This is #13 in a series of essays on aging.

A few days ago a photo popped up on my computer. It was a snapshot taken at a family event not too long ago, with seven people smiling at the camera. What caught my attention was the fact that four of the seven are now dead.

Death has never been far from us. Even when we were children, Death kept watch next to our beds and followed us to school. If we weren’t aware of Death’s presence, our parents were. But only now in old age is its presence palpable. I go to many funerals.

I’m not talking about fear. We may feel fear of Death depending on our circumstances. If I am in an airplane tipped downward and filled with smoke, I expect something close to panic will hit me. If my doctor tells me that I have three weeks to live, my heart will race. At other times, however—that is, at 99% of all times—I ignore Death. It seems far away.

Nevertheless, whether I fear it or not, whether I even think of it, Death is near.

When I was a child, a woman was struck by a train near our house. On my bike, I crisscrossed the tracks, searching with horror and fascination for evidence—blood, or tissue. Death seemed like an awful irruption into life, like a volcano bursting out of the earth. I didn’t know that Death was always near. Now, I’ve watched Death claim so many friends. I know that everyone in my circle must go to Death, and not too long from now. Death is not so fearful as it was when I was a child. I see it like a dim and featureless figure emerging from the gloom of a smoky room. I don’t see it clearly, but I know it is always with me.

The apostle Paul refers to Death as the last enemy. He sees a close link between sin and Death, with Death the final punishment for sin. (The final outworking of sin’s destruction?) He proclaims that Jesus’ resurrection conquered Death, making a mockery of its power; and that, by dying with Jesus in baptism, we join with Jesus in conquering Death.

I do not doubt it, but I can’t see it. Like everything associated with Death, these are matters obscured to our vision. We grasp them by faith, and faith alone. They are known by revelation, not experience. As I grow older and closer to Death, I think of these things more. This is good for me, I believe, because it makes me see Life in a wider framework. I know now (what I didn’t know when I was young) that there is a shoreline. I know very little of Life beyond the shore. God knows.