I’ve occasional said, that for pastors, like EMTs and police officers and ER staff and undertakers and Hospicare, “Death is a presenting issue.” A lot of other helping disciplines deal with death, but for counselors it’s often more like unresolved grief or trauma about a death that are the presenting issues. For a small number of jobs, death is itself the matter at hand.
The piles of unformed and not-very-informed words heaped up about Maynard’s decision to die more on her terms threw me back a couple of decades to Kubler-Ross’ work, which was an early model of how people react to the process of dying. Certainly it is one of the most common models. It had the advantage of being concise and from a psychological perspective. Looking back, it may have been simplified, but it got the topic into conversation.
Given that, by and large, most people die “just the one time,*” that in the sixties someone felt the need to describe the stages of dying or having someone close die is an interesting societal development. My personal read is that in the mid-20th century, and especially in urban and suburban areas, dying became “hospitalized.” Just as childbirth went from homes and midwives in mainstream U.S. culture to hospitals, so did the natural processes of dying. In just a couple of generations, most people died in hospitals, even of natural causes. And by not dying in the presence of family, a surprising lot was lost, psychologically, societally, and religiously speaking. So it’s not surprise that Kubler-Ross came up with a clinical description of what was by then a too-clinical situation.
The medial industrial complex had turned dying into a medical problem instead of a natural part of human life. And it has taken quite some time to refind a healthier understanding. Bodies die. It’s just a fact. But people inhabit those bodies, people with hopes and fears and all the rest, and we have different reactions to those last days. And, of course, other people love people who are dying, and they, too, have hopes and fears and different reactions.
Before death became a clinical problem, most people through history hoped for a “good death.” It was more than a calm or peaceful slipping away or bravery in battle or at the end of a good stewardship of one’s allotted days, it was a desire to show faith and style as one died, hopefully leaving a sense of peace to one’s survivors and a good lesson about faith and wisdom about living and dying. The Greeks felt is was a civilized, wise person’s last duty to demonstrate a good way of dying. Epicurus said, “The art of living well and the art of dying well are one.” Think of the stories of last words on the deathbeds of famous personages in the 18th and 19th centuries. People passed from this world surrounded by loved ones and neighbors and friends, not beeping machinery.
I’m glad that we have rehumanized dying, although I’m not sure that “death with dignity” is the best catchphrase, either. Even since I began ministry I’ve seen the medical profession changing away from fighting death to understanding and listening to the patients as people, people with feelings and hopes and fears. I have seen the steady rise of hospice movement seeking a more dignified and holistic context for what none of us can escape, particularly in some of the slower ways human bodies cease to work. I rejoice in their work and witness. I marvel at how much grace they share with the people they accompany.
From the perspective of communities of faith, we believe that there is far more to our human being than just the bodies we inhabit, and that there is something beyond us— call it spirit, energy, being, whatever, consider it personal or impersonal, call it religious or scientific, whatever— that intersects with our dying. Being part of the larger whole is, by and large, comforting, and the stories and understandings of faith help us make the transition and help us when others we love are making the transition. Death is not the end. That does, as Paul puts it, take away the sting of death, for we know that death is not the last word. Believers have been looking at death in a healthier context for a long, long time. No matter how one conceives of that cosmic pool of being, of life, placing ourselves in that context makes a huge difference. It eases our fears and awakens hope.
Deciding to do the best you can with your allotted days is always a good thing, and it’s something the church has always believed in. Deciding to do the best you can with the end of your allotted days is something the church has always provided help with, giving a wider, longer, better perspective on our lives, reassuring us that those we lose and those we leave behind will be OK.
One of my favorite people has a pretty pessimistic prognosis, but she and the man who cares about her have been on a tour of the sights out west (the Grand Canyon of course) and the people around the country she loves, deciding to live her days on her terms. She may be dying physically, but at the same time, she’s choosing life the whole way. As a retired pastor, she knows what’s coming next, although she hates to be forced to leave by her illness too soon. I’d say she’s choosing life with dignity, right through the end.
We all know people who face the last chapters of this existence with more hope than fear, and our congregation has lovely examples present and past of good and gracious souls and the people who minister to them. And people like that teach us far, far more about dying with grace than any CNN story. Thank God there are so many who show us how to live and die with hope.
In Christ,
David
* bonus points for being able to tell me in what television show that line was used.
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