DECEMBER 14, 2004

The Feast of St. John of the Cross

by Pauly Fongemie

Dearest Little One:

These plain-spoken words are in honor of thee, and thy brief life on earth, who wast created by Almighty God perfectly beautiful, formed in thy mother's womb, the womb of a mother who wast so sweet and loving, who didst cherish thee more than anything. She didst love thee so much that she wanted to stay at home and do nothing but care for thee as only all good mothers wouldst like to do.

Thy precious dignity was derogated and thy earthly life snuffed out, along with thy mother's, when thou wert both preparing for thy birth, by the man who shouldst have done everything in his power to protect thee both. For this crime against humanity and most of all, against God, Who is the sole author of life and of death, he is to forfeit his freedom and his life. So spoketh twelve men and women representing you and us.

I have set up this page in honor of thee, that thy little life here below wilt not have been without magnitude in the affairs of men. I knoweth not the final disposition of babies who die before Baptism in the theological sense; in the Church, we call this state, Limbo, but I doeth know how precious innocent children are to God and how merciful He is, so I am certain with the eyes of faith that thou art enjoying at least a natural happiness and that thou knowest how loved thou art and wilt always be.

This magnitude I speak of consists of this:

Never before has our nation been sparked to react over the single death of a preborn baby who was slain whilst in his mother's womb, nestled in the arms of God Who cradles him until his mother can hold him in her own arms. Perhaps it was because in death thy mother had no arms with which to embrace thee. I am sure this was part of it.

The outrage over thy brutal killing occurred on national television before the whole world and in such a fury, whilst all around, millions of little babies, who looked just as thou didst, who wert even younger than thou wert, wert being slain, not by their fathers, but by their very mothers and with the approval of at least half of the same people who didst express their anger over thy death. And these tiny babies are tossed among garbage just as thy body wert or incinerated into dust as if they never wert. The reaction to thy killing was so immediate, immense as the ocean where thou didst lie, and unmistakable, that the only possible, rational reason for it was displacement: that is, down deep in our souls, where God speaks softly and persistenly to us, even to the most hardened and dead of souls, we know the enormity of the crimes against humanity that we doth permit by law, just as the Nazis who came before us didst and with their laws, too. Unable to admit this to our collective selves, but burdened with rightful guilt, we heaved some of the guilt and laid it all on the man who killed thee, so that he became more than just an ordinary monster, but a monster to take our places so that we do not have to face the truth staring us in thy sweet face.

The magnitude also consists in this:

The elite commentators, who set the tone for debate, who help to shape our national character in the age of the dominance of television were with almost no exception supporters, promoters, defenders of mothers, unlike like thine own, to slay the babies in their wombs, for whatever reason, hiding behind the name of "choice". Yet they are angry because thy father didst what thy mother would have been allowed to do if she had wanted to. Over and over they said that he gave thee no choice, which is certainly true, and they said this without any indication of the bitter irony and the utter moral degradation of their two-fold position.

The magnitude, moreover, consists in this:

They spoke so passionately and articulately of the betrayal of thy father, the infamy of his crime, the horrid pain he didst cause thee as thou didst fight for thy life as best as any helpless baby can, and in their eyes this justified the calling for the death of this man, no longer a mere man devoid of human compassion but a hideous fiend, unworthy of life. Yet, even as they described the torture thou didst endure in those last moments, they, to a person saw no parallel, either in fact or in law that other little babies, slain by their mothers, and who suffer the same tortures, are the same as thee, given no choice, taken from the womb or killed there, then removed, just as human as thee and just as helpless. They think that if they add an s to "he" it doth become moral and thus, legal, or legal, and thus, moral. If, he, then murder; if she, then a right under law. Yet the same baby, one and all. And that if thy murder is worthy of the death penalty, what ought to be the penalty for our moral turpitude?

I know that in thy natural happiness in the lower heavens, or beatitude if thou art in Heaven, that thou, O tiny lamb, doth knowest these things, and much more than we here below canst know. Thou wert formed by Love, for Love, and that our Creator God, the only Savior of us all, Jesus Christ, didst die by execution, He an innocent Lamb, the most innocent among men, and that whilst He hung from His Cross of pain He didst look down upon His executioners and cried out to His Heavenly Father to "forgive them, for they know not what they do."

So, little Conner, I offer thee this tribute and salute thee and use the language of prayer, plain, confident, and honest, as all prayer from the heart is. I leave eloquence to thee, in thine image in death, that this image might speak of life, the sweet sacred sanctity of the gift of life, for every baby, created by God in His Image, Who kneweth thee before He didst form thee by knitting thee in the womb, and us all: that if thy body suffers and shrinks from brutality, and the unnatural, then every little body just like thine doth as well. That if thy death is murder most foul and heinous, then every such baby who dieth at the willful hands of his father or mother, is slain by homicide, infanticide. For thou knoweth far better than I do, that a baby cannot become a non-baby just because someone in power says so, for no one canst abrogate the natural law, designed by God to safeguard the sanctity of life itself, and implanted within the heart of every man, who must wage continual war within himself to defy it.

I salute thee, precious little one, and I know that thou doth join me in saying to our Heavenly Father, "forgive them Father, for they know not what they do, forgive him, too."

May thy short life on earth become such an enormity, of such magnitude that once again every child in the womb wilt enjoy the safeguard of the law at all times. Thou wert so small, yet art so big, that the word enormity, is actually inadequate, for God doth take the humble, and the small, the lowly and the poor of spirit to teach the prideful and the big, those rich in the accolades of the world and its false spirit that the "wise" might be confounded. I salute thee, Conner Peterson, for mayeth God grant that thou wilt be the saving grace for America, once more, some day. May it be sooner than later.