Author: Sharron Burnett

Too many times I’ve heard the horrible words from a veterinarian that there is nothing more that might be done to save a beloved pet who is suffering and near death. The humane thing to do is to euthanize them and end their pain. No matter the circumstances it is a horrible moment wracked with grief and memories of all of the years of companionship and pleasure that the animal has offered so innocently and lovingly. We put our creatures down when they are suffering out of concern but the act of ending their lives does not feel good no matter how many ways that we rationalize it. 

Discussions of whether or not to end a human’s life are nothing new. We tell ourselves that executing a criminal may serve as a preventative for even more violence in our society. We rationalize such actions as being for the common good but if someone who has no hope of avoiding imminent death asks us to end their pain with an injection that would quicken the unavoidable we cringe and argue that such action would be murder. We use convoluted definitions of what constitutes a living being to either allow or disallow abortions. Some insist that defending themselves in a war is objectionable while others insist that we would surely live in a state of anarchy without defending ourselves. In other words we waffle in our discomfort of taking a human life. We live with a continuum of beliefs and laws regarding whether or not Socrates should have been given that poison cocktail that ended his life. 

While there is a distinct difference between animals and humans there are even those who maintain that we have no right to kill any of the creatures of the earth or even to consume their flesh. Such individuals hold perhaps the clearest views about the rightness or wrongness of taking a life. For them there is no gray area. The rest of us waver between ideas. Therein lies the conflict that we face whenever we discuss taking a life in any way. 

When it comes to human lives I am of the mind that it is not our role as humans to take it into our own hands to destroy a fetus in the womb or take part in the death of any living person. Mine is an extreme view that prefers that violent murderers live out their days in prison rather than enduring executions. I question the death and bloodshed of wars. I deny someone the right to end a life out of mercy. Still, I am able to see that there are some circumstances in which defending oneself can only happen if another ends up dead. The conundrum of how to hold life sacred while also protecting ourselves is the stuff of debate through the ages and I’m not convinced that any of us can actually speak with absolute certainty about such things.

I find myself cringing at the thought of assisting someone in ending his/her life even when doctors have conceded that nothing more can be done to save them. I have no problem with the idea of letting nature take its course without interventions but taking active steps to actually cause death seems to be beyond what we have the right to do. Therein lies a difficulty for me. If I cannot do a mercy killing then how can I justify one done as a punishment? 

I realize that much of my thinking on this subject is grounded in my own religiosity and that those who do not share my faith see the world through a different lens. They have strong views that assisting someone to end life in a seemingly humane way is as much a loving thing to do as easing the suffering of a beloved pet. For them it is not murder or playing God but instead a profound act of compassion that allows a dying individual to leave this earth with dignity. No matter how many times or ways I hear such arguments I can’t seem to accept them anymore than I am able to agree that the vengeance killing of criminals is acceptable. 

Philosophically we humans have discussed life for centuries. We are intrigued by thoughts of when it actually begins and how much power we should exert over it. Not surprisingly there are those who genuinely feel that we should never interfere in the natural course of human existence even for purposes of keeping someone healthy. The extremes that result from our uncertainty about how we should behave are bound to divide us into differing camps. Since it is unlikely that we will ever determine an exact answer to our existential questions I suppose that it is up to each of us to operate within our own consciences and the law. 

Was Judas Iscariot damned for all time because of his betrayal of Jesus and subsequent suicide? It would be audacious of us to presume to know the exact answer. Our moral certitude is easy in some instances like knowing that it is indeed wrong to kill another person simply because we wish to do so. In other instances the blur of grayness creates all kinds of questions. Do we kill a mad human who is a danger to others just as we would a mad dog? Should we help someone to die when their pain and suffering is unbearable and death is unquestionably at hand just as we do with our creatures? Is it permissible to defend ourselves with deadly force when not doing so would result in innocents losing their lives? Such questions haunt and divide us. 

For the most part we seem to agree that it is not up to us to decide when it is time for another human to die. We respect life and understand that it must go on until it naturally ends even in the face of suffering. Our biggest differences involve the validity of abortions, war, capital punishment and personal protection. I know what I believe but the discussions of others will no doubt continue until the end of time. 

As a mom I often found myself stewing more over parenting decisions that I felt had been wrong rather than celebrating what I knew I had done right. As a teacher I often ended each school day more concerned about my mistakes than the successful moments that had made a difference in my students’ lives. It is human nature to somehow see the flaws around us and then generalize them as being far bigger than they actually are. We read about a cheating scandal in college admissions and fret that perhaps the whole system is stacked against those who follow the rules. So it is with society in general. We worry that maybe our naivety is working against us in what must surely be a dog eat dog world in which the liars and cheaters are surely gaining the edge but is that really true or does it have to be? 

My parents taught me to be honest and forthright from a young age. They abhorred cheating while admitting that they were not above glancing at an opponent’s cards if they were in view. They taught me the value of being trustworthy in all ways. Such ideas were reinforced by my education in the Catholic faith where lying and cheating were classified as sins ranging from venial to mortal on a continuum of how seriously they harmed others. I took those lessons quite seriously and have done my utmost to be honest even as I witnessed others flaunting the codes that guided me. 

I suppose that I developed a kind of indignant self righteous pride in myself for being a good girl and it remained that way until I had an interesting conversation with my mother who had a kind of wisdom that is not often found in books. I admitted to Mama that I was infuriated with Hillary Clinton for staying with Bill after he had broken his vows to her so often and so publicly. I boasted that I would have thrown him to the curb as I believed that any self respecting woman would have. My mother listened to my screed with an increasingly amused look on her face which told me that she was about to make a pronouncement that would rattle my certainty in my own judgement. Once I had completed my arguments my mother presented her rebuttal in a paucity of words, “It is none of our business.” 

A stunned silence hung over the room as I considered what she had just said. Then she quietly explained that until we fully and wholly become the other person there is no way that we can know why they make the choices that they do. She urged me to stand by my own principles of morality but to be more circumspect in generalized judgements of others. Then she winked and reminded me that being honest and trustworthy and surrounding myself with like minded people as I had done was a wonderful gift in and of itself. She noted that I should be happy for understanding right from wrong and being guided by a set of standards.

I can say with all honesty that I do not cheat nor do I know of any instance in which someone has cheated me or cheated on me. As my mother noted I live in a rare kind of bubble devoid of intrigue. I really do not understand what might drive someone to cheat and when I hear of such instances I do indeed become angry and maybe even a bit jealous that there are so many who seemingly get by with being dishonorable. I happen to think that one of the biggest problems we have today is that we have even elevated individuals who lie and cheat and steal as heroes. I see their success and it is easy to become irked and resentful but then I remember my mother’s words and know that by following a code of honor as much as I possibly can I ultimately have something that such people will never understand. It’s value is immeasurable. I have personal respect. 

I have to be careful not to brag too much because like any human I have moments when I think that it would be okay to fudge just a bit on reporting my tiny income from tutoring to the IRS. I see people taking advantage of situations with impunity and wonder if anyone would really be hurt if I did so as well. I am as tempted to throw my principles to the wind as anyone and I have to remind myself of the beliefs that have been ingrained in me. I have to remember that I can only be a model of what I think to be right but I cannot ultimately change others unless they choose to do so. My hope is that they will view me as someone to respect rather than as a chump or loser of whom to take advantage. I have to watch out for them and their guile while not emulating their lack of virtue.

I worry most about the messages being sent to our young people these days. Honor is all too often considered to be something only foolish people possess. We now give adulation to people who boast about their foul deeds and condemn those who quietly stand up for moral beliefs. Individuals who steal from the public get pardoned and those who voice truths get ridiculed. It must be very confusing for our children to witness such things. All we can do is be models of the behaviors we hope for them to follow and let them know as my mother did that striving to be good is its own reward. Teach your children well. They will need your guidance in navigating the world.

My mother was a woman of great faith who had one of the most beautiful relationships with God that I have ever observed in another human. She had been raised as a Catholic and remained true to the beliefs of that religion until the moment that she died, but she also insisted that each person’s views of God are uniquely personal and worthy of respect. She thought that God had revealed Himself to people according to the ways of their cultures so that it was self righteous to think that one religion was somehow superior to another. Nonetheless she felt fortunate that God had come to her through the Catholic Church and in wanting to share this blessing with her children she took each of us to receive the sacrament of Baptism when we were infants. From that moment she regularly took us to Sunday mass and sacrificed money that she did not really have to send us to Catholic school where we would learn the foundations of our religion. 

The education in Catholicism took hold for me but had varying results with my brothers. The oldest of my two male siblings was born with an insatiable curiosity about the world. He was the kind of toddler who was always asking “why?” and wondering how things worked. He took objects apart and then attempted to put them back together again. He carried books about space travel under his arms and gazed at the photos in them before he was even able to read. The rationality of his entire being resulted in a questioning not so much of God, because he saw faith in a Supreme Being as a kind of theory, but of organized religious groups. He came to the conclusion that much of what they had to offer were inventions of humans, not God, and so he believes in the divine but not in the imperfect edifices of worship that humankind has attempted to erect. 

My younger brother struggled not at all with faith in God but he struggled to find the answers he sought within the Catholic religion. He ultimately found more comfort and community in other Protestant religions. To this day he spends more time at Bible studies, Sunday services, and community outreach than most people do. His faith is strong and it is bolstered by a group of people who share his deep and abiding love for God. It made my mother happy to see that he had found a way of worshipping God that worked for him.

My mother often contemplated the differences in the way her children celebrated their faith in God. She would have been quite comfortable if all three of us had become cradle to grave Catholics but when that did not happen she searched more for evidence that we had learned the goodness of God and the importance of relying on both his expectations of us and his blessings. As long as we were kind, honest, fair people she felt that her efforts to share her own faith and religion had been a success. She often said that God had many forms that were exhibited by the variety of religions in the world. She only worried about those who had eschewed God in any way shape or form. She wondered how it was possible to believe that our gritty existence on this earth is all that there is. 

My mother often spoke of St. Augustine, one of the greatest theologians of the Catholic Church. She used the entirety of his life to demonstrate that God in his beneficence is more ready to forgive than we humans are. St. Augustine had led a wild and often empty and vile life before he experienced a grand conversion into the light of Christianity. Mama pointed out that it would be wrong of us to judge others and that only God himself should do that at the end of a person’s days. I suspect that she converted more people with her unconditional love of them than any evangelical has ever done with unrelenting proselytizing.  

My mother was a wise and practical woman. When she grew older and more feeble she read her bible each day and found religious programming on the television rather than attending Sunday mass at a Catholic Church. She often said a rosary and had a profound devotion to the mother of Jesus with whom she felt a special kinship. God was part of her life every minute of every day. She saw beauty in all religions, Judaism or Islam, Buddhism or Hinduism. She was a Catholic who believed that Protestants had indeed found many of the flaws in her own form of Christianity. She often smiled and asserted that God loves all of his people even those who do not believe that he exists. 

On the day of her death my mother had an angelic glow about her. Everyone saw it, even the doctors and nurses who were caring for her in the ICU. It was humbling to be with her as she prepared for the moment in which she was certain that she would be united with her God. She received the final of the seven sacraments of the Catholic Church and she was ready for what she had long believed would be her ultimate fate. As the family crowded together in the tiny room I thought of the diversity of faith that had come from this very Catholic woman and how she had so lovingly accepted us all. We had grown to a group of many races and preferences and relationships with God but the one uniting factor was love which is what she had all along taught us to see as the most important aspect of faith. 

So when people ask me how important religion is to me I have a small caveat. My own Catholic faith is a foundation of all that I am as a person but it is in reality my very private and personal faith in God that is at the heart of every breath that I take. Religion is important to me but I do not for even one second believe that clinging to its tenets is all that I must do to be close to God. My mama taught me that God expects so much more from each of us and what he asks can be difficult. It requires us to look beyond our own philosophies and into the very hearts of each person that we encounter without prejudice. It requires love even when we only see hate. It’s a tough but ultimately rewarding way to live. 

Do you ever wonder how many incredibly wonderful humans there have been whose names you will never know? Surely there was a tenor somewhere who rivaled Luciano Pavarotti but never gained fame for his talent. There may have been an amateur artist who created works worthy of an art museum whose name we will never hear. History and even the present is filled with outstanding individuals who quietly did remarkable things without receiving credit or notoriety, 

I recently told my grandchildren that the key to a happy life is found in doing what is right not for glory or recognition but simply because it is the moral thing to do. So often in these times of instant fame via smart phones that capture the good, the bad and the ugly of humans some ordinary soul becomes momentarily famous for acts of kindness. We might find ourselves suddenly feeling a bit irked because we know of someone who is quietly doing the same sort of things without anyone ever realizing the extent of their good works. We wonder how some get rewarded and others are not even noticed. We forget that the true value of giving is not found in adulation or even gratitude but in the feeling that comes from forgetting about oneself and focusing entirely on the needs of others.

There is a group of delightful little girls in my neighborhood who are always selling things. One day they may have a corner lemonade stand, another they may walk door to door offering their homemade works of art for sale. They are always enthusiastic and overjoyed whenever anyone makes a purchase but what most people do not know is that every single dime that they earn they later donate to the Make a Wish Foundation. They thought of doing this on their own and they hawk their hot chocolate and their mini garage sales with great enthusiasm all the while not mentioning their own generous hearts. I only found out their secret when one of their mothers told me the truth of why they had become the neighborhood vendors lest I grow weary of being tapped to contributed financially to their latest venture. 

These young ladies will never make the nightly news or get a phone call from a celebrity to thank them for their efforts and they don’t seem to mind that at all. It is the joy of giving that brings the iridescent smiles to their faces. The sounds of their grateful laughter each time someone contributes to their cause fills the neighborhood with a lovely kind of hope and joy that is its own reward. 

I see men and women faithfully toiling away at food pantries or routinely giving blood. Every neighborhood has that person who sees someone struggling and rushes over to help. Random and unsung acts of kindness happen all of the time. The world can sometimes feel cold and uncaring and then we see or even become the recipient of a sweet gesture that renews our own faith in the people around us. 

I had a cousin Jack who loved to laugh and joke whenever we gathered as a family. We all knew that he worked for the United States Postal Service and that he had three lovely daughters. We always enjoyed seeing him because of his wry sense of humor and ability to make us feel happy but we really had little idea of the depth of his goodness until he had died. It was only then that one person after another stepped forward to recount the amazing things that he had done for people. One by one, day after day he took the time to quietly spread cheer to those in need. He visited his aging mother on a regular basis, spending hours playing dominoes with her and her twin sister. He played Santa Claus at his church every Christmas. He managed food drives and sat with friends and acquaintances who were sick or suffering. The goodness of his heart spilled out in testimonial after testimonial about the sacrifices he had quietly made for others time and time again.

It’s easy to become disenchanted in times like the ones in which we presently find ourselves. It seems as though hate has crawled out of its dark hole. As people whine and complain about masks, immigrants, young people, old people, the poor, the rich it feels as though we have become a nation of selfish souls lacking in compassion and respect for one another. It is easy to become cynical and to feel a bit hopeless but I would stake all that I hold dear on the truth that there is so much good that we do not see. It is silently happening all around us in a million different ways. It’s the group of neighbors who spend a day on the phone and the Internet attempting to find an appointment for a vaccine for the older woman who lives on their street who has become frustrated and confused by the process. It is the friend who out of the blue sends a cheerful note to someone who is experiencing tragedy. It is the person who lives thousands of miles away who senses that someone needs a phone call to keep from falling apart. It is the teacher who takes the time to just listen to a student in crisis. 

The world is filled with people doing good things when no one is watching. Love outnumbers hate a thousand fold. The trolls and the agenda driven power seekers would like us to believe that ours is only a dog eat dog world of winners and losers and suckers. They would make us fearful of one another but they would be wrong. Goodness always always finds a way to triumph in unassuming ways, one kind act at a time. 

As a teacher and a mom I’ve had to dole out justice and hope for the wisdom of Solomon on many occasions. It’s perhaps the least pleasant aspect of either job but one that is impossible to avoid. Sooner or later a young person will cross a line that demands attention and decisions about how to make the moments teachable. Loving a person means having honest and instructive interactions with them when they have done wrong. Finding the appropriate reaction whether it be counseling or punishment or both is often a painful process for everyone, but as anyone who has worked with children knows simply ignoring blatant infractions is lethal. Finding the sweet spot that changes wayward behavior in a fair and consistent manner can be like navigating a field of land mines. Every teacher and parent has lain awake from time to time wondering how to make meaningful decisions regarding the rehabilitation of a youngster who has gone astray. 

I’ll never forget a documentary that I watched decades ago. It featured three men who were on death row for murder and asked the question of what had led them to that place. Each case was a bit different but the most glaring commonality of all three men was that their bad behavior had been enabled again and again from the time they began committing minor crimes as children until the fateful moments when they took other persons’ lives. 

One man in particular sobbed as he asked why nobody had made the effort to stop him before he had destroyed his own life. In a kind of twisted logic he described how his first offense had occurred when he stole the bicycle of a neighbor friend when he was only seven years old. He said that nothing happened to him as it should have. Instead the adults in his life laughed about it as though it was no big deal, leading him to believe it was something everyone does. At that moment he felt that he had been given the green light to become more daring and so he stole a car when he was only thirteen. This time he was punished by spending a few weeks in an alternative learning center but little else happened. His next foray was in robbing a convenience store for which he received a sentence of a couple of years which were commuted to less than a year. As he described his situation he kept asking why nobody really made an effort to help him understand that he should have stopped when he stole the bicycle. He wondered why nobody had cared enough to be certain that he understood how wrong his actions had been because the next time he thought he might get away with what he saw as a petty crime he carried a gun and shot a police officer. 

Most adults understand that bad actions from young people must be nipped in the bud but all too often there is a temptation to leave the moment before the process of understanding and true contrition has been resolved. Other times the punishment is so severe and abusive that it fails to address the learning outcome that should have happened and instead creates anger and rage inside the offender. It takes time, patience and genuine concern for the good of the person who has committed bad actions to result in positive changes that create a stronger and better human.

From the time of Adam and Eve and their sons Cain and Abel we humans have transgressed but we have also proven ourselves capable of positive transformation. In every case there has been a person who took the time to show an individual the error of his/her ways and then devise a process of meaningful restitution along with a dose of counseling and introspection. Holding people responsible for their actions can and should be a positive learning experience with just enough honesty and penance to ensure that they do not simply believe that they got away with something that was obviously wrong. 

History has proven that when we look the other way when someone’s behavior is problematic they almost always escalate their actions until we either have had enough or they have done something that is impossible to ignore. Before Eric Harris entered Columbine High School armed and intent on killing fellow students he had created many problems both at school and within his community. Because he was charming and a fast talker those tasked with punishing him tended to let him off lightly and underestimate the depth of his degradation. When one of his English teachers became frightened by the essays that he wrote she alerted school administrators who laughed and insisted that it was just the imaginative boasting of a typical teen. When he was caught with stolen items he received probation that was not even successfully completed because the counselor working with him felt that he had truly learned his lessons. At the same time he was recording in his journal that he had totally fooled her. When another student and his father went to the school to report concerns about Eric they were told that since Eric had not seemed to do anything wrong there was nothing they could do. Eric Harris slipped through the cracks with a ready smile and people’s reluctance to understand that by never really holding him accountable they were step by step enabling him to become the monster that he became. 

As a society we need to do our best to catch people at the very first moment when they do wrong and take all the necessary steps of both teaching and punishing to help them to change rather than to develop a habit of believing that they are untouchable. We should be wary of any adult who through money, power or adulation boasts of being free from the the guard rails that keep the rest of us in line. There is something very sick and disturbing about fearing either a child or another adult so much that we smile and continuously enable behavior that we know to be wrong. If we truly love someone we will stop them and take away their opportunities to break the laws and mores of a civil society. The sooner we do that, the more likely it is that they will become good and decent people. Sadly we have not been too good at doing that lately and the results are becoming more and more dangerous to our well being. It’s time we became more willing to do the difficult work of saving a life before it becomes too late