by Msgr. Noel Burtenshaw

People. The march was people. They came determined, respectful, jubilant, silent and ready. Especially, they came ready for action.

The young woman is 19. Her baby is almost one-year-old. She is separated from her husband. “The marriage was a mistake,” she said. “I was very young. But my baby is such a treasure. I’m so glad I have him. How could I or anyone else do away with such a beautiful child. That’s why I’m here. I need to say that my child and other children are wonderful.”

“I remember that my niece got pregnant when she was 16,” she continued. “Her mother wanted her to go get an abortion but she refused. Now we both look at that little baby girl and say thank God she’s alive. She could have been destroyed. God forbid.”

I decided to ask if she had come to the service and the march with her church group. “Oh no,” she calmly said. “I have no church affiliation, but I’m looking for one. I love God. I hope He loves me and His gift of children are beautiful beyond words. That’s why I’m here.”

People. The march was people.

Another excited lady is a lovely young woman who makes her way after a busy week to Midtown Hospital on Saturday mornings. “That is a strange place,” she says. “It even looks weird from the outside and I get plenty of opportunities to see the outside. I’m there each week.”

“Honest,” she continues, “we need to be there. People do come over to us and listen. I have seen girls change their minds. They’re scared, but they know they’re carrying a baby. They listen and often want to let the baby live.”

“Then, you should see the mothers bringing their little girls to that place. Just two weeks ago this lady was almost dragging her little teenage girl into Midtown while the poor thing kept saying, ‘I want my baby.’ That’s why I’m here. I want them to know that I don’t like what’s going on.”

It was people, first and last.

“I have three kids at home,” says the young father as he excused himself to show his bright colored banner to a passing motorist. The banner read Ban the Bomb – Not the Baby. “And we lost three others. Have you ever watched the beauty of children as they grow? I told my Baptist pastor I needed to be here in gratitude for my children. You know what, he told me to pick him up and he would come with me. He’s here somewhere. What’s wrong with us any way, killing children? Sometimes I can’t believe it.”

It was just people.

I met Father Clarence Biggers from the monastery. “I was delivering bread to the stores,” said the monk worried about his parked bread truck (he had left it to the watchful care of the angels). “I had to stop by and just be here for a little while.”

A reporter with a well-known television face and voice said of the march, “It was unexpected. It was a statement. Truly, it was well done.”

Young men and women adorned with red T-shirts dotted the crowd of 2,000. On their shirts were the words Atlanta Care Center. They wanted to march but they also wanted their message spoken. No pregnant woman, no matter how desperate, need make that awful, lonely decision. They would help. They wanted her call.

This march was people.

There were words of protest from the sidewalks and from balconies high above Peachtree. But for the most part, the faces on the streets were friendly, smiling and glad the march was there. Our silent walk was greeted with salutes and waves.

The march was people snaking their way down Peachtree and past Midtown Hospital. It was colorful, satisfied and witness-giving.

One young couple said it all as they headed off into their weekend. “We are so happy. Thank you for thinking it up – whoever you are.”