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.”
