Day 18 of Spiritual Practice and Reflection: Walking with Death, Part II

Way back on day three of this month of blogging, I wrote about walking with death. I'm returning to the topic of death and end of life for today's post.

I just read this little piece in the Christian Century's "Century Marks" section:

Bonnie Ware has long worked in palliative care, spending time with the dying during the final weeks of their lives. Over the years she's heard the same regrets from the dying. They wish they had had the courage to be themselves, rather than trying to meet expectations. They say they should not have worked so hard - a lament heard especially from the older generation of males. They regret not having had the courage to express their feelings, even if doing so would have caused others pain. They say they should have stayed in touch with their friends and given more time to nurturing friendships (Activist Post, November 30).

This piece really resonates with me, really prompts me, in little ways, to make some adjustments in my day to day living. I don't feel too far off course; reflecting on this piece can help keep it that way.

As you move into this new year, what courage would you like to summon? In what ways can you cut back on work, if you're working too much? What friendships can you nurture or re-engage in? How can you do more of what truly feeds you and brings you joy?

Thinking about the end of life can be a powerful vehicle to help us occupy our lives in new and transforming ways. (If you're looking for additional resources, last March we had a whole sermon series on Death and Endings. Here's one of the sermons I preached.)

Day 3 of Spiritual Practices and Reflections: Walking with Death

Over the Holiday break, I had the chance to walk through a small cemetery. I spent time reading the headstones, imagining the lives of the people who were buried there. Some had served our country, some had died young, some had been dead a long time. 


Being among the dead, on a bright sunny day, I once again felt the impermanence of my life. I was aware of my mortality, of the mortality of those I love. I intentionally brought to mind many of the names and faces of those I've known and loved, who are no longer alive. And I was able to imagine myself near death, as well, my own body failing.


"Walking with death" in this way, I felt a renewed understanding of what a gift it is to be alive at all. I felt thankful to serve the faith community of First Universalist, as we journey together. I was reminded, as Rev. Forrest Church so often said, that death doesn't take everything from us; death cannot take away the love, time, attention, we've shared and given away to others. 


There's nothing quite like walking in a cemetery...to bring you back to life, to what matters. In fact, as a Unitarian Universalist, my focus is on living this life as well and as deeply as I am able, so that when I come to the end of my days, I am not filled with regret or anger, but gratitude for the life I've had.   


In this New Year, I hope you will spend time reflection on death, so that you might answer questions like these: How can I best serve and bless the world with my life? What is truly important in my life? What can I give away (or do) that will last beyond my life, that death can't take away?


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Perhaps many of you have seen this poem. It's worth sharing again: 


When Death Comes  by Mary Oliver

When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse

to buy me, and snaps his purse shut;
when death comes
like the measle-pox;

when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,

I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering;
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,

and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,

and each name a comfortable music in the mouth
tending as all music does, toward silence,

and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.

When it's over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was a bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it's over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened
or full of argument.

I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.

~ Mary Oliver ~