As he was approaching his retirement age, my father was diagnosed with a form of Parkinson’s; he died short of his 70th birthday. Those were seven years in slow motion; intense, emotional, lost, watching this once proud man empty from the inside, his mind active, his motor control disintegrating till there was nothing but a body shell, the only sign of the father I knew in his eyes. In a different part of the world, in an earlier age, my father would have died sooner. He would not have had the pills and potions and fancy machines to keep him alive.
Was that Dad the last six months, or even the last two years? I don’t know. He died before I turned 30; by 35 I was grown up enough to appreciate having that wise sensei in my life. But the father I longed for and loved was no longer accessible within the body that remained. Medical miracles kept him alive but my father died well before his body breathed its last.
Would it have been better for him, and for us his family, and for society at large, if the body had seized a year earlier? I don’t know; and I feel like a rotten son asking that question, but I want my child to ask that question seriously when facing my declining days.
In a decade, a quarter of Canadians will be over 65 years of age. A tenth, in their 80s.
We are living longer. Over the course of 50 years, the average lifespan has increased in Canada by a decade—from 71 to 81 years. (That statistic alone sounds like a miracle.) We live at the apex of human experience—a high standard of living, a medical safety net, unfathomable distribution of wealth for the vast majority across the nation, and myriad choices and options in every stage and development of our life. It is remarkable, really. And now we get to live that much longer to enjoy all these blessings. And many of us are genetically blessed to do just that.
But … a longer life is not necessarily a better life. There has been a steady increase over the past two decades, and which will continue to increase, of a wide variety of age related conditions—dementia and Alzheimer’s and others to do with brain functions, including motor skills; osteoporosis, arthritis and more bone related; ear and eye and teeth related; deterioration of organs; and much more, including various cancers. We may live longer, but for some those extra years are going to be interminable.
Society is struggling to find ways to deal with this slow but inevitable process to death: Assisted death, the nursing home industry, extended retirement regulations, the complicated business of financial management, estate planning and other legal procedures, geriatric medical complexes and that messy business of the perfect pill that cures all ills, are just some of the piecemeal approaches.
A tsunami of change and we’re struggling as society, and as church, to keep pace. Longevity has replaced faith. If only we could pray with the same devotion we bring to managing that diverse cocktail which keeps the various organs working. But then the cocktail has corporeal results. For a while.
Folks rise from strokes daily; getting dialysis a couple times a week is commonplace. All these possibilities redefine “life.” Heart attacks are no longer instant killers; a bypass or two or four, a stent here and there, along with some blood thinners, physiotherapy and diet and you can tick for decades. For many in their 50s, the heart attack is the spur to major life changes. You may be one of them: 30, 40 pounds overweight at 47, lean at 54 as you ponder your mortality on a steady diet of meat and greens.
So … is there theology in the Do Not Resuscitate order?
We are challenged in the church to think about this. We are promised grace during mortal existence which most of us (speaking personally) waste; and we are promised life after death, which it seems to me many of us don’t really have confidence in. The sting of death is everywhere—in magical retirement plans, in travel fantasies, in massive adult colonies built at the edges of golf courses and with weekly wine tastings, in infantile youthification of our senior years.
Does “honour your mother and father” mean bringing the kids to the nursing home to visit dementia Dad daily, weekly, monthly? Or does it mean having grandma who doesn’t know who she is or where she is living in the spare bedroom in the basement?
I don’t have an answer to these questions, and chances are neither do you. There is discussion in some denominations, which falls into two very broad categories: The monochromatic biblical treatment, of course, with its declaration of absolutes. Or, the fiddly game of ethical inches, the stuff of messy public policy. Neither approach is ultimately helpful, emotionally honest or satisfying, because in either case it is more about finding a solution than it is about prayerful consideration.
Church to date has been acutely affected by the ageing society—as under-40s seek out different spiritual communities, the over-60s cling to bricks and mortar. In most of our congregations, older, financially secure members dominate. While this keeps the congregation alive, it doesn’t always keep it vibrant. That’s a fine balance. We need to talk about that. About how older generations, now living a decade longer than they used to, are crowding out younger generations; who in turn are not really lining up for Sunday worship to gain their membership cards.
We have grace, we have redemption, we have the promise of a fantastic afterlife. Hebrews 6:19 reminds us, “We have this hope, a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul, a hope that enters the inner shrine behind the curtain.” We need to believe that. We need to be strong and courageous, as we age, slowly.
