Looking at death with friendly eyes

Over the weekend, there were two articles which appeared in our local paper that centered around the topic of death but from rather different viewpoints.  The first was the news that Matthew Warren, the son of acclaimed pastor/author Rick Warren, had shot himself fatally in the head after struggling with mental illness and depression for many years.  The second was a reflection/commentary by a local journalist Ms S Tan on the very topic of death, revealing that for this self-proclaimed agnostic, death is something very much to be feared, even if there is an inchoate sense that there is an eternal “thereafter”.  I wonder why she didn’t use the more familiar term “hereafter”. Isn’t it interesting that even the term used has a distanced nuance to it?  Like as if saying that it’s ‘there’ rather than ‘here’ will make it less threatening, less foreboding and more comfortable to handle.

The words in the picture are "You can never cross the ocean unless you have the courage to lose sight of the shore".  

My ‘work’ as an ordained priest has a lot do with death, simply because it has everything to do with life.  Being priests of God, who is The author of life, our very vocation and calling is to be living testimonies of the fact that everything that we experience and encounter in life is pure gift, as well as an open invitation to participate in the very life of God who makes all things possible.  This is undoubtedly a great challenge especially in this day and age where there is so much arrogant demands made on God by atheists who untiringly and unremittingly shut him out from a world which he has created in love and with love. 

At the very sensitive and emotional moments that surround a death, be it the days and moments before a death, or the moments and days that follow it, there is a certain rawness in the world of those whom the deceased leave behind that silently ask the perennial question whether everything is ‘all right’.  A good pastor of souls needs to hone his skills in detecting this unasked question in the silence of the mourners’ often unspoken words, and a good answer to this silent question doesn’t often necessitate words.  This skill takes great grace and years of training, and I dare not say that I am adept at it.  Let’s just say that one learns best from one’s slip-ups and mistakes.

But what if one needs to handle the topic of one’s own end?  I know many Catholics who are as superstitious as the next “Ouija Board pushing-wood touching-talisman hanging-salt tossing-evil eye wearing” atheist who are loath to talk about death and the self in the same sentence.  It’s a shame if one is so paralyzed with fear and at the same time claim to profess a true love for Jesus Christ as one’s Lord.  Striding one leg on a floating boat each (a very graphic Chinese figure of speech for being split in one’s trust) will only lead to a very hard time in life, not to mention legs that will cramp in no time.  Yet, to handle the very sensitive topic of superstition requires another set of skills where the truth is spoken such that it doesn’t make the listener defensive but reflective.  Again, I have yet to master this skill as I often want to get to the point without wasting time.  But I have since learnt that ‘wasting time’ is also a very necessary preamble that softens the harshness of the truth of sin and its effects without compromising on the truth of sin and its effects. 

When one’s faith in the Lord’s constant providence is unwavering and sure, it gives one the blessed assurance that death is a friend and not a foe.  Perhaps it was because of his father’s solid faith in a loving God that prompted Matthew Warren to say some ten years ago to his father “Dad, I know I’m going to heaven.  Why can’t I just die and end this pain?”  There is no need to go into the theological rightness or wrongness of this quote in this blog, or the complexities of a life taken when one has been struggling with such an illness as Matthew’s.  Just take it as something that was said and done by someone in pain, someone who suffered much and someone who probably experienced much aloneness and anxiety (read: someone who was not his whole self).  It appears to contrast deeply against the fearful and openly anxious view of Ms Tan who seems to live in some inchoate hope, but doesn’t want (or know how) to deal with it.  I am sure that she is not alone in her situation.  But then, neither was the late Mr Warren.

With the reality of my illness staring me in the face each time I look at the mirror (it’s funny how I still do a double take each time I see this bald man staring back at me in the reflection!), I find much cause to ponder anew about life AND death each time I enter into meditation and prayer.  Not so much to stall death and extend life.  That’s God’s doing.  But to be able more and more to have new eyes that look upon life and death as equal friends and not fighting foes.  It was St Francis of Assisi who when nearing his death looked upon death as “Sister Death”.  What grace he must have had received to be able to call death a ‘sister’! 

There’s too much anti-life terminology when it comes to dealing with cancer of all sorts.  People talk animatedly about ‘fighting’ this enemy, being ‘strong’ to conquer it, and how we need to ‘win’ the battle and overcome it at all costs.  While I can understand such strong sentiments when one only wants to extend life and living, I’m afraid that if one spends most of one’s waking moments to ‘fight’, one begins to lose one’s real sense and purpose of living, leading one to lose touch with the real moments of life – celebrating joy and friendship with friends and family, and being thankful to God for each blessed moment. 

Me?  I’m not a fighter and have never been one.  The only real fight each of us has is with sin and evil.  I’m certainly not fighting cancer.  Neither can I say that I fear death.  I’m living (and loving) with cancer!