggering standard. And we can only love this way to the extent that we understand how deeply we ourselves are loved.

When we daily enter His presence, absorb His Word, and receive His love, something changes. Only then are we able to love one another in a way that looks unmistakably different to the world.

Which is exactly the point.

“By this all will know that you are My disciples, if you have love for one another” (John 13:35).

Before the world sees our love for our neighbors, it must see our love for one another.

The hard reality

Let’s be honest: Some believers are hard to love. Annoying. Irritating. The kind of people you quietly hope won’t sit next to you.

And sometimes, we are those people.

None of us are easy to love all the time. So we depend on the Holy Spirit to produce the fruit that makes us both more loving and more lovable. As Hannah Williamson has observed, the exercise of working out how to love one another is a “gritty training ground for loving the wider world.”

In other words, loving one another helps train us to love our neighbors. But first — the lost must witness our love for one another.

So in obedience to our Lord, let’s draw closer to Him so we can fulfill this beautiful task He’s given us — to love one another better.

A love that will, in fact, keep us all together.

Saint Valentine would be proud.

​Love, Valentine’s, Jesus, Faith 

Reading Hillary Clinton’s recent Atlantic essay, “MAGA’s War on Empathy,” I felt an emotion I did not expect: a sliver of sympathy, maybe even empathy, for her.

Clinton ranks among the most ruthless political operators of the last century. She came within inches of the presidency, the prize she wanted most, only to lose to Donald Trump — a man she treated as an absurdity for much of the 2016 campaign.

Perhaps the most problematic element of Clinton’s discussion of empathy is her unserious understanding of Christian teachings.

It would be easy to dismiss her Atlantic broadside as cynical posturing. She loads it with politicized misrepresentation, then uses Minneapolis as her stage for accusing the Trump GOP of cruelty. Still, the piece reveals something more important than spin: It exposes the moral core of today’s Democratic Party.

If Clinton only wanted a talking point, she could have posted it on X or dashed off a short op-ed. She wrote 6,000 words because, to a meaningful extent, she means it. In that respect I differ from Pastor Joe Rigney, one of her targets, whose response was excellent.

Clinton has pushed “empathy” for years. In her “basket of deplorables” speech, she described the need to “empathize” with the half of Trump’s supporters who weren’t racist, sexist, or xenophobic. After her defeat, she urged “radical empathy” in a 2017 Medium essay and argued that empathy belongs at the center of policy and politics — a theme she has repeated ever since.

Yet she misunderstands both the GOP and empathy itself.

Empathy, the left’s blind spot

Survey after survey shows liberals, not conservatives, struggling to extend empathy across political lines. Far more liberals than conservatives describe the other side as evil rather than misinformed or misguided. Liberals also report a greater willingness to cut conservatives out of friendships, business relationships, and civic life based solely on politics.

Conservatives, in practice, empathize with liberals more readily than liberals empathize with conservatives.

Clinton also misunderstands Trump. Private citizens who meet him one-on-one often praise his personal warmth. He calls people when they struggle. He spends extra time with victims and families. When he speaks harshly in public, he usually does so for deliberate political reasons. In political warfare, Trump often uses his feel for his opponents’ psychology to press the exact buttons that work.

Immigration provides another example. Clinton imagines that people who support deportations “delight” in suffering. Most do not. Many empathize with illegal immigrants — and refuse to let unbounded empathy shut off their brains.

I take a hard line on immigration. I support deporting every person here illegally and sharply reducing legal immigration as well. Yet I can sympathize with someone who has lived here for years, even decades, or someone brought here as a child. They have relationships. Many contribute in real ways. (Overall, illegal immigration produces a highly negative net impact.)

Still, incentives matter. If a sympathetic story becomes a stay of deportation, we lose border control. Good leadership means making difficult, rational choices that benefit the nation, even when those choices impose real costs on individuals.

Clinton praises Minnesota’s Immigration and Customs Enforcement vigilantes as a form of “neighborism,” essentially helping your neighbors regardless of background. She ignores the obvious: Many of the “neighbors” she celebrates include violent felons, child sex abusers, fraudsters, and other criminals.

RELATED: Hillary’s attack backfires: Allie Beth Stuckey tells Glenn Beck that Clinton’s hit piece is a ‘badge of honor’

Blaze Media

The mouth of the foolish

Clinton’s most revealing mistake involves Christianity. She accuses “far-right” Christian leaders who support Trump of discarding dignity, mercy, and compassion. Those virtues matter, but they do not exhaust Christian teaching. Mainline denominations that treat them as the whole faith have collapsed for a reason.

Christian statesmanship requires balancing virtues. Some moments demand compassion; other moments demand a steel spine. That does not contradict empathy rightly understood. It recognizes biblical limits. An empathy that destroys a nation does not reflect scriptural compassion.

Clinton’s Atlantic essay does not defend empathy. It weaponizes it, turning a virtue into a moral bludgeon and makes a nation into its target.

Clinton attacks Trump, JD Vance, and their supporters for criticizing Rev. Mariann Budde, who used a post-inauguration service at Washington National Cathedral to lecture Trump on compassion for immigrants, the LGBTQ community, and other “marginalized” groups. The backlash did not begin with disagreement over policy.

Budde took a moment of honor and turned it into a scolding. She showed no empathy for Trump or the millions who oppose her views for sincere reasons. She practiced selective “empathy,” stripped of prudence and judgment. Trump put it plainly afterward: She brought her church into politics “in a very ungracious way.”

Clinton also targets BlazeTV host Allie Beth Stuckey and her book “Toxic Empathy,” which Clinton calls “an oxymoron.” “I don’t know if the phrase reflects moral blindness or moral bankruptcy, but either way it’s appalling,” she writes.

Clinton again refuses empathy toward her opponents. A serious engagement with Stuckey’s argument would start with the subtitle: “How Progressives Exploit Christian Compassion.” Stuckey does not attack compassion in principle; she attacks its political hijacking. Clinton responds with a pious sneer about what she believes Jesus preached “in his short time on Earth.”

Even when Clinton praises Erika Kirk’s radical forgiveness, she shows theological shallowness. Christians must forgive personal wrongs when repentance occurs. The magistrate must pursue justice for the community. Clinton’s kindergarten version of Christian morality has hollowed out the churches that adopted it.

Clinton claims to be shocked that 25% of Republicans and 40% of self-described Christian nationalists agree with the statement that “empathy is a dangerous emotion that undermines our ability to set up a society guided by God’s truth.” She should not feel shocked. Many Americans have watched the left weaponize empathy to advance policies that punish citizens and reward lawlessness.

RELATED: Wokeness runs on ungratefulness — and normal people are over it

Photo by Marcus Ingram/Getty Images

Empathy without judgment becomes cruelty

“MAGA sees a world of vengeance, scorn, and humiliation, and cannot imagine generosity or solidarity,” Clinton argues. She gets it backward. Solidarity with my fellow Americans drives my willingness to fight for their interests on immigration and beyond. Surface-level empathy often conflicts with long-term social health, even when Clinton and her allies sneer at those who say so.

Clinton hopes conservatives “recognize the humanity” of an illegal immigrant family and decide that mass deportation “has gone too far.” I recognize that humanity already. If mere recognition of humanity dictated policy, I could not justify closing the border to anyone except the worst criminals. That path ends in disaster.

If MAGA people offer heartfelt hugs to illegal immigrants while placing them on deportation flights, will Democrats stop obstructing enforcement? I doubt it.

A wise Christian leader shows mercy after victory in war. When unchecked immigration tears the nation’s social fabric, wise leaders stand firm for the long-term interests of their people and reject emotional manipulation — a Clinton specialty for decades.

Clinton’s Wellesley commencement address in 1969 shows how deep this runs:

Part of the problem with just empathy with professed goals is that empathy doesn’t do us anything. … The challenge now is to practice politics as the art of making what appears to be impossible possible. … We’re not interested in social reconstruction; it’s human reconstruction. … But we also know that to be educated, the goal of it must be human liberation.

In that undergraduate statement, spoken more than 50 years ago, the roots of Clinton’s “empathy” show themselves. Her embrace of what Thomas Sowell called the “unconstrained vision” defines the modern left: politics as alchemy, liberation as entitlement, human nature as clay.

That vision cannot survive contact with limits — so it recasts limits as cruelty and calls dissent “hate.” Clinton’s Atlantic essay does not defend empathy. It weaponizes it, turning a virtue into a moral bludgeon and making a nation into its target.

Editor’s note: A longer version of this article was published originally at the American Mind.

​Hillary clinton, Empathy, Maga, Trump, Deplorables, Christians, The left, Allie beth stuckey, Republicans, Opinion & analysis