Day of Prayer for the Legal Protection of Unborn Children

He Would Not Turn Them Away

So notice what we just heard.

Mark tells us that crowds came to Jesus from everywhere—
Galilee, Judea, Jerusalem, even beyond the borders.
And they weren’t coming because life was easy.
They were coming because they were wounded, sick, struggling, desperate.

And then Mark says something simple but striking:

“He healed many… and whenever the unclean spirits saw him, they fell down before him.”

Jesus doesn’t retreat from the crowds.
He doesn’t sort them out.
He doesn’t decide who is worthy of His time.

He lets them come.

That’s an important Gospel for today, as we observe the Day of Prayer for the Legal Protection of Unborn Children.

Because at the heart of this day isn’t politics.
It’s not slogans.
It’s not arguments.

It’s this: Who is allowed to come to Jesus?
And who is protected when they cannot speak for themselves?

In the Gospel, people bring to Jesus those who cannot heal themselves.
They bring the weak, the sick, the possessed, the ones with no power.

And Jesus does not turn them away.

That’s always been the instinct of the Church.
To stand closest to those who are smallest, most vulnerable, and most easily ignored.

The unborn child fits that description perfectly.

No voice.
No visibility.
No power.
Completely dependent on others to decide whether they are protected or discarded.

And the Gospel today quietly asks us:
Would Jesus say, “You are not my concern”?
Would He say, “You are too small, too hidden, too inconvenient”?

Of course not.

He lets them come.

St. John Paul II once wrote words that still cut straight to the heart:

“The value of life does not depend on usefulness, strength, or productivity, but on the simple fact of being human.”

Not on age.
Not on health.
Not on whether someone is wanted or planned.

Just on being human.

That’s why this day is first and foremost a day of prayer.

Because this is not only a legal issue.
It’s a spiritual one.

It’s about how we see the human person.
It’s about whether we believe every life is gift—or only some lives.
It’s about whether our compassion has limits.

And it’s also about us.

Because the temptation is to think: This is about “out there.”
Laws, courts, systems, culture.

But the Gospel always turns the question inward.

Do I make room for the vulnerable in my own heart?
Do I protect life when it’s inconvenient, messy, or complicated?
Do I see every human person as someone Christ wants to touch?

The crowds pressed in on Jesus because they sensed something:
In Him, no one was disposable.
No one was invisible.
No one was beyond His concern.

That’s the vision the Church holds up today.

Not anger.
Not fear.
But a quiet, stubborn commitment to life.

To pray.
To witness.
To serve.
To protect those who cannot protect themselves.

Because in the end, this day isn’t about winning arguments.

It’s about standing where Jesus always stands:
right next to the smallest ones, and saying with our lives,

“You may be unseen by the world, but you are never unseen by God.”