George Tiller was shot to death while serving at his church last week. It's bad enough to be killed in a house of worship, but it's even worse when your death gets lost amid the neverending debate about the ethics of abortion.
Tiller left behind a wife, four children, and some grandchildren. To them, he was Husband, Dad, Grandpa. He wasn't the infamous late-term abortionist whose very existence was a lightning rod for heated dissent.
He wasn't the man who, on one hand, served his Lutheran church faithfully for years while making a living terminating pregnancies well up into the ninth month.
He wasn't the man who, upon being wounded in both arms once before, vowed to continue his practice, cloaking it in the guise of helping women.
He also wasn't the man who singlehandedly had enough clout to bring about an end to society's acceptance of late-term abortion but never saw fit to try.
Some critics of Tiller's critics said that messages of condolence espousing a genuine respect for all life -- even Tiller's -- were insincere and that secretly they were glad he was gone.
I'm not sure "glad" would be the right word. Perhaps relieved?
Tiller committed no provable crime according to the laws of his state or the federal government so I can't support his murder, nor can I agree that depriving his children and grandchildren of his companionship is acceptable.
But Tiller did commit moral crimes, hundreds of them, and I'm not surprised it finally caught up with him.
Some would call it bad karma. Others would eschew such a supernatural law.
Me, I call it going out on a limb one too many times. Eventually it breaks and brings you down with it.
Tiller had choices. He just didn't make a good one.
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