Right now, I would like to type one very angry paragraph, but I am realizing that the people who say the stupid things are the least moved by anything other than their preprogrammed worldview. So instead, I’ll tell you a story. A story that is part of me, and part of why I am not like you. And don’t want to be like you.
Once upon a time, I was an associate minister at a large church. We had friends, good friends, I’ll call Hal and Betty. Hal and Betty had two boys. They got pregnant with a third child. He was born without most of his brain.
I don’t remember a lot of the details here. I know it was terrible and lasted for months. I remember the weeks and months at the hospital. I remember Hal and Betty’s agony about what was the right thing to do for this child they loved. I could feel it tearing away at their marriage and their relationship with their children. Over time, the choices became more terrible, the stress more awful. The child was able to come home, but required constant vigilance and care. Death was certain, but no one knew when. On one occasion, the child stopped breathing at home, and the caretaking parent allowed death to occur. The other parent rushed home and revived the child with extreme measures. They lived through this, and many other things. Eventually, in God’s mercy, the child died.
I remember how the funeral was a mixture of darkness and light. Scriptures of dismay that God let such things happen and scriptures of hope in God. I remember that no one knew what to say. No one knew how to comfort the family. No one knew anything, because the whole journey was so hard and confusing. They loved their child. They wanted to do the right thing. In doing the right thing, almost all the life was sucked out of their home. They divorced. They moved on, and life has been good to them, but they carry this with them always.
I remember that all the ethics classes I had at seminary, and all the Bible studies I’d taught seemed so very pointless. You didn’t know what to pray. You just held their hands and said that you loved them. They made ALL the decisions. I have no idea what they did or did not do in comparison to what could have been done. For all I know, they sustained that child far beyond what it should have lived, or he could be in a hospital somewhere right now if they had done more. I don’t know. And I don’t care. They walked this road and they stand before God with their choices. I deeply respect them because they acted according to what they believed was right.
I respect Hal and Betty even more as I read about the Shiavo situation. They did their best, and they had to bury a son. They made their choices. There was always someone saying they did too much or not enough. Screw them. Screw them all.
To all of you who are appalled that I have continued to ask questions and not camped out with you in your certainties, pray for me. I am weak. My faith is weak. My knowledge is small. The complex world intimidates me. I am not sure what path to walk. I don’t know the hearts and motives of people in the Shiavo case. I hear what they say. I don’t buy conspiracy theories. I can’t imagine what it must be like for any of them. I look at it, and I look at my wife and children. I do not know what the future holds, but I ask God for wisdom, because I have none.
To those of you who can’t believe I haven’t sided with you, those who say that you cannot be a Christian and agree with the courts, those who say a “consistent Christian worldview” has only one outcome here, I want to congenially ask you to do one of two things. Either tell me off and go away, or leave me alone to continue wondering. Job didn’t know what was going on. His friends were experts on everything. God, of course, showed up and said they were idiots. I’ve done the know everything route. Now I am trying something different. So either leave me alone, or drop me from your list of Christians and move on. Ok?