"You're Not Welcome Here!"

"You're not welcome here! It's a woman's choice!" a woman yells at us from her car as she waits at the traffic light in front of our pro-life vigil in Brixton. The lights turn green, she turns the corner, and yells at us again. Certainly, it often feels like Brixton locals have firmly made up their minds on which side of the line separating good and evil they stand. The graffiti that appeared on the pavement around our vigil site—first in chalk, then in neon spray paint—drove that point home: "Brixton is pro-choice," it said, among other things. Is it true? Is our vigil an unwelcome intrusion, born of blind fanaticism, disturbing the otherwise perfect peace of the inhabitants of the People's Republic of Brixton?

I think not. Yes, it is true that we experience a lot of opposition from locals at the vigil. But we experience as much support. Locals stop every day to affirm us, to bless us, to pray with us. It is interesting to note the difference between those Brixtonians who oppose us and those who support us. I do not mean to insult our opponents—they deserve love and prayer, not scorn, being so firmly in the claws of the devil—but I must note that they tend to be financially comfortable, well-dressed, well-groomed members of the metropolitan laptop class: the kind who drink matcha lattes on their way to a Pilates class. In contrast, those locals who support us are visibly low-income, look like they work with their hands, or perhaps have to rely on benefits. We were affirmed by old ladies, retired bakers, Cockney blokes, African aunties, and Jamaican men.

One more difference: judging from accents and the occasional conversation, our supporters seem to be actually local to Brixton—born, bred, and grown old there—while our opponents tend to be recent transplants to Brixton from elsewhere in London, the UK, or the world.

What accounts for the split in attitudes between the two groups? There are two explanations, I think. The less interesting of the two is the natural one: our affluent opponents, unlike our struggling sympathizers, would have gone through many years of the liberal brain-grinding machine—first at university, then at their corporate or public-sector job. The supernatural explanation is more interesting: Poverty inclines a person towards things that matter—towards God, or at the very least, things adjacent to Him: family, responsibility, country. "It is good to trust in the Lord, rather than to trust in princes," says Psalm 117 (Vulg. numbering). The person to whom life has not been kind does not have the luxury to trust in princes—who lie to them and tax them to death—or in money, in their own physical beauty, intellect, or career prospects—none of which they have. The poor person is under no delusion as to their own imagined grandeur—they know God is the only thing they have. This is why Pope Benedict wrote that the poor are God's first love. St Paul, too, tells us "... The foolish things of the world, ... and the weak things of the world, ... and the base things of the world, and the things that are contemptible, hath God chosen" (1 Cor 1:27–28).

In contrast, those who haven't been brought low by life tend to see the world through a mist spread before their eyes by Satan (though he often outsources this job to mainstream and social media). Through that mist, everything appears very small to them, but they themselves seem very large and important. "The world is yours for the taking," says the old fiend. "Life is what you make it. Money? Yours. Advancement? Yours. Beauty? Yours. Sexual pleasure—yours. Always, at any time, and with no restrictions." When such a person encounters our vigil, they rightly consider us their enemies—we're the annoying, unwelcome reminder that a person is not the master or mistress of their own life; that they have responsibilities which are not up to them to choose or abandon; that they have a nature that was given to them rather than chosen by them; and that they violate that nature and shrink from those responsibilities at their own very peril.

Two things to conclude: Dear reader, you and I must always remember that our pro-life efforts will have no effect if we undertake them from a place of pride, because "God resisteth the proud" (James 4:6). We must never put ourselves above our opponents and flatter ourselves for being on the right side of this issue. Whatever good there is in, say, my contribution to the cause is due to God's grace alone, not my own imagined virtue. I contribute nothing to the cause except my shortcomings and failures. I must always remember I am spiritually much closer to the proud whom God opposes than to the humble whom He exalts.

Given that I'm no better than the opponents of our vigil (and indeed, in all likelihood, I may be much worse than them), I must also pray for them—principally for their conversion. My prayer mustn't come from a place of pride—"God, make that nasty woman less awful"—but from a place of charity: "God, convert that woman who yelled at us today. Bless her in every way and bring her to life everlasting, and may I embrace her as we rest in your bosom in the world to come."

(This is the theory, dear reader. Now, to practice!)

Philip K.

The 40 Days for Life Prayer Vigil in Brixton will run for 12 hours a day, 8am to 8pm, seven days a week from Ash Wednesday until Palm Sunday. If you could spare an hour or more to come and pray with us, it would be of great help. The vigil takes place at the corner of Brixton Water Lane, London, SW2 5BJ. For more details or to book to attend please contact Gabriella on 07745711064 or 02077231740

To sign up for hours at the 40 Days for Life vigil in Ealing, West London contact Sarah on 07776256838, or email her at london40daysforlife@hotmail.com

For details about 40 Days for Life Prayer Vigils in Reading, Southend, Liverpool, Nottingham, Glasgow, Leicester, Bournemouth and Sheffield see here and for the rest of the World see here