by David Gibbs
Here’s a woman who understood that God gave her life. Her accident cost her and her family incredible heartache. She continues to need intensive therapy. Yet early on Joni decided that it wasn’t the quality of life but the sanctity of life that would compel her to find God’s purpose in her situation. Because of her commitment to go on despite her disability, Joni has ministered to millions of people through a daily radio program and through family retreats for the disabled.
THE VALUE OF LIFE
Those who hold a ‘‘sanctity of life’’ conviction believe that no price is too high when it comes to caring for the disabled or preserving a life.
The sanctity of life person says, in effect, there is no discussion of cost. Much like dining at a five-star restaurant where the menu doesn’t list the price, the cost is simply not mentioned. Nor does a sanctity of life person calculate the impact of someone else’s hardship on their own life. They understand that caring for a disabled person will require a lot; it will radically readjust all of life. That’s a given. But the cost is not the determining factor when dealing with these decisions.
For people of faith, there’s a spiritual dimension. They demonstrate the power and compassion and love of God by ignoring the cost (as the Schindlers did), by paying the price (as the Schindlers did), and by not being concerned about what it’s going to do to them. While some members of the press and several pundits blasted the Schindlers’ motives as being selfish, the exact opposite was true. They paid a huge price in their fight to care for Terri:
It cost them financially: They fought an uphill legal struggle without deep pockets.
It cost them an enormous amount of time: They spent countless hours visiting their daughter and doing whatever was necessary to save her life.
It cost them emotionally: They constantly worried whether or not Terri was being properly cared for by those who were legally in charge of her well-being.
Furthermore, as I observed working alongside Bob and Mary, there is never a discussion of ‘‘me’’ in the sanctity of life equation. Why? Because those who hold this perspective view their life as a living sacrifice; admittedly, that’s a countercultural position. The only consideration the sanctity of life person makes is to follow what God says in the Bible. Here, then, are three guiding principles from Scripture:
• God is the giver of all life.
• God is the allower of any disability.
• God and God alone should decide when life ends.
Whenever I share those insights with an audience, a number of folks will say, ‘‘Mr. Gibbs, you’re 100 percent correct. That’s what the Bible teaches and that’s probably what I should believe if faced with such a situation. But I’m not that good of a person.’’ Guess what? While I admire them for their honesty, the truth is this: I don’t believe anybody is that good of a person.
However, when we by simple faith step forward and say, ‘‘I am going to live what I say I believe,’’ at that point God will divinely empower and help us to do what must be done, even when it appears that what is required of us isn’t humanly possible. Demonstrating our willingness to line up with His principles and truthfully confessing that we can’t do it in our own strength miraculously unlocks His divine provision.
As the saying goes, ‘‘Where God guides, God provides.’’ Whenever there is a calling from God, He divinely equips and provides exactly what we need to get the job done.
LEAN ON ME
Before leaving this discussion, there’s a subtext to the quality versus sanctity of life debate that’s easily missed. Have you noticed how American society seems to place a premium on the ‘‘beautiful people’’? We aggrandize those who are exceptionally gifted, talented, athletic, wealthy, or attractive. Their picture-perfect faces and Aquafresh smiles dominate the newsstands. We follow their every move with an almost religious devotion.
In sports, for instance, enthusiasts memorize the latest team statistics and player trades and collect enough memorabilia to fill a room. In the music and entertainment industries, fans binge on the latest juicy morsel of gossip. Entire television shows focus solely on the houses in which these rich and famous live. Magazines have built massive circulations reporting the ‘‘inside scoop’’ on today’s popular icons as the paparazzi go to bizarre lengths to catch these celebrities on film.
But there’s a downside to this all-consuming stargazing.
The fact that we cherish such an external standard of worth means we’re bound to diminish the value of those who are weak, handicapped, impoverished, orphaned, or even those who are—dare I say—just plain old average. Is it any wonder, then, that we’re tempted to think primarily in terms of the quality of life? We’re predisposed to value those who measure up to this false standard of ‘‘worthiness.’’
By contrast, the Bible is replete with commands to care for the widows, the orphans, the underprivileged, the downtrodden—those whom God calls ‘‘the least of these.’’ No question, Terri Schiavo would fall into that category. So whenever people approach me and ask why I’d fight for Terri Schiavo—a woman who is most likely not going to be able to get a job or be productive, and who will always be, in a certain respect, a burden—I point them to the gospel of Matthew, chapter 25.
Briefly, it’s Judgment Day and God is talking to the righteous. God says: ‘‘For I was an hungered, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger and ye took me in: Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me’’ (35–36). The righteous are standing before God completely baffled at His statement.
They respond by asking, ‘‘Lord, when saw we thee an hungered, and fed thee? or thirsty and gave thee drink? When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? or naked, and clothed thee? Or when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee?’’ (37–39). In other words, the righteous are saying, ‘‘We don’t remember doing any of this for you.’’ Notice God’s response in verse 40: ‘‘And the king shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, you’ve done it unto me.’’
Who are the least of these?
Anybody who can’t give something back to you.
That could be a Terri Schiavo. A senior citizen. A drug addict. A homeless family living in a rescue mission. A single parent. A child living in poverty at home or abroad. The unemployed. Certainly the disabled among us. To care for them requires an acknowledgment that this life is not about us. Instead, like my grandfather, we make a decision to accept whatever God brings into our path, especially the least of these. On Judgment Day, God will say that whatever we have done for these ‘‘unwanted’’ and ‘‘undesirable’’ people, we will have done it for the King of Kings himself.
Talk about an unmatched privilege!
CHAPTER TWENTY - THREE
IF THERE’S A WILL
THERE’S A WAY
The thirty years of literature on living wills has shown very disappointing results. The shortcomings of living wills are real. Dying is just too complicated.
—CHARLES SABATINO, ASSISTANT DIRECTOR, AMERICAN BAR ASSOCIATION’S COMMISSION ON LAW AND AGING1
In the wake of Terri’s death, it’s safe to say that millions of us scrambled to make sense out of our end-of-life wishes as well as our instructions in the case of a medical emergency. Ironically, Michael Schiavo has joined the chorus of those preaching the virtues of having a living will. I say ironically because Terri never had her wishes spelled out in writing, which was a fundamental flaw in this case. That said, you might be surprised to know that I’m not a fan of the living will.
Here’s why.
When I graduated from law school, one of my first jobs as a young lawyer was to create wills for our clients. I was handed an official-looking template for a last will and testament and a sample living will. At first I wasn’t sure there was a difference. They sounded similar in name.
As I began to read ex
actly what these legal documents contained, I discovered that they’re radically different. The last will and testament makes a tremendous amount of sense. All adults would do well to obtain one, regardless of age or marital status. More on that in a moment. But there was something about the living will even back then that caused me to have serious reservations. The language seemed to favor death over life. As it turns out, my instincts were right on target.
You see, the first living will was created by the Euthanasia Society of America in 1967. While this pro-death organization changed its name to ‘‘Choice in Dying’’ and then morphed into something called the ‘‘Partnership for Caring,’’ the group’s goals of physician-assisted suicide and their push to see the public widely using these living wills should raise more than a few red flags.
Originally sold as a device to articulate a person’s wishes when she could no longer speak for herself, in some cases the living will has turned into a permission slip for doctors to legally withhold medical care and even hasten death in situations that most patients never anticipated. That should come as no surprise since Choice in Dying has been actively lobbying for direct euthanasia.2 Looking beyond their agenda, there are a number of practical reasons why living wills have fallen into disfavor.
First, advances in medicine and technology are constantly changing.
There was a time when a heart transplant was unthinkable. If back then your living will had said, ‘‘Never put me on a ventilator in the case of heart failure,’’ you would have missed the opportunity to be provided a new heart in the wake of emerging surgical procedures that are now considered almost routine. These living wills are locked in time, making them out-of-date with every new treatment and cure that comes along.
Second, it’s not possible to anticipate all of the health care scenarios you might face if you were to be incapacitated. By stipulating a set of directives and preferences in advance, you might inadvertently tie the hands of a professional who could otherwise provide a new appropriate treatment. The withholding of medical care occurs far too frequently due to a vague and poorly worded living will.
Third, the law governing medical care is constantly changing. In Terri’s case, the provision of food and water was not considered medical treatment or artificial life support at the time of her injury. Over time, euthanasia advocates worked to revise state law so that ‘‘artificially provided sustenance and hydration’’ would be redefined as a ‘‘life-prolonging procedure’’ rather than ordinary care, as it was previously medically categorized for at least half a century. Almost overnight in Florida, offering food and water through a feeding tube was legislatively reclassified as ‘‘medical treatment’’ in the context of a medical setting. That change gave the courts new authority to end lives in situations such as Terri’s.
I’m not the only person who recognizes these and other disadvantages of the living will. Far too often we wrongly think that drafting a living will is no different from ordering a Whopper at Burger King— you know, have it your way. The problem is that we cannot anticipate all the complexities of a future medical emergency. Charles Sabatino, the associate director of the American Bar Association’s Commission on Law and Aging, put it this way:
These documents were written as if you’d know what you want, kind of like ordering a salami and cheese: you want provolone, mayo, no mustard, lettuce but no tomato. You have the ability to be that specific in your document, but in reality [the living will] has very little connection with what you’ll be facing.3
Here’s an added concern. From my vantage point as a Christian, the living will completely removes God from the process. I don’t believe in signing anything that would accelerate my death. I don’t fear death, mind you. I know that to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord (2 Corinthians 5:8). To be pro-life does not mean that I refuse to acknowledge death. Our bodies will fail; nobody gets out of here alive. But unlike the atheist who has no hope, my conviction as a believer is that death is not the end—it’s the beginning.
I readily acknowledge that there is ‘‘a time to be born and a time to die.’’ I also agree with the saying: Not everything that can be done should be done to prolong a life. But since my life as a Christian is not my own (1 Corinthians 6:19–20), at no point should I embrace a backdoor suicide by taking steps to hasten death. The living will is almost like putting such an intention in writing. Considering the goals of those who invented it, I’d say that shouldn’t come as a surprise. As you’ll see, there is a better alternative.
In case you are tempted to say, ‘‘If I’m ever incapacitated like this, please let me go,’’ I’d like for you to consider the story of Pat Rummer-field. Here’s a remarkable young man who, when faced with a near-death experience, clung to the ‘‘will to live’’ rather than a living will.
You just never know what God might want to do with your life.
NEVER GIVE UP
In 1974 Pat Rummerfield hopped in the passenger seat of his sleek Corvette and handed the keys to his best friend. The two buddies had been drinking, and under the influence of alcohol, they rocketed down the highway at 135 mph. Losing control, the car crashed and rolled, causing a near-fatal accident. Pat broke his neck in four places, fractured all his ribs, shattered his collarbone, and almost lost an eyeball, which had popped out of its socket and had to be reinserted.
With massive head injuries, four crushed cervical vertebrae, and unable to move from the neck down, Pat’s doctors gave him seventy-two hours to live. Although he was mentally alert, his physicians wanted to put the brakes on any additional treatment. Instead, they recommended that this twenty-one-year-old receive convalescent care to live out whatever remaining time he had in peace. Unlike Terri Schiavo, however, Pat could speak for himself. Lying flat on his back, unable to move or feed himself, he refused to accept such a dire prognosis. Instead, he insisted on giving rehabilitation his best shot—just in case.
At that point I imagine his family, friends, and doctors felt he wasn’t being realistic. Privately, they may have fretted about the ‘‘quality of life’’ he’d have if he survived. He was, after all, a total quadriplegic— unlike Terri, who could sit in a reclining chair, clutch stuffed animals, and turn her body to face her mother or a guest.
In a day and age where insurance companies and hospitals desire to cut costs when such care appears ‘‘futile,’’ Pat’s life would be at the top of the list of a life ‘‘not worth living.’’ And if our courts continue to make judgments from the bench as to which lives are of value, and if medical ethics committees determine what is futile care in any given situation, I wouldn’t be surprised if one day soon a judge didn’t step in and deprive a person like Pat of having the chance to improve—even though he could speak for himself.
As Pat tells the story, he was lying in his bed just dreaming of playing basketball once again. He even pictured himself becoming a NASCAR driver. He told God that he’d use his life to help those less fortunate if he was given a second chance. The last thing he wanted was to surrender to the hopelessness that others projected on his situation. In the stillness of night while entertaining these thoughts, something amazing happened.
He moved his big toe.
Three years later, through sheer determination and daily physical therapy, Pat relearned how to walk. He also regained the strength and use of his hands. His doctors were astonished and were completely without a medical explanation for his recovery. But Pat didn’t stop there. After seventeen years of maintaining a grueling workout regimen, Pat regained almost complete functionality of his body and decided to enter a number of triathlons.
In 1992 Pat entered the world famous Ironman triathlon in Hawaii.
Only the fittest of the fit will attempt this annual Herculean event. To compete, contestants must first swim 2.4 miles, then complete a 112-mile bike race, followed by running a 26.2-mile marathon. In what was a phenomenal feat bordering on the miraculous, Pat finished the race—not bad for a guy who was tol
d he’d never walk again.
Five years later Pat went on to complete the 1997 Antarctica Marathon— a course so difficult, only eighty-two participants have ever managed to run its 26.2 miles of glaciers and frozen streams. You have to wonder what Pat was thinking as he battled the 45-mph winds and subzero temperatures to go the distance. After all, there was a time when just wiggling his big toe was big news.
As if overcoming these challenges wasn’t enough, Pat set the world land speed record at the Bonneville Salt Flats for electric cars and has raced in two NASCAR competitions. His accomplishments have been recorded by Ripley’s Believe It or Not, ESPN, the History Channel, Discovery, and a host of publications including GQ, Runner’s World, and Popular Science. He now travels widely sharing his inspirational testimony. Admittedly, Pat’s story is an unusual display of healing. Nevertheless, I’d like for you to ponder something. Imagine if he had been denied the rehabilitation and physical therapy that he desired. Imagine if he had bought into the notion that there was no chance his quality of life would ever improve. Imagine if he couldn’t speak and couldn’t articulate his will to live. And imagine the mistake he would have made had he signed a living will that limited or prevented his care and rehab. Clearly, the world would have been deprived of an unbelievable story of faith, hope, and healing.
LAST WILL
At the outset I touched on the importance of executing a last will and testament. So before offering an alternative to the living will, let me explain why I’d encourage you to put a last will in place and how you might use this document to advance your personal convictions.
Simply put, the last will and testament is a legally binding device that properly disperses your assets to your heirs upon your death. In it you spell out who gets the house, the car, the stocks and bonds, the dog—in short, all of your ‘‘stuff.’’