The Collision of Miscarriage and Materialism
Originally written April 2022.
Several years ago, my wife and I experienced the joyful surprise of a faint—but unmistakably positive—pregnancy test. Though initially caught off guard, our excitement quickly grew as test after test confirmed the news, and my wife's morning sickness emerged as a clear sign of the life forming within her. We had been hoping to start a family for months, and the prospect of our future together—no longer just the two of us—filled our hearts with anticipation.
But that bright hope was soon eclipsed by what would become one of the most difficult seasons in our marriage. Weeks later, we suffered the miscarriage of our first child.
Words fail to capture the confusion, disbelief, and bitterness that surrounded those days. When symptoms first began, I was in denial, grasping for any medical explanation that would rule out miscarriage. But as evidence mounted, my defenses crumbled. I pleaded with God—bargaining in desperation for an outcome that would turn back the clock or reveal this as some kind of nightmare. Even after our doctor gave us the unmistakable diagnosis, I still hoped it would be reversed the next morning.
But inevitably, reality settled in. God had decided to delay our entrance into parenthood, and we were forced to lay to rest not only our future plans, but the tiny, tangible life we had hoped to welcome into the world.
This was, without question, one of the most painful trials of our marriage. Yet it became a crucible for deep reflection—especially on the theological truth of the sanctity of life. While we had always believed life begins at conception, our personal loss made that conviction visceral. We were no longer discussing a concept—we were mourning a child.
As a Reformed Christian, I had long affirmed the biblical teaching that God forms life in the womb (Psalm 139; Exodus 21). That had never been a matter of debate. But what struck me during this miscarriage was how countercultural my grief had become. In a world that champions “choice,” the loss of a child in the womb is not universally regarded as a tragedy. For millions, the deliberate termination of unborn life is not a cause for mourning—but for relief.
The pro-choice movement, at its core, is rebellion against the image of God in humanity. While its messaging is simple, its philosophical foundations are deeply complex—and often incoherent. When Chrissy Teigen publicly mourned her miscarriage, Planned Parenthood offered condolences, all while continuing to end countless lives through its services. This contradiction is just one of many. But for the sake of clarity, I want to highlight two key forces I believe are fueling this cultural trend.
1. The Death of Metaphysics
The first is a progressive detachment from metaphysical value. Materialism and naturalism—dominant ideologies in modern thought—assert that only physical entities exist. Under this view, concepts like dignity, value, and worth are not intrinsic, but mere byproducts of biology or social consensus.
This shift is reflected in how we now frame debates about abortion. The question is rarely, “When does life begin?” but instead, “When does life become a person?” This distinction is critical. If human dignity depends on societal recognition or physical development, it becomes negotiable. But Scripture teaches that value is conferred by the Creator at conception. Man is not a cosmic accident; he is made in the image of God.
Materialism has unraveled this truth. According to its framework, man is nothing more than evolved matter—destined for extinction and void of any soul or essence. Assigning dignity to such a being is, at best, wishful thinking. And once dignity is stripped away, personhood becomes a subjective category, debated on pragmatic or utilitarian grounds.
This worldview becomes most jarring when viewed through the lens of abortion itself. Fetuses, dismissed as "clumps of cells," are discarded in medical waste. At the Washington Surgi-Clinic in D.C., aborted children were found stored in biohazard containers—an act devoid of the ceremonial respect that even secular society once reserved for the dead.
After our miscarriage, my wife asked me if I wanted to see the body of our child. I hesitated—not out of fear, but out of uncertainty. Would I still feel the same grief if our child didn’t look like the typical images we associate with infants? But when I saw the tiny form—no bigger than a tangerine—I wept. That small, fragile being was someone. My grief didn’t require scientific validation or philosophical justification. It was instinctual. It was real.
Yet our culture tells us that such a death is not only permissible, but sometimes praiseworthy.
2. The Rise of Self-Interest as the Highest Good
The second force is the ascendancy of self-interest as the supreme moral compass. In today’s climate, pragmatism and utilitarianism dominate ethical reasoning. If something "works," it's assumed to be good. If it brings the greatest happiness to the greatest number, it's justified.
But who defines what "works"? Who determines what "happiness" even means?
Greg Bahnsen, in The Impossibility of the Contrary, critiques utilitarian ethics for begging the very question they claim to answer:
“You could only know if it was good if the end that is mentioned is itself good. … [They] always say that good is what achieves a particular goal … but that’s the very thing that has to be defended.”
Our culture assumes that personal happiness is the highest good, even if it means sacrificing others. Actress Jameela Jamil once said of her own abortion:
“It was the best decision I have ever made. Both for me, and for the baby I didn't want … emotionally, psychologically, and financially.”
Such sentiments cloak themselves in language of “women’s health” and “reproductive justice,” but they amount to celebrating self-interest at the expense of innocent life.
Even those who acknowledge that abortion ends a life will still argue for the mother's autonomy as the greater priority. Philosopher Peter Singer famously redefines personhood as the ability to conceptualize, act intentionally, and pursue happiness. By his standard, the unborn do not qualify—and are therefore expendable. But by that logic, what of the mentally impaired? Do they forfeit their right to life if they cannot meet such criteria?
This is the moral confusion that arises when we abandon God’s standards. Personal pleasure and convenience have become idols, and abortion has become their sacrament.
The Christian Response
In stark contrast, the Christian ethic calls us to sacrifice. Christ himself declared that he came “not to be served, but to serve” (Matthew 20:28), and we are called to lay down our lives for others (2 Corinthians 9:12; Hebrews 6:10). Parenthood, too, is not about self-fulfillment, but self-giving love.
When I learned my wife was pregnant, I was both thrilled and nervous. I am not naturally brave. I shy away from confrontation and still get stage fright behind a pulpit. But I prayed that I would become the kind of man willing to lay down his life—not just in grand gestures, but in daily faithfulness—for the sake of my family.
This is the Christian vision of manhood, parenthood, and human dignity. We do not kill for convenience. We serve, protect, and love—especially the most vulnerable, including those in the womb.
Today, my wife and I are forever thankful for our two year old daughter, Abigail. Though diagnosed with Down Syndrome, she runs, jumps and plays like any child her age. When God had postponed our journey into parenthood, we truly thought we were in the valley. However, in that valley, He taught us deep lessons about life, grief, and hope. Though we longed for the day when we hold a child in our arms, we did not grieve as those without hope and today we are able to proclaim without doubt that the Lord is faithful.
We are reminded that dignity, value, and personhood are not given by governments, philosophers, or even parents. They are granted by the God who knits every life together in the womb (Psalm 139). And until that day when all things are made new, we will continue to advocate for the unborn, to pray for the end of abortion, and to call men and women to righteous living—even when it is costly.
Ultimately, we know that no political victory or moral argument can truly change hearts. Only the Gospel of Jesus Christ can do that. Laws may restrain evil, but only the Spirit of God can transform it.
And so we fix our eyes on Christ—the one who sacrificed himself that we might live—and we look forward to the day when we are reunited not just with the saints, but with the little ones whose lives were unjustly cut short. Until then, we will fight for righteousness. And we will protect the sanctity of life.