I used to think that if I were ever terminally ill, I would simply commit suicide, rather than submitting to pointless suffering and imposing staggering financial burdens on my family. I might still do that, especially if the alternative would result in bankrupting my family.
But I’m starting to realize that even a painful and hopeless final illness still represents a specific opportunity to serve God and neighbor. I got to thinking about this when I read this week of the suicide of highly-regarded former U.S. attorney Michael Shelby, 47, who reportedly had been suffering grievously from cancer.
I can’t fault people who choose to end their own suffering. Here’s my own groping attempt at rationalizing not committing suicide — and I recognize that it’s so easy to be an armchair philospher on this subject when I’m sitting here in good health and pain-free:
• Life isn’t a snapshot, it’s a movie: My present-day suffering can help a doctor learn (or refine) skills that, in the future, may let her do some serious good work for other patients. So my suffering isn’t pointless; it’s an indirect service to my neighbors.
• More generally: Every time a caregiver treats a specific patient, they each contribute just a bit — and occasionally quite a bit — to humanity’s collective knowledge base. And as our knowledge base grows, we’re better able to participate in the on-going process of organizing the universe, which has been taking place for at least these past 13.7 billion years since the Big Bang. In other words: Thanks to our gifts of memory, reason, and skill, a suffering patient contributes just a bit to God’s continuing work of creation.
As I say, it’s easy to be an armchair philosopher. I hope I never have the opportunity to serve in that way. If if I ever do, I pray I’ll have the courage to accept the challenge.
For Mike Shelby: Eternal rest grant to him, O Lord, and let light perpetual shine upon him.
Leave a Reply