Ephemeral

For the past few years, I have come to realize that life is in fact ephemeral, that I am not invincible or immortal, that I and those whom I love and all those whom I don't love or don't even know will pass away. Life is short. This is a pithy statement, almost trite in its simplicity. But it's true. Life is ephemeral -- fleeting, lasting only a short time, gone in a flash. We in the West have a really hard time with this axiom. We do whatever it takes to beat death, to ignore it or deny it. We take off fat here and inject it there; we lift this and that to fight gravity; we implant chins and breasts and calf muscles (I kid you not). We dye our hair, have children at age 48, and avoid telling anyone our real age. "Old" is considered an offensive adjective, so we use words like "senior" or "mature" or "elderly." There is no place in our society for old people to be revered for their age. Even retirement communities boast about enabling their residents to feel "young again." What is so awful, so painful, about being old? Well, for one thing, getting old means bodily deterioration (which we try to deny by the above procedures, some invasive and some superficial). It means mental deterioration (for some, though not all). It means no longer being able to work, to have a source of income (of all those living under the poverty line, most are over 65). It means losing control, whether financially, or no longer driving a car. It means burdening others with your dependency. This is why we don't value the well-aged in our great nation, or in the West in general. Senior citizens are more dependent and less useful, and they remind us that we, someday, will not be young and plump and sexually appealing. One day, that will be right around the corner, so close we can taste it. Death is always around the corner, no matter our age, but when your years are numbered, you no longer have the energy to deny it.

This pontification has a point. And the point I'm trying to make is this. Someday, we are all going to die. And yet our own deaths are the least talked about aspect of our lives. Some of us may die young. Some well into our 80s or 90s. But we will all pass away. Now, given that we live in a society that could care less about bodies and minds work slowly or awkwardly, if they work at all (this encompasses the elderly and the developmentally and physically disabled), shouldn't we be focused on cultivating communities that ALLOW for marginalized bodies, marginalized minds? Ultimately, I think it's the role of the Church to care for those whom society has forgotten or neglected. The Church is a kingdom for the lost, the awkward, the weird, the socially inappropriate. I really do think l'Arche is a manifestation of the Church's care for the marginalized. Here in l'Arche bodies and minds don't work the same as they do in the outside world. Socks aren't always put on straight. Milk sometimes spills on the counter. Teeth are crooked and laughter is loud. But here, bodies can be bodies, not machines for production or sex appeal but bodies created by a living and loving God. People live in l'Arche and they die in l'Arche, all the while knowing that they have a safe place, a place of peace and acceptance, where they can live out their existences without fear of rejection because they can't produce, can't attract, can't speak with finesse or walk in a smooth manner.

The Church works in the subtle ways, I hear. And l'Arche is very subtle, a seed scattered on the ground and taking root ever so slowly. I think there are a lot of these seeds being planted and eventually bearing the fruit of the Gospel. With l'Arche, I don't have to be afraid of death or handicap or age. Life is still short, of course, but it tastes sweeter, more meaningful, when you know there are those who will take care you when your body or your mind stop working as they normally would. My heart breaks to think of all those who've lived out their lives at institutions, as disabled children, elderly men and women. Those nameless, faceless wastelands where people die long before their hearts stop beating. Some of those folks have found their way to l'Arche, praise God, but bear the scars of those years on their souls. Others will never find a way out. And now knowing how short life actually is, I realize that any time not spent in community with loving relationships is time wasted. And I find my heart aching for those who've spent most of their lives alone. Because in a flash, we will be 83, wondering where the time has gone to, wondering when life will actually get started, until we realized we've lived it already. I want to be able to get to that age and be able to look back and say, "What a life well lived, rich in relationships and in experience." This is my hope and my prayer, and my hope and prayer for all people who walk this planet.