It doesn't make any difference what religion you are, or how

The words of Norma McCorvey—“It doesn’t make any difference what religion you are, or how young you are or how old you are—if they go to these abortion mills and stand there and pray—that would make a lot of difference”—carry with them the force of a life transformed. Spoken by the very woman once known as Jane Roe in the famous Roe v. Wade case, these words are not the casual speech of one untouched by controversy, but the fervent conviction of one who walked in darkness and then turned toward what she believed was light. To her, prayer became not only a weapon of faith but also a call to unity, transcending the boundaries of religion, age, and identity.

The origin of this declaration is rooted in McCorvey’s dramatic journey. Once a symbol of legalized abortion in America, she later became a voice against it, joining pro-life causes and urging others to act not with violence or hatred, but with the spiritual discipline of prayer. Her words reveal a deep truth found in the wisdom of the ancients: that when people stand together with a pure heart, lifting their voices to heaven, change stirs both in the soul and in the world around them. To her, the act of standing and praying outside the doors of what she called “mills” was not political posturing, but a form of living sacrifice—an offering of presence, intercession, and solidarity.

Her appeal—“It doesn’t make any difference”—is an invocation of unity. Too often the world divides people by creed, by age, by wealth, or by heritage. But in her plea, McCorvey dissolves these walls, calling all who share reverence for life to join in a common action. It is an echo of ancient prophets who cried out for nations to gather in repentance, or of warriors who once laid aside tribal divisions to face a greater enemy. The essence of her statement is that the act of prayer itself, offered in unity, can pierce the hardest of circumstances and bend the trajectory of history.

Consider the historical example of Mahatma Gandhi in India, who led not with the sword but with fasting, prayer, and peaceful presence. Multitudes gathered not because they shared every religion or philosophy, but because they shared a longing for justice. Their unity, expressed in simple yet powerful acts, shook the foundations of an empire. So too did McCorvey believe that those who stood outside abortion clinics in prayer—regardless of differences—could, through persistence and faith, create a ripple of transformation in society.

The emotional weight of McCorvey’s words also reflects the burden of regret and redemption. Having once been tied to a case that shaped American law, she later poured her energy into undoing what she had helped unleash. Her call to prayer was therefore more than strategy—it was a cry of the heart, a plea born from her own sense of repentance and her desire to prevent others from making choices she came to regret. Thus, the words carry not only moral conviction but also the rawness of lived experience.

The lesson for us is both timeless and universal: when confronting the deepest moral struggles of our age, unity and prayer have a power beyond legislation, debate, or force. Whether one agrees with McCorvey’s position or not, the principle stands clear—true transformation is born not from division and hatred, but from people gathering in shared purpose, offering themselves wholly to a cause greater than their own self-interest.

Practically, let each listener take this to heart: examine the causes you hold dear, and ask whether you are acting alone, or whether you are joining with others in humble solidarity. Do not dismiss the power of small, faithful actions—standing, praying, speaking, or serving—done consistently and in unity. For in such acts lies a strength greater than any single victory of law or politics: the strength of conviction embodied, of faith lived out, of love that moves people to stand together.

Thus, Norma McCorvey’s words endure as both testimony and summons. She teaches that it matters not what label the world assigns you—young or old, Catholic or Protestant, Jew or Gentile. What matters is the willingness to stand for what you believe is sacred, and to let your actions, even the simplest act of prayer, become part of a chorus that calls forth change. In this, her voice joins the ancient stream of those who cried out for justice, urging us to remember: unity in conviction can indeed make “a lot of difference.”