For decades, “pro-life” has been political shorthand for one thing: opposing abortion. Shane Claiborne thinks it’s time to take the label back — and widen it.
“I love that language,” the author and activist said. “But I began to see the limitations that we put on that, such as how narrowly we define pro-life to one issue on abortion.”
Claiborne has spent decades at the intersection of faith and activism, challenging Christians to take Jesus’ teachings seriously on issues like poverty, war, the death penalty and gun violence. He is the founder of the Simple Way, a Christian intentional community in Philadelphia, and a leading voice in the New Monasticism movement. Known for his grassroots approach and refusal to fit into neat partisan categories, Claiborne has consistently urged the Church to see “pro-life” as an ethic that extends from the womb to the grave.
He grew up in Tennessee, “fell in love with Jesus in the Bible Belt,” and fully embraced the pro-life label as a teenager. But over the years, he noticed an uncomfortable pattern — one that fundamentally changed how he talks about life and death.
“We Christians, we’re not only silent, but we were an obstacle to things that would actually save lives,” he said. “The biggest supporters of the death penalty have been Christians. And when it comes to gun violence, Christians are the highest gun-owning demographic in America.”
He doesn’t want to abandon the pro-life language. He wants to rescue it.
“I’m not less for life,” he said. “I’m more pro-life than I was when I was 15 years old.”
For Claiborne, the central question is deceptively simple: “What does love require of us?” That question, he argues, has been missing from much of America’s pro-life discourse.
“Jesus said, ‘They will know that you’re my disciples by your love,’” he said. “We know what love doesn’t look like, and we’ve seen a lot of that, especially in what many would call the pro-life movement. I’m sure some of them would say that they’re acting in love toward unborn children. But this is where I point to Mother Teresa as a model.”
Claiborne spent time working with Mother Teresa in India. He remembers meeting a young man who told him why everyone called her “Mother.” “He said, ‘Because she rescued us — some of us were abandoned in train stations, some of us had moms that weren’t able to raise us.’”
She was passionate about abortion but never stopped at that issue.
“She called governors the night before executions and would tell them to show mercy, to do what Jesus would have them do,” Claiborne said. “She didn’t just have bumper stickers and T-shirts. She didn’t hold signs that say ‘abortion is murder.’ She came alongside people and had compassion along with her conviction. That’s the posture we need — not just on abortion, but every issue. Think about the people who are impacted.”
That means talking about abortion — and every life issue — with respect for its complexity.
“One in four women have had an abortion,” he said. “We need to talk about this in a way that respects the pain and the impact this has had on people who might be really close to us. They’re in our pews and workplaces, probably even in our own family. This isn’t just an issue. We’re talking about people’s lives.”
If that sounds overwhelming, Claiborne insists it’s not. Mother Teresa, he says, was quick to undercut people’s awe at her accomplishments. When asked how she helped 50,000 people off the streets of Calcutta, she famously replied, “I started with one person.”
“She said we’re not called to do great things, but small things with great love,” Claiborne said. “What’s important isn’t how much you do, but how much love you put into doing it.”
That ethic, he believes, could reshape the way Christians approach everything from community service to national politics.
“If we love one person at a time, if we show compassion to a few people, that’s contagious. It does begin to have ripples throughout the world.”
For him, that also means confessing where we’ve fallen short.
“I’m trying to confess where my own ethic of life fell short and do a better job at advocating for life,” he said. “But I think we also need to do that as a country. Even as the founding fathers were writing ‘all men are created equal,’ people were being sold on street corners. That’s the paradox at the heart of America.”
Claiborne doesn’t shy away from uncomfortable history, both national and religious.
“Some of the worst atrocities in history — and some of the most beautiful stuff — have happened at the hands of Christians, sometimes simultaneously,” he said. “We need to recognize that history and see the holes in some of the theology we learned.”
Claiborne’s vision of a pro-life ethic is as much about proximity as policy.
“Sometimes our hearts move and our heads follow,” he said. “That’s why being near to those who have been impacted is so important.”
He points to his own experiences visiting people on death row, listening to immigrants and refugees on the southern border, and being in Iraq during the war.
“These things have shaped my passion for life and my grief over violence in all of its different forms. Let the suffering speak and let it move us in our hearts.”
That, he says, is how the early church approached life issues — comprehensively.
“It was imperfect, but it was beautiful in its championing of life, speaking out against the gladiatorial games, the death penalty, military combat,” Claiborne said. “We can be a force for life again.”
In the end, his call isn’t for a new political identity — it’s for Christians to return to an ancient one: love as the foundation of our public witness. “What does love require of us?” he repeated.
“That’s the question we need to keep asking — on abortion, on guns, on the death penalty, on everything. If we can answer that well, then maybe we can finally be the pro-life people we claim to be.”
