“Caring for the dying means helping the dying discover that, in their increasing weakness, God’s strength becomes visible.”
— Henri Nouwen (Our Greatest Gift: A Meditation on Dying and Caring), p. 87.
One of the most common
clichés I hear among those in the pro-life movement is, “What if the child
being aborted finds a cure for cancer?” This is a valid question, but it’s
incomplete. The assumption encompasses our societal view that discovering
something new – a cure, for example – supersedes care.
What that means is that
those of us in Western culture generally do not value dependence, infirmity,
disability, weakness – in a word, suffering. Instead, we strive for autonomy,
optimal physical fitness, and inner strength. Again, this is not bad to care
for our bodies and minds well. In fact, it is honoring the Holy Spirit who
dwells within us. But the point I am trying to make is that worldly success is
not akin to God’s way.
God’s way is through the
path of suffering.
The dying know this well.
Their willingness to shed, bit by bit, their pretenses, their facades, and
their independence is not easy. We are led to believe that finding a cure is
more valuable than accompanying the one who is passing from this world to the next.
To care for others is to love them in the midst of their suffering and to, in
fact, reflect to them the beauty and power of their weakness so that they may
die well and in peace.
Henri Nouwen wrote on how
we can assist others who are dying to understand that we care for them and are
not trying to fix their condition or solve their problems. The following
reflections are guideposts for all of us to understand how we can move from a
mentality of cure to journeying with another in love and self-gift.
“Caring for others is…helping them to overcome that enormous temptation of self-rejection.”
— Nouwen, p. 57
First, it’s important to
acknowledge the human need to be self-sufficient. Death often forces a person
to slow down, when s/he has been active and busy living life without the need
for help or assistance. As we age, our bodies slow down. We can’t walk as
quickly. We begin to hurt from arthritis or other inflammatory conditions. Our
vision fades. Our hearing becomes muffled. Our depth perception and reaction time
when driving may impede our ability to safely transport ourselves.
If death does not come for
us quickly, we continue to fade away until we reach a point where the car keys
are taken away and someone else takes us to the doctor’s appointment. An adult child
may check in daily to help with daily chores, such as cooking or cleaning. Even
the humiliation of having another bathe and help feed us is a real possibility.
In such moments, the
underlying darkness is that of self-rejection, because we (erroneously) believe
we were made for activity and productivity rather than passive acceptance and
surrender. Yet that is the way of God in the form of Jesus – to walk the road
to Calvary and permit Himself to be subjected to whatever others might to do
Him.
“To help each other die well is to help each other claim the fruitfulness in our weakness.”
As Christians, part of the
work of caring for the infirm, disabled, and dying involves sharing with the
person how their lives are still worthwhile and ways in which they can still
derive meaning from their dependence on others. It is a false notion that we
become “burdens” to those who care for us when we age or become ill, but the
reality is that we live on long after our death – in the form of our progeny, by
way of the gifts and talents we’ve left behind, and even in the process of how
we pass from earth to the afterlife.
Good care for the dying
means we walk together in the truth that our weakness transforms us and others,
bearing fruit that remains.
“The resurrection does not solve our problems about dying and death. It is not the happy ending to our life’s struggle, nor is it the big surprise that God has kept in store for us.”
Another common
misunderstanding in our modern society is that being a Christian translates
into this solar spirituality of handling suffering and bearing our crosses
cheerfully and gratefully. “Just focus on the resurrection,” we’re told. Or
maybe, “Try to be grateful. Find joy in every day.” These are true, but they
ring hollow as empty platitudes for a person who is in the throes of intense
pain and internal darkness.
The reminder that the resurrection, while remaining our steadfast hope, does not neatly explain or resolve the mystery surrounding dying and death. We can’t assume the fallacy that “Jesus is the answer” when, in fact, we must move through the passage of darkness, purgation, and purification. Dying is a complex process, one we all must face. And to do so with courage means that we acknowledge the truth of our pain, our anger, our depression, our fears and allow that to become the means by which we surrender the ugliness and suffering into the mystery of God.
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Photo by Gift Habeshaw on Unsplash
