I’ve written before about the Christian view of life and death so this will be a short post.
It seems to me that we westerners—and by that I mean western civ—dislike talking about death, much less thinking about it. There’s no time in the day for dwelling on unpleasant subjects when there’s so much to be done!
If we ever do take a moment to reflect that death is coming for us some day, it’s usually only when someone close to us dies, and then only fleetingly. It’s an uncomfortable thought, vaguely disconnected from the life we’ve constructed for ourselves. However, like Hamlet, we wonder what dreams may come when we’ve shuffled off this mortal coil, and it gives us pause.
Not so the Christian—or so it should be. The Christian knows that this life is a pilgrimage leading to our true home of blessedness with God, therefore he has hope. But the Christian also prays along with the Psalmist, that he might have the wisdom to number his days, realizing that life is indeed short and that he must give an account of it to God.
Honestly, for me, that thought is terrifying. Terrifying enough to compel my repentance? So far, painfully slowly. I pray that God will grant me time, because I have a great deal to answer for.
Still, I am hopeful as I should be. Like my patron St. Dismas, I recognize who it is that judges me. I know Him to be merciful. He knows that I am but dust.
