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Some further reflections on life and death

Last week our dear friend Arlene died: peacefully in her bed on a Sunday morning.

Eight years ago my wonderful wife Helen died: suddenly and unexpectedly at the airport in Manila.

Both of them had lived good and full lives, were deeply loved, and had brought a lot of love to a lot of people. Neither of them ‘deserved’ to die so soon.

I have been thinking a lot recently about life and death. And I’m very pleased to be alive. And healthy, loved, and with a meaning and purpose to my life. I am pleased to have more time in this life with Lois, with Esther and Joe, with my friends, my family, my work and all that I’m involved in. Not that I’m afraid of dying. While I have no wish to die prematurely (I still have so much I want to be and to do with this life, so many relationships I want to enjoy) or to have to suffer, and I have no desire to leave Lois, Esther, Joe or anyone else feeling bereaved, I think I can genuinely say that when the time comes, I can embrace death.

If the faith that has meant so much to me throughout my life is true, then I truly can look forward to ‘meeting my maker’ – to knowing fully, just as I am fully known; to being embraced by love itself; to being set free from the pain, the mistakes, the troubles of this world; and to experiencing resurrection – and the promised new heaven and new earth in which there is no more death or mourning or crying or pain.

In the week before she died, Helen seemed to have glimpsed something of that promise; she spoke of a deep sense of her own belovedness. And in a strange way, she seemed to sense an invitation to join in that eternal dance of recreation.

So, although the pain of losing Helen, and the grief we feel over Arlene’s death are no less because of it, it isn’t hard to picture both of them dancing together in that new creation.

And what if it is all a delusion? What if I’ve got it all wrong and there is no God, no resurrection and no new creation?

I do wonder that sometimes, and I have to accept that is a possibility: after all, I can’t prove that my faith is true.

But if that is the case, then really I have lost nothing, and gained everything anyway. Whether I die tomorrow or live another 40 years, I know that I have lived a full, fun and meaningful life. This faith has given me meaning and a purpose to my life. It has given me a focus for the gratitude and wonder that I feel: gratitude for the love I’ve known, for the many blessings that have marked my life; wonder at the beauty, truth and goodness in our world. The narrative of the Bible has provided a frame that seems to make some sense of life, provides a realistic perspective on the suffering, violence, lies and greed that trouble our world, and above all, provides a hope that this suffering isn’t the way things are meant to be, and that ultimately there will be an end to all that and an overturning of the way things are. And, for me, seeking to follow the life and teachings of Jesus has, I believe, both enriched my own life and been the motivation to seek to bless others and leave this world a better place, even if only in a tiny part.

For whatever reason, or lack of reason, I seem to have once again been granted a new lease of life, and I am really looking forward to whatever lies ahead.

So, for now, I will take each day as it comes, grateful to be alive. I will continue to grieve over the loss of those I love and over the ongoing ugliness, selfishness and violence of our world. And I will continue to appreciate beauty, goodness and truth wherever I may find it. So that, whether my life from now is short or long, I hope I shall have lived abundantly.

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Why am I (still) here?

It is a fine, crisp February morning. I am sitting at my desk, looking out on the garden at Breathing Space. Outside, a large family of long-tailed tits vies with other (blue and great) tits, robins, a chaffinch, and some gold finches for space at the many bird feeders scattered around.

A week ago, I was sitting in the assessment unit at Walsgrave Hospital with nothing like the same inspiring view.

I have now lived through two life-threatening incidents, both of which could have been fatal. Eight and a half years ago, while cycling from Land’s End to John-o-Groats, a mini-stroke caused by a carotid dissection put me in hospital with a loss of speech and paralysis of the right side of my body. Last week, it was unstable angina caused by a near-complete blockage of one of my main coronary arteries. On both occasions I have been up and about and back home within days.

So, with all that in the background, and feeling good to be alive and at home, I walked our labyrinth on Sunday. And as I did so, the question came to mind:

Why am I still here?

The obvious, pragmatic answer is because I just happen to be living in the UK in the early 21st century. As a result of which, I can enjoy all the benefits of a functioning health system, advances in medical care, and a National Health Service which, for all its struggles, continues to provide excellent health care, freely accessible to all, and delivered by competent, compassionate and caring staff. I am one of the privileged few – something I don’t ever want to take for granted.

Another, equally pragmatic, answer would be that (in spite of some rather dodgy cardiovascular genes) the healthy, active lifestyle I have led has made me resilient to these fairly major knocks to my health. While I haven’t attempted any other long-distance cycle rides, I do keep active and manage a reasonable amount of gentle exercise several times a week; I eat and drink in moderation; and I have never smoked, so perhaps I am still moderately fit. Indeed, in spite of a bit of middle-aged spread around my waist, the ECG technician last week described my torso as ‘a perfect specimen’! Admittedly, that was in the context of wanting a model on which to teach a student how to position the ECG leads, but I’m happy to accept the accolade.

But of course, neither of those answers really get to the heart of the question.

I have pondered it frequently over the past few days, and I’m not convinced there is any really meaningful answer.

It doesn’t make sense to put it in terms of merit: if, somehow, I had done something that meant I deserved to go on living, then it implies that my wife, Helen, who died unexpectedly eight years ago, somehow didn’t deserve it; and that makes no sense.

Another way of looking at it would be to conclude that God (whoever or whatever God may be) somehow ‘hasn’t finished with me yet’ or has some further purpose for me in this life. To me, that seems both theologically and psychologically suspect and doesn’t fit well with my perception of who God is. It seems to me that such a conclusion conveys a very utilitarian view of God, who only values us for what we contribute, rather than loving us for who we are. That puts a lot of pressure on me to go through the rest of my life trying to figure out what that purpose is, and living with the worry that if I don’t get it, God may suddenly decide to take my life away.

So, putting aside those philosophical/theological musings, I rather like Snoopy’s approach to the questions of life and death:

And, with that perspective, perhaps the question is not so much, ‘Why am I still alive?’ But ‘How will I live the rest of my life?’

I think, perhaps, I need another wander round our labyrinth with that…

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Spring comes to Breathing Space

After what seems like a long drawn-out winter, the sun has finally appeared in all its glory, warming the earth, and lifting our spirits.

In our breathing space garden, life is, quite literally, bursting forth: the daffodils and tulips are competing to see who can provide the most vibrant display; buds are opening up on all the fruit trees; the blackbirds, robin, wren and tits are frantically flittering back and forth, gathering up twigs, leaves and moss for their nests; the goldfish are gambolling in the pond, and even Sir Isaac – our resident newt – is enjoying basking with his family in the afternoon sun.

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What a privilege it is to be here, to be able to appreciate all this beauty and life, and to be able to share it with others: individuals and small groups taking advantage of this little breathing space in the midst of our so often frantic, complex lives and work.

 

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“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.” Matthew 11: 28-30 (The Message)

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The Garib Rath Express to Lucknow

 

IMG_20170916_105026We shared a dish of rajma and rice from one of the platform vendors as we stood waiting on platform nine for the Garib Rath Express. Who knows how many others we shared the platform with: young men and women on their mobile phones; colourful groups of women with their babies; old men blissfully sleeping; porters pushing their way through with luggage on their heads, their shoulders, their arms… While on the tracks beneath us Mynah birds, rats and rubbish collectors scavenged among the detritus of earlier trains.

This was my first encounter of the legendary Indian railways, so I guess it was only fitting that our train should be an hour late, all adding to the vibrant, colourful, noisy experience. As it pulled in, we realised that carriage J2 was at the opposite end of the platform from that previously signified. So, we joined the melee of J2 passengers as it surged towards the opposite tide of G5, and finally, amidst much shouting, pushing and shoving, and all-round consternation, we found ourselves squeezed into our seats with the train slowly pulling out of the station, while the huge crowd continued to press onto the over-flowing unreserved carriages. Somehow, there seemed to be just as many people on the humid, seething platform as when the train had pulled in quarter of an hour previously.

We, meanwhile, settled down for the seven-hour journey to Lucknow, relieved to be on the train, and grateful for our reserved seats and for the very welcome aircon in the carriage.

The Garib Rath Express crawled at a snail’s pace through the centre of Delhi, over the Yamuna river, and on out through the sprawling suburbs, taking over an hour to travel what seemed like no more than a couple of kilometres. At this rate, we wondered how we would ever get to Lucknow, 500km away. But we did. Slowly, as we left the great conurbation behind, we gathered speed, and made our way across the great, spreading plains of Uttar Pradesh. Through Moradabad, Bareilly and Shahabad, the train kept going. On past spreading fields of sugar cane, skirting new towns, their high-rise apartments towering above the inevitable rubbish dumps, each sprouting its own, depressing shanty town where rubbish pickers eked out a living from the filth and stench. So much ugliness and shame sitting side by side with so much colour and beauty.

While we had waited on the platform in Delhi, a holy man had wandered by, dishing out blessings in exchange for a few rupees. But what does blessing mean in the face of so much degradation? What would fullness of life look like for a family struggling to pull together enough for their next meal?

Is it just about survival? Striving to lower the horrendous child mortality rates that tear these families apart? Or basic sanitation and hygiene? A guaranteed meal?

Surely it must be more than just a relentless drive for a better standard of living, buying into the meaningless consumerism of our own indulgent lifestyles?

The questions sat with us, unresolved, as we finally pulled into Lucknow station, 3 hours late, but fortified along the way by cups of sweet chai, even sweeter kofee, and snacks of puri and samosas bought from the cheerful vendors who pushed their way through the crowded carriages at each stopping point.

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