‘which of these was a neighbour?’: The House of Lords vote on abortion and the need for mercy

One in three pregnancies in England and Wales ends in abortion.
And five in six of those abortions now take place in the woman’s home.

These are not abstract figures. They describe a reality in which decisions are made quietly, often under pressure, and increasingly without direct clinical care.

And into that reality, Jesus speaks a searching word:

‘Which of these three do you think was a neighbour…?’ (Luke 10:36)

who is my neighbour?

The question that prompts Jesus to tell the parable of the Good Samaritan is familiar:
‘Who is my neighbour?’ (Luke 10:29) asked the expert in the law.

This, also, is a question that presses upon us in this context.

When we meet a pregnant woman, we may find ourselves asking: which is my neighbour?  Is it the woman, or the child she carries?

Yet the difficulty is not, in truth, one of recognition. Modern imaging leaves little room for ambiguity. As healthcare professionals, we know that both are human, both are vulnerable, and both are before us.

The harder truth is this: there are two neighbours to love.

As I search my own heart, I must acknowledge that the difficulty lies not in recognition, but elsewhere. The reality, which I find uncomfortable to face, is that the call to neighbour love poses a deeper problem than neighbour recognition.

We are hesitant to name unborn children as neighbours we are called to love, fearing the cost of being seen as hostile towards women.

And we are slow to draw near to women considering abortion, because love is costly, and it is easier to stand back and leave them to bear the burden alone.

Knowledge of the law of ‘love your neighbour as yourself’ does not, in itself, resolve this. Sadly, the reality is that, left to ourselves, we are just not the kind of people who are as willing as we ought to be to draw near.

a significant shift in law and practice

Against this backdrop, the debate on the night of Wednesday, 18 March, in the House of Lords carries significant weight.

Peers voted against two amendments to the Crime and Policing Bill. Baroness Monckton’s amendment, which sought to remove the proposed decriminalisation of abortion up to birth, was defeated (185–148). Baroness Stroud’s amendment, which aimed to reinstate in-person consultations prior to at-home abortions, was also rejected (191–119).  Others have offered commentary on the debate.

Taken together, these decisions point towards a significant shift. If the Bill proceeds in its current form, abortion will be decriminalised for women in relation to their own pregnancies, while the current model of telemedical provision will continue without any requirement for in-person clinical assessment before ‘pills by post’ can be provided.

As several peers highlighted during the debate, this represents a troubling convergence: reduced legal safeguards alongside reduced clinical oversight. Law and practice, taken together, shape what we see, and also what we are willing not to see.

from exposure to helplessness

Jesus’ parable of the Good Samaritan does not simply instruct us; it exposes us. (Read it in Luke 10:25-37 to remind yourself of Jesus’ words.)

We, by nature, though well equipped to recognise a neighbour, are those who pass by. Knowledge alone does not move us. It does not overcome our hesitancy, our fear of involvement, our instinct to keep a safe distance.

The problem is not that we do not know who we are called to love.
The problem is that we are not the kind of people who do it.

And so, Jesus’ parable ought to leave us not simply challenged, but troubled.

the Good Samaritan we need

At this point, we must read the parable again, but differently.

The man in the ditch is not only someone we are called to help. He is us.

Beaten, stripped, and left half-dead, he is the epitome of someone unable to rescue himself. This man lies entirely dependent on the mercy of another.

And this is where the gospel meets us.

For Jesus does not only tell us the story of a Good Samaritan.
He becomes the Good Samaritan for us.

He is the one who sees us in our helplessness and draws near.
He does not pass by.
He binds up our wounds.
He bears the cost.
He brings us to a place of safety and commits himself to our ongoing restoration.

Our ‘expertise’ in God’s law exposes our failure to love, and Christ meets us in it.  (Perhaps read Luke 10:25-37 again reflecting on Jesus as your Good Samaritan.)

made new to love

But Christ does not leave us where he finds us.

United to him, we find that we are both forgiven and made new. The same mercy that rescued us begins to reshape us. What the law could not produce, the gospel begins to form: a people who, in Christ, are increasingly able to love their neighbour.

This is Christ’s slow but sure work of sanctification. The Spirit is conforming us to Christ, so that his mercy will increasingly be seen in our own.

And so, the question shifts.

Not simply: what must I do?
But: who am I becoming, in Christ?

returning to the road

Only then can we return to the road where the wounded lie.

To the women in crisis.
To the children who cannot speak for themselves.
To situations we would once have avoided.

Not because we have mastered the law, but because we have been met by mercy.

a call to repentance and to action

This moment calls for more than analysis. It calls for repentance.

Where have we passed by?
When have we preferred not to see to avoid having to act or speak?
Where have we been content with distance, where love required us to draw near?

And it calls for action shaped by the mercy we have received.

That will include:

• speaking clearly where clinical realities are obscured or denied,
• advocating for safeguards that protect vulnerable women and recognise the reality of the unborn child,
• pointing to Christ, full of healing mercy, including for all who have failed in their duty of love towards unborn neighbours,
• and ensuring that women in crisis have access to compassionate, practical, and life-affirming care.

At a time when legal change and clinical provision are moving together in ways that raise significant concern, the need is not only for better arguments, but for renewed hearts.

Jesus’ command remains:

‘Go and do likewise.’ (Luke 10:37)

But we can only begin to obey as those who have first been found, bound up, and restored by him.

Lord, have mercy on us.

Have mercy on us where we have seen and passed by.
Have mercy on us where fear, comfort, or reputation have kept us at a distance.
Have mercy on us where we have failed to love either pregnant women or the children they carry.

And having shown us mercy, send us out in the power of your Spirit

to draw near where others turn away,
to speak truth where it is obscured,
to bear costly love where it is needed,
and to become, in Christ, a people who do not pass by.