There’s an old adage about a frog in a pot of water who doesn’t realize it’s slowly coming to a boil. By the time the water is dangerously hot, it’s too late for the frog to jump out. Nadya Williams, in “Mothers, Children, and the Body Politic” (IVP Academic, 2024), suggests that our culture is much like that pot, and the church may not realize just how high the heat is rising.
Williams argues that there is a serious devaluation of motherhood and children in our society. The prevalence of this mindset is just a symptom of a devaluing of human life in general. With urgency and grace, she exhorts readers to consider what’s at stake in this cultural moment and to reflect on how the church’s practices and priorities may be contributing to—or resisting—this dangerous trend.
As a mother myself, and someone dedicated to discipling the next generation of church leaders, this book struck a chord with me. I resonated with her analysis of how pregnancy and birth are often discussed and handled in our society as problems to be solved and managed rather than as gifts to embrace. I appreciated the boldness with which she confronted the conversations about the postpartum body, abortion as healthcare, prenatal genetic testing, the rise in surrogacy, and educational philosophies, among others.
But this book is broader than a woman’s embodied experience and her role as a mother. It serves as a resource for all those who care about the shaping of culture and the spiritual health of the church. The book forces us, as the people of God, to examine how we speak about, model, and prioritize the inherent worth of every single life.
As a classicist, Williams brings a unique perspective to this conversation. She dedicates the second section of her book to a historical journey through ancient Mediterranean culture, exploring the effects of the fall on the imago dei—the concept that each person is made in the image of God.
Pulling from Greek and Roman mythology as well as military accounts, she skillfully emphasizes the historical devaluing of the weak, uneducated, and poor. Often, Williams argues, these groups included most women and children, “the useless ones.” But then we read of historical figures like Perpetua and Augustine, and we encounter stories where the Judeo-Christian worldview radically shifted the understanding of human dignity, challenging ancient values that prioritized the powerful over the vulnerable.
Williams is careful not to overwhelm the reader with academic jargon or obscure references. Instead, she crafts a narrative that is accessible and engaging, even for those with little to no background in ancient history. Even so, this section might not appeal to every reader, especially if history isn’t your favorite. But her point is clear: this issue isn’t just a modern problem.
As a good historian, Williams walks us back to show how sin has affected humanity’s understanding of what it means to bear God’s image, and how early Christians radically changed what society thought about human dignity. While the historical deep dive is less engaging for some, it’s crucial for grasping just how significant the early church’s perspective was in valuing all people, not just the strong or influential.
One of the most compelling aspects of Williams’ book is her ability to make connections between historical conversations and current, everyday, seemingly minor situations that reveal our underlying ideologies. While exploring ancient texts and stories, she weaves in thought-provoking questions and suggestions. For example, Williams challenges Christian institutions to consider policies like maternity leave through the lens of human dignity, and she appropriately questions the modern “assembly line” where science enables parents to “overcome nature and fashion the perfect human according to their own preferences” (42).
She challenges readers to begin by “praying for our children and rejoicing each day over their existence” (61) – a helpful reminder for those in the trenches of parenting who are inundated with anti-children messaging or feeling the pressure to create perfect childhoods with a clear path to high achievement.
She moves beyond pregnancy and prenatal care, and argues that pro-life theology should lead us to care for the entire person in mind, body, and soul. Then she helpfully articulates how this whole-person care takes place specifically through the communities we help to sustain and the places in which we put down roots (with a significant nod to Wendell Berry). She spends time discussing care for those who are single or widowed to show “that revolutionary valuing of humanity begins with seeing the ones everyone else refuses to see” (149).
Williams then calls for “voices that speak life into death in a way that is not only true and good but is also profoundly beautiful” (164) and emphasizes that “solutions and recommendations for valuing life in any crisis must begin locally” (177). This includes bearing witness to one another’s pain, reconsidering how we speak about nursery duty and children’s church as primarily a woman’s job, and thoughtfully pushing back against transience driven by climbing the corporate ladder.
She even addresses the violence against life we tolerate and perhaps excuse in the movies we watch and the video games we play, stating that, “Entertainment of various sorts that subtly or overtly denies the preciousness of image bearers continues to be a staple in our own world. Viewing it corrupts our very minds and souls, desensitizing us to the suffering of others” (188). By prompting readers to reflect on these simple, day-to-day decisions, Williams challenges us to consider whether we are unconsciously contributing to a broader cultural narrative that prioritizes personal convenience or entertainment over the sanctity of life.
Finally, Williams displays the heart of Jesus throughout her book. Jesus, she repeatedly emphasizes, consistently sought out the marginalized, the weak, the suffering, the sick, and the disenfranchised. His ministry regularly focused on women (several single or widowed women, in fact). And his overwhelming posture towards them was one of love, care, and great respect. If we want to be Jesus-followers, our posture toward life should look like his.
Williams doesn’t conclude with a “how-to” list, but she does something more valuable: she opens up a necessary conversation. It’s clear she’s not interested in providing a quick fix or a step-by-step plan. Instead, she’s inviting us to reflect, question, and engage with a topic that’s easy to overlook but critical to our faith and witness in the world. It’s an approach that respects readers enough to let us wrestle with the material and then examine our assumptions and our actions to evaluate whether or not they align with the heart of God.
Williams does not shy away from confronting difficult truths, but she does so with grace and humility, making the reader feel not attacked, but convicted and empowered to love all those who bear the image of God.
Stephanie Formenti serves as vice president of student development at Covenant College.