The moment we are born, we begin to die. It’s a stark truth but one that holds a profound lesson. All of us, no matter how we live, will one day face death. A sincere meditation on this reality compels us to live better, truer lives. Saint Benedict urged his monks: “Keep death daily before your eyes,” a sentiment echoed by Plato, who believed a wise man’s life should be a meditation on death. Philosophers have long praised this practice, extolling its transformative power. True realities are always hard to grasp. Our hearts are drawn to the trivial, the superficial, and the fleeting because these are easy to engage with.
The foolish man is not the one who fails at worldly success; he is the one who fails to reflect on where he has come from and where he is going. When we push the question of death to the margins, we let the superficial dominate, and the truly significant becomes obscured. Death forces us to see clearly. In the face of our mortality, all that is unimportant falls away. Blaise Pascal wrote: “We wake up to life.” Death brings lucidity. It sharpens our understanding of what matters most—not how we begin, but how we finish our spiritual journey.
Lent begins with the ritual imposition of ashes, accompanied by the words: “You are dust, and to dust you shall return.” (Genesis 3:19) It’s a sheer reminder of our mortality and our dependence on God. On our own, we are nothing but dust. Yet, in God’s hands, that dust has value—it is animated, cherished, and imbued with purpose. Death, paradoxically, liberates us from vanity.
Contemplating death, though somber, offers profound spiritual benefits. It opens our eyes to the illusions of self-sufficiency, humbles us, and deepens our capacity to love.
Meditating on death squashes the myth of self-sufficiency. It reminds us that our plans, ambitions, and achievements pale in comparison to the importance of aligning our lives with God’s will. When we rely solely on ourselves, we risk being deceived by our own pride. Death-contemplation teaches us that our very existence depends on God’s sustaining power.
Death is the great equalizer, humbling us all. We must be humbled first before being exalted. Just as a body must be lowered into the earth before it can rise to new life, so too must we humble ourselves to be lifted up by God. Saint Augustine wisely observed: “Lift not up yourself, unless you have first been humbled. For many wish to rise before they have sat down.” Reflecting on death helps us acknowledge our dependence on God and our interconnectedness with others. True humility quiets pride, whether it manifests as arrogance, self-doubt, or self-will.
Finally, meditating on death teaches us to love deeply and urgently. Saint John of the Cross reminds us: “In the evening of life, we will be judged on love alone.” Nothing matters more than love—not achievements, accolades, or possessions. Love passionately, and don’t wait until it’s too late to express it. Pope Francis beautifully put it: “Salvation is not an ascent to glory, but a descent in love.” We don’t know if we will have that ‘last moment’ to love. Love must be the criterion by which we measure our days. In Saint Kuriakose Elias Chavara’s words: “Let there be no day in your life in which you did no good to others.”
O Risen Lord, please help me to understand that no storm can shake my innermost calm as long as I hold onto Your saving hands. May I find peace in the knowledge of eternal life as I reflect on my own mortality. Amen.
