I’m getting older, but I’m not dead yet. 

I’ve been thinking about death a lot recently. Death meditations have been lifelong companions for me. I was raised in a Christian tradition which taught me early on that I should be very concerned about death and dying. More to the point, I should be worried about my own death and dying. What’s more, I should be most worried about where I should go after my death.  

The bare truth is, my thoughts on death have become more acute and visceral in the last year, and the reasons are easy to diagnose. At least, the reasons are evident to people who know me, live with me, or worship alongside me. My older, and only, brother, Richard, died last summer. He was only 53 and passed away suddenly from a cardiac event. Richard’s death resurfaced all my childhood fears and anxieties about death. Those fears had already become easier to reach for given the reality that the face in the mirror is a little more wrinkled. My feet and knees, which used to run for miles, now ache and moan after my daily three mile walk with my dog. My beard is more gray than black, and my home grows more quiet as my children launch themselves to college and beyond.

I’m aging and I hate it!

And I’m not the only one. Most of my days are spent talking with others who are dealing with the same issues I am. We are growing gray, burying parents, and launching children into the world. What has become apparent is that we are dying, and we live in a cultural moment in history that seeks to deny this reality. The West is a culture of youth, one where we dislike any discussion about death. If you don’t believe me, try discussing death over dinner or coffee, or at church or your small group. Just mentioning it will clear a room faster than pee in a punchbowl.

Yet, in the quiet moments I have with people, we are all quietly worried about death. I see this in my text threads with friends, at prayer requests at the altar after worship, and when my wife talks with her friends about the physical pains and emotional upheavals of perimenopause and menopause. We are all quietly worried about death…and, yes, where we are going after we die. 

As I’ve entered more deeply into the waters of aging, embracing the inevitability that I will someday die, I have committed myself to doing it well, and helping others to do it well. What could be a dinner party downer has instead become for me a frame of reference for how I want to spend the rest of my life. In this re-framing of my perspective, Jeremy Taylor’s 17th century spiritual classic, Holy Living and Dying, has become a life-preserver for me. Originally written in 1650-1651 against the backdrop of the end of the English Civil War, and the religious and political turmoil that was emerging, Taylor sought to provide practical guidance for living a virtuous Christian life and preparing for a “good death.”

Taylor is unflinching in his approach to the physical and mental decline that accompanies old age, writing, “As a man grows old, his sleep grows still more broken and disturbed; he wakes often, and sleeps not again; he tosses and tumbles, and finds no rest for his limbs, till the morning comes, and finds him unrefreshed.” Hopefully, Taylor also finds spiritual significance in aging. He suggests that the physical limitations of old age can serve as a catalyst for deeper reflection and preparation for the afterlife. In this view, the gradual letting go of worldly pleasures and abilities becomes an opportunity for spiritual growth. As Taylor demonstrates, “God hath given man a short time here upon earth, and yet upon this short time eternity depends.”

Jeremy Taylor’s perspective reframes the challenges of aging as a crucial period for contemplation and moral refinement. Rather than lamenting lost youth, Taylor encourages his readers to view their remaining days as precious opportunities to cultivate virtue and strengthen their relationship with God.

Aging leads to death, of course, and Taylor welcomes us into that discussion as well. Writing in an era when death was a much more visible and immediate presence in daily life, Taylor sought to demystify the dying process and provide comfort to the living. He famously begins Holy Living and Dying with a meditation on the ubiquity of death:

“A man is a bubble, said the Greek proverb; which Lucian represents with advantages and its proper circumstances, to this purpose; saying, that all the world is a storm, and men rise up in their several generations, like bubbles descending from God and the dew of heaven, from a tear and drop of rain, from nature and Providence; and some of these instantly sink into the deluge of their first parent, and are hidden in a sheet of water, having had no other business in the world, but to be born, that they might be able to die.”

This vivid metaphor captures both the fragility and the universality of human life and death. The invitation for modern Christians is to acknowledge the seeming futility of brief human existence and imbue it with divine purpose. As church leaders, since this is where we live and minister, it is also the place where we must invite and welcome others into without fear. 

The physical limitations of old age can serve as a catalyst for deeper reflection and preparation for the afterlife. The gradual letting go of worldly pleasures and abilities becomes an opportunity for spiritual growth. (1/3) Share on X

As Jeremy Taylor writes, 'God hath given man a short time here upon earth, and yet upon this short time eternity depends.' This perspective reframes the challenges of aging as a crucial period for moral refinement. (2/3) Share on X

Rather than lamenting lost youth, Jeremy Taylor encourages his readers to view their remaining days as precious opportunities to cultivate virtue and strengthen their relationship with God. (3/3) Share on X

We are getting older, yes, but we are not dead yet. Taylor writes, “It is a huge folly to despise the church’s ministry, when we are sick and dying; for it is the last opportunity that is left us for the improving our talent.” Taylor’s meaning is clear, echoing Paul’s words in 2 Corinthians 4: “Though outwardly we are wasting away,” (2 Corinthians 4:16a) there is still work to be done, both in the world and in ourselves. As Dallas Willard has said, what God gets out of us is who we are becoming, and as long as we live, we remain in the process of becoming. 

This is no small thing.

As we age, the temptation to acquiesce, to retire from all struggles and settle in, not merely physically but emotionally and spiritually, is at odds with aging and dying well. What has become clear to me is that aging well does mean letting loose of trifles, petty grievances, and many of our empty pursuits like fame, riches, and vanities. Yet it also means holding fast to time, talent, and the treasure of people we love. Aging well is the transfer of  those same measures to younger generations. Aging is not pressing against the limited time ahead of us as if it is the enemy of our very existence. Rather, it is offering the wisdom of the time behind us as a gift. Aging is sharing what is important and naming what is insignificant. 

God is in the ongoing business of turning our nature into grace. Our nature is death and dying. We are not intended for limitlessness, at least not in this place and in this time. Aging well means agreeing with time. The art of dying well is not just about the end of life, but about the entirety of it. It is about living each day with intention and purpose, and embracing the limitations of our human existence as opportunities for spiritual growth. Aging well is not just about letting go of what is fleeting, but about holding fast to what is eternal.

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God is in the ongoing business of turning our nature into grace. Our nature is death and dying. We are not intended for limitlessness, at least not in this place and in this time. Aging well means agreeing with time. (1/3) Share on X

The art of dying well is not just about the end of life, but about the entirety of it. It is about living each day with intentional purpose, embracing the limitations of our human existence as opportunities for growth. (2/3) Share on X

Aging well is not just about letting go of what is fleeting, but about holding fast to what is eternal. (3/3) Share on X