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Meditating on death was considered a typical religious practice. Even among religious preachers, some gave it up, considering it a rather morbid or old-fashioned exercise. But the truth is: There is nothing outmoded about death. All of us will die; the time allotted us is limited, and none of us knows when the call will come. Such talk
sounds distant and unrealistic, until we are faced with the death of a
dear one, or our own end. When this happens, we sit up and take notice.
We begin to see death (and, more importantly, life) in quite a different
key. Frank runs his own finance company. With brains, wealth and a prestigious business degree, he was not used to thinking about death. Then, when he was forty-two, his closest friend died of cancer. “His death has really shaken me,” he told me. “We were the same age. If this can happen to him, I realize it can happen to me any time.” With this realization, Frank started reordering his priorities. He began to spend more time with his wife and two children; he went on to take a degree in spirituality, and to take spiritual direction regularly; daily meditation and prayer have become a normal part of his schedule. And he is a much happier man than before. Death hit Dorothy in a quite a different way. “Irene helped me in so many ways. Whenever I was in trouble, she was always there for me. But I never took the time to tell her how much she meant to me. I wanted to, but kept postponing it. Then, one day, I took paper and pen, and wrote a nice, long letter in which I told her how much she had helped me, and how grateful I was. But my letter never reached Irene. The day I mailed it, she died in a car accident. I am left with the regret that I never told her how much she meant to me.” At Father Patrick’s funeral, other priests and some lay people paid him golden tributes. They spoke of his commitment, the inspiration his life had given to many. After the function, one of the priests said, “Wouldn’t it have been better if some of us had shown him this appreciation while he was alive? Didn’t we just take him for granted most of the time?” * * * Catholics dedicate November to the memory of the deceased. Many go to church or to the cemetery and pray for the dead. In doing this, we must not forget this basic truth: All liturgy and prayers are aimed at the living, at us who still have the precious gift of time. Eulogies about the dead do not help them; what their condition is, lies beyond our capacity to know. If being remembered by the living were what helped the dead most, a famous person would enter eternal happiness sooner than a beggar. The wealthy and the well-connected would stand a better chance with God than the nameless poor. Our security after death consists not in how many people will remember us after we are gone (in fact, every one of us will be forgotten sooner than we think!), but in being held in the merciful love of God, in whose hands we are right now, this very moment. This Supreme Love will not reject us; to that Love, we are always present and precious. That is our security, not what people will say, or how they will think of us. Experts in management and human relations (see Stephen Covey, for instance) are reminding us of what religion has always taught us: The awareness of mortality makes us wise, and helps us to have right priorities. Death is a very good counselor. Thinking of death is no morbid exercise. It helps us to focus our attention on the one thing we are sure of: this present moment. We can learn from Frank to remember our mortality and set our priorities right. We can listen to Dorothy’s regret and show people the love and gratitude we feel before it is too late. We can avoid the mistake made by Father Patrick’s colleagues: taking him for granted while he was alive, and saying nice things at his funeral. If you have something nice to say to (or about) someone, do it today. If you are postponing something important to a vague “tomorrow,” decide to do it now. If you are taking others’ goodness for granted, stop that today, and show your love. November (or any other month) is about living better and using our limited time more wisely. As for what others (or we) need after we die, we are less equipped to tackle that question than an unborn child is to understand nuclear physics. Faith is an invitation to a more loving life; it is not a technicolour movie about what happens after death. How our life affects others (whether living or dead), and how theirs affects us, is a mystery we call the Communion of Saints. How this osmosis is worked out, and who benefits from whose prayers and good deeds, is a riddle we leave to God. Want to try Covey’s second exercise today? * * * next ► |
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