In the final moments of life, every person wants the same thing that we spend our lives seeking - comfort.  But what truly gives us comfort in life and in death and even in our last moments?  We might be quick to say that knowing Jesus gives us comfort, and we would not be wrong.  But what about when a child of God is no longer able to remember Jesus?
     I've been at the bedsides of the dying and I have seen the different ways my brothers and sisters in Christ have passed into glory.  Some spend their final hours praising God and eagerly returning to him. Some grow weary and struggle to find joy through the fear and pain. Some are barely aware of what is happening. And some had already had their minds so deteriorated by illness that they didn't recognize me, their family, or even their Savior's name. 
     When each of my parents were dying, the hospice workers gave us very helpful information packets that gave our family an idea of what to expect in the final hours, days, weeks, and even months. That part of the packet was customized with the specific cancers in mind. I've done some research already on what the normal progression of my tumor looks like. We're still asking God to work miraculously to alter the course of my illness so that this information is unnecessary, but if he chooses not to intervene, one of the things I can expect is that my personality may change at the end.
     Some patients with these brain tumors become harsh and critical towards those around them. They speak to their loved ones as if they were bitter enemies, saying things in their confusion that they've never said before in their life. Memory begins to slip. And, as with sufferers of dementia and Alzheimer's, those who have all their lives trusted in the Lord may deny ever having faith in him. I shudder to imagine myself on that path, I grieve the thought of my wife and friends caring for me in the midst of that, and I pray that my children never see me like that. But even if that is what the last leg of my journey to heaven looks like, I don't need to despair because I've learned that God's grace doesn't need my brain for it to be effective.
     A number of years ago, I came across a book title that immediately invited a deeper look. David Keck is not a theologian or a minister. He is a history professor and a follower of Jesus. When his mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer's Disease, David became her caretaker, and as he witnessed the way that her brain degenerated and her personality was swallowed up by disease, he began reflecting on what it means to belong to God. His book "Forgetting Whose We Are: Alzheimer's Disease and the Love of God" first attracted me because of a quote I read from it in another book. The line that struck me deeply was, "How is it possible to speak of a personal relationship with God, when there seems to be no person left? Does the Holy Spirit depend on a conscious subject in order to be present or to provide comfort to a person?" I found in Keck someone who was wrestling with the same question that plagued my mind.  He asks it with raw emotion: "How can it be possible to speak of a 'personal relationship with God' when there seems to be no person left, when, in some cases, there is naught but a frenzied, incommunicable ... suffering?"
     As a father with a mentally disabled child (a child who is now of adult age), I have struggled with the way our formulations of saving faith lean heavily into what we can understand and what we choose. What about those (like my daughter, and like Keck's mother) who are not able to understand the gospel at a cognitive level? What about those whose mental illness severely compromises their ability to make rational decisions? Is our gospel big enough to include them without having to make lists of exceptions to the system, like so many Ptolemaic epicycles?
     I first got a better perspective on the grander scope of the gospel when reading the Westminster Confession of Faith. In Chapter 10.3, I saw a section that I still cannot read without tears: "Elect infants, dying in infancy, are regenerated, and saved by Christ, through the Spirit, who worketh when, and where, and how he pleaseth: so also are all other elect persons who are uncapable of being outwardly called by the ministry of the Word." I began to grasp that a rational understanding of the gospel and an obedient response of faith is the normal, ordinary way that God saves. However, for those who are providentially unable to be brought near to God through his Word, they may yet be saved because God's Spirit is sovereign, working where and how he pleases (John 3:8). Keck sums it up beautifully: "Our lives and our hopes are grounded not so much on pure reason, intelligibility, or justice, but on enduring, gracious love."
     This is the gospel in full bloom. In fact, when it comes to the mentally disabled and those whose minds have wasted away as they approach death, through them we see the gospel even more clearly. When our assurance is too tightly connected to our personal confession of faith, it is easy to forget that even that confession is a gift of God's Spirit at work in us (1 Corinthians 12:3, Ephesians 2:8). And all the words and works of obedience that follow are likewise the result of his grace at work through us (Philippians 2:12-13). How easy it becomes to believe our salvation is dependent on these things we produce. But what about those who cannot contribute anything? Not a word of faith, not a single act of righteousness, not even a flicker of comprehension in their eyes? If the grace of God welcomes and saves even them, then how much greater is that grace!
     The final and most significant step that needs to follow this recognition is to see that my salvation is no less gracious just because I am presently able to comprehend, receive, and respond to it. It's not that the grace of God makes up for whatever degree of perfection I lack. My salvation is 100% the work of the Lord, just as much as it is for all his children "who are uncapable of being outwardly called by the ministry of the Word."
     That's my hope. That's my comfort in life and in death. I may forget whose I am, but my salvation is not secured by what's in my head. It is secured because I am in God's hand, and that is the safest place in the universe (see John 10:28-29). I belong- body and soul, in life and in death- to my faithful savior, Jesus Christ. I may forget him, but he cannot forget me. 
Isaiah 49:15-16 Can a woman forget her nursing child,
that she should have no compassion on the son of her womb?
Even these may forget, yet I will not forget you.
Behold, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands...