Some questions about MAiD, or why are hanging, poison, guns and trains the only options for dying for those with mental illness?

 

Like many Canadians, I am conflicted about the idea of making Medical Assistance in Dying (MAiD) available to people struggling with mental illness.

 

The federal government is conflicted, too, having decided to delay the implementation of a provision to the current MAiD legislation that would allow it.

 

Justice Minister David Lametti said the delay is needed after the federal government heard concerns that Canada’s health-care system might not be prepared for the expansion.

The Liberal government agreed to expand eligibility to people with mental illness in 2021 after the Senate amended the bill to include it, arguing that excluding people with mental illness would violate their rights.

The bill included a two-year delay to the expansion, which is set to expire in March unless Parliament passes a new law.

 

The bill has been tabled until 2024.

 

While I welcome the additional time to consider the implications of the expanded bill, not everyone feels the same way.

 

That includes a friend of mine who struggles with depression. 

He has written honestly and movingly about the pain and challenges he has faced because of it—challenges he still faces. 

That includes suicide, which he contemplated. 

This is why the proposed expansion of MAiD to include people with mental illness is so important to him.  

As he told me: “It should be an option for people like me with mental illness. Why should the only option be a violent taking of my own life?” 

Indeed; why? 

It’s not like people who struggle with mental illness won’t kill themselves because there is no MAiD option. 

Every year about 4,500 people in Canada die by suicide. That’s 12 people a day. 

Most who died by suicide do so by hanging (44%), followed by poisoning (25%) and guns (16%). 

Over 40 people in Canada die each year by throwing themselves in front of or under a train.   

In all these cases, the deaths are hard and violent, leaving behind traumatized family and friends (along with those who work on trains and witness the deaths). 

So if people are going to kill themselves anyway, why not make it something that is more humane and peaceful? 

Something that could be done in community, with family and friends, not something done in isolation and shame?   

In other words, people struggling with mental illness will continue to choose to die. That won't stop. So why not enable them to do it in a less violent way?

As a letter writer to the Winnipeg Free Press put it: “There are many reasons to feel uneasy about allowing someone to end their own life, but our uneasiness is not preventing many from choosing that option, even without MAiD.”

 

And to deny people with mental illness the opportunity to choose MAiD, he said, “implies someone else’s choice has no merit.”

It also forces them to live by the choices someone else has made for them, along with forcing them to find terrible ways to die.

 

As someone who doesn’t face the challenges of mental illness, I can live with a delay in the expansion of the legislation. I can even live with it not becoming law since I don’t ever expect to need it on the basis of mental health.

 

But that’s just me. What about my friend, and the thousands of others each year who feel there is no way out but to die? Why should I, as a healthy person, deprive them of their choice? 

I don’t have a final answer to those questions. But I believe they should be asked. 

As for my friend, he is not currently contemplating suicide. But he knows there’s no cure for his depression. He will never overcome it; now he knows the only thing he can do is manage and cope with it. 

But if it ever gets to a point he can’t do that anymore, I would prefer that a better option be available, not just hanging, poison, guns or trains.

Some thoughts on returning to church, or maybe we like attending online after all

A pastor friend posted the above cartoon on Facebook about a woman who came back to church in her robe and slippers.

I sent him a private message in reply.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I like Zoom church. I might never want to go back in person regularly again. I wonder how many others feel the same way.” 

“Lots,” he replied. “But they need to relearn the value of face-to-face community.”

I said: “What if we prefer not to relearn that?” 

Hey—I get it. This is a challenging time for clergy. For centuries they’ve known basically one way to do church: People come to where they are at an appointed time, usually Sunday mornings. 

But that script has been flipped on its head during the pandemic. 

Not only did people not go to church in person, they had the option, in many cases, of watching a recorded service whenever they wanted—no more appointment church. 

We learned a new way of doing church. And you know what? Many of us liked it. We liked not driving to services, especially on cold winter days.

We enjoyed relaxing on the couch with a cup of coffee. We liked being able to do other things during the sermon (instead of surreptitiously glancing at our phones). 

That doesn’t mean many don’t want to go back to in-person services.

Polls by Pew in the U.S. and Angus Reid in Canada found a majority of people are looking forward to returning to worship services—although not for the singing or the sermons. 

What Canadians missed most, in order of importance, was a feeling of community, having social interactions with others, visiting before and after services, and being in a sacred space. 

(People who attend Roman Catholic and other churches where the Eucharist is a main focus of worship missed the ceremonies and rituals.)

What they didn’t miss about in-person services included getting there (number one), followed by the pressure to socialize (14 per cent — we found the introverts!), the need to dress up and, for parents, getting children to services.

While expressing an interest in returning to services, half of respondents in Canada said they hope their places of worship will continue to offer online options when the pandemic is over—hybrid services.

Yes, they want to go back to in-person services. But they also want the option of staying home in their pajamas.

Or, to put it another way, over the past 19 months people of faith learned they could do church differently. 

I know I did. And many of the people I talk to say they did, too; they no longer see in-person services as the most important way to practice their faith.

So, with all due respect to my pastor friend, it seems to me if there is any relearning to be done as the pandemic begins to draw to a close it might be by clergy who will have to adapt to these new ways of doing church.

To my pastor friend's credit, he gets that. He understands what people miss most are what he calls the "parking lot conversations." And he knows this will be a challenging time for him and other clergy as people express a desire to do church differently. 

There's a lot of learning to do by both groups, clergy and members. And one thing my pastor friend and I could agree on is: The end of the pandemic will be an interesting and challenging time.

Furniture and Faith

First story: A few years ago, we got a flat screen TV. That meant our old entertainment unit, with its deep, square TV opening had to go.

At first, we thought we'd sell it. We quickly found out there was no market for old entertainment units. 

In fact, you couldn’t give them away. (We tried.) Even thrift stores didn’t want them.

So out into the backyard it went. A few swings of an axe and it was nothing but pieces of wood on the ground.

Second story: We have a buffet and hutch. (It was the kind of thing every newly married couple needed after the wedding.)

It contains our china, wine glasses, special dinner plates, some awards and mementos.

We asked our kids if they wanted it when we move. Their answer (paraphrased): “Are you kidding? No way.”

Why not? Not because it isn’t a nice piece of furniture. It just doesn’t fit their lifestyle. 

Like others of their generation, they will likely move a lot and live in smaller places. Plus, they likely won’t be collecting china or knickknacks.

What does this have to do with faith?

Organized religion today is like our old entertainment unit and buffet and hutch.

Like the entertainment unit, parts of organized religion are becoming outmoded and unnecessary today. 

For a long time, it served well. But it no longer meets current needs. 

This could include things like traditional forms of membership, Sunday morning services, putting money in an offering plate, and sermons (long expository ones, at least).

It’s also different ways of accessing information about faith.

As John Seel noted in his book the New Copernicans, which talks about the ways millennials are changing Christianity in North America, many younger people today reject analytical and propositional ways of seeing faith.

Instead, they are more intuitive and imaginative, preferring story over exposition.

They also reject a binary approach where things are true/false or right/wrong. In it's playce they have a more exploratory, non-judgmental and inclusive approach to faith.

Like our buffet and hutch, the way church is done today represents a heavy, bulky and hard-to-move form of faith.

Intellectually and spiritually, younger people are more mobile, venturesome and lighter on their feet. 

An old type of faith that is fixed in place (spiritually, doctrinally and physically in church buildings) just doesn’t suit their lifestyle.

To be clear: this doesn’t mean there is anything inherently wrong with the way faith has been done for so long—just as there was nothing wrong with the entertainment unit or buffet and hutch.

In their time and place, they served useful purposes. Those purposes just aren’t needed any more.

All this reminds me of what Phyllis Tickle wrote about in her book The Great Emergence: How Christianity is Changing and Why. 

In it, she wondered if the time hadn’t come for reform in western Christianity, similar to what happened during the Great Reformation of 1517.

Tickle posited that every 500 years the church has a garage sale—a time of upheaval and transition when it gets rid of things it no longer needs.

The last garage sale, she said, was the Great Reformation. If her idea is true, we are due for another reformation today.

Just like out old entertainment unit and buffet and hutch have come to the end of their usefulness, maybe the same can be said of organized religion.

Time, as they say, will tell.

The Conservative Party and the election, or does God want Christians to get ahead, make more money and neglect the poor?

Imagine your minister got up into the pulpit one Sunday and said the topic of the sermon was how you can get ahead in life and make more money.   

And to help you get more money, the minister said you should stop donating so much to international relief and development organizations so you could keep more money your own use.

You know, for things like going to Timmies or Starbucks more often, to treat yourself to more meals out at restaurants, or for other personal indulgences.

If you heard your minister say something like that, what would you think?

First, you might check to make sure you hadn’t wandered into the wrong church, one that preaches the prosperity gospel.

Second, you might ask yourself: “Get ahead of who? The person beside me in the pew? My neighbour? And whatever happened to the Bible’s command to put others first?”

Third, you would check the Bible to see if the verses about the dangers of money, helping the poor and sacrificial love had been removed while you weren’t looking. 

Did the parable of the Good Samaritan get cut out, or was it changed to the “Man who looked after his own first and got rewarded for it"?

If none of that happened—you were in the right church, and the Bible hadn’t been changed—the next thing to happen might be a call to vote about the future of the pastor.

After all, how could someone so obviously out of touch with the Bible, and the basis tenents of Christian faith, be allowed to keep his or her job? 

What’s true for Christian ministers is also true for the Conservative Party and for leader Andrew Scheer in this election. 

The platform this time around has been framed as “it’s time for you to get ahead.”

Scheer speaks in ads and speeches about his goal to put “more money in your pocket.”

One way he has proposed to do that is by cutting foreign aid by 25%.

He would take the money diverted from programs that help the needy to provide tax cuts and tax credits for Canadians—people who live in one of the wealthiest countries on the planet.

This platform should be troubling for anyone who believes the Bible teaches Christians to put others first, help the needy, and to store up riches in heaven (not on earth).

Yes, but some will argue: What about abortion? All the other parties are pro-choice. What's a certain kind of Christian to do?

It's true. But the problem with this argument is it overlooks the fact the Conservatives have promised they won’t reopen that debate, either—something Scheer has made clear multiple times when asked.

And as John Stackhouse, a professor at Crandall University in Moncton has noted in a post titled "Should we vote pro-life in this election," being anti-abortion is a weak way to decide who to vote for.

“I see no reason to believe that a vote determined by anti-abortion hopes is anything other than wasted,” he said.

“Yes, electing a few more prolife candidates will make a little more noise, but without political will, there’s no way they’ll make a difference. And without a political sea change there won’t be that will.”

Of course, being pro-life in all areas is important. But that includes seeking the welfare of others, inside and outside the womb, and inside and outside of Canada. 

I'm not suggesting the Conservatives worse for Christians than other parties. They all have flaws, failures, and skeletons in their closets. Each party presents problems for Christians when it comes to voting, one way or the other.

All I'm saying is this time around, conservative Christians—who, as research shows, tend to vote Conservative—have a new challenge this election when it comes to casting a ballot. 

What do they do with a party that challenges the very bedrock of their Christian faith? 

One that says the opposite of what the Bible says about Christians needing to put others first, about not making money the goal of life, and not neglecting the needs of the poor? 

It's going to be an interesting election for some people. 

Trump and God, or Why do so many American Christians Support this President?

Why do so many American Christians—especially evangelicals—support President Trump? That’s a question that has puzzled me for some time.

One common answer is hatred of Hillary Clinton. Some evangelicals say they didn’t vote for Trump; they voted against Clinton. However, this doesn’t explain the high level of support he continues to receive (about 70%) now that the election is over.

Another answer is abortion, and a chance for a Republican president to swing the Supreme Court to the right—and perhaps overturn Roe vs. Wade. There is truth in that.

Other suggestions include the belief that God ordained for Trump to win. In this view, he’s a modern King Cyrus, a non-believing and deeply-flawed king who, according to the book of Isaiah, was used by God for his purposes.

Then there’s the fact that Trump promised to stand up for them—no small thing for a group of people (evangelicals) who feel they are a persecuted minority in the U.S. today.

There is a ring of truth to all these things. But I’d like to suggest another: For many of these more right-wing Christians, Trump is like the God they believe in.

For fundamentalist Christians in particular, and for some evangelicals, God is not some wishy-washy progressive liberal who changes his mind, accepts and loves everyone—even if they are gay—and unequivocally extends the hand of peace and forgiveness to any and all. (Like Obama.)

Instead, for many of them God is a fierce warrior king who fights. He has power, and he isn’t afraid to use it.

He’s a God of right and wrong, black and white, with me or against me—no middle ground. There is only one right way, and everyone needs to follow it.

He’s a God of rules. There are commandments and laws that must be followed. Unless he breaks his own rules; he can do that. After all, he’s God.

He’s a God who can’t be contained or restrained. Human reasoning, ideas and rules don’t apply to him. He will do what he wants, when he wants, and how he wants.

He’s a God who judges. Yes, he extends mercy—but only to those who accept him and his ways. Those who don’t are cast away.

He’s a God who punishes and isn’t afraid to do it. He doesn’t want to, but what choice does he have if people won’t accept his truth and ways?

He’s a God of absolutes. There is no equivocation in him. 

He’s a God who brooks no dissent or doubts. Dissenters and doubters are not allowed. Only true believers will gain the inner sanctum and blessing.

He’s a God with a temper; don’t anger him!

He’s a God who chooses and takes sides. He isn’t afraid to make enemies. He knows he is right.

He’s a God who demands obedience and true faith. No doubts allowed!

He’s a God who is mysterious and unfathomable. The things he says and does can seem incongruous and inconsistent, but that’s just because as mere mortals we can’t understand or comprehend his ways. He has a plan; we just don’t see it. We need to trust in his divine providence. He knows what he is doing, and ultimately it is for our best. (Even if it sometimes seems crazy.)

He’s a God like Trump, in other words. Or, better put, Trump is a president like this kind of God. Don’t believe me? Put the word “president” in the lines above where it says “God” and see what it looks like. 

Scary, isn’t it?

Of course, this is a bit of a stretch. And if you posed this to Christian Trump supporters, they would discount it. But there seems to be a kernel of truth in it. Or, at least, a sense of theological familiarity and resonance.

(By-the-way, this was the kind of God I grew up with. I'm just sharing the way God was presented to me.)

After the Killings in Christchurch, What Can I Say?

In the wake of the terrible murders of 50 Muslim worshipers in Christchurch, New Zealand, I've been thinking and wondering: What can I say?

I realize that when it comes to things like Islamaphobia and anti-Semitism, or hatred of other minorities, I have little to offer.

Sure, I can condemn and be angered by those things. But as a Canadian Christian, I have no personal experience with persecution, discrimination, violence, fear or exclusion because of my religion.

I don’t worry about how I might be viewed or treated for what I wear or believe, or the colour of my skin, or being lumped together with those who commit acts of terrorism because they claim to be part of the same faith.  

I don’t have to worry about whether or not my religion is acceptable or “Canadian” enough. 

Canadian society—as secular as it is—is set up to accommodate my beliefs, even giving me days off on Sundays and for special Christian religious observances like Christmas and Good Friday.

I don’t know what it’s like to worry that a gunman might attack my place of worship, as happened in Christchurch to Muslims, in Pittsburgh to Jews, and in Charlotte to African-Americans.

I never think about needing guards when I go to church, like Muslims and Jews often need to do. 

I don't worry my church will be vandalized at night.

I don’t walk down the street wondering if someone will shout at me to “go home.”

These things are simply not part of my life.

So when a mosque or synagogue or gurdwara is attacked, I am alarmed, angered and concerned.

But since it doesn’t affect me personally, I’m not sure what to do or say.

  

So after Christchurch—after all these things—what can I do?

As it happened, the day after the attack I was at a conference about combating hate organized by the local Muslim community.

When asked what non-Muslims could do, amidst the tears they said we should pray, listen, and acknowledge their pain, fear and anguish.

They also said not to be too quick to look for answers or try to find meaning in the attack—if any meaning can ever be found.

Wait a bit, they said. Now is a time for mourning. Later we can talk about the why.

Those are things I can do.

But I will do other things, too. Personal things, commitments I have made and will continue to make.

I won’t laugh at jokes about Muslims, Jews, or other minorities.

I won’t let racist, hurtful and hateful comments about those groups go unchallenged.

I also won’t vote for politicians who play on fears of “the other,” who used coded words and phrases like “Canadian values” to garner support, who stoke anxiety about immigration as a way to be elected, or who associate with people who speak and act that way—and fail to disavow them when they say hateful things.

To be honest, these things don't feel like much in the face of what happened in New Zealand. 

But maybe it’s enough for now.

Later, when the tears have dried, we can talk about ways to move forward together.

But for now, all I can say to my Muslim friends is: I am with you. I am listening. I am grieving. I will do my part to push back against hate.

And you can count on me.

About Responsive Readings, or Repeat After Me: Moo!

A couple of months ago I came across this Unitarian Universalist meme about responsive readings. (See above.)

Leader: You don’t like responsive readings.

Congregation: We don’t like responsive readings.

Leader: Responsive readings run contrary to everything you believe in as a Unitarian Universalist, because of instead of formulating your own thoughts and opinions in your own unique way, you simply repeat words I have chosen for you.

Congregation: Like a store-bought greeting card, responsive readings sap us of the ability to choose the words and expressions that we ourselves would have chosen.

The “responsive reading” went on to poke fun at what a leader could make a congregation do—moo like a cow or bleat like a sheep.

It ended this way:

Leader: Repeat after me: I will never, ever mindlessly repeat words that someone else has chosen for me.

Congregation: I will never, ever mindlessly repeat words that someone else has chosen for me.

I thought about that meme because there was a responsive reading at a church I was at today.

As these things go, it was OK. It asked us to be careful about the things we do and say.

Although it’s a sentiment I can agree with, I didn’t participate. I almost never do.

Why? Because before I start reading the words out loud, I need to know if I agree with them or not.

Sometimes, I don’t agree. Then I am unwilling to publically proclaim an intention I don’t intend to follow through on.

To lie, in other words.

Oh, come on now, some might be saying. It’s just a harmless exercise. Like the sermon, most people won’t remember what they said five minutes after it’s over.

Maybe. But it’s still mighty presumptuous of someone to think they know what I want or need to say to God, or to others in the church.

Speaking just for myself, I think responsive readings need to go. They reflect what the leader, pastor or worship planner wants to say, but not necessarily what I want to say—or others in the congregation.

(This doubly true for confessions; how can anyone know what I need to confess?)

If churches insist on doing them, maybe they need to give the congregation five minutes to read the words quietly, and then decide if they want to say them out loud.

To be clear, this is not an issue for liturgical churches. This is mostly an evangelical thing. The historic creeds are OK by me. They've been theologically vetted and have decades of use and reflection. 

Plus, they are familiar. I know what they say, and have had time to think about the implications of saying them.

But for all you other pastors and worship leaders, repeat after me:

Leader: You will do no more responsive readings.

All: We will do no more responsive readings.

Leader: Unless you give people time ahead of the service to read it, or make it part of the ongoing and familiar liturgy of the church.

All: Unless we give people time ahead of the service to read it, or make it part of the ongoing and familiar liturgy of the church.

Leader: Also, moo like a cow.

All: Moo!