Are you afraid to die? It’s something you are destined to do, but are you afraid? The season of Lent begins with the reminder of our death. The holy ashes are meant to awaken our minds and souls to the very certain reality of our own impending death, “Remember, you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” And one day, our own bodies will lie in the soil and become a part of it. “I am but dust and ashes,” Abraham said.
I suppose I ask the question not only because those ashes were meant to begin an entire season of meditation on what it means to die as a Christian, but because death, the unspoken truism, is all around us. One hundred fifteen people die every minute of every day. There have been more Christian martyrs in the 20th century than any other time in history. We are a world at war, and undeniably, a world at fear of death. That fear is probably what has struck me most in the past months. And so I feel that the question is worth asking myself now, as an adult, “Am I afraid to die?”
As a child I would talk with anticipation about death. I guess, more specifically, I would think with excitement, and perhaps presumption, about being with Christ for all eternity. And to me, it meant basking in love and freedom.
I don’t remember feeling afraid of it, at least not in the same way that I was afraid of vampires looking in my window. I was intrigued and completely sold on the idea that death was a time of glory for someone who loved Our Lord. I remember going to many funerals, and, as cremation was not a Catholic thing done at the time, we would go up the aisle to view the body. I remember even being lifted to kiss the body of relatives who had passed away. I don’t say that that was necessarily pleasant, but it certainly took away the fear of the unknown. Death was literally right in front of my face, and unless there were some great secret sins of the person involved, I would look in wonder and imagine the joy they were possibly now experiencing.
Having homeschooled all these years, I have had the joy of learning with my children about the lives of great saints who longed for martyrdom. Those who received it were noble and valiant. I have no doubt that they feared pain and torture, but death? Seemingly not enough to betray Our Lord.
When I wrote about Blessed Vasyl Velychkovsky in my last article, I imagined him facing the threat of death so many times. His reply was always so direct and, to him at least, so obvious. I can almost hear him, “You threaten me with death? Please. I am a priest of God, I have bigger concerns.”
Those holy saints seem distant, mythological: young men, slaughtered before they would allow pagans to desecrate the Eucharist, beaten to death on the streets as they clung to him against their chests. Christians running towards, not away from, people dying of the plague, to ensure they were not alone and had the sacraments on their deathbed.
Would we die to protect the Eucharist? I wonder at friends who have told me they have heard fewer homilies about the True Presence of Christ in the Eucharist than they have about being nice, compliant, and tolerant recyclers, so why would they die for it? Why so few on dying well and dying for Christ? (I can’t say that that has been my experience, thankfully!)
The idea that there is something more than this, something worth dying for, is just a pretty poem to some. Christianity has become, not to all, but to some, a social justice ideology that teaches basic right from wrong concepts (that change with the times), and a few nice proverbs to live by. No, it is meant to be a faith of things worth dying for.
Things of the world are worshipped, and we are offered, as Christ in the desert was, pride of life, lust of the flesh, and lust of the eyes, by a sinister force that charges an everlasting fee. The death he takes as payment is much different than the one I envisioned as a child. That is a death worth fearing.
Some may say that my thoughts here are morbid. I guess that would prove my point. Death, when done well, is not meant to be morbid. I think of those priests in Ukraine, staying behind to celebrate the Divine Liturgy for their flock in an underground shelter while death looms all around them. “You threaten me with death? Please, I have bigger problems,” they might say. To me, that is a beautiful vision of something that will be rewarded.
There is more to life than survival. Life truly lived is a noble, joyful preparation for death.
“The spirit of the Lord is upon me … to give them a garland instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning” (Is 61:1, 3).
Memento mori. Remember your death.
