Remember You Are Dust: Christian Hope and the Fear of Death

"Those who have hope live differently."

 -Pope Benedict XVI

As a Christian, hope in Christ's promise of Salvation is - how should I put it - kind of a big deal. So what do you do when the thought, not only of death but of heaven itself, terrifies you?

If you are me, you pray that Christ will take this cross from you before that dreaded dying day. But you also try to come to terms with the fact that he might not.

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I have been terrified of death - both of dying and of losing a close family member - for about 20 years now. For most of that time I have coped by telling myself it will never actually happen.  Even though I'm well aware it's not true, there's been some small comfort in the self-deception. It's only been in the last year or so that I've finally found the courage and resolution to start confronting these fears, even if only in small ways.

First, as I said, I pray that Christ will take this cross from me. Rather than dwelling on death when it comes to mind (as I am prone to do) I ask that the fear be removed, and then try to put it out of my mind. This is much easier said than done, but it's slowly becoming more of a habit, and I am thankful for what I know has been the grace to get even to this point.

Second (and this is pure gift), I have come across several reflections in the past year that have been great consolations on this dark road toward hope. I will share these reflections here in the hope that they may be a comfort to another soul struggling with similar fears.

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I cannot give proper credit to the first reflection, because I wrote it in my journal months ago and didn't note the source. It is part of a comment on an article or blog post, and I do remember that the commenter was sharing her own struggle with a fear of death. She said:

I've taken it to Jesus and asked: does this show a lack of trust, that I live in fear? And He told me, no, I've felt fear too. In Gethsemane, I was scared. As I carried the cross, I was scared. I will sit with you in your fear. But take this fear and let it feed love, and hope in the world to come.

This Lent, as I meditate on the way of the cross and the Sorrowful Mysteries, I am going to keep these words in mind. I will try, in my small way, to sit with Jesus in his fear and desolation, and ask that he sit with me in mine.

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I came across the second reflection in November when I "randomly" decided to restart the habit of reading the Daily Mass Readings each morning using a Catholic Devotional with short commentaries for each day. As soon as I saw the heading on the reflection for the day, I knew the idea to read had not been my own - Someone knew I needed these words. The reflection is titled "God Did Not Make Death" and is a commentary on the first reading, from Wisdom 2:23-3:9.

God formed man to be imperishable;

   the image of his own nature he made them.  Wisdom 2:23

If I ever get a tattoo, it will be from the Book of Wisdom, and it will read: "God did not make death" (1:13). Wisdom tells us that death entered the world through the devil, not through God. Death was a child of Satan's envy and malice. God intended our immortality. We were built for forever, and we sense that such is our destiny. We are right to be shocked by death, to dread it, to avoid it, to grieve it when it comes. We were not meant for death.
   But Christ restored our birthright. He is the just in the hand of God, and his perfect love restored us to eternity. I know all too well that when someone we love dies, it feels like destruction. But we are fools to think they are gone from us forever. Wisdom says to look for the day when those we thought to be dead will shine forth and dart about us as sparks through stubble.

-Jessica Mesman Griffith

As I read that I am "right to be shocked by death," to dread, avoid, and grieve it, I felt for the first time a sense of acceptance. Not an acceptance of death itself - not yet - but an acceptance of my fear. And through the freedom that accompanied that acceptance I was finally able to start loosening my stranglehold of denial, to start on the long path toward living in truth.

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Unsurprisingly, my fear of death is closely tied to a long and intense battle with depression and anxiety. The last reflection I will share here originally struck me not so much as being about death, but about other dark struggles - loneliness, self-doubt, despair, etc.

The Little Way is often a little way of darkness. It's about accepting that we are to put up with ourselves - with all the darkness of our weakness, brokenness, and sin - without getting discouraged. It's recognizing, without giving up, that some struggles are chronic. It's realizing, without despairing, that they may be with us till our dying day. But it's also about realizing that this does not prevent us from becoming saints.

-Fr. Michael Gaitley, 33 Days to Merciful Love, Day 11

Again, the growth starts with acceptance. Allowing myself to accept that Christ may not take this cross from me - that this fear may be with me until I am forced to face it in the act of dying itself - has granted me some peace. In one of those paradoxes that the Christian life is so replete in, learning to accept my burden has lightened my load.

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Barring a miracle, this isn't something I'll simply "work through" this Lent. However, I will continue to pray that someday I will be able to fully rejoice in the knowledge of Christ's victory over death.