This past Sunday was Sanctity of Life Sunday, and yes, I preached–again this year–on the issue of life. (Hear the message, “Celebrate Life!”) I’m not sure how many years now I’ve preached on the topic of life on Sanctity of Life Sunday, but it’s several.

One of the congregational results of this is that I get asked this question annually by some of our members: “Why do you speak on the sanctity of human life every year on Sanctity of Life Sunday?” Though I answered that genuinely honest question on my podcast earlier in the week, allow me to put those thoughts into print.

The short answer is this: I believe the issue of life touches every other issue of life; it is the very foundation of who we are, both as a people of faith and as a society. Taking one Sunday a year to lean into the issue that is the headwater issue of everything else is a wise use of our church’s pulpit.

But let me expand a bit as well.

First, I genuinely, deeply believe the value of human life is the single most important issue of our day. To repeat myself — Everything flows from that issue. I am, unapologetically, a single-issue voter. How we think about justice, dignity, human rights, compassion, family, and even freedom is downstream from how we answer a basic question: Does every human life have inherent worth? The answer must be “yes” to that question, or every other question is up for grabs as well. If life itself is negotiable, then no other value is ultimately secure.

Second, history has undoubtedly shaped my convictions. I’ve was profoundly awakened and sobered when I learned how many churches in Germany remained silent during the Holocaust. It wasn’t that pastors explicitly endorsed evil; it was that some said very little while it happened. That realization has  stayed with me hauntingly. I remember thinking, as I was reading various books on that time period, I never want to look back decades from now and realize that I was quiet when clarity was required. That conviction has never left me.

Third, the sheer scale of what has occurred through abortion is staggering. Tens of millions of children have lost their lives in the womb. That reality alone demands moral reflection. But the consequences extend beyond the theological realm. There are a host of practical crises that will occur — sociologically, economically, culturally. For starters, the loss of that many lives affects the future of American civilization itself—birth rates, workforce shortages, unsustainable tax bases, the ability to care for an aging population, and many more devastating effects. We are already seeing this globally. In places like Japan, population decline is so severe that robots are being developed to care for the elderly because there simply aren’t enough young people. These are not abstract concerns; they are real, cascading effects from a society disregarding and devaluing life.

Fourth, Scripture continues to shape my sense of pastoral responsibility. Throughout the Old Testament, prophets regularly spoke to kings, rulers, and those in positions of power—not because they sought influence, but because integrity demanded it. And the New Testament writers and apostles were unafraid to deal with the sexual ethic of their day. In both periods, God’s spokesmen addressed moral issues that affected the vulnerable and risked the future of the people. As I’ve grown older, I have sensed that compelling weight in an increasing fashion. And it’s not about having a platform; it’s about being faithful to a calling. Silence may be a sign of humility at times, but it can also begin to feel like compromise when you know it’s time to speak up and you don’t.

At the same time, let me be clear: I do not believe every pastor must address this issue in the same way or with the same frequency. Nor do I assume I will do this every year from now on. But for several years now, I have sensed a distinct responsibility to continue speaking to this issue, to keep pressing into it thoughtfully and biblically. And so I do. And will continue to do so as long as God’s Spirit prompts me so pointedly. Truthfully, at this point in my ministry, I feel compelled to rally and equip people with truth and to be a voice for the voiceless within the sphere of influence God has entrusted to me.

Ultimately, this is not about politics, the pursuit of a platform, volume, or notoriety. It’s simply obedience in an area where my conscience, my calling, and my convictions converge—and the result is that I must speak.

For the sake of those who can’t.

Over 60 million of them.

That’s why.