There's more than one kind of fear at the end of life

A couple of days ago, I wrote advance directives are not the answer to the question of end of life care because changing circumstances could very well lead a changing of decisions. In the Saturday, April 2, Toronto Star, columnist Helen Henderson wrote that is exactly what happened to her. (The article is no longer available free on line.)
Ms. Henderson wrote about people who saw the images of Terri Schiavo in her hospital bed and began to wonder "If that were me..." Continuing with Ms. Henderson's words,

That's how the fear starts. If it were me ...
If it were me 40 years ago contemplating a life with multiple sclerosis, I might have said I'd rather shoot myself.
Now, I know the part of life I value most started after the diagnosis.

She quotes, in turn, from disability rights lawyer Harriet McBryde Johnson, who has herself endured more than four decades of a muscle-wasting disease. If there Terri Schiavo was still "aware and conscious, it is possible that, like most people who live with severe disability for as long as she has, she has abandoned her preconceived fears of the life she is now living."

Some people had suggested Terri Schiavo's supporters had a tough time "letting her go" because they feared death. And there may be some truth in that. But there are many things people can fear. Some fear death. And some fear weakness and disability. Some fear not being able to do things they take for granted now. Some fear losing their self-sufficiency. Some fear being dependent on others. Some fear being a burden.

Ms Henderson noted what so many others had noted. "The way we treat the most vulnerable among us defines us as a society."

At the end of life as at its beginning, growing means facing and outgrowing our fears and claiming the strength and hope that comes from care and compassion.

Remembering Pope John Paul II

Whether Protestant or Roman Catholic, I suppose most of us in my generation who work in the Church or other Christian service serve in some way under the influenced of the ministry of Pope John Paul II.

In 1979, I was freshly graduated from college and beginning my career in Christian work. The then-new Pope John Paul II was honouring Chicago's Polish community with one of his early visits. I was unable to attend his mass in Grant Park in person, but I attended carefully to the radio broadcast.

His challenge to his congregation then is one that still echoes through my mind today. “We must all work together for the spread of the Gospel to the people who still are in need,” he said. We must not allow ourselves to be divided and distracted from this crucial task. And this task was crucial because, he said, “There’s no other name under heaven given amongst men whereby we must be saved.”

He was truly a spiritual and intellectual force to be reckoned with in our generation. His writings forcefully engaged the contemporary challenges to the gospel. In 1993, Veritatis splendor, the splendour of truth. In 1995, Evangelium vitae, the gospel of life. In so many more, he was a model of a passionate defense of the gifts of God.

In the apostolic faith that binds Christians together, his powerful expositions offered us encouragement and strength for our faith. In the areas where Christians disagree, his strong defense of his convictions forced us in response to think more deeply about what we believed. In agreement or disagreement, his influence still strengthened and deepened our faith.

Commentators have wondered how a person so sure of the truth of his beliefs could have the commitment to interfaith dialogue that John Paul had. It shouldn't be surprising. A dialogue requires at least two people with something to say. And Pope John Paul II knew he had something to say, and that it was worth listening to. That's as much a prerequisite for dialogue as being willing to listen -- which the Pope was also did. He listened and learned and spoke and taught. With his very life until the very end.