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.

So Many Options for Peacemaking; So Little Peace Being Made

If peacemakers are blessed, as Jesus says, then we should try to make peace. Certainly, it’s easier said than done. But you’d think, with so many options available, that something would work.

Option One

“Peace through superior firepower.” This is the basis of the peace imposed on others by various empires. For example, the Pax Romana (The Roman Peace), the Pax Brittanica (The British Peace), the Pax Americana (I think you’re catching on by now), and the Pax Seres (coming soon). It also forms the basis for the wide appeal of the Colt Single-Action Army Revolver ever since 1873, along with the marketing of other weapons and arms systems.

In Romans 13:3-4, the Apostle Paul notes that civil authority “does not bear the sword for nothing; for it is a minister of God, an avenger who brings wrath on the one who practices evil.” When law enforcement arrives in most confrontations, the superior firepower often results in a more peaceful resolution than would otherwise occur. But sometimes, the result resembles option two instead.

Option Two

“Peace through identifying common enemies.” Law enforcement officers responding to domestic violence calls know this option well. While a battered spouse may call in hopes of limiting or preventing further physical assault, when it proves necessary to arrest and remove the batterer (or, often, simply the least battered of the two), officers know how quickly they can face not only the resistance of the one being arrested, but of the reporting party as well.

This option has been practiced throughout church history, of course. In its better moments, widely differing denominations and traditions have united for the good of their communities, combating oppression, exploitation, and other damaging influences. With the multiplication of traditions and denominations through schisms, splits, and other church-fights, leaders have often found it advantageous to unite their constituents by focusing on some far more egregious belief or practice seen elsewhere. “Yes, I know these are important issues to resolve…someday. But for now, we need to unite in order to demonstrate the wrongs of our brothers and sisters in (insert name of contrasting theology, tradition, or denomination here).” This practice can also result in option three.

Option Three

“Peace through mutually-assured destruction.” At this writing, two local congregations in my community have suspended operations. One was accused of schism because they objected to the significant shift in theology of the parent denomination. That congregation, largely intact, now meets elsewhere than the building the built and maintained for decades, which now stands empty. The other congregation has endured over a decade of intermittent scattering and regathering, with a variety of issues quoted as causes. Just as options one and two are rarely successful in bringing about peace, so also the threat of mutually-assured destruction does not dissuade conflicting parties from proceeding with their destructive actions. Is there anyone more certain of how right they are than the zealot with the bomb strapped to his own chest?

And yet, some of us see the results of such passionate pursuits, and we determine to avoid not only those holding other positions in such fervor, but any fervor for our own positions as well. And this leads us to the fourth of our options.

Option Four

“Peace through apathetic resignation.” Eeyore is the most peaceful of all the inhabitants in the Hundred-Acre Wood. Granted, he may provoke less-than-optimal responses in others. Tigger’s hyperactivity may be seen as a necessary counter-balance to the contagious lethargy that might otherwise afflict him. Kanga’s maternal instincts are probably enhanced in an attempt to prevent Roo from growing up to experience similar depressive episodes. Even Pooh’s self-medication through his honey addiction may be a vain attempt to heighten life’s enjoyments, even as he shortens its duration through diabetes and, probably, heart disease as well. But for all the collateral damage he might inflame in others, Eeyore will always be the least conflicted of all. He simply does not care enough to hold any other expectation than the worst of all possibilities.

That place of depressed indifference is, I can attest, a peaceful place to be.

Conclusion

There is a means of peacemaking, however, that is blessed, and effective, and relates directly to being the “called children of God” (as Jesus states in the next to last beatitude—Matthew 5:9). If we do remember that all human persons are created to bear the image and likeness of our creator, God, then there are mutual interests we can serve together. The lowest common denominators can be identified in keeping with “The Rule of Threes” in medical triage as air, warmth, water, and food. Three minutes without air, three hours without warmth, three days without water, or three weeks without food, and we cannot help but experience significant physical damage.

We desire so much more, of course. But when our desires outstrip our needs, do we recognize the imbalance that results? If I can acquire more than what I need, then I consign others to have less than what I would want, perhaps less than they would need. And why do I want more? Because I am not at peace with myself, the bearer of God’s image and likeness. Why? Because I do not count my relationship with Him as sufficient. If I am not at peace with God, then I will inflict the iniquity of inequity upon anyone who might prevent me from getting what I want. That, in turn, invites conflict from those who are prevented from having what they need…simply because I want more than that.

Make peace with God, so that you may be at peace with yourself, which enables you to live at peace with others. Or, you can get a bigger gun, and gather others against a mutual enemy, in order to ensure that there will be no survivors on either side, and then—hopefully—recognize the futility of your pursuits and sink into the existential despair of motiveless lethargy.

That, of course, is a peaceful place to be, too. But not nearly so blessed as making peace and being called children of God.

The Expensive Habits of the Pure in Heart

Jesus said, “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.”

I am not pure in heart. That should be noted immediately. Not that I don’t have my moments of altruism. I occasionally do the right thing for the right reasons. But short afterward, my retrospect-o-scope looks for ways in which I may have missed the potential profit, improved influence, or at least reputation-building benefits that could have accompanied my efforts.

So, when I am looking at even those few moments that some would imagine me pure in heart, what do I see? I see me. I see what resources I had available. I see what needs those resources met. I see my frustration at being unable to accomplish even more for those in need. And I see…well, the gratitude I think I deserve, the pay-back that should replenish whatever the particular act of service “cost” me, or even just the spiritualized brownie-points of somehow imagining that God is glad to have me on His team.

Let me illustrate my point by haunting you with the same story He haunts me with.

A servant rises before dawn. He attends to the household chores before sun-up. The master wants breakfast. So the servant cooks. Then serves the food. Then clears away the remainder. Then does the dishes. And then, at first light, the heads out into the fields, knowing that the sun will set before the work there is done. But after finding the way back to the house in the dark, the servant finds the master waiting. No small talk. No offer of cool water at the end of a hard day. The master wants dinner. So the servant cooks. Then serves the food. Then clears away the remainder. Then does the dishes. And then the servant makes the fire, checks the doors, sweeps and mops and ensures that the house is pristine before the master awakens again tomorrow morning, and the same cycle of service begins again.

Jesus uses a very similar illustration in Luke 17:7-10. Here’s how that concludes in the New American Standard translation. “So you too, when you do all the things which are commanded you, say, ‘We are unworthy slaves; we have done only that which we ought to have done.’” (Luke 17:10)

At one point in my life, I thought that religion could be pursued as a hobby. And I still think that. I have plenty of (nominally—meaning they claim the title, whether or not they have any idea about what it means) Christian friends who do just that. One occasionally tells me, “Yep, you’ll see me in church Sunday. Time to get my batteries recharged.” Some hobbyists think they can buy God off with an hour or two here or there. Others find the self-help lectures from the pulpit to be profitable, more or less. Too many feel the need to brush up on their proof-texts. Otherwise they may not know what to say when discussions turn to morality…of other people.

But what has made me dissatisfied with my hobby is what lies at the core of Jesus’ illustration in Luke 17:7-10. As grating as I once found that passage, I now count myself grateful for those moments, sometimes hours at a times, though hardly any full days (yet) in which I find myself being the single-minded servant He describes.

I used to look at God as that master who is unrealistically robbing his servant of any free time, making his life a drudge of routine, frustrated by never-ending chores to be done. Then I began to spend time with caregivers. Not always is it possible. But I have seen the closest family, and especially spouses, who serve the needs of a Hospice patient, a chronically-ill patient, or the disabled. Some leave home only to eke out the basic economic support of continuing their employment so that the insurance paying for their loved-one’s care doesn’t lapse. All the while they do so, knowing that eventually there will come those days when they return from work to find that there is no end to the work to be done at home.

What is the difference between their attitude and that of others who see Jesus’ demands eating into “their spare time?” They serve because it is the most authentic expression of who they are in relation to the patient. And because they know that, one day, the time for such loving service will be ended. Those who have been relieved of that duty almost unanimously wish for just one more day of it.

The more I recognize the purposes God is seeking to fulfill in and through my life (glorifying His name, so that the body of Christ is strengthened and made whole, so that the Church may tear down the gates of hell holding so many captive in the communities we are called to serve), the more I think fondly of the privilege of serving Christ and others. And the more I do that, the more I am reminded of another of Jesus’ teachings: “We must work the works of Him who sent Me as long as it is day; night is coming when no one can work.” (John 9:4-5)

When you see God, does it purify your heart? I believe it does. And I seek to purify my heart so that I might see God all the more. Except when I don’t. That is, when I begrudge Him the infringements on my “free time.” By which I mean: Whenever I forget that I am privileged to serve the One I love, and those whom He and I love together, and that the time remaining for doing so grows shorter every moment that passes.

Do you serve the Master? Good. Sacrificially sometimes? Probably better but, for me, that still means I’m looking at “my time” being given up for Him. So, I invite you to join me—to strive to serve your Beloved. You’ll find that to be far more fulfilling. 

“I’m Right; You’re Stupid.” – Overcoming Our Tendency to Destroy Dialogue via Social Media

Let me offer the following:

A question. An observation. A process. A conclusion.

The question: When we post to social media, and especially when we construct memes, to whom is our message intended?

The observation: I have friends with whose positions I agree. I have friends with whose positions I disagree. Both groups tend to traffic in narrow, stereotypical misrepresentations of one another, polarizing any issue into the extreme ends of any given spectrum. The result is that I choose not to respond even to those with whom I might agree to some extent when they so overstate their position, or represent it as an attack on other human persons. Many of them only barely rise above the childish rant: “I’m right; you’re stupid.”

The process: Here’s how this seems to be happening.

Seeking to encourage dialogue, I have been regularly engaging some of the moderately overwrought expressions of particular positions. The positions held cover a wide variety of topics. But whether it is gun control, immigration, misogyny, the mutual hatred of Republicans and Democrats, the dangers of allowing expressions of religious faith, or any of a handful of other topics, the positions are not just predictable. The positions held become exclusively binary—they are quickly forced to the extreme ends of each issue’s spectrum. For example, if we hold that “Black lives matter,” then we must believe that “No other lives matter.” Likewise, if we love the unborn human person, then we must despise and seek to torturously enslave women. And those who seek the free exercise of their religious convictions can, in this paradigm, only desire to do so at the expense of others’ rights. In all these and more there is no sense of nuance, no appreciation for our limited perceptions, and no suggestion of third options or even alternative perspectives on either of the two (and only two) positions available on any issue.

And this is what is occurring among the moderately overwrought expressions that I have sought to engage. Other expressions are distinctly hateful and inflammatory, and my engagement of them has, so far, only elicited responses of the “I’m right; you’re stupid” variety.

I try to engage those whose expressions merely exaggerate, whose stereotypes are more universal, and who acknowledge that those who disagree with their positions may, in fact, still have a right to air, warmth, water, and food. Usually, however, even these seem intent only on further enflaming those who share their opinions. This works, of course. Each post offers the opportunity to reinforce the position held through others’ “likes” and “shares” and “retweets” and other means of congratulation, especially toward those who state the positions creatively. Yet this also encourages more extreme expressions. Those with the greatest response go beyond exaggeration into ridiculous hyperbole, beyond stereotypes into depersonalization, and even advocating the exploitation, oppression, and removal (yes, removal and even destruction) of entire groups of human persons.

This polarization continues unabated where either of two conditions exist.

The first condition allows some to remain oblivious to their own extreme expressions. This occurs when one’s social media friends and/or followers are almost entirely of a narrow political, socio-economic, religious, and/or ethnic category. Here, the reinforcement of our beliefs goes unchallenged because it is unheard outside the sycophantic circle (i.e., those who can only voice agreement with another’s thought, most often due to the total lack of any thoughts of their own).

The second condition, however, exists even where one’s circle of friends/followers expands beyond those categories. Those of us who reconnect with old friends from High School and College—and who have advanced a few years beyond those formative associations—find a broader range of opinions being expressed. We may agree with some, disagree with others, or even find ourselves wondering about the thought process that supports the position being stated. But in these cases, the polarization continues. Why? Because of this second condition: tacit approval—meaning we silently allow others to assume our agreement. As much as we may consider how someone has come to a conclusion far different from our own, we rarely engage in dialogue. We tend to respond only to those posts to which we can add a hearty “Amen!” with presumed impunity. Others, we read far enough to categorize into our own stereotypes, then scroll, swipe, or otherwise move on to safer, more agreeable posts.

The Conclusion: Having observed this polarization process, I would offer two uncomfortable suggestions. First, I recommend that we expand our corps of friends and followers to include those with whom we are likely to disagree. Second, I also recommend that we engage, politely, with questions or concerns about the content and tone of others’ posts, and especially the memes that are frequently shared by many.

Will this foster world peace? Are we hoping to come to agreement on these divisive issues? Can this possibly stop the bitterness and hatred being expressed?

I believe it would be a step in the right direction. Because when we choose to engage other human persons with whom we disagree, we would be treating them as though they were other human persons. That, in and of itself, might ramp down the rhetoric and allow us the privilege of actual dialogue. And, even if we may never reach agreement in the 5-10% on which we disagree, at least we might reach an accommodation for the 90-95% of our lives that we hold in entire agreement.