Thank you for this. I just read your full essay, and boy does it resonate. My wife and I are currently caring for her 95-year-old father, so have had time to think on this one. There is something holy in the helplessness of the dying. Not sentimental, but holy. A frailty that disarms our illusions of control, of autonomy, of clean, clinical ends. In the slow unraveling of the body, the soul’s true poverty is made visible. It is no coincidence that Christian mysticism has long regarded suffering not merely as burden but as disclosure. A piercing, luminous unveiling of what we are and what we are not.
Your reflection walks gently through a sacred valley where few dare to linger. You name what modern ethics, seduced by efficiency, so often forget: that the terminally ill are not obstacles to be managed or burdens to be resolved, but persons to be accompanied. And in that word, accompaniment, lies the whole mystery of the Incarnation. God did not save the world by escaping its pain. He saved it by inhabiting it. Utterly. I return to this notion regularly on my Substack Desert and Fire.
To choose death, no matter how sanitized the language, is to cut short the very crucible in which love is most radically revealed. I think of the final illness of St. John of the Cross, where his body decayed with tormenting slowness, yet his soul sang, “Where there is no love, put love, and you will draw love out.” That is not a spiritual maxim. It is an indictment of a world that seeks painless conclusions instead of painful communion.
The dying force us to confront what we have tried so hard to forget: that we belong to one another. The illusion of independence dies when a mother can no longer rise from her bed, and her child must become the parent, the priest, the witness. This, too, is sacrament.
To speak of autonomy in such moments is to import a courtroom into a cathedral. It mistakes the fragile whisper of suffering for a legal dilemma. But Christ never legislated compassion. He embodied it. In flesh, in blood, in broken bread. And always in the vulnerable.
The desert fathers spoke of kenosis, the self-emptying by which God descends into our weakness. To be with the dying, without fixing, without fleeing, is to participate in that descent. It is to say with trembling defiance: You do not have to walk into death alone. We will go with you, step by step, until the veil lifts.
No law can command this. But no law should obstruct it either.
As Simone Weil once wrote, “Affliction compels us to recognize as real what we do not think possible.” The dying teach us that love, real love, is not convenience. It is presence. It is cost. And it is the last and truest thing we have left to give.
This is wonderfully written and so important! My mother turns 90 today. She didn't recognize her granddaughter and great grandson when they visited her yesterday. She lies in a bed all day and sleeps a lot of the time. Yet she is healthy physically. She prays to pass on and join my dad. She isn't asking us to end her life. She is asking God to bring her home. We don't understand the whys but we love her dearly and when she is lucid, we enjoy her smiles and little giggles. I wouldn't give those up.
I very much hope that after all assisted dying will not become legal in the U.K., partly because of the strong arguments made against it and the unusual procedure to push the assisted dying bill through. The most persuasive argument for me was that no law, however effective , can prevent ‘self coercion’ and that many good and unselfish people would come to see the right to die as ‘the duty to die’ to spare their relatives suffering or even to save costing the NHS money
It is a good argument, Karen, the kind that was needed a decade ago in my country, a time with so very different political dynamics than now. Also, I appreciate you not bringing my nation in as a bogeyman, as I get so tired of seeing that kind of article.
Well done! I spent 2 years as a hospice chaplain, have a disabled son, and pastor in marginalized communities. You hit the nail on the head on a multiple of fronts. A small add on you quote Proverbs 12:10 about the compassion of the wicked being cruel. The full context says, “The righteous care for the needs of their animals while kindest acts of the wicked are cruel.” Most of my pastoral career has been near those who keep livestock and working animals. Every time I’ve visited a home where the pets and livestock are well cared for so are vulnerable family, friends, and neighbors. I’ve never in those homes heard a suggestion of assisted death. Yet, if the animals are in poor health and socialization you can bet on chaotic suffering of the people. Proverbs 12:10 is enjoyable to quote around shepherds of animals. Many don’t know it’s in the Bible but heads quickly nod. Country people see it lived out over and over.
Dave, having been involved in animal welfare efforts for many years, that part of the verse is very familiar to me. I love the connection you make between the two parts through your observations and experiences. That is very meaningful. Thank you.
I think it ultimately degrades life when suffering becomes a measure of whether life is meaningful. There’s an implication that a suffering life does not have intrinsic value.
Thank you for this. I just read your full essay, and boy does it resonate. My wife and I are currently caring for her 95-year-old father, so have had time to think on this one. There is something holy in the helplessness of the dying. Not sentimental, but holy. A frailty that disarms our illusions of control, of autonomy, of clean, clinical ends. In the slow unraveling of the body, the soul’s true poverty is made visible. It is no coincidence that Christian mysticism has long regarded suffering not merely as burden but as disclosure. A piercing, luminous unveiling of what we are and what we are not.
Your reflection walks gently through a sacred valley where few dare to linger. You name what modern ethics, seduced by efficiency, so often forget: that the terminally ill are not obstacles to be managed or burdens to be resolved, but persons to be accompanied. And in that word, accompaniment, lies the whole mystery of the Incarnation. God did not save the world by escaping its pain. He saved it by inhabiting it. Utterly. I return to this notion regularly on my Substack Desert and Fire.
To choose death, no matter how sanitized the language, is to cut short the very crucible in which love is most radically revealed. I think of the final illness of St. John of the Cross, where his body decayed with tormenting slowness, yet his soul sang, “Where there is no love, put love, and you will draw love out.” That is not a spiritual maxim. It is an indictment of a world that seeks painless conclusions instead of painful communion.
The dying force us to confront what we have tried so hard to forget: that we belong to one another. The illusion of independence dies when a mother can no longer rise from her bed, and her child must become the parent, the priest, the witness. This, too, is sacrament.
To speak of autonomy in such moments is to import a courtroom into a cathedral. It mistakes the fragile whisper of suffering for a legal dilemma. But Christ never legislated compassion. He embodied it. In flesh, in blood, in broken bread. And always in the vulnerable.
The desert fathers spoke of kenosis, the self-emptying by which God descends into our weakness. To be with the dying, without fixing, without fleeing, is to participate in that descent. It is to say with trembling defiance: You do not have to walk into death alone. We will go with you, step by step, until the veil lifts.
No law can command this. But no law should obstruct it either.
As Simone Weil once wrote, “Affliction compels us to recognize as real what we do not think possible.” The dying teach us that love, real love, is not convenience. It is presence. It is cost. And it is the last and truest thing we have left to give.
Wow. These are powerful and beautiful words that bring me greater understanding of my own argument. Thank you.
This is wonderfully written and so important! My mother turns 90 today. She didn't recognize her granddaughter and great grandson when they visited her yesterday. She lies in a bed all day and sleeps a lot of the time. Yet she is healthy physically. She prays to pass on and join my dad. She isn't asking us to end her life. She is asking God to bring her home. We don't understand the whys but we love her dearly and when she is lucid, we enjoy her smiles and little giggles. I wouldn't give those up.
Yes, yes, yes.
I cannot imagine having to wonder what gifts might have been missed by taking these matters into our own hands. Unthinkable to me.
I very much hope that after all assisted dying will not become legal in the U.K., partly because of the strong arguments made against it and the unusual procedure to push the assisted dying bill through. The most persuasive argument for me was that no law, however effective , can prevent ‘self coercion’ and that many good and unselfish people would come to see the right to die as ‘the duty to die’ to spare their relatives suffering or even to save costing the NHS money
Yes! This is such a probable outcome! Terrifying.
It is a good argument, Karen, the kind that was needed a decade ago in my country, a time with so very different political dynamics than now. Also, I appreciate you not bringing my nation in as a bogeyman, as I get so tired of seeing that kind of article.
💔
Well done! I spent 2 years as a hospice chaplain, have a disabled son, and pastor in marginalized communities. You hit the nail on the head on a multiple of fronts. A small add on you quote Proverbs 12:10 about the compassion of the wicked being cruel. The full context says, “The righteous care for the needs of their animals while kindest acts of the wicked are cruel.” Most of my pastoral career has been near those who keep livestock and working animals. Every time I’ve visited a home where the pets and livestock are well cared for so are vulnerable family, friends, and neighbors. I’ve never in those homes heard a suggestion of assisted death. Yet, if the animals are in poor health and socialization you can bet on chaotic suffering of the people. Proverbs 12:10 is enjoyable to quote around shepherds of animals. Many don’t know it’s in the Bible but heads quickly nod. Country people see it lived out over and over.
Dave, having been involved in animal welfare efforts for many years, that part of the verse is very familiar to me. I love the connection you make between the two parts through your observations and experiences. That is very meaningful. Thank you.
Congratulations, Karen! And well said on the article.
Thank you, Amy.
The final debate on assisted dying in the U.K. is taking place today, for the bill not to pass twenty nine mps need to change their minds
Thank you for that update. Will be praying.
That’s great Karen. I’m a subscriber to The Dispatch and I’m looking forward to reading your work there.
Thank you, Marty!
I think it ultimately degrades life when suffering becomes a measure of whether life is meaningful. There’s an implication that a suffering life does not have intrinsic value.