Each Sunrise, Each Meal, Each Word
Death is the ultimate and final unifying human experience. All die. Even God incarnate had to die. Death is an inescapable reality that all humans have to go through. It seems to me that most facts are disputed in the world. People dispute the existence of God. People dispute the shape of the earth. People dispute the health benefits of a certain diet. People dispute the existence of objective truth. There are always some people who dispute things that many people would take as facts. However, nobody disputes death. Every human seems to agree that people have died and that they will die one day as well. There is a large variety of understandings about what happens after you die, but everyone seems to agree that everyone dies. Humanity as we experience it seems to be designed to pass away.
So, what do we do with this? What do we do with death? As a Christian, I would be more than glad to give you, dear reader, a litany of platitudes about my great virtuous Hope in God and His victory over death. With that Hope being stated, I would like to reflect on death removed from the Christian tradition. I would first like to reflect on death from the perspective of mortal life. One is alive and then one is dead. That is the fact of it. How do we deal with such a transition? It has not happened often in my short life, but there have been a few times where I have witnessed someone pass from this earthly life. It is sobering. Even if I am convinced in that moment of my access to an eternal reward, witnessing death puts into perspective every moment of your life.
In recent days I have, in the least frightening way possible, taken up the pastime of imagining what it would be like if I knew the date of my death. I wonder how I would operate if I went to a physician and they informed me that I had eight months to live. How would my life change? I am sure that I would think that the mundane worries of daily life seem trivial against the backdrop of an impending end. The urgency of time would reshape my priorities; the days would no longer blend into a monotonous routine but would be transformed into a series of sacred moments, each infused with heightened meaning. How would I spend those eight months? Would I continue my current employment? Would I embark on grand adventures, seeking to fill my remaining days with the thrill of new experiences? How would I navigate my relationships with my friends and family? How would I navigate my relationship with my wife?
In my contemplations of this hypothetical scenario, I have decided with surety that my awareness of death would awaken in me a profound appreciation for life itself. Each sunrise would become a miracle, each meal a feast, and each word spoken to me a gift. The ticking clock would remind me that time is not an endless resource; it is precious, and I would hopefully strive to live intentionally. However, an alternative does exist; I could fall into despair. There is this profound tension inherent in our mortality. While it can galvanize us to action, it can also induce fear: fear of the unknown, fear of leaving loved ones behind, fear of what our absence will mean in the grand tapestry of life. We often romanticize the idea of living each day as if it were our last, but the reality is far more complex. It is hard, dare I say impossible, to wake up each morning with the fervor of a man who knows he will die the next day.
I do not have any solutions to this dilemma. What I do possess is an understanding of the ideal. Ideally, one who is living truly oriented towards the end of earthly life would live each moment with intention. Why do I cook breakfast in the morning? Why do I go to work? Why do I read a book? Why do I write an essay? To do these things without at least a loose understanding of how they will transform my life for the better and make the day I die more joyous seems to be true folly. At the same time, to constantly identify the eternal value of each and every moment seems impossible.
Death serves as a profound reminder of the shared human experience, compelling one to confront their mortality and the mysteries that surround it. Some try to ignore the reality, but I have found that I cannot for very long. As long as I live, the reality of death remains a tension that I must navigate each day. It is a calling to live an impossibly intentional life. Today, in the midst of these considerations and despite the impossibilities, I wish to resolve to somehow live each day like my last: to make each sunrise a miracle, each meal a feast, and each word a gift.
The only relief from this tension is Christ. Christ has transformed death from an end into a pathway from earthly life to eternal life. He Himself has experienced the pains of earthly life, the suffering of death, and the freedom of eternal Blessed life. Christ, the son of God, is the rock fixed in eternity that we can anchor our hearts to. He, being the Son of God and having risen from the dead, is the miracle of the Sonrise. He is the Bread of Life, the perfect feast. He is the incarnate Word of God. If I were to truly anchor my heart to Him, I would be free of any worries about my impending death or a wasted life. To focus on Him is to focus on the now and the eternal in perfect balance. To focus on Christ is to be ready to die and ready to live at every moment. I invite you, dear reader, to let go of all the worries of life and all the worries of death and to anchor your hearts to the one truly stable rock, Christ Jesus.
I am dying in my own death and the deaths of those after me.
Let thy servant depart,
Having seen thy salvation.
(Eliot, A Song for Simeon)
