Your Last Year

I have much discomfort reflecting upon death. If you do not want exposure to that discomfort, you will not read any further.

In doing some reflection on the theological theme of eschatology, I came across an article by Karl Rahner, a Roman Catholic theologian. He says that freedom is the power to decide what is to be final and definitive in our lives. How will we approach our end? He reminds us that we are dying all our lives. Every moment of life is a stage on the way to this final goal. Life is a process of dying. Death is the final point in this life-long process. Dying takes place throughout life. Death is the completion of the process. We can approach that end desperately clinging to finite things and thus with anxiety. We can also approach that end with faith and hope as we free ourselves for the hand of God.[1]

Most pastors must reflect upon death on a regular basis. We officiate at funerals and walk with people through the loss of one they love.

Recently, I discussed with a colleague of his health issues. He is young, meaning he is younger than by 64. He had a disease in which the doctor that 10% of the people live longer than five years. He is in the second year of that that prediction. As I move toward retirement age, I think more about the finitude of my time.

This time of the church year invites such reflections. For me, the time from Halloween to the end of the year make me a bit pensive. All Saints’ Day, for example, is a reminder that we are all terminal. We will die, and perhaps sooner than later. Tomorrow is not a guarantee.

I realize that this thought sounds morbid. Such thoughts can lead us into sin.  

Then set

 The wine and dice, and let him perish who

 Doth care about to-morrow. Death your ear

 Demands and says, 'I come, so live to-day.'"[2]

Also: Death whispers in my ear

Live now, for I am coming.

Also: Death twitches in my ear

“Live” he says, “I am coming.” 

Our approach could be to approach life in a cavalier way. Since we will die, as the saying goes, eat, drink, and be merry. Of course, I would suggest that most think of our lives as meaningful and as making a positive contribution to the lives of others. We want to enjoy life, of course, but most of think we are here for something more than that.

Thus, let us think about death in a different way. It would not be healthy obsess about this. It would also not be healthy to avoid the question or pretend it is not there.

 I am suggesting that we might benefit from thinking more about death -- our own death, in particular. It could help us to stop wasting time with foolish stuff, help us to focus attention on meaningful activities and help us to derive more enjoyment in our lives.

Buddhist monks in Thailand contemplate corpses at various stages of decay. I suppose that could be a place to start. You might not want to do that, but you could start by looking at some pictures of corpses. The idea, of course, is to reflect on the finite character of your life.

Arthur C. Brooks of the New York Times writes,  

"Years ago on a visit to Thailand, I was surprised to learn that Buddhist monks often contemplate the photos of corpses in various stages of decay. The Buddha himself recommended corpse meditation. 'This body, too,' students were taught to say about their own bodies, 'such is its nature, such is its future, such its unavoidable fate.'"  

Meditating on one's own death, in other words, is a way of realigning our focus from momentary desires to big-picture life goals. You take the "Last Year" test. This exercise is not one about which to obsess. However, a few prayerful and meditative moments with this question could help one sort out what is important to us.

If this were your last year to live, would you really watch so much television, play so many video games, play so much golf, spend so much time at the club -- waste so much time? I find nothing intrinsically wrong with these things, of course. Would you --

read more books or fewer books?

spend more time or less time with friends?

spend more time or less time with family?

go shopping more frequently or less frequently?

take more walks or fewer walks?

volunteer more or less?

attend worship services more often or less often?

eat more chocolate and ice cream or less chocolate and ice cream?

For most of us, it is the immediate and the transitory that tend to trump the long-term and the meaningful. In another study on how Americans use their time, researchers learned that the average American adult tends to watch TV four times longer than "socializing and communicating," and 20 times longer than engaging in "spiritual and religious activities." It seems that we would rather spend our time clicking through someone else's life than actually living our own, and that does not count the hours we spend surfing the vast wasteland of the Internet where much of our time goes to die!

The misalignment between our channel/site-surfing lifestyles and our desire for a more meaningful life causes a lot of regret, knowing that we spend too much time on low-value activities. We easily allow the urgent and trivial to overwhelm us, putting on the back burner the non-urgent but important.

It can also lead us into a feeling of being physically present in one place while being mentally present in another.

This is when contemplating death can actually help us. Remembering that we are going to die causes us to focus on the scarcity of the time we have left and strengthen our resolve to use it wisely.

To put it another way, what if you took the "Last Year" test and lived your life right now as if you knew that this was your last year to live? Would the activities you do today or tomorrow pass the "Last Year" test? Would you turn off the TV and spend more time with your family? Would you stop playing Candy Crush on your phone and pick up your Bible or spend some time journaling instead? Would you go outside and enjoy the cool snap of the autumn air and the crunch of fallen leaves or watch another episode of The Real Housewives of New York?

Truth is, most of us do not know if this is our last year. Some have had that knowledge, however, and the way that they chose to use their time should be helpful to us as we seek to live more full, meaningful and significant lives.

I measure my life in family

 who speak through tears,

 who serve me meals on a wicker tray,

 who pray and love and float.

 I measure my life in pine siskens

 who entertain me in feeders outside my window,

 and Gus, the schnauzer,

 who curls next to me in bed.

 I measure my life in friends

 who do not know my sins,

 who hug my shrunken body,

 who break open my heart with words.

 I measure my life in cancer

that has taught me how to measure my life.

 --Ken Brewer, who died of pancreatic cancer in 2006, from a poem, "The Measure," cited by Dennis Lythgoe, "Utah poet writes at a fever pitch," Deseret Morning News, December 18, 2005.

---

[1] Karl Rahner, Theological Investigations, Volume VII, 287-91.

[2] Virgil, “Copa” one of the “minor poems.”