• Presumed Consent

    Last night the Welsh Assembly agreed a new policy of presumed consent with regard to organ donation. Now, instead of opting to become an organ donor, in Wales it will be presumed that a person is willing to donate their organs after death, unless they have opted out.

    I find this one an incredibly tough call, but I think that the Welsh Assembly is wrong. I’m opposed to presumed consent. I think it is wrong.

    And yet I’m in favour of organ donation. I am on the register of organ donors. I recently had to renew my driving license and happily ticked the box indicating that I would be happy to consent to my organs being used to give life to someone else after I die.

    My problem with presumed consent is that I have a problem with presumed anything. The dominant discourse in medical ethics hitherto has been around the the notion of informed consent. Presumed consent undermines this significantly. It also changes the relationship between the state and the individual in a way that makes me feel very uncomfortable.

    It seems to me that the gift of organs after one has died is one of the greatest gifts that can be made. This legislation takes away from that sense of giftedness.

    I’m opposed on pastoral grounds too. For many relatives the idea that they can consent to the donation of healthy organs from someone who is at the point of death is a wonderful and powerful thing. If the decision is no longer theirs then something has gone which has mattered to many.

    If I needed an organ donation then I’ve no doubt I would long for anything that made more organs available. However, if I ask myself whether I would want to receive an organ from someone without knowing whether or not they wanted that procedure to happen I find myself having to think long and hard. Would I want an organ from someone who’s relatives were opposed to the organ removal? Organ donation can currently help people’s grieving processes. It now has the potential to complicate grief immesurably for some.

    People often don’t know what it will feel like when someone dies. The ability to make decisions at that time is crucial. Removing the possibility of decision making concerns me greatly. Some urgently want whatever good that can come from a death to come to pass. However others don’t want a body to be touched more th an is necessary either. I’ve no doubt that some will see this as a violation and the way that they will cope with the death in those circumstances is entirely unknown to us but cannot be easy.

    We are not simply flesh that the state owns and from which it can harvest. Somehow I can’t get away from the idea that we are more than that and that our laws should recognise that.

    I’m not really aware of how the debate about this has gone in Wales. I’ve been paying attention to other moral discussions here recently. These are just my initial instictive reactions to news reports today.

    As I said at the outset, I don’t find that a comfortable position to come to or to articulate. However, uncomfortable decisions are precisely what life makes us make.

    What do you think?

24 responses to “Good Vicar, Bad Vicar”

  1. Josh Avatar

    Being a good vicar to stony, unreceptive hearts might require a pickaxe to reveal gemstones within. It must be tough to minister to jerks and meanies, no? We lose faith in people easily – I certainly do. But a good vicar – a loving parent – doesn’t give on up one’s children.

    A good vicar might depend on the eye of the beholder. Whether you believe vicars and congregations are intrinsically good or evil might get you called a Pelagian or an Augustinian depending on who you ask. Faith in the work of a vicar or the reception of the congregation depends on good faith and co-operation – what then do we place our faith in? Hardly Protestant thinking, when faith is dependent on work, manifestation, and epiphany. A bad vicar might be sent to good people. A good vicar might be sent to bad people. Whether a vicar or congregation is subjectively or objectively good is a difficult question to answer.

    It is then that I prefer to see both the vicar and congregation not as “good” or “bad” but rather as equally “beloved”. However large the congregation, or even the vicar’s skill shouldn’t matter then. But that raises the question: Who then do we love if we are so beloved by God? Perhaps love might be the answer. A vicar and congregation who sees and knows themselves as equally and lavishly beloved of God will love each other. Love makes congregations meaningful and precious, no matter how small they might be.

  2. Josh Avatar

    And if I might add to my previous comment – And love also makes vicars meaningful and precious, no matter how small the congregation might be.

  3. Rosemary Hannah Avatar
    Rosemary Hannah

    Yes – things which make the practicalities of small congregations include:
    the laity in most senior positions find it hard to see the inclusive love of God and to see the value of prayer and spiritual exercises, a shortage of laity with administrative abilities, a tiny handful of parishioners prepared to insist on unhelpful things all the time (the oldest liturgies every week, the kind of behaviour small children cannot sustain all service long, particular dress in those at church on Sunday to name but a tiny selection). In a larger church these things can be contained (one nasty comment for lady x outweighed by five or six lovely ones or simply finding somebody to be treasurer who can cope with the job). In a small church, however good the vicar, the nasty comment carries more weight, and the sorting out of the finances may take days of clergy effort. It is always hard to get from a tiny congregation to a large one.

    That said, I have sat through sermons so mind-numbingly boring and inappropriate that I have actually moved to another church.

  4. Paul Waddington Avatar
    Paul Waddington

    If one looks at the larger picture, the Archbishop’s optimism seems misplaced.

    According to the 1851 census, about five million people attended a Church of England service on the census day (a Sunday). The population of England and Wales at the time was about 17 million. These are round figures and I know that there were difficulties with the religious census, but they are good enough to demonstrate my point. Roughly speaking, about 30% of the population attended a CofE that Sunday.

    Recently published figures estimate average Sunday attendance at CofE churches at about 900,000. That is about 2% of the population of England. Wales is now excluded.

    So taking the long view, the trend is rather depressing for the CofE. Compared with 1851, fourteen out of fifteen no longer attend church regularly.

    As an aside, the 1851 census indicated a church attendance for Catholics of about 350,000. That is about 2% of the population. I understand that the current figure is very similar for Mass attendance is also around 900,000 or 2% of the population.

    Other recent research has indicated that the age range of CofE congregations is skewed towards the upper end. Certainly in my local parish, it is unusual to see anyone under the age of 60. I do wonder how many there will be in, say, 15 years time.

    1. Kelvin Avatar

      Thanks Paul – I find that bishops generally tend to accentuate the positive when it comes to thinking about numbers in church. Whether that is because they only go to events that are comparatively well attended or whether it is actually because it is their job to be upbeat about possibilities is not clear to me.

  5. Pam Avatar
    Pam

    It is complicated – ‘good’ and ‘bad’ – poor adjectives. The rector is the leader of the congregation and needs support and trust. But, I think, no longer is the vicar held in such esteem as not to have to earn that support and trust. A good thing, mostly. Churches grow for all sorts of reasons – the level of involvement with non-believers, a prominent noticeboard and outstanding bikke and slice-makers all help.

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