Cover Story by Iyesha Lynch "The church is silent. You [the church] say you are pro-life, but what are you doing about it?"

Back to Table of Contents | Back to Main Index Previous Cover Stories | Send mail to The Voice Abortion activist challenges church's apathy Protestors stand peacefully on the sidewalk area designated to them. -Iyesha Lynch, photos. Right-wing Christian bigot. Intolerant homophobe. Former stalker. Paul DeParrie, a pro-life activist, has been called these names so many times he said he might as well adopt them. He even hands out a business card bearing this description to those who can take a joke. On a typical Sunday morning, a man in a black robe stood motionless outside a church. A pale white plastic mask hid his face. Mr. DeParrie was disguised as the grim reaper. A 4-by-8-foot trailer behind him showed a billboard-sized picture of an aborted female child, bloodied and broken. Beside the picture a sign read, "Thou shalt not kill." Mr. DeParrie held literature in his hand as Sunday schoolers trickled into the parking lot. "That's terrible. That's terrible," a man said as he walked by with his dog. "It's a woman's choice." People pulled into the parking lot and drove past Mr. DeParrie's trailer, straining to see the activity. But most of them ignored the scene as they walked to the church building. "Good morning," a man in a business suit said to the Reaper as the man walked by the bloodied child 4 feet tall above him. Mr. DeParrie's hand stretched out to give a pamphlet, but the man just smiled and walked on with a bounce in his step. "If the church wasn't apathetic, there wouldn't be abortion, or at least it wouldn't be legal," Mr. DeParrie said. A father walked across the street to children's church, gripping his son's hand. "What is this?" the son asked his father. "Nothing," the father said, pushing him ahead. Many churches call the police, Mr. DeParrie said, but a lot of the churches have the same responses. He listed the four most common responses Christians give to his presentation: "There may be children who will see that." "Someone who doesn't know the Lord may see that, and it will drive that person away." "Women in this church have had abortions, and this might upset them." "We are already doing enough." After all the people had arrived, a woman came out of the church with a baby bottle in her hand. She confronted Mr. DeParrie with the bottle, which was a symbol of the money the church had raised to promote life. Mr. DeParrie took the bottle, slowly nodded his head and handed her a pamphlet. "No, thank you," she said and walked away. Many churches claim they are pro-life and, to prove their support, they say they give to the Pregnancy Resource Center. But Mr. DeParrie argued a person isn't supposed to just give money. "The church is silent. You [the church] say you are pro-life, but what are you doing about it?" he said. "Praying about it is fine, but when are you going to cry?" "After 15 years, it is hard to keep from being cynical," Mr. DeParrie said. "It is hard to believe the church is going to change. "We've tried all the soft approaches: letters, lunches, coffee," he said. "We're done with all that stuff. I know they don't like it [the presentations]. I'd rather not do it. But it [judgment] will be on our heads if we don't warn the wicked." Paul and his wife, Bonnie, live in a small cozy home. A large family portrait displayed above the fireplace shows off their six children and 10 grandchildren. "Soon to be 11," Mr. DeParrie said, boasting. He said he became an abortion activist for one reason: shame. In 1985 Mr. DeParrie drove past the abortion clinic on Foster Road every Saturday, and every Saturday a handful of people stood outside, holding picket signs. One of the signs read, "Honk if you hate abortion." Mr. DeParrie honked, often. One afternoon as he drove by, the thought came that if his child were going in there to be killed, he would do more than just honk. He felt convicted. He stopped his car and asked the picketers how he could get involved. Mr. DeParrie began working with Advocates for Life, a pro-life organization. He also became vocal about his beliefs. He picketed abortion clinics, posted signs, performed sit-ins and soon became editor of the organization's magazine, 'LIFE Advocate." He raised support for his unpaid position and continued in it for 10 years, traveling all over the country and to Europe reporting on pro-life subjects. Mr. DeParrie said his mission is now to the church. "I hesitate to call it prophecy because of the baggage that comes with the world." He said the lord laid the message on his heart to confront churches with their apathy and use of birth control, which causes abortion. "Half of the women in Christian churches," Mr. DeParrie said, "are probably raising hands in the sanctuary while taking a pill to kill their baby." He continues his own activism locally within the church and outside of the church. He receives financial help from his supporters and does most of his work alone. On a Saturday morning Mr. DeParrie stood with a handful of people at the intersection of Northwest Lovejoy and 25th Avenue. The Lovejoy Abortion Clinic has performed abortions since the 1970's. Mr. DeParrie and another protestor held a sign chest-high with a baby on the front. The baby's jaw has been ripped off, and the head and face are covered in blood. A 97-year-old man, Doc, sat in a lawn chair, wearing a heavy coat. He held a sign that read, "Please let your baby live. We will help you. Give him or her to us. Adoption." A man driving by rolled down his window, shook his head and gave the protestors a thumbs-down. A woman and her daughter clutched each other tightly as they walked toward the building. The girl's face was red and blotchy. The mother looked angry. "Don't kill your baby," a protestor nicknamed "The Preacher" said above the noise of the intersection. "Take some tine to think about it," The mother stopped and turned to the protestor. "You need to take some time to think about things," she said. "You need to shut up." She argued with the protestors before ushering her daughter inside. Children are not allowed inside the Lovejoy Abortion Clinic's warm, stuffy waiting room. "They say it might cause women to change their minds," a protestor said. A few people waited in the small room, some reading magazines. Two teen-age girls chattered and snickered with each other. The daughter who was outside leaned on her mother as they waited for their turn. The street preacher' voice penetrated through the glass doors just as clearly as conversation within the room. "I have a child. She is 22 days old. I would never bring her in here to be killed. You shouldn't kill your child." His voice sounded supernatural and prophetic. A woman walked toward the clinic with her boyfriend holding her tight. She looked at the protestors. She had been crying. The protestors saw a weak and pathetic smile cross her face as she entered the clinic. "She must be coming back for counseling," one of them said. "Did you see her face?" The same few protestors show up week after week. Mr. DeParrie wants to know where the Christians are. "I don't believe God would send only three out of hundreds of thousands," he said. "The church has vacated its job as a watchman like in Ezekiel chapter three. The blood of the wicked is on the watchman. We are sitting here in danger of God's judgment. Something is going to happen, and it isn't going to be pleasant. Personally, I don't want to be judged." 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