I always imagined dying a faithful death for Christ would mean burning at the stake. Now, I suspect it will mean dying in my bed of natural causes.
The assisted dying movement gained momentum recently when the New York State Assembly and the UK House of Commons both passed laws paving the way for patients to die with the help of the medical community. Pending final approval, they will join nations such as Canada, The Netherlands, most of Australia, Spain, and Switzerland, as well as twelve U.S. jurisdictions. The push to legalize what is often termed “Medical Assistance in Dying” is a major sign of what philosopher Philip Rieff called “the triumph of the therapeutic”: the belief that for everything there must be a therapy, a remedy, a provision of comfort. Not only every aspect of our lives, but now even our deaths must be therapized. It is also significant that assisted dying has gained acceptance in countries where individual choice and freedom of action are valued the highest.
Even with the cultural groundwork laid, assisted dying has not happened overnight. It has faced substantial objections on both secular and religious grounds. From a secular standpoint, the question of whether a seriously ill or depressed person can truly consent to be killed, the inevitability of the practice’s expansion to include non-terminal patients, and the threat posed to other forms of end-of-life care have all been noted. For Christians, opposition is usually rooted in God’s command, “You shall not murder” (Ex. 20:13), which was universally interpreted for two thousand years to include self-murder. Martin Luther prominently taught we should have compassion on those who commit suicide out of despair, for they are, in truth, killed by their illness or the torment of the evil one. Still, he did not suggest it was ethical to help other people kill themselves.
Entire volumes have been written by far more intelligent people arguing for or against the legalization of medically assisted dying. My aim here is to explore the issue from a personal perspective, as our political debates often overlook the deeply personal nature of end-of-life decisions. Luther famously said, “The summons of death comes to us all, and no one can die for another. Every one must fight his own battle with death by himself, alone.” [1]
Why does this issue matter so much to me? Because I have skin in the game: I am going to die.
As far as I can tell, the world will be forced to tolerate my presence for quite a while. However, this does not change the fact that I am a dying person, and you are, as well. Which of us will die sooner is yet to be revealed, but we all have skin in the game.
When I think about what it is like to die, I remember two dear relatives who succumbed to neurodegenerative disease. It is difficult to say which kind of death is worst, but I doubt anyone would willingly select neurodegeneration from the list. Such diseases can last anywhere from a few months to several years. They cause the body’s muscles to slowly fail. By the end, neither of my relatives could speak, swallow, or perform basic elements of bodily care for themselves. Their diseases seemed to eat them alive, leaving them mere skin and bone.
Had they lived in a different country or state, both relatives would have been prime candidates for assisted dying. Their conditions were incurable and thoroughly unpleasant. They lost all independence. Their care was very expensive. For many people in such a situation, the temptation to “die with dignity” would be strong.
I don’t want dignity. I want resurrection.
As a strong believer in memento mori – the historical Christian tradition of remembering one’s death – I have often imagined what it would be like to die in such a manner and how I would feel if someone presented me with a pamphlet promising to make my suffering end. Would the word “dignity” be printed on the front page? That has been a favorite term of the assisted dying movement. The famous non-profit in Switzerland, which has provided this service to its members for years, is called Dignitas. When Oregon became the first U.S. state to legalize the practice in 1997, it did so via the Death with Dignity Act.
What do we mean when we talk about dignity in this context? Maintaining one’s independence? Maintaining one’s good looks? Not having to constantly drool like my relatives did? In the book Tuesdays with Morrie, the titular character colorfully muses early in his journey with A.L.S. that one day, someone will have to wipe his butt for him. For many, this is the crux of the matter. Infirmity can make us like infants again, totally incapable of providing for ourselves and completely dependent on the sacrifices of others. For many, this is the opposite of dignity.
I have thought a lot about death and a lot about dignity, and I have reached a conclusion: I don’t want dignity. I want resurrection.
It is not enough for Christians to make a negative case against self-killing. We must make a positive case for natural death. People who seek assisted dying often do so because 1) they see no purpose in their suffering, and 2) they have no hope of resurrection. Obviously, there are exceptions, but this seems to be the majority opinion in our secular age.
The Church has been assisting dying people for two thousand years, not by hastening their demise, but by providing a biblical framework through which they can comprehend their suffering and death. As Christians, we understand that our suffering is a result of the curse of sin upon this world. That does not mean we are being punished for individual sins, but that the curse has touched all creation. We understand that death is not “a natural part of life” but an enemy that Christ has defeated. We acknowledge that we do not suffer alone but are joined with Christ in every heart-wrenching moment.
The Apostle Paul, no stranger to suffering, wrote of his great desire for union with Christ: “that I may know him and the power of his resurrection, and may share his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, that by any means possible I may attain the resurrection from the dead.” (Phil. 3:10-11) Paul did not mean he was becoming righteous through suffering, for he had just declared his reliance on “the righteousness from God that depends on faith.” (v. 9) But he understood that what is true in our baptism will also someday be true for our physical bodies. “For if we have been united with him in a death like his, we shall certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his” (Rom. 6:5).
Christ was not content to give us therapy for suffering and death: a temporary fix to an irreversible problem.
The Christian answer to death is not grim resignation. We can get angry at death. We can wish to see it thrown into hell, because it will be! (Rev. 20:14) Yes, death itself is undergoing a death. Its days are numbered. It has already been defeated, and when Christ returns in glory, its power over us will be fully broken.
Christ was not content to give us therapy for suffering and death: a temporary fix to an irreversible problem. Therapy has its important uses, but what we need most of all is a complete recreation of our bodies, our souls, and our world. Christ suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified and died, descended into hell, and rose to life victorious so that our suffering would be redeemed and our deaths would not be the end.
We have little control over what laws our legislators pass or what policies our insurers adopt. The only thing we can control is our own decisions. Assisted dying has been promoted using the rationale of personal choice, and we, as Christians, can personally choose not to participate. It is no longer enough for us to live faithfully. We must die faithfully as well. The world must look at us and know we believe in resurrection.
Like the saints of old, I am betting everything on resurrection. Nothing else is enough to satisfy me.
I always imagined dying a faithful death for Christ would mean burning at the stake. Now, I suspect it will mean dying in my bed of natural causes. Whether the stake or the bed, I pray that God will enable me to persevere until the end, for I know I have no such power within myself. But grace has brought me safe thus far, and grace will lead me home. [2]
I believe my suffering has meaning because it is joined with Christ’s. I believe my dignity comes from the fact that I was created in the image of God. Not as the world gives dignity does Christ give dignity. He did not come to earth to save us from someone having to wipe our butts. He came to put flesh back on our bones and breath back in our lungs. Like the saints of old, I am betting everything on resurrection. Nothing else is enough to satisfy me. Humans, in general, ask not too much but too little. We seek temporary comfort when we ought to be demanding eternal life. With my last breath, I will demand that God fulfill the promise he made to me so long ago.
Fear not, beloved. Resurrection day is coming.
[1] This were the opening sentences of Luther’s first “Invocavit sermon” on 9 March 1522. The text is available here: https://sb.rfpa.org/the-first-sermon-march-9-1522-invocavit-sunday%C2%B9/
[2] This is a paraphrase of a line from John Newton’s classic hymn, “Amazing Grace.”
