Austin church band played on amid sea of orange protestors

AUSTIN—The wide spiritual and ideological chasm dividing those on opposing sides of the Texas abortion debate was uncomfortably evident at the close of a pro-life rally on July 8 that drew an estimated 2,000 pro-lifers and, by one media account, about 1,000 pro-choice activists.

The sprawling pro-life crowd, mostly dressed in blue to signify their pro-life stance, was packed in tightly towards the south steps of the Capitol, where former Arkansas governor and 2008 GOP presidential candidate Mike Huckabee headlined a group of pro-life activists, politicians and pastors.

The rally went an hour and a half, ending around 8:30 p.m. After the closing prayer, led by Jim Richards, executive director of the Southern Baptists of Texas Convention, many in the crowd headed for nearby buses while others spread out around the Capitol grounds to fellowship or just take in the moment. A smaller group gathered closer to the Capitol steps to hear the praise band from Bannockburn Baptist Church in Austin. Some bystanders raised hands in praise or dropped their heads in worship.

But what they didn’t see moving toward them from behind they soon heard and saw around them: An orange sea of pro-choice activists who had pressed forward to the front of the crowd after the blue shirts had spread out, only stopping at the barrier made up of Department of Public Safety troopers.

Based on the climate at the Capitol in recent weeks over  abortion legislation that finally passed through the Legislature on July 12, Joseph Bolin thought this might happen. He had even planned for it.

The pro-choicers’ chants and signs—some with vulgar slogans—defied the affirmations of the pro-life messages that evening. But the band played on according to plan.

“Everyone needs compassion, love that’s never failing; let mercy fall on me …”

The blue clad pro-life activists, many of them with signs citing Scripture and mentions of God, tried not to bat an eye as the orange army—by now quite numerous in the vicinity near the band—rallied for attention.

The pro-lifers sang louder, hands raised in worship. In turn, the pro-choicers shouted in vain to drown out the Bannockburn band.

Still, Bolin and his band played, fighting through the tense moments with a redeeming message.

“Everyone needs forgiveness, the kindness of a Savior; the Hope of nations …”

As the blue shirts continued singing, abortion activists took it up a notch.

Out of the orange sea a cart appeared, wired with a range of colored lights and its own reverberating speakers and thumping bass. The sideshow was on.

For a few moments, the flashing cart became the grand marshal for an impromptu parade of pro-choice demonstrators who were forming behind it. What was emanating from the speakers was indistinguishable over the sound of the praise band and worshipers’ singing. But the sign atop the structure—raised on a standard above everyone’s heads—was clearly visible.

“This machine kills fascists!” was the handwritten message in black on a white background.

Several weeks before, Lt. Gov. David Dewhurst had told the National Right Life Convention meeting in Dallas: “We’re not exactly in a polite conversation with our opponents who don’t believe in the sanctity of life. Instead, we’re in the midst of an epic struggle for the very future of this state, this nation and our civilization.”

The moments following the rally lent validity to Dewhurst’s statement.

“It was a salient moment of spiritual warfare,” said Bolin, Bannockburn Baptist’s worship pastor. “It was very illustrative of the cultural divide in our nation and the spiritual divide as well.”

As Bolin watched two worlds collide he noted the demeanor of both.

“I was proud of our people,” he said. “There was a lot of hatred that seemed to be spewing from the pro-choice group. [The worshipers] did not engage in the heckling.”

Throughout the evening speakers, including Huckabee, repeatedly addressed the inherent value of all humanity, explicitly noting the worth of abortion-rights advocates who were skirting the edges of the rally.

Dewhurst spoke directly to the pro-choice activists who were shouting out occasional taunts.

“We love you,” he said to cheers of approval from the pro-life crowd.

“As Christians we love you as much as we love that unborn baby.”

But in the end, the messages seemed lost on those whose passion for abortion rights spilled over into contempt for pro-life activists and the God they represented. Their attempts to drown out the singing with shouts and chants failed.

“Not the church. Not the state. Women must decide our fate!” shouted the angry faction.

The signs also declared their defiance.

“My body. My choice,” read some. Others were obviously meant to shock the churchy crowd, including many that were sexually explicit or otherwise obscene.

The pro-choicers continued to push into the rally crowd; their chants of “We won’t go back” became a counter melody to the band’s worship music.

The DPS troopers, whose presence at the Capitol was multiplied during the second special legislative session, urged the praise team to leave as quickly as possible.

Bolin said he intentionally chose songs such as “Mighty to Save” that speak of God’s love, power and ability to change situations, knowing the clash of blue and orange was probable.

“Our goal was to send that message to whoever was listening,” he said.

“God’s Word does not return void.”