Several years ago, I read Ronald Rohlheiser’s Sacred Fire. In this interesting book, he recasts the three traditional stages of spiritual formation in a unique way that I find remarkably compelling. Taking the more classic language of Purgation, Illumination, and Union, he refashions the spiritual journey into something that feels a bit more accessible and practically relevant to my own life.
Rohlheisers suggests that our lives—if we are willing—may move from:
- Getting our lives in order
- Giving our lives away
- Giving our deaths away
I like this language and find it helpful in thinking about stages we go through over time (and maybe again and again!) as we mature and change. I am using his framework in some writing I am doing as it relates to stewardship and generosity because there are deep connections to how we relate to money and possessions in each movement of our lives.
I am especially captured by the third movement—giving our deaths away. Maybe it is my advancing age or the fact that contemporaries I know and love are beginning to pass on, but I am more mindful of death these days. Not in some morbid or fearful way, but simply recognizing its inevitability and reality as never before.
In chapter 4 of Saint Benedict’s Rule for Monasteries, he encourages others in the community to “Remember to keep death before your eyes daily.” Undoubtedly, some will interpret this as a way to keep people in check by reminding them of impending judgment, doom, and gloom. If we keep the masses afraid—they will remain unquestionably compliant and controlled!
Maybe…
Alternatively, early monks regarded meditation on death as a way to live daily life more fully and freely. Remembering that our lifetimes are short and uncertain, especially when coupled with a liberating sense of God’s love and grace, can also stir one to live more radically and self-giving. Rather than becoming protective and docile, Benedict (and others) believed that remaining aware of this reality—rather than trying to suppress it or be unwilling to face it—could actually lead to greater joy, faithfulness, and wholeness. Yes, we humans have natural fears and anxiety about dying. There are so many unanswered questions about what lies beyond this existence. But maybe it is better to face it squarely and learn to embrace the inevitability.
So—I am thinking about dying, and in a wide variety of ways. Today, I am in good health. My mind is (meh!) ok, too. I figure I have somewhere between a day and 25 years remaining. The prime of my life (I think this was probably a three-week window of time in 2008, or was it 2009?!?), in which I felt like I was firing on all cylinders and making the best possible contribution in the service of God and others, has now long receded into the past. I don’t have the energy, strength, or will to live at the same pace. I may be around a good while longer, but the focus has clearly shifted toward thinking about how I will give my death away more than how to get my life in order or even give it away.
Whatever loss there is in this shift, I recognize gifts that may only come with an experience and intentional awareness that one’s days are winding down:
- A much greater appreciation and sense of gratitude for all that is good and beautiful;
- A deepened understanding of what is mine to do and not do;
- An unwillingness to fight and fuss (most of the time…) over matters that just don’t;
- Overwhelming evidence, accumulated over many years, that I am often wrong and capable of making mistakes;
- Overwhelming evidence, accumulated over many years, that I (and others) are profoundly loved by a good and gracious God who offers both forgiveness and the power to grow and change;
- A growing and glad acceptance of the fact that dying is inevitable. There is nothing I can do about it, and rather than fearing it more and more, I am beginning to see it as part of the adventure that I get to look forward to and which may help me embrace today (and any that follow) with greater joy, gratitude, and passion.
So, I will keep thinking (and writing) about death. Maybe not every day—sorry, Benedict—but often enough to help me now and later.
Walking in the Way and Stumbling Toward Faithfulness 