To Darwinians, Dawkins, Humphry, et al. – May the Quality of Your Life Be Not So Strained As Your Mercy

The quality of mercy is not strain’d, It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath: it is twice bless’d; It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.

—William Shakespeare, “The Merchant of Venice,” IV.1.184-187.

Maggie Smith as Portia in
William Shakespeare's
"The Merchant of Venice"

In Shakespeare’s “The Merchant of Venice,” the judge, Portia, pleads for the plaintiff to temper his legal claim to justice with mercy for the defendant. In a recent post, “Abortion & Down Syndrome: An Apology for Letting Slip the Dogs of Twitterwar,” Richard Dawkins begs mercy from “the haters,” those “who go out of their way to find such tweets” as he posted publicly, despite his intention to share only with “the minority of people who follow both her [a woman who had expressed her uncertainties about aborting her child if she were to learn it would be affected by Down Syndrome] and me.” (You can find his full post here.)

In response to her uncertainties, Dawkins had Tweeted™, “Abort it and try again. It would be immoral to bring it into the world if you have the choice.” In seeking to quench the fiery response to his Twitterpations (limited as they are to 140 characters), he offered a 255-word explanation. It suffers from certain anachronisms and additions which would understandably be seen as belated revisions or even second-thought afterthoughts in the eyes of even his most ardent supporters.

Most importantly to my friend and mentor, Paul Louis Metzger, is Dawkins’ rebuttal of the accusation that he was advocating eugenics. Eugenics can be narrowly defined the process of selecting preferable traits, especially within human persons, and seeking to enhance those traits within a population by encouraging procreation by those who possess those traits. Most, however, consider the eugenics that has been practiced to be a clearer indicator of the process: removing from the procreating gene pool those deemed to possess less desirable traits, either through forced sterilization (as has occurred among the developmentally disabled in the United States) or outright genocide (as is the more frequently employed means).

Richard Dawkins

To be clear, neither definition would apply to the decision to advocate aborting the lives of children found to be affected by Down Syndrome. Dr. Metzger is correct to point out that Dawkins’ position is not one of eugenics, but of mere utilitarianism. Guided, as Dawkins claims to be, by “a desire to increase the sum of happiness and reduce suffering,” he holds that “the decision to deliberately give birth to a Down baby, when you have the choice to abort it early in the pregnancy, might actually be immoral from the point of view of the child’s own welfare.”

Dr. Metzger is careful and correct in admonishing us “to practice the Golden Rule (Matthew 7:12) and do to others what we would want them to do to us. We should try and interpret their claims in keeping with their intended aims rather than with how we might wish to interpret them for partisan purposes, just like we would want others to interpret our positions as we intend them.” (Dr. Metzger’s full post can be found here.) I whole-heartedly agree with Dr. Metzger, and am often indebted to those who are willing to engage in dialogue with me, especially when they request clarification when my points are vague or muddled—or even when they are not unclear, but merely objectionable to those dear friends.

Derek Humphry

Among the conversation partners with whom I am currently engaged, though, are those who are seeking to navigate the very difficult and narrowing channel between hospice care and physician-assisted suicide (PAS). With the recent passage of California’s End-Of-Life Options Act, there is an assumption that hospice providers will become what we are already often mistaken to be: “the black-pill people,” aka “the death-squad.” Hospices have traditionally followed the pattern set by Dame Cicely Saunders (more about the founder of the modern hospice movement here). We seek neither to hasten nor postpone a patient’s natural death. Why? Because, in the words of Dame Saunders, “You matter because you are you, and you matter to the end of your life. We will do all we can not only to help you die peacefully, but also to live until you die.”

This basic philosophy is being attacked by those who want hospice to “evolve” in order to cooperate in accommodating and referring, if not actively providing, physician-assisted suicide. Now legalized in six of the United States, and moving toward legalization in fifteen more, PAS is advocated strongly by an organization now known as “Compassion & Choices.” (Their website can be found here; I have addressed my concerns with what was previously called “The Hemlock Society” in a post you can find here.)

I find a striking similarity between the position that Dawkins takes, and the one taken by the organization founded by Derek Humphry. In both cases, they advocate that there are human persons who would be better off dead than alive. For Humphry, the choice is presumably in the hands of the human person who experiences a life-threatening diagnosis and chooses, like Brittany Maynard (Compassion & Choices’ fundraiser, “The Brittany Maynard Fund,” eulogizes her here), to proactively end her life by committing suicide (to express it in terms most of us would use). Dawkins, however, prescribes death as the moral choice “from the point of view of the child’s own welfare.” In short, others should decide on behalf of the child that she would be better off dead than alive.

Brittany Maynard

Some would see a difference between these two decisions. On the one hand, there is the exemplary suicide of Brittany Maynard, intended to preclude her own suffering by choosing to die while she was still able to increase the sum of her happiness by doing so. On the other hand, Dawkins recommends the homicide of a child in order to preserve someone else’s happiness by preventing what he would presume to be their suffering, caused by failing to end the life of their child.

But there is less difference here than you might imagine. Dawkins has backtracked from his earlier statement. He claims that while the woman in question could end the life of her child, he was not deciding for her that she should “Abort it and try again.” Those claiming to offer Compassion & Choices would say they merely want others to know they could end their life. But if I read Dawkins’ intent correctly, what he meant to say privately has changed, now that it has been heard publicly. If what Humphry’s progeny are saying publicly is any indication, then it should not surprise us that some whose lives are considered to lack a sufficient level of quality…well, the message we are hearing is that we should end our lives.

Shakespeare’s Portia wanted mercy to temper justice. Dawkins wants mercy to temper reactions to his inadvertently public position on aborting lives of insufficient quality. And where do we find the mercy of Humphry & Company? “Compassion” would seem to include Choices that foster mercy toward the terminally ill, but not what amounts to mercy-killing—even if, as the current PAS laws require, you make the patient administer their own hemlock.

What’s in a Name: Learning Advocacy from the Opposition

During the most recent conference of the California Hospice and Palliative Care Association (CHAPCA), much of the discussion centered on the recent success of a group now called “Compassion and Choices.” They were repeatedly referred to as “the most effective advocacy organization ever seen.”

They are advocates. They are effective. And they don’t mind making it clear that they are opposed to the current options available: either curative (seeking to restore the patient to health) or palliative (seeking to relieve the dying patient’s symptoms).

How effective are they? So much so that in a presentation on how to construct policy relative to California’s new law facilitating physician-assisted suicide, the spectrum of attitudes was described at one end as “embracing” the practice of self-administered euthanasia, while the other end of the spectrum was labeled “denial.” Now, most of us can imagine that “embracing” is a good thing. And even outside the ranks of those who work most closely with the dying and bereaved, you may be aware that “denial” is considered inevitable, but only as a temporary measure to buffer the sudden realities of crisis, trauma, or loss.

"The Death of Socrates"
by Jacques-Louis David

How opposed is Compassion and Choices to the status quo? Their six objectives (found here) include pursuing legislative innovations, exerting influence over medical professions, and establishing a litmus test for elected officials in making “aid in dying…a prime motivator in voter decision-making.”

But the most telling of their objectives is to “Normalize accurate, unbiased language throughout the end-of-life discussion (‘aid in dying’ instead of ‘assisted suicide’).” Taking them at their word, the intent here is insidious. While California has become the sixth state to legalize physician-assisted suicide (with legislation pending in at least fifteen others among these United States), the eventual goal is to allow active euthanasia—the proactive intervention by doctors and other in ending the lives of others, which under European health-care practitioners often occurs without the patient’s consent (noted here).

The word “semantics” signifies the art of choosing proper terminology to convey specific meaning. The term also gets used to describe those same talents when being used to obscure and mislead as well. With Compassion and Choices, however, the only word-games of which they could be accused involve being so clear as to be incredible. That is, thinking “I must be reading this wrong” would be a reasonable response to their desire for “accurate, unbiased language.”

A close-up view of Socrates.

You see, part of the argument against physician-assisted suicide is that of “the slippery-slope.” Some worry that if we allow patients to use physician-prescribed medications to end their own lives, it is only a matter of time before we move from describing “who could die, if their life is no longer of sufficient value to them” to prescribing “who should die, if their life is no longer of value to us.” The safeguard written into each state’s laws, so far, is that the patient must self-administer their own death. This is the essence of “assisted suicide,” that the means may be made available, but the final act to end a life should be taken only by the one whose life would be ended.

But the semantics are clear, and Compassion and Choices wants us to stop pretending that they mean anything other than what they say. They seek that we “normalize accurate, unbiased language” to communicate that their goal is something beyond what the current laws allow. Patients should receive “‘aid in dying’ instead of ‘assisted suicide.’”

Not Socrates. But you should still
take a close-up view.

Perhaps, though, the more accurate, unbiased name by which “Compassion and Choices” was previously known might help us understand their origins and intentions. When Derek Humphry, author of the infamous Final Exit (1984) which explored the field made more popular through the exploits of Dr. Jack Kevorkian, founded the organization, it was called “The Hemlock Society.” (The debate and decision to abandon the historic name is described here.)

Referencing as it does the story of Socrates, it might be good to remind ourselves of the Greek philosopher who was condemned to death and forced to drink hemlock, the deadly poison. Thus, as we face the continued efforts of “the most effective advocacy organization ever seen,” the chilling question we must face is this: “who will be making whom drink what?”

Where does this leave the student of effective advocacy? The mixed messages of what was until relatively recently The Hemlock Society, and has since become Compassion and Choices, make it difficult to adopt their strategies, even before issues of integrity, authenticity, and transparency eliminate them from consideration. An organization that promotes as a goal “to mean what they say” would, ironically, need to “say what they mean” just little more clearly, and certainly far more fully.

Otherwise, the only ones likely to drink their poison are those who fail to listen to them as carefully as we should.

Radical Threats Require Radical Responses

I really try to encourage dialogue, especially toward doing theology in community. But I’m finding the current debate tiresome. It’s not just the question about whether to accept or reject Syrian refugees (among others). The assumptions being made and the labels being applied to either side of the discussion quickly begin to obscure and prevent rational dialogue.

Worse, among Christians, one’s position on the issues seems predictably predicated on other decisions to accept or reject one side or the other of a longstanding divide. Though there are many ramifications, at the core of these disputes is whether our particular tradition emphasizes either The Great Commission (e.g., Matthew 28:18-20, among other iterations) or The Great Commandment (Matthew 22:36-40).

So let me ask, can we choose between The Great Commission and The Great Commandment?

Certainly the historic divide in North American Christendom would suggest that we have tried to do so. We tend to focus intently but exclusively on either serving Christ and others through fulfilling “the social gospel” or seeking to save souls by proclaiming the message of “the gospel gospel.”

I am using terms familiar from my own tradition. Others may label the opposing factions differently. But as one among those who major on The Great Commission, let me first explain why we cannot dismiss The Great Commandment. Going into all the world, we are commissioned to make disciples of all the nations—teaching them to observe all that Jesus Christ has commanded us to do. Likewise, for those emphasizing The Great Commandment, the greatest expression of our love for any of our neighbors, the same love we would claim for ourselves, would be an introduction to the God we are called to love “with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.”

Despite this continuing factiousness, I have great hopes for unity in the body of Christ. This is largely because I fail to see why we should ever choose between right words and right actions. Integrity means holding both as one. Both spring from a heart filled with God’s love, guided by His Spirit in right purposes and attitudes, and seeking to bless anyone and everyone.

But there’s the problem. Even twenty centuries ago, Jesus’ efforts to bless “anyone and everyone” raised concerns, questions, and hackles.

Among the questions raised by “love your neighbor” was, of course, “Who is my neighbor?” Jesus’ answer was more shocking than we might imagine. Today, “The Good Samaritan” is so ingrained in our culture that we may imagine that Samaritans were generally regarded as good. The opposite is true. They were not just non-Jews, but considered worse than Gentiles. They had been Jews, up until the eighth century B.C. They were called “dogs” long before anyone would have thought of them as household pets. “Mongrels” would be a more accurate translation in our culture. When Jesus commanded His followers to love their enemies, many of those earliest disciples would count Samaritans as well as Romans within that category.

So, as difficult as it is for me to accept the answer to “Who is my neighbor?” I am just as committed to the question “Who is my enemy?” And that causes me even more serious problems. You see, if I am going to claim to be a follower of Jesus Christ, I have to love ISIS (aka ISIL, or Daesh, or Al-Qaeda, or The Taliban). For the sake of theological consistency, I have to believe that suicide bombers are intended to bear the image and likeness of one God, eternally existing in three Persons. Given the United States history I was taught, I also have a healthy respect for the efficacy of terrorism and guerilla warfare in arresting the attention of overwhelmingly dominant world powers. (viz. Colonies v. England, ca. 1776.)

But almost as troubling as the thought of hugging an Islamic extremist wearing an explosive vest is the thought of saying, again, “I have to love ISIS.” When I have said as much from the pulpit, the church foyer conversations have been…well, let’s just say “livelier than usual,” to be sure.

But is there any clearer an enemy? Is there any greater opportunity to demonstrate the radical charity Jesus commands? Can we imagine any better moment in which to live-out what we believe about the overwhelming love of God?

These moments come only rarely. The most recent prior circumstances like these may have been over half a century ago.

In January, 2012, Paul Louis Metzger spoke at the Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Service of The Albina Ministerial Alliance held at Allen Temple Christian Methodist Episcopal Church in Portland, Oregon. (You can find the text of his message here.) In his remarks, Dr. Metzger included a quote I have found exceptionally inspirational. I wish I had known of it during my very brief sojourn as a minority amidst an opposing dominant culture.

• To our most bitter opponents we say: ‘We shall match your capacity to inflict suffering by our capacity to endure suffering. We shall meet your physical force with soul force. Do to us what you will, and we shall continue to love you. We cannot in all good conscience obey your unjust laws because noncooperation with evil is as much a moral obligation as is cooperation with good. Throw us in jail and we shall still love you. Bomb our homes and threaten our children, and we shall still love you. Send your hooded perpetrators of violence into our community at the midnight hour and beat us and leave us half dead, and we shall still love you. But be ye assured that we will wear you down by our capacity to suffer. One day we shall win freedom but not only for ourselves. We shall so appeal to your heart and conscience that we shall win you in the process and our victory will be a double victory.’ (found here; accessed on 1/16/12)

Do we see a similar opportunity today? If not, why not? Is it because we question whether Dr. King’s ideals are still valid today? If they are not, is that because we have changed, or because we have not changed? What I mean to ask is this: haven’t we always rejected Dr. King’s message as unrealistically idealistic, practically unsafe, or possibly even unbiblical? The answer depends on who we mean by “we.”

Like Metzger, I am also a member of “the white Evangelical Christian community.” As much as it often pains me to be included with others who misuse the term (Evangelical), I cannot help but be exposed to their position-statements. Regarding Dr. King, the otherness of the Black experience is only one small cleft of the chasm separating his sensibilities from our own. Too, an innate suspicion of “the social gospel” has been so trained into us (again, speaking of Evangelicals) that any action beyond simple proclamation is foreign to us. Add to all this the illusion that the civil rights movement has provided not only equality but mutual respect, and we can live out our fantasy that the world no longer needs such radical, albeit non-violent reordering.

But it is a fantasy, this presumption we make that we live in a mature society where equality has been accomplished. Even for those who refuse to acknowledge the continued exploitation and oppression within our own borders, we cannot deny that our 21^st Century North American luxuries come largely at the expense of others elsewhere. Why do we choose to continue in such delusion? Because we lack certain key elements essential to adopting Dr. King’s message and methods.

Metzger notes Dr. King’s “conviction, courage, and compassion” which “flowed from Jesus’ call to love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us (Matthew 5:44).” But this reveals yet another of the dark recesses in that vast chasm between the 1960s civil rights movement and our own dreamworld. We are not persecuted. We are not the minority. We are, in fact, as white Evangelicals (and those who support our vocal oligarchy) participating fully in the dominant culture.

So, how do Dr. King’s words apply to those who are willing to continue to “inflict suffering” rather than risk the possibility of having to endure any of it? We who bomb others’ homes and threaten their children are the ones who apparently fear something far worse than being worn-down by others’ “capacity to suffer.”

Yet that is the operative term: fear.

For many, it is fear that prevents us from showing love to our neighbors, on the grounds that we might inadvertently open the door to our enemies as well. On the local level, for example, showing hospitality to the marginalized in my community might allow some to see and covet and perhaps even steal some of the stuff I value (overly so, to the point of idolatry). At the international level, feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, sheltering the homeless, and doing so by accepting refugees might allow some among our enemies to accompany them. The irony of this worry among those who regularly point out how porous our borders are already suggests that we would want ISIS’s opponents among the refugees to be present in even greater number. But discussing that question will have to wait for another opportunity.

For now, our fears demand that the key question be this: What will we do if (or when) our enemies begin to inflict on our soil what we so regularly ignore as it occurs on their own soil? Why doesn’t it matter to us what is done against other people elsewhere (unless, like Parisians, they are sufficiently Western in culture, and white in complexion)?

Such fearful questions suggest an answer, but only one that requires of us the “conviction, courage and compassion” to be followers of Jesus Christ: Love them.

Being Moments from Eternity, Please Take a Moment To Consider Eternity

A dear friend shared this illustration with me. Her comment? “Why is it that something about this makes me sooooo uncomfortable?”

Some might suggest that the discomfort she feels should be identified as conviction. The intent of the illustration, then, would be to suggest that perhaps she is not so eternally secure as she should be. In that case, her discomfort is a sign that she should…what? Re-accept Jesus as her Lord and Savior today?

Two things lead me to reject that explanation. First, I am as convinced of her relationship with Christ as I am of anyone’s beside my own. Second, there’s “sooooo” much more here to be uncomfortable about. Let me first note one issue in particular, then explain why it’s a far bigger problem than you might initially recognize, and finally offer an alternative.

The Point Being Made

We accept that “two wrongs don’t make a right.” But here, I would suggest that two rights do make a wrong. Of course, as with any bumper-sticker and/or t-shirt theology, I realize that the eight words in the second statement imply a great deal beyond what they say. And I do think it would be a very good thing to “Accept Jesus as your Lord and Savior today.” (Accepting, of course, that “accept” suggests believing and following Jesus as His disciple.)

The first statement is also true, mostly. I would object that eternity, arguably, encompasses the time-space continuum—so we are already living eternal life here and now. Still, I think the meaning is clear enough. And being who I am (Death Pastor, after all), I heartily recommend that you live with the constant possibility of your imminent death. Further, I believe that part of the advance planning for that inevitability (in addition to communicating your health-care directives, outlining your funerary preferences, and writing your will) should be the consideration of where you spend eternity. (Of course, that’s another problem with this illustration. You are going to live forever. It’s just a matter of where and how. But I want to keep my promise to focus on just one of the many issues raised by this illustration.)

So, in the illustration, the point being made is this: You should accept Jesus as your Lord and Savior today, because today might be the last day you get.

The Problem with That Point

Here is my problem with the logic being presented. Christ’s gospel is too often reduced to a simplistic consumer transaction. “You get what you pay for,” and “you deserve what you earn,” are just two ways of expressing what most North Americans believe about life in general. Thus, we tend to think of the gospel as a contract in which we “accept Jesus” as the price of admission to heaven (as envisioned by the pearly gates in the illustration).

As presented, the logic of this illustration is simple and easy to follow. Since your next breath could be your last, you need to make sure you have that admission ticket in your hand, or have added your name to the guest list, or gotten the code for the push-button remote that opens those unmanned gates in the illustration. The emphasis of all this: “sign your contract with Jesus today.”

If that logic makes sense to you, though, I am deeply concerned for your soul.

All that many know of Jesus is that He did something in the past (sinless life, atoning death, validating resurrection, etc.) in order to provide something for us in the future (heaven, eternal life, kingdom reign, etc.). But far from that limited view of God’s obligation to honor a contract, even if sincerely accepted, there is so much more that Jesus is intending to do in and through your life.

If you accepted Jesus, and are looking forward to heaven, are you engaged in conversation with Him through His word and prayer? Do you recognize the ways in which He is transforming your life to reflect His? Do you experience the deepening compassion for others, and passion for Christ that result from getting to know Him better each day? In short, beyond having “signed a contract,” do you have a living, breathing relationship with God through Christ?

If not, you might still be saved. You might sincerely have obligated God to admit you into heaven on the basis of having once prayed “the sinner’s prayer.” But if that were all you had experienced of Jesus Christ, there would be so much more you would be missing.

The Alternative to Eternal Fire Insurance

The concept of “salvation as fire insurance” is at the heart of many gospel presentations. Even great philosophers can tend to replace the idea of a relationship with God through Christ with something resembling a convenience store purchase, or a brief trip to the casino. What is called “Pascal’s Wager” (after Blaise Pascal, 17th Century French philosopher, mathematician, and physicist) is simplified to portray our “bet” that God exists. As our wager, we give up certain aspects of our finite existence (sins, usually) in anticipation of infinite gains. “If we are wrong, then we have lost little. If we are right, we have gained immeasurably.”

But it is not just our sins that Jesus calls us to surrender. And it is not merely heaven that He promises in return.

In short, as human persons we were created to bear the image and likeness of our Creator—one God eternally existing in a community of three persons. The vital experience of that image in us was broken through our decision to sin. We decided to do something other than what God designed us to do, which was to enjoy life in His presence. Through Christ, however, there is the means of restoring and repairing our relationship with God, and thus with other human persons as well. Our relationships with one another can better reflect the relationships of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—relationships of intimate fellowship, harmony, and cooperation.

So, why should you choose to follow Jesus Christ as your Savior and Lord today? Because today is the soonest you can begin to cooperate in the process of repairing and restoring (and representing to others) the life you were always intended to have. And today is also the soonest you can begin to cooperate in the process of repairing and restoring the relationships among other human persons that we were all intended to enjoy in His presence.

If you’re waiting for that to begin in heaven, then you’re at least missing out on what Jesus wants you to be, and have, and live today. So, yes—do not wait to “sign the contract.” But instead, enter into the conversation with Him. Today.

Funston’s Firefighting and Christian Conflagrations: A Parallel?

Gen. Frederick Funston

Thirteenth Avenue in San Francisco does not exist. At least, there is no street by that name. Between Twelfth and Fourteenth you will find Funston Avenue where the unluckiest number is replaced with a name that some consider to be far unluckier.

During the cataclysmic fire that followed the 1906 San Francisco Earthquake, in order to extinguish the blaze, the commander of the U.S. Army post at the Presidio sought to rob the advancing flames of combustibles in their path. General Frederick Funston’s orders to use explosives to create a firebreak resulted in smoldering and flaming materials being scattered ahead of the fire lines, igniting still more fires. While Funston was initially hailed a hero for his decisive actions (in addition to his questionable firefighting techniques, other unforeseen side-effects allegedly included the deaths of innocent residents when “shoot-on-sight” orders were issued to prevent looting), later evaluations were not so charitable. Thus, renaming Thirteenth Avenue has been seen as either signifying an improvement or irony, largely depending upon which view one takes of General Funston.

This all came to mind as I was reading a post by Paul Louis Metzger that describes a variety of firefighting techniques, building an analogy to conflict resolution and its myriad strategies and tactics. Dr. Metzger compiles them into three categories when he writes, “some situations call for starting conflicts, some call for containing conflicts, while others call for putting out conflicts.” (His post can be found here.)

Some who follow my blog know of the conflicts that continue to smolder at my alma mater and former employer. Those embers that have long been smoldering, occasionally erupted, and have at times explosively removed those whose passions were seen as fuel to be eliminated, or whose talents and contributions were seen as expendable, or both.

How can it be easier to unite under this banner...

Among those overheated exchanges, several attempts at conflict resolution and relational reconciliation failed to rally cooperation due to disagreements over the purposes and priorities of those who sought to establish what the outcome would be, before seeking to engage in the dialogue that would lead to it. Dr. Metzger writes, “The purpose of generating such unease and conflict should always be redemptive.” But the priority of removing those who fail to fall into line with the dominant narrative seems to contradict any claims to resolution and reconciliation.

It is not just at the rarified altitudes of academics and administrators where these conflicts are so decisively ended. At this writing, two more church buildings in my area stand vacant. Both on the main highway that connects Redding to the northeastern California town of Alturas. Both were victims of conflicts that were certainly brought to someone’s conclusion, though not to a resulting cooperation and collaboration.

...than under this one?

Where Dr. Metzger’s point is to encourage “inter-religious or inter-faith dialogue,” he offers the example of a beloved friend who saw the conflicting values and beliefs, “but probed them critically and charitably to cultivate understanding to reduce conflict wherever possible and build trust as neighbors and friends.” It was my privilege to meet Dr. Metzger’s friend on two occasions. First, during an inter-faith gathering of students from Multnomah Biblical Seminary, George Fox University, and our hosts for the event—The Dharma Rain Zen Buddhist Center. The second event was the dedication of their new facilities just over a year later. Abbot Kyogen Carlson, a Zen Buddhist priest, fostered dialogue and sought to resolve conflicts, just as Dr. Metzger does. But where they have sought to do so, and have done so successfully among very different groups of adherents, the means to such ends seem to be beyond the grasp of those who, theoretically, serve the same Christ within similar Christian traditions, or even, as is the case with Simpson University, within the same faculty, staff, and administration who assent to the same doctrinal statement of the same denomination.

I do not mean to downplay the severity of the conflicts that some of us have endured. But I do mean to question how it is that those who share an allegiance to Christ can so easily disregard our allegiance to one another, especially when some who hold mutually-exclusive beliefs find ways to resolve conflict, reconcile relationships, and actively cooperate and collaborate toward mutually-beneficial ends.

Perhaps the first step for us as Christians, toward bringing our conflicts into clearer resolution and reconciling our relationships with one another, might be to swear-off General Funston’s strategies.

Stop blowing things up; and stop shooting anyone who’s not in our uniform.

A Cure Worse Than Death: The Failures Leading to Physician-Assisted Suicide

Do you want to die? Most reading this will, on most days, say no. But why? The reasons vary for each of us, but the strongest tendency is to imagine waking again tomorrow morning. How do I know? I’ve done it over twenty thousand times now. Maybe you’re only halfway or less to that number, but you have to admit, it’s habit-forming. So it is almost impossible for most of us to imagine, on most days, how someone might choose to break with such a long-standing pattern and to proactively end their lives.

But there are enough who do that our culture now embraces what was, until very recently, pushed to the margins, into the dark corners, out of polite conversation, and certainly against public policy. What had become an illegal cottage-industry leading up to the publication of Final Exit by The Hemlock Society and the media-celebrity of Dr. Jack Kevorkian, has now gained not only broader acceptance, but legal sanction in several states. The number of states establishing a “right-to-die” through Physician-Assisted Suicide (PAS) seems destined to grow until, eventually, some case or other prompts the U.S. Supreme Court to decree it as a constitutionally-protected right (as in 1954 – Brown v. Board of Educaction “legalizing” public school integration; 1973 – Roe v. Wade “legalizing” abortion; or 2015 – Obergefell v. Hodges “legalizing” same-sex marriage).

Understandably, some physicians see a patient’s decision to proactively hasten their end-of-life as representing a failure. So do I. But there are two different failures in view here. One of them is unavoidable. At some point, the tools, techniques, and therapies of modern medical practice fall short of restoring a patient’s health, or even of preventing that patient’s death. But while, in my life, there is still hope of the process accomplishing its stated goals, I am thrilled to have a primary-care physician who clearly states what steps are required to prolong and improve my life. I have known physicians, though, whose patients have died, despite efforts that should have prolonged or enhanced their lives. Sometimes, the medical system fails to keep a human’s physiological system functioning.

But there is a second failure in view when a patient chooses to proactively hasten the end of their life. Not that I am unsympathetic to the decision. In more than three decades of pastoral ministry, I have sat with enough patients and families to know how dreadfully difficult life can become, even with vitally-supportive faith communities being as attentive to their needs as possible. Still, even when the medical system announces “there’s nothing more we can do” (by which we mean “there’s nothing more we can do to cure you”), I do not support suicide, even if legally sanctioned and popularly recommended.

My belief in the sanctity of life extends from conception (and even prior to physical conception—given Jeremiah 1:4-5) to natural death. So, is the legislation sanctioning Physician-Assisted Suicide a failure of the Church’s emphasis on the sanctity of life. Perhaps to some extent. But only because we have failed to offer a viable alternative to torturous procedures. For some patients, we propose what they interpret as senseless dissection (surgery), systemic poisoning (many pharmaceuticals, including chemotherapy), and selective incineration (usually through radiation). We accept the cost-benefit ratio when there is an expectation of recovery, restoration, or at least slowing the dying process. But what about those patients for whom there is no longer any hope of cure, who see our role as merely prolonging a life of intensifying misery? The dichotomy routinely being presented to such patients is a false one, but it proves a compelling argument for many: “When the cures we offer are no longer effective, you deserve the right to have us kill you.”

The dichotomy (a choice between only two options) is a false one. But it is a pervasive one, nonetheless. Modern medicine routinely lives up to our expectation: “Cure me.” When we are beyond its best efforts, what do we then ask our doctor to do for us? If we imagine that we have no other options than to die painfully and protractedly, in a downward spiral of ever-decreasing self-determination and dignity, it may make sense to many to choose the only other option being so popularly promoted: Physician-Assisted Suicide.

So, the patient asks the medical community: “When you can no longer prolong mu life, are you willing to hasten its end?” The legal answer in a number of states is now, “Yes, we are. And yes, we will.” But before you or a loved one finds yourself facing that binary decision, the false dichotomy of choosing either “painful life or peaceful death,” consider that there may be other answers.

A small, and apparently invisible part of the medical community exists to serve a third purpose. Our goal is neither to prolong your life nor hasten its end. Providing pain-relief, symptom-control, and as much improvement in your quality of life as possible, the goal of hospice care is nothing more or less than to help you live until you die. Amidst a culture that will continue to gravitate toward offering just two options to dying patients, my hope is that you will at least discuss with us what we might be able to do for you, when you’ve been told “there’s nothing more we can do.”

"You matter because you are you, and you matter to the end of your life. 

We will do all we can not only to help you die peacefully, but also to live until you die."

— Dame Cicely Saunders, nurse, physician and writer, and founder of hospice movement (1918 - 2005)

From Baltimore to the Bedside and Beyond: An Outsider’s Exercise in Problem-Solving

Pick a crisis, any crisis. If you need to refresh your memory, simply glance at any media site or social media feed, and there are several from which to choose. Find one that ignites a sense of passionate indignation in you…if you dare. Understand going in that my intention is to make you live with that crisis, at least for a few minutes.

Now, walk through the topic with me and consider two aspects of it.

First, where are your sympathies? Which side are you on? Think about how much you have heard about the issue. Which side of the story do you instinctively accept? Whose arguments do you automatically distrust? What do you consider the non-negotiable principles on which the right conclusions are based? And where are the opposition’s conclusions incorrect?

Second, how deep is your investment? Why do you care? Ask yourself how much you really know about whatever topic you’ve chosen. Now consider how vehemently you disagree with those who are most directly affected, especially those who have extensive experience in addressing the kinds of crises you’re considering. As right as you are in your stance on some or all parts of the arguments, could those who are immersed in the situation have a clearer view of how, or even whether those arguments apply to this case?

Let’s see how these questions apply elsewhere.

A City-Wide Test Case

For Paul Louis Metzger (in his post here), the conflict in view is actually the aftermath of a tragedy. In Baltimore, Maryland a twenty-five year old man was arrested. He was injured while in police custody. He died a week later as a result of his injuries. That is the tragedy, not the aftermath. In fact, Metzger focuses even beyond the subsequent demonstrations, destruction, assaults, injuries and arrests that occurred in the wake of this tragedy. Metzger is reflecting on a request by the No Boundaries Coalition of Central West Baltimore. Entitled “Please do with and not for” (and found here) they plead with “anyone who is planning or organizing events in Sandtown from outside the community.” The poignancy of their experiences is well-documented. Indeed, the anecdotal evidence they offer clearly supports the claim, “Living in Sandtown right now feels like living in a war zone.” And much of the battle is resulting from the “outsiders” that both Metzger and the Coalition have in mind. The Coalition’s post ends with these requests: “Please respect our leadership. Please respect the work we’ve been doing and will continue to do. Please come and work with us and not for us.”

Metzger’s concern echoes that of the Coalition, which in turn echoes my own experience, “All too often, outside experts who claim to be efficient in addressing problems intrude and interfere in communities rather than ask them how they might be able to partner with them.” That perspective resonates with me, but not because I intend to organize community marches, rallies, or other protests over the injustices occurring in the Fall River Valley, the Intermountain Area, or the broader Sate of Jefferson community. Where I am the outside expert, however, I do sometimes “intrude and interfere.”

A Bed-Side Test Case

I, too, was responding in the aftermath of a tragedy. Long after the diagnosis, and well beyond the point where treatment was determined to be ineffective, and even months after being enrolled with hospice care, I was finally invited to meet with the patient. And despite a couple of perfectly charming visits in which the patient exhibited remarkable candor about their condition, their beliefs, and the particular challenges they faced…I was dismissed. At least temporarily, I no longer have an invitation to visit. Even if I were to call ahead, “it’s not you; it just seems like so many are here so often; even a call would make me feel obligated.” We agreed that I would come next only when called by the patient (or others in the household who are also entitled to my care).

And I believe I will be called, when there is a need. When there is an opportunity to “come and work with” the patient, and “not for” them, I will be there. They now have a face to go with my name and title, and a rapport is established so that I know how they prefer to communicate, where their relationships stand, and what kind of crises might arise for which I would be called to intervene, though not to “intrude and interfere.” But until that crisis, my presence would intrude and interfere, since there is not, currently, anything for me to do either “with” or “for” the patient. But if I were to be called, as I often am, to meet and serve a new patient for the first time only once they face a severe crisis, my ignorance of their circumstances can prove insurmountable in seeking to provide them with the best care possible.

In Metzger’s example, it’s a matter of knowing the local community. For me, it’s a matter of knowing the patient’s circumstances. For you, well…we can talk about what you know in a moment.

Exploring Our Responses

As you walk through the issue you chose to consider, and as Metzger walks through the issue He chose to consider, and as I walk through the issue I chose to consider, we all face the same questions.

The first group of questions I posed above, to condense them, could be stated: Whose side are we on, and why? Metzger advises that outsiders best serve when they give “assistance” to others “to take ownership of their problems.” For this to happen, “we need to respect and listen to the local people, learn from them, and invest in them.” I agree. As tempting as it is to try to “fix” things for patients (and others), at the end of the day I go home and leave them alone with the problems they face. As much as I identify alongside various segments of our community, I can only be me, not them. In that light, let me ask you to reflect on those you sympathize with in the issue you chose to consider. Is your investment in equipping them to address their own problems? And is your assistance based on having listened to and learned from those most directly affected?

The second group of questions, again in need of condensing, I would phrase: Whose side are we not on, and have we listened to them as well? Metzger openly opposes “the tragic irony that insider and outsider experts and cultural elites alike fail to listen to the locals in places under duress.” As with my eventual return to my own home, those with “a better idea” for the communities Metzger is discussing are not “the local community (which) will have to bear the burden and carry on with the struggle once the spotlight vanishes and visitors depart.”

But even in his opposition to their “seagull” habits (a description I have learned elsewhere for those who fly in, consume resources, and leave behind only the processed remains of those resources), Metzger engages them (us). Where there has been intrusion and interference, there could just as easily be a far more effective investment. Those “outsiders” have, at least, the potential to offer an objective perspective on such polarizing issues (whether community destruction, terminal illness, or whatever issue you chose to consider). Very often, they (we) have much more to offer as well. But whether we provide the panacea (a cure-all) we imagine, or a poison (the kill-all) in the form of an inaccurate prescription, the ongoing results largely depend upon how clearly we have listened to those who are afflicted, on both sides of the issue.

“Who Is Qualified to Advocate for Me?” – On (Some of) the Frustrations of Mental Illness

(When you get tired of the whining, just jump to the paragraph after where it’s marked, “Here’s the important point.”)

I am tempted to joke, again, about the Ann Hedonia film festival. I could give you an imaginary roster of “famous film noir classics” in which the protagonist manages to maintain a dour demeanor of depressed indifference, even as tragically heroic actions preserve and protect others, without emotionally, mentally, socially, physically, or spiritually benefitting the movie’s central character.

Still, Ann Hedonia keeps making personal appearances, bringing her black dog along with her. And even though her roots are starting to show, that doesn’t stop her from bringing the twins out to offer their equally sour succulents, spines and all. She fulfills her usual typecasting, diminishing any desire to pursue otherwise enjoyable activities. But she’s expanded her repertoire to include a diminished enjoyment of even those activities I manage to pursue. In short, I don’t do fun stuff. And on those occasions when I do what used to be fun stuff, I don’t find it fun. And that’s before the black dog finds a quiet corner in which to do his business.

You won’t find her at IMDB (Internet Movie Data Base), and searching for her elsewhere may lead you to some very different conclusions than her personification of anhedonia, the inability to derive pleasure from otherwise pleasurable activities. As you can imagine, there is no fan club. (I think Sylvia Plath talked about maybe trying to organize something, but she doesn’t return my calls.)

If it seems that I am stalling, then you’re being perceptive. If you know me well, then you probably know that there have been good reasons to be, temporarily, sad. True, the San Francisco Giants are not in the playoffs, but it’s an odd-numbered year. And whatever business the Forty-Niners are pursuing is likely to self-correct, eventually. But some of you know about the long string of close personal deaths. Others are aware of the disappointing return on several deeply personal investments (involving the return of the abused to their abuser, the addict to their addiction, and the repeated disappearances of the purportedly devoted). There are other struggles that I pretend are invisible even to those closest to me. But the lie is wearing thin.

Yet all of you, I imagine—and, frankly, I myself—remain acutely aware of the many resources, benefits, and blessings not only available, but stocked deep in my personal inventory. And that’s where the key problem lies for many of us.

I perceive myself as having no standing from which to advocate for those experiencing mental illness. I am functioning, even as I find it difficult to have fun. (And I really do believe that fun is overrated as an evaluative category of life anyway.) Many others are struggling far more with far less ability to do anything about it. I can afford the counselor that I, until recently, avoided. I can adjust my diet and exercise in an attempt to foster endorphin production. (And I have, but it didn’t. Hence the counselor appointment.) There is no legitimate reason for me to be depressed—which further depresses me while simultaneously shaming me. No wonder I don’t get invited to many parties any more.

And yet, if I cannot speak about depression because I am not depressed enough, am I asking those who are more depressed than I am to bear the greater burden for communicating their needs? It would seem so.

But I was recently told that I could not advocate on behalf of a population whose status I do not share. The message was clear: those in need are the only ones with the right to speak of their need. But they don’t, any more than I willingly speak of my own minor difficulties. And yet, as those difficulties have worsened, I find that I wish someone else would advocate on behalf of this population in which I am numbered. Because I have been less and less willing to speak. In some ways, I feel like this post is something like a shout back toward town from edge of the growing chasm that threatens to swallow everything I know and love. I may not choose to say more.

Granted, the breaks between segments of the football game invite me to celebrate with them. McDonald’s now serves breakfast all day long (and the Twitter-pated are ecstatically emoji-ing over the news). Kia is finally building a vehicle for football families. The average military family can save over three hundred and forty-five million dollars by selecting USAA as their financial institution. And there are even more reasons coming at the next commercial break for celebrating life in these United States. But even in the face of these amazing developments, and “the power of Kaepernick” (in the words of the commentator enjoying the Niners’ quarterback as he leads the first sustained drive of the game), I find that my hopes, minimal as they are, rest…well, where? Not with me. Not with my self-help attempts. And not really with the counselor who comes so highly recommended.

But I am going. And I am hoping. Before it gets any worse. I think you should know why.

(Here’s the important point.)

This is why I am admitting my malaise, and moving toward the care I believe I need:

I recently heard a caregiver explain how strong they were, how much they were enduring, and how they would know when it was time for them to abdicate their role, turning the care of a loved one over to others. They expressed that they would not wait too long. When they were “ninety-nine percent done,” they promised, they would let others know to take up the slack of their absence.

My objection to their plan, as gently put as I knew how, was that when others have to respond, it would be good for there to be a little more than one percent of the caregiver’s attentions available, if for no other reason than to share with their replacement(s) what needed to be done in their stead. We agreed on eighty-five percent of their capacity as allowing enough time to make such a transition. But even at eighty percent, there is the possibility of crisis, of personal illness, or of any other unforeseen circumstances that might suddenly push them past their capacity. Engaging in some self-care in order to prolong their availability, and even to alleviate some of the pressure that has pushed them toward the end of their abilities, they may find themselves not only able to provide the care they want to give, but to be healthier in doing so as well.

If I, then, having advised others, choose to run my life too deeply into the high ninety percent range, then I am pretending that there will not be another string of close personal deaths, or other disappointments, or discord, dysfunction, or further debility among those I love. The reality is that I should expect more of the same. I serve a congregation where the average age is significantly higher than my own. The health of my immediate and extended family is unlikely to improve radically any time soon. Oh, and I continue to form close personal friendships with Hospice patients who are, by policy, supposed to be dying relatively soon.

So, before I use up too much more of whatever margin actually remains, I will be talking it over with a competent mental health professional. And if anything I have described in any of the above resonates with you, I pray that you do the same. But if you’re waiting for someone to advocate for you…I find that I can only advocate to you that you avail yourself of whatever resources you can.

The Wonders of Two Moons

Sunday, September 27, 2015 - 7:43 p.m. PDT
(Brightened slightly to show detail.)

Sunday, September 27, 2015 – Some have said that the moon is thirty thousand miles closer than its usual average. Thirty thousand miles is actually a bit over the total difference between perigee (“super-moon” proximity) and apogee (when it appears smallest because it is farthest away). So, since the average is 238,900 miles, the moon was still over 225,000 miles away on Sunday night. By mid-month, it will again be more than 250,000 miles away.

For a photographer, the size difference is relatively insignificant. The greatest obstacle is still the same: the atmosphere, its pollutants, weather-related haze, or a small band of clouds may obscure every attempt at capturing “lunar events.” By that, especially this past week, is meant the total eclipse Sunday, and the full moon on the following night.

Seeing in the Dark – Part One

During the eclipse, I worked to get the right settings for the aperture, exposure, focus, and tripod. As the moon rose above the horizon, it also began to disappear as the shadow of the earth glided slowly up the familiar face of “the man in the moon.” Before long he was only barely visible to the naked eye, red with the effects of the light’s long trip through the curve of our atmosphere, still somewhat shaded by the smoke from smoldering forests near and far. The camera was doing a better job than I was of penetrating the haze and accumulating the light of several seconds at a time. But then, I noticed that my eye was doing a better job of something I had not anticipated.

Sunday, September 27, 2015 - 8:05 p.m. PDT
(Pretty much just as it was. Be sure to see it full-sized.)

Looking away from the moon, I realized I could see far many more stars than were usually apparent. I could even see a different kind of haze directly above me in the bright band of The Milky Way. The eclipsed moon being darkened, my eyes opened wider to admit a far greater spectrum. Even the distant lights of farms and ranches well across the Pit Valley and miles away down Dee Knoch Road stood out in sharper contrast to the blackness between them.

Looking at my photo of the more distant star-field, a friend commented that he didn’t recognize the constellations. I replied that neither did I, since the patterns were made up of stars we wouldn’t usually see and, given the very long lens I was using, they probably resided within other constellations we would usually be looking at, paying little attention to the stars of lesser magnitude within and around them.

Seeing in the Dark – Part Two

The following night was as near the exact opposite as possible in this super-moon event. I decided to contrast the challenge of capturing such a dimly lit face with the challenge of bringing out the details of the moon’s surface when my naked eye saw only the bright white circle against the otherwise, apparently black night sky. The same issues of aperture, exposure, and focus were again made easier by using the tripod, but it was less necessary than the night before. The length of the exposures was far shorter. Still, my attention was again centered on only the slightest few degrees in the vast reach of the night sky. At least, it was for a while.

Monday, September 28, 2015 - 8:54 p.m. PDT
(Darkened slightly to show detail.)

Before long, though, I began to notice other points of light. The moon reflected off the surface of the water flowing down the Pit River, but also on the partially-flooded rice paddies, and strangely off of other items at various points along the valley. The spray, the pipes, and the wheels of the wheel-lines on a ranch miles away were glittering. Metal roofed barns glowed. The white farmhouse closest to us reflected moonlight against the windshields of the trucks parked nearby. Again, as my eyes adjusted, more and more of the stands of trees, fence lines, and out buildings became apparent.

Shifting My Focus

The super-moon got top billing this past weekend. Rightly so, because it is rare to have the various elements coincide. But moon is just as dark once each month, for the entire night. And it is, if only slightly smaller, just as bright just as often. There have been times when I noticed the brightness of the night sky through the windows of my home. There were also times before the need for security lighting when I noticed that it seemed much darker than usual as I walked by braille from the door of my office to the door of my car. But I rarely stopped to look at the moon, much less at all the other things that it’s brightness or darkness made more visible.

Truth be told, I have to admit, sadly, that the same will probably continue to be my habit. Most of the time I don’t stop to smell the roses, much less gaze at the moon. And, as a photographer, I’m known for what and how I see things, too. But taking more time to relax and enjoy the scenery is not the lesson I took away from my sojourns on the deck these past two nights.

An Allegorical Application

The sense of God’s presence is rarely so absent as it was at times in the earliest years of my walk with Christ. It takes more to amaze me, too, at what He chooses to do in my life, whether miraculously or mundanely. But what I do find waxing and waning is my perception of whether He is accomplishing His purpose through me.

September 28, 2015 - 9:04 p.m. PDT
(Pretty much just as it was.
Also nice full-sized.)

The tangible results of pastoral ministry definitely ebb and flood. There are times when, if one were to judge from attendance, finances, conversions/baptisms, or signs of personal approval from those we love, that we would be convinced of our abject failure. These times are interspersed with moments that might otherwise affect us, making us feel like God’s best, most precious gift to those we are called to serve. Neither is an accurate estimation, of course. But it can feel that way, or both ways, sometimes within hours of each other.

I am in a particularly dark season at the moment. Some desperately want me to have the answer, or the resources, or whatever else would alleviate their circumstances, and I know of nothing that will change the way things are for them (other than a sovereign God’s answer to prayer, of course). There are others, however, whose needs I see, for whom I have clear answers and ample resources that three decades of experience tells me would be effective in their circumstances. But, as yet, they are still pursuing other remedies, other anxieties, other hopelessness, and other self-directed self-help strategies.

I have also known seasons of great brightness when I have celebrated with those who have seen life events of brilliant magnitude, miraculous interventions against impossible odds, and sudden reversals of long-held patterns of dysfunction or addiction. As you can imagine, I like these seasons better.

September 28, 2015 - 9:18 p.m. PDT (Pretty much just as it was. This one is worth seeing full-sized, too.)

But in either one, the question that the two moons raises for me is this: whether in the greatest possible brightness or the nearly invisible darkness, what else is there that I should be looking at? As regular readers may have noticed, I have been contemplating The Beatitudes quite a lot lately. In each, Jesus states an aspect of the human condition that most would evaluate as darkness: being poor in spirit, mourning, hungering and thirsting, and being persecuted, but also encountering the personal expense of being gently, merciful, pure in heart, or peacemakers. The shining brilliance of life is not just the opposite of these conditions, but they can be seen in the results of each condition, too. Those who embody these traits possess the kingdom of God, they are comforted, they inherit the earth, etc.

So, if not to the circumstances in which I find myself, not in the results and consequences that are promised to those The Beatitudes describe, where else could I look? Instead of my personal perspective on the brightness or darkness, I might be wiser to shift my focus, to see what else Jesus might show me if I overcome my preoccupation with everything that usually clamors for top-billing. It would be cliché to say that I need to look more intently at Jesus. It is still true. But that is only part of the challenge. To look at Jesus is to look at those He has called me to serve, and see, perhaps, something different in and about them than the brightness or darkness of any givenmoment.

After all, the brilliance that illuminated the entire landscape, the darkness that allowed innumerable stars to make themselves seen—both of these came from what only seemed to be two different moons.