Death Comes

Let us begin with the end: you, dear reader, will die. You will likely live anywhere from fifty to seventy more years and then die. What will that last moment be like? Will you be surrounded by your family? Doctors? Strangers? No one?

Why have you not thought of death more? I grant that it’s exceedingly morbid. In truth, that moment, that inevitable fading of your sight into darkness, will be the most important moment of your life. It will either be your greatest most glorious triumph, or a horror the likes of which you have never known, not in your worst nightmare.

Death will be either annihilation, hell, or heaven. These are not gentle notions—there is no moderate option.

Suffice it to say it is important to have death always in mind. Whoever lives as if he or she could not die at any moment plays the fool. We must live every second of our lives from the perspective of our last.

It is for this reason that the priest, when putting dust on penitents’ heads on Ash Wednesday says, “remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return”, the tombs of the early Christians say “Memento Mori,” and the chapel Santa Maria della Concezione dei Cappuccini in Rome is decorated with the countless bones of the friars who once went to Mass there. A full body skeleton dressed in a hooded friar’s habit holds a plaque which reads “Noi eravamo quello che voi siete, e quello che noi siamo voi sarete” or “What you are we were, and what we are you will be.”

This does not mean that we need to develop a sick obsession with death, but only that we have to keep in mind that we have a limited time here on earth and that we have a duty not to fritter away our time on things that are truly unimportant. We must be ready to give an account for every second of our lives.

Now, there is another side to this coin that is much more cheerful. Remembering that life is short makes us remember that it is important not to put too much weight on the good things of the world, but it also can remind us not to put too much weight on the bad things either. This life is, after all, an exile.

Life is war. We move from one conflict to another, reprieved from time to time by friends, beautiful sights and sounds, and family. The author of Ecclesiastes hits the nail on the head, saying, “I have seen everything that is done under the sun; and behold, all is vanity and a striving after wind” (Eccl. 1:14). This makes sense. This is not our home, but the battle for it.

And the secret is this: one day, Christ will “wipe away every tear” (Rev. 21:4). One day, we will be able to put down the cross of this life. One day, we will never have to leave Him.