My First Day at the Mill

Pensacola's Abortion Mill

It was October 11^th 2013, the first day I would be standing outside of an abortion clinic, praying, offering one last prayer for the baby before abortion, and the first prayer for healing for the women coming out of the clinic. It was going to be a beautiful, warm Northwest Florida day.

            I had secured the entire day off from work to stand outside the clinic as that day was to be my church’s dedicated day to prayer, but because of some miscues and assumptions the day was not promoted. Fearing no one would be there, I decided I would be there. I dropped my son off at school and started making the drive, not knowing exactly what I was getting in to. I was excited and nervous. As I got within a couple of miles of the mill, my prayers became more intense as did the knots in my stomach. Not only was I standing outside the clinic for the first time, it was also an abortion day. Our mill performs abortions two days a week. I was unsure how I would handle everything that would be happening in that building.

       I pulled into the parking lot and made the short walk down the hill. I immediately met a man about my age walking the other direction from me. We shook hands recognizing we were in the same battle—the passing of the baton if you will. I saw a lot of smiling faces. I turned, faced the building, and started praying. After a few minutes, people mingled around and I was able to meet and learn the names of several people and hear their stories.

            Inevitably this question arose, “What parish do you belong to?” And I would reply with, “Well, I actually go to a Baptist church in Milton.” Then there was an assortment of responses. There was the disappointed, “Oh.” And sometimes there was an occasional wrinkling of the forehead and quick subject change. One very committed and faithful gentleman began to proselytize me to the Catholic faith on the spot with encouraging words like, “When you get serious about looking into your faith you’ll find that Catholicism is a wonderful religion.” Most of the time the conversations turned awkward, so much so that I quickly added, “But I’m the maintenance man at Little Flower Catholic School and I really like Father Casserly.”

             Most of the time I was treated with respect, but with a good helping of “You haven’t really thought this through, have you?” Actually, I have thought this through. My relationship with Jesus Christ is not expressed through religious practices but personal devotion. I’m Baptist not because I was raised Baptist (which I wasn’t), but my well researched and thought out beliefs align more closely with the Southern Baptist doctrinal and belief statements than with any other denomination I have been a part of. I wanted to say, “As passionate as you are about being Catholic, I’m equally passionate about being Baptist,” but I didn’t. I wasn’t there to evangelize, or to apologize. So I politely nodded and agreed with them on the points I could and remained silent on the issues I disagreed with. Besides everyone was so pleasant, and we had one cause that bound us.

            As it turns out I had missed all of the workers and patients going in, so much of what I did, besides pray, was ask anyone and everyone, “Who’s that? What’s their story? Is that the security guard? Is that the abortionist?” I never said a word to anyone on their side. I politely waved to cars going in and out, simply because it’s hard to hate someone that is waving politely to you. I did get flipped off by one post-abortive woman. I really paid the price there. Suffering for Jesus.

            I was settling in for the whole day. I had a chair, my Bible on my iPhone, and a drink. I also had company most of the day with a person or two faithfully coming every hour. One woman approached me and said, “I’m about to pray the rosary. Would you like to pray with me?”

            “No, Ma’am. I’m Baptist.”

            “Well you could still pray it. Would you like me to teach you?”

            “No, Ma’am. I’m fine.”

            “It’s a beautiful prayer.”

My New Rosary

            “Yes, I’m very familiar with the rosary.”

And the directions to said Rosary

            At the end of the hour a friend of hers showed up. They were talking across the driveway. The first lady leaves. The second settles in for her prayer time. At the end of that hour she stood up, walked up to me and said, “(So and so) said you didn’t know how to pray the rosary. Would you like me to pray it with you?”

            “No, Ma’am. I’m Baptist. I’m just reading my Bible and praying.”

            “Well, here’s a rosary for you and directions on how to pray the Pro-Life rosary.”

            “Thank you, Ma’am.”

            I write all of this in good fun. I’m firm in my beliefs as a Protestant, but the reality is that I’m embarrassed. There is a Baptist church on every street corner here in the south. That’s just the Baptists. That’s not including Pentecostal, Methodist, Lutheran, Anglican and Presbyterian churches. Where are you? Protestants are the mainstream religious affiliation in the south and yet we make up so little in the battle for Life.

            I was listening to Alistair Begg this morning preach on Jonah. The passage brought new meaning to me today. Jonah 1:5 Then the mariners were afraid, and each cried out to his god. And they hurled the cargo that was in the ship into the sea to lighten it for them. But Jonah had gone down into the inner part of the ship and had lain down and was fast asleep. These pagan and unbelieving sailors were afraid, crying out, and looking for answers. The only one who had the answer was asleep. As Christian we have the answer to all of life’s problems, but are we asleep? I’m watching the Catholics get involved, and wondering when will my Protestant brothers and sisters wake up?

            My name is Adam Koppin, and I am the 1%...or the token Baptist. I answer to both.