During our family’s first time through Andrew Peterson’s four-book series The Wingfeather Saga, I found myself carefully paying attention to one person more than any other: Nia Wingfeather. By the time we were rereading the series for the third and fourth times, I had to resist the urge to take notes on this courageous and queenly (albeit imperfect) mother. Her womanly valor, her fearless sacrifices, and her ability to bring out the best in men have spurred me on in my own callings as wife and mother.

Bravery in the Kitchen

For the uninitiated, Peterson’s saga traces the unforgettable Wingfeather family, particularly the three children, as they run from the Fangs of Dang, from the Overseer of the Fork Factory, and worst of all, from Gnag the Nameless.

We get one early glimpse of Nia’s savvy courage when she is faced with the capture of her son by the wicked Fangs of Dang — cursed creatures, men who have willingly been transformed into wretched beasts. In their twisted existence, their appetites are insatiable, but not for good food, only for all that is rotting and putrid. Nia negotiates the release of her son: “I told him I could cook the finest maggotloaf in the four seas and that if he let you go, I’d cook it for him every third day of the week once the meat had plenty of time to fester” (On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness, 68).

Her quick thinking reminds me of women like Jael, who lures her enemy in, gives him milk, and covers him with a blanket before crushing him — or Abigail, who brings enough food for an army, accompanied by her own gracious words, to calm David and divert him from violence. Nia, though fictional, shows us a particularly feminine kind of think-on-your-feet bravery. She acts on behalf of her child, but she does not confront danger directly (for she would have surely lost); instead, she comes at the problem creatively. She proceeds to make the aforementioned maggotloaf to satiate the appetite and the anger of the Fangs.

This type of feminine bravery is quite different from the bossy, brash, beat-up-the-boys counterfeit we see in so many movies today. Nia is a brave woman — not a manly woman — and she solves problems accordingly.

Fearless in Sacrifice

Later in the saga, Nia’s second son has undergone the same sort of horrible transformation that the Fangs had. He is a beast, but still a boy. With her husband assumed dead, her life centers on helping her son become the man he should be, despite this irreversible change. When the people of the Hollows wish to cast her son out, she invokes Turalay, the law of pardon in the Green Hollows, and is warned, “You hold your life forfeit for his, and should he break the life laws of the Green Hollows, from this day forward, it is not only his blood that will be shed, but yours” (The Monster in the Hollows, 67–68)

“A mother’s willing release can put steel in the spine of young men.”

On the surface, we may think she is confident simply that her son will somehow overcome his beastly reality, that she knows all will be well. But Nia’s trust is deeper. She trusts her Maker, even if her son were to do the unthinkable and break the life laws of the Hollows. She binds her fate to her son because she trusts her Maker’s purposes and does not fear death. And in tying her life to his, she strengthens his weak frame and plants seeds of hope in his heart.

Multiplying the Courage of Men

If there is one visceral driving force in mothers, it is the desire to nurture and protect. This natural, God-given instinct, however, can give way to fear-soaked overprotection. “Safety first!” can undergird almost every decision mothers make. Nia, however, taps into a rare feminine virtue — the cheerful willingness to forsake safety now for the better hope of raising courageous future men.

As Nia’s oldest son nears his thirteenth birthday, he approaches a rite of passage for boys called the “blindplop.” After being stuffed full of food on his birthday, he is left alone, deep in the woods, in the middle of the night. His guild master leaves him his pack and a letter saying,

No one is watching over you, ready to rescue you as soon as things get difficult. . . . That means you’re on your own. Of course, if you don’t show up at Ban Rona for a week or so, we’ll send out a search party to bring you home, though there probably won’t be much of you left. Your mother grew up here; she knows how it works, and she’s given me her full permission. I expected to have to talk her into the blindplop, but she agreed without hesitation. That should make you feel some pride, boy. (The Warden and the Wolf King, 20)

A mother’s willing release can put steel in the spine of young men. When a mother confidently blesses her son’s launch into the world — whether in small matters, like persevering in hard work, or in large changes, like moving far away, independent of her — her blessing is like a current of wind that pushes his sails farther and faster and straighter than he would have otherwise gone. But when mothers coddle and hover, doing all they can to keep sons from any whiff of danger or failure or pain, they nurture vice rather than virtue.

Strong Men and Their Fearless Wives

Yet it isn’t just sons who are bolstered by the appropriate confidence of their mothers. Husbands, too, can be inspired by the trust and assurance of their wives. Nia’s husband, Esben, is mortally wounded after a heroic effort to stand between the Fangs and his family. Yet even as his blood pools around him, and he begins to sink to the ground, she issues an urgent but steadfast reminder not to give in to death — not yet. “Our children need you, my king” (The Monster in the Hollows, 332). And he rouses himself once more to do what seemed impossible, to do what she could not do — to rescue their children from the enemy at the cost of his life. Her words beckon his courage.

A woman’s respect multiplies the courage of men, not with manipulation or fear, but with loyalty, hope, and abiding trust. To be a woman of valor is to be a woman who is free — free from the chains of fear because her security is fixed in her Maker. And it is free, fearless women who are best equipped to call forth and inspire the masculine strength and courage of Christ in the godly men around them. The world desperately needs such men — and such women.

Thirty-five years ago, as I was pastoring a small church in Boston and seeing the temptations and struggles facing my people, I felt an urgent need to gather the church and openly address the topic of abortion. What is it? What in the Bible ought to inform our views? How should we respond? By God’s grace, the gathering proved exceedingly helpful.

Yet now, in this post-Roe era, addressing abortion in the context of the church seems more urgent than ever before. Indeed, I’m convinced pastoral leadership is one of the greatest needs in today’s pro-life movement. Let me explain why — and along the way, let me also commend a book that models such leadership remarkably well.

Back to the States

Instead of ending the battle decisively by affirming the equal rights of all people, born and unborn, the Dobbs decision turned the moral question of abortion back to the people for each state to decide. The Supreme Court could have — and in my view, should have — abolished abortion with the same logic and under the same amendment that abolished slavery.

The Fourteenth Amendment declares that no state shall “deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws.” If the unborn are human, then they are persons, with God-given rights that cannot be justly denied or passively accepted when denied. It falls to us to “defend the rights of the poor and needy” (Proverbs 31:9).

In our nation, however, the just powers of the government derive from the consent of the governed. The court most likely believed that by defining abortion as a moral question and turning it back to the states, they had gone as far as they could to maintain the “consent” of the governed.

Urgent Times

Of the seven states that have voted on the question already, all seven decided to expand abortion rights. Last fall, the citizens of Ohio voted overwhelmingly to amend the state constitution to secure abortion rights. In our form of government, that decision represents as permanent a loss for the cause of life as is possible.

Pro-life advocates like myself feel a sense of urgency — but abortion advocates do too. They have put unlimited abortion on the 2024 ballot in eleven more states. True, they have a few thousand pesky pro-life voices to contend with.

If there is one data point that highlights the urgent need for church leaders to address abortion, it is this: exit polls in Ohio showed that, among those who identified as believing that “life begins at conception,” 30 percent voted for the abortion-rights amendment. That kind of moral befuddlement exists when Christians are not clear on what they believe and how to live it out. Which brings me to the online book Abortion and the Church.

Exposing Works of Darkness

This book was written by a committee of pastors and elders of the Evangel Presbytery. I commend it to those looking to lead well on abortion for two main reasons.

First, the book’s explanation of medical issues (based on published research), along with the historical developments surrounding them, is exceptional. Second, the fact that the book was written not by pro-life activists like me, but by trusted and authorized pastors, makes it especially commendable as an example for Christian leaders. The result is a serious book about the assault on the sanctity of human life in our time, all communicated in the voice of local-church overseers. The book calls for repentance at times and forbearance at other times; it warns and summons, condemns and offers grace.

I admit that some parts of the book give me pause. But the confusion of some pastors on the great bioethical abominations of our times alarms me far more. “Take no part in the unfruitful works of darkness,” the apostle Paul says, “but instead expose them” (Ephesians 5:11). If you are looking for an example of what such exposing looks like, I recommend Abortion and the Church. These pastors expose the multifaceted war against the intrinsic, equal, exceptional, and eternal value of human life today, and strive to help the church to do bioethics — to weigh right and wrong (ethics) in matters of human life (bio). They call us to know the will of God and to take no part in the works of darkness, no matter how hidden.

Pastoral Bioethics

More broadly, this generation faces extraordinary choices regarding birth control, chemical and surgical abortion, and infertility treatments such as in vitro fertilization (IVF). We need accurate explanations as to the treatment processes and associated risks. Often, the ethical issues involved are not only avoided by the abortion and infertility industry; they are also hidden. Moreover, people willing to pay large sums to get rid of a baby or to obtain a baby usually do not ask many ethical questions. The result is a conspiracy of silence in the destruction of the unborn.

Consider a few of the many questions needing thoughtful pastoral answers. Is abortion really just one issue among many in our day, or is it a preeminent moral crisis? Do intrauterine devices (IUD) and hormonal contraception ever work to prevent an embryo (a human being in the first few days of life) from implanting safely in the womb? What in the Bible should inform my desire to avoid children?

Is IVF a God-pleasing response to the pain of my infertility, or is it morally wrong? What happens to all those human embryos that are created in the IVF process and left frozen in the fridge? If vaccines are produced from unborn babies’ body parts, do I share in the guilt by getting the vaccine? Should a church split over differences of opinion here? In these self-expressive times, when feelings often replace moral truth, and when so many in society say yes, when does God say no?

Pastors and other church leaders who address such questions serve their people well.

What Normal Christians Need

Fifty years of legal and accessible abortion have led to hundreds of books and thousands of articles on the injustice of abortion and on natural rights, pro-life apologetics, crisis intervention, law, and more. I have written four books myself. So, what could another book possibly say to add to our understanding of these matters? After reading Abortion and the Church, I realized that this is the wrong question.

What these pastors understand is that their people, those under their care as overseers, need to hear from them far more than from someone like me. It matters who says what! For most Christians, the most influential voices are still the known and trusted leaders appointed to oversee the body of Christ. If the average Christian were to speak, I suspect he would sound like this: “You are the leader I have chosen to submit my soul to week after week. I trust your judgment more than others’. What do you think? What are the deeds of darkness in these times that we ought to take no part in?”

Unsettling Assumptions

Right before I started seminary in 1978, I got married. Almost as if it were required for newlyweds, my wife and I decided she would start using “the pill.” A few weeks into married life and biblical studies, however, my wife started asking questions. “Why are we doing this? What does God think about contraception? And by the way, I feel different. What are the side effects of the pill?”

I was shocked. In my young Christian life, I earnestly desired to bring Christ into every part of my life. I was training myself to ask of every topic, “What in the Bible ought to shape my views and actions on the matter?” But when it came to contraception, we started using the pill without asking a single question. I was conformed to this world’s expectations for newlyweds without a contrarian consideration. My wife’s troubled conscience and health questions stirred me. What did I do? I turned to the pastors in my church, whom I trusted for advice. “What do you say? Can you help me think this through from God’s perspective?”

Pastor, you may not feel all that influential. Your platform may be small. But you are a trusted authority to those under your care. Find solid texts. Prepare your thoughts prayerfully. Muster some courage. And rise up in these urgent times to teach on abortion and the church.

One afternoon this summer, my 6-year-old came running through the house to find me. His eyes were wild with excitement. “Dad, you’ve got to come look — right now. Come look, come look, come look! Hurry, you’re going to miss it!”

We raced back to the living room, to the big window looking out over our backyard. From the day we moved in, that window has been our favorite room in the house. My son’s eyes searched one of the trees, searching and searching, and then he saw it again. “Dad, there! There! Do you see it? Do you see it?” And I did. Probably 25 feet up in one of our tallest trees was the backside of a big raccoon, comfortably perched out on one of the branches.

I mean, at first, we assumed it was a raccoon (too big to be a squirrel, too small to be a bear, too fat and furry to be a bird). We sat transfixed, watching that rear end — waiting for the animal to eat, or climb, or fall, or even just scratch an itch. Then it moved. Its tail swung down where we could see it, with its trademark black and gray stripes. “Dad, its tail! It is a raccoon!”

As I looked in my son’s eyes — and there was so much in those eyes — I saw a wisdom I once had and now sometimes struggle to remember. For that moment, he was my teacher, and I was his son.

Monotony or Creativity?

For the “mature” like me, raccoons are almost immediately a nuisance. They make homes under porches and climb down into chimneys. They tear away shingles and break holes in walls. When we see them, we reach for the phone to pay someone to come and remove them. Within a business day, if possible.

When my children see a raccoon, they see an entirely different creature. They’re not worried at all about the structural integrity of porches or the possibility of a four-legged home invasion. To them, animal control may as well be the KGB (just watch any animated movie with animal control workers). No, when they see a raccoon, it may as well be a triceratops. They don’t see problems; they see curiosities. They ask questions (lots of them): Where did he get his stripes? Why is he sleeping during the day? Does he have any friends? Can I pet him? We see trouble; they see beauty. We see monotony; they see creativity. We see a nuisance; they see a story.

Oh, how much we might learn from them, how much more we might see through their eyes. G.K. Chesterton writes,

Children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. They always say, “Do it again”; and the grown-up person does it again until he is nearly dead. For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony. (Orthodoxy, 81)

What 6-Year-Olds See

I recently felt my flabby imagination when our family went to pick KinderKrisp apples at a local orchard. Having tasted apples every week of their lives, it was our children’s first chance to actually grab one from a tree.

You could see their minds spinning, trying to connect the dots — they knew both apples and trees, but could not imagine them holding hands like this. They stared up in amazement as branches like the ones they’ve found in our front yard now reached out, wrapped in bright green cardigans, and nearly handed them the juicy red fruit. And, of course, they tasted better than any we ever bought from one of those bins at the store.

“God made a world even God could admire.”

To our shame, my wife and I weren’t connecting dots anymore. We were just trying to keep our kids from throwing apples at each other or bothering the innocent bystanders filling bags around us. So which of us saw the actual reality of the orchard? Who saw the apples as they really are — the 6-year-old or the 36-year-old? Chesterton weighs in,

When we are asked why eggs turn to birds or fruits fall in autumn, we must answer exactly as the fairy godmother would answer if Cinderella asked her why mice turned to horses or her clothes fell from her at twelve o’clock. We must answer that it is magic. . . . The only words that ever satisfied me as describing Nature are the terms used in the fairy books, “charm,” “spell,” “enchantment.” They express the arbitrariness of the fact and its mystery. A tree grows fruit because it is a magic tree. Water runs downhill because it is bewitched. The sun shines because it is bewitched. (71–72)

Our decades-long familiarity with this magic doesn’t make creation any less magical.

That we’ve watched God do his magic over and over and over again, doesn’t make it less miraculous. That we can begin to predict what will happen — birds from eggs, apples from trees, rainbows from storms — doesn’t suddenly render any of it “natural.” As much as modern science might have us think otherwise, nothing in all of creation is on autopilot. No, the Son of God “upholds the universe,” every apple of every kind in every orchard, “by the word of his power” (Hebrews 1:3) — even the ones in those store-bought bins.

God Has Not Grown Old

In this way, our cute, “naïve” children are our theology professors. Watch as Chesterton traces a typical boy’s imagination into heaven:

Grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony. But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony. It is possible that God says every morning, “Do it again” to the sun; and every evening, “Do it again” to the moon. It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them. It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we. The repetition in Nature may not be a mere recurrence; it may be a theatrical encore. (81–82)

Don’t believe him? Then let God tell you in his own words:

God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light. And God saw that the light was good. . . . God called the dry land Earth, and the waters that were gathered together he called Seas. And God saw that it was good. . . . And God saw that it was good. . . . And God saw that it was good. . . . And God saw everything that he had made, and behold, it was very good. (Genesis 1:3–31)

God made a world even God could admire. And we only assume he eventually got bored with it all because we’re not him, because we don’t see this world like he does — because we assume he’s like us.

“Give yourself some space to be curious again, to ask the questions you haven’t asked in decades.”

If you understand what Chesterton’s saying, you can’t see a sunset the same. It’s even more stunning when you realize (as a pastor once showed me) that God not only paints a new sunset for us every 24 hours, but that as the world spins, he’s always painting sunsets. He never puts the brush down. Somewhere in the world, right now, he’s ushering the sun below the horizon again, conducting her slowly with his brush, mixing in oranges, purples, and blues.

And as he does, his heart soars over what he sees. Because when it comes to sunsets, God is more my son than he is me.

Remember That You Forget

This dulling dynamic in adults is rooted in a subtle but dangerous forgetfulness. Chesterton warns us that, in the end, all of this is really not about raccoons, apples, and sunsets:

We have all forgotten what we really are. All that we call common sense and rationality and practicality and positivism only means that for certain dead levels of our life we forget that we have forgotten. All that we call spirit and art and ecstasy only means that for one awful instant we remember that we forgot. (74)

Have you been lulled into forgetfulness? Have you even forgotten that you’ve forgotten? Have the cares of the world and the deceitfulness of riches and the desires for other things slowly choked out your ability for awe and wonder? Then find an orchard or a local park. Go outside at dusk. Take that walk you’ve wanted to take. Be on the lookout for the bunnies, squirrels, birds, and bugs you’ve trained yourself to ignore. Give yourself some space to be curious again, to ask the questions you haven’t asked in decades.

And if you happen to have one, take a 6-year-old with you.