LIFE SUPPORT
IN VIEW OF ETERNITY
Every Day’s a Gift
—PLACARD AFFIXED TO WALL OUTSIDE WOODSIDE HOSPICE
When faced with the decision whether or not to remove the life support of a loved one, there’s one perspective few take into view: Eternity. Let me ask you this question: If you knew a person who had not yet made their peace with God, meaning they would go to hell if you removed them from their life support, would you still pull the plug? Does that question at least cause you to pause and weigh the eternal finality of such a decision?
I believe it should.
Eternity is forever. And while talking about ‘‘rights’’ and ‘‘choice’’ and ‘‘living wills’’ has value, it’s easy to overlook the immense gravity of stepping from this life into the next without settling the question of the eternal destination.
A dear friend of mine for many years, Helen Barber, was faced with that very dilemma. Helen’s father, Sterling Johnson, was a strong man who milked a dozen cows by hand every day. Helen described him as a ‘‘moral’’ person and yet one who remained without Christ throughout his life. For forty years Helen prayed for her dad’s salvation.
As Sterling got older, he developed significant health issues and, at one point, made it clear verbally that he did not want to be placed on life-support machines to prolong his life. He did not put those wishes in writing. As Sterling’s health began to deteriorate more dramatically, his doctor pulled Helen aside and said, ‘‘Your father is dying. He will not live fifteen minutes unless we put him on a respirator to breathe for him. And when he’s removed from the respirator, he will die. What do you want us to do?’’
Helen’s mind rushed into an immediate whirlwind of conflict and stress. Helen knew what her father had said—basically his was a request to let him die sooner as opposed to later. But Helen also knew that if her dad died tonight, he would die without ever having trusted Jesus Christ as his Savior. His eternity was at stake as the doctor asked the question. For forty years her dad had rejected the gospel message, but with one more night of life, Helen and her husband would have a final opportunity to tell him about Jesus.
Helen’s decision was immediate and resolute: ‘‘Put him on the respirator! Put him on anything that will keep him alive.’’
Helen’s husband, Raymond, raced to the hospital and entered the room where Sterling was now hooked up to a life-support machine. Raymond was a pastor who had won many people to Christ in hospitals over the years, and as Sterling’s son-in-law, he would do all he could. Helen remained in the hallway, praying and begging God for her dad to trust Jesus Christ in his final moments on earth. Was it too late to do any good? I’ll let Helen tell what happened next:
When Raymond came out, he said, ‘‘Your dad trusted Christ as his Savior!’’ I said, ‘‘No, I don’t think he really did trust Christ. I think he just told you that because he knows it will break my heart if he dies without Christ.’’ But I was so wrong. My dad was taken off of the life support several days later and fully expected to die. Interestingly, he continued to live and was dismissed from the hospital to come live in his own home.
Amazingly, my dad lived a normal life in New Mexico for another eighteen months and attended church every Sunday. He read his Bible, and for the first time in my life, I heard my dad pray. He was a changed man. His greatest regret was that he had wasted his life not knowing the full joy of a close relationship with Christ. I am so thankful that God put it on my heart to place my dad on life support in order to give him one more chance at a new life in Christ. When my daddy passed away eighteen months later, I had no doubt in my mind that he knew Jesus Christ as his Savior.
Here, then, is a simple blueprint for the Christian to consider when confronted with a situation similar to that of Helen Barber’s dad or Terri Schiavo. We begin with the question, ‘‘Are they terminal?’’ Notice I didn’t ask, ‘‘Are they sick?’’ or ‘‘Will they improve or recover?’’ For me ‘‘terminal’’ means this: There is a reasonable amount of medical certainty they will die fairly soon. Examples of a terminal condition would include advanced stages of cancer, AIDS, or Alzheimer’s.
If a person is terminal, I believe we have a duty to do what would reasonably sustain life (such as providing food and water), but the dominant goal is to keep them comfortable and properly cared for with dignity. If the person is unsaved, sharing the gospel with them as quickly as possible should be the highest priority. Remember the thief on the cross next to Jesus? He confessed his faith in Christ literally moments before he died as a convicted criminal. Jesus turned to him and said, ‘‘Verily I say unto thee, Today shalt thou be with me in paradise’’ (Luke 23:43).
Now, if a person is not terminal, every opportunity to introduce them to Jesus Christ before their death should still remain the ultimate priority. With respect to the medical decision-making process, I believe that we should aim to preserve, enhance, and prolong the life of non-terminal patients. Granted, there are no guarantees that a sick or disabled person will ever fully improve or recover.
A good rule of thumb is to always err in favor of life. When in doubt as to what to do, make the decision that favors preserving a life. If a new technology now emerges that could have dramatically improved Terri Schiavo’s mental and physical condition, it’s too late. The decision to let her die has already been acted upon.
Helping people remain alive is a worthy goal that drives firefighters, police officers, and military personnel to often risk their own lives to save others. In like fashion, nonterminal patients deserve our best efforts to keep them alive.