Counting Your Days

O n a whim I decided to check out how many more years I had to live. I don’t mean literally or exactly. I mean approximately. There’s research on that kind of thing. I learned the average American male lives to be 75.6 years old. That’s not much time left for me.

Based on that estimate, as I write this, I have 7 years left. Practically speaking, that’s 7 more birthdays. Seven more autumns. Seven more Christmases. And 364 more weekly trips hauling the trash to the street.

But rather than assuming my fate was sealed, I went looking for other research—better research—research that leaned in my favor, research that pointed to a longer life for my still-energetic self. And I found it. More recent studies put my life expectancy closer to 78. That’s a few extra years.

However, remaining unconvinced and desperate, I searched for other ways to rig the system, to cook the books, to tamper with the results, to outrun the inevitable. So I found a life expectancy calculator. Now we’re talking. They’re all over the internet—free tests mostly posted by insurance companies to determine if you still qualify for life insurance. A life expectancy calculator would allow me to plug in some of my exceptional habits and health history in hopes of a better score. I don’t smoke, I get lots of rest, I exercise regularly, I’m not an alcoholic, I don’t have heart disease, and I’m not regularly involved in motor vehicle accidents.

With all of this new information plugged into the system, I got new results. Better results. Looks like I can expect to live to 94. That’s almost 20 more years than my initial assessment predicted. Seems like the life-expectancy-research field has loads of built-in wiggle room—more art than exacting science.

But in spite of our hopes to live more years, here’s what we know for sure: We’re all going to die. Sooner or later, life as we know it will end. David writes in Psalm 39:

⁴“Lord, remind me how brief my time on earth will be. Remind me that my days are numbered—how fleeting my life is. ⁵ You have made my life no longer than the width of my hand. My entire lifetime is just a moment to you; at best, each of us is but a breath.” 

Life is brief. Death is certain. Our days are numbered. But as a culture, we seem reluctant, even unwilling, to face the inevitability of death. Especially our own death. We’d prefer to sanitize death or run from it altogether. Seems we want to stave off death by ignoring it as we cling tightly to attempts to look forever young.

Projections are that the anti-aging industry will reach a value of $100 billion by the early 2030s. North America leads the way in dermal fillers and injectables. We’re working hard to stay young and frozen in time. But Botox does not lengthen one’s life. It tries to create the illusion that aging has been slowed or reversed. However, as a consequence, Botox injections simply give the appearance that a person has been injected with Botox. Strive as we may, we’ll eventually lose the race against time. Even our attempts at youthfulness are met with an inescapable outcome: Death is our destiny (Heb. 9:27).

I was 12 years old the first time someone close to me died, my grandmother. Until then, death was distant—an abstract concept that affected other people’s families not mine. Early on, I didn’t even want to think about death. That avoidance approach to death was one I must have inherited from my family. Apparently, the tendency to dodge discussions of death lives in my lineage.

My mom told me about her grandfather. When she was a little girl, he was her beloved favorite person. He lived with them in the same house. He had been sick and she was told not to go into his room. Finally, one morning his bedroom door was open, and she went in for her good morning greeting. But her grandfather was gone and his bed was neatly made. The next day, his body was in a casket in the front parlor of their house. No one said a word to her. No one told her he had died.

For my mom, living through that heartache without comfort or explanation was not only unfortunate but also dysfunctional. Refusing to face death and talk about it doesn’t change reality. People die. No matter how uncomfortable death may seem, death is part of life. It does no good to ignore it.

In all my years as a pastor, I preferred officiating funerals even over weddings. Weddings are wonderful celebrations, but funerals provide a greater opportunity to ponder some profound mysteries of life.

When looking for an experience of meaning and depth, I’d argue it’s better to go to a funeral than to a party. It’s better to think about your mortality than go to an all-you-can-eat buffet. I get this idea from Solomon when he writes in Ecclesiastes 7:

It is better to go to the house of mourning than to go to the house of feasting. For that is the end of all men; and the living will take it to heart.

At a funeral, we hope to remember and honor the one who has died. But at the same time, a funeral is really not for the deceased. It’s for those of us who are alive. And in that season of mourning and deep reflection, those of who are living will take it to heart.

Yes, we’re sad. Grief is a natural response to this unnatural intruder called Death. But death awaits us all. The truths and feelings about death deserve more than a few minutes of reflection. If we’re paying attention, we’ll find that death can create in us a tender vulnerability and alert us to the things that matter most. The valley of the shadow of death is not completely dark. In that valley resides a light bright enough to illuminate all that is truly significant in our times of greatest need.

Since our culture is not that accustomed to thinking much about death, so too, we’re not that comfortable thinking about life after death. Death is a temporary interruption of God’s original plan—a plan where people were created to live forever. And even now, something inside of us prompts us to suspect there must be more than just this life. Surely, after death, we continue to exist beyond the here and now. Every culture has anticipated life on the other side of the grave. It’s a perspective that is still very much alive within most people. And this common hunch about the next life finds its origin in God. He gave it to us. He’s the source of our wistful longing. He has placed eternity in our hearts (Eccl. 3:11).

The promise we inherit through Jesus Christ is a forever kind of life—eternal life. Jesus’ words are not ambiguous, “The one who believes in Me has everlasting life” (Jn. 6:47). And this forever life is not something we wait to get when we die. Eternal life begins now. We have life that never ends from the moment we believe in Jesus as our Savior.

It turns out, death is not the end. Just like we had no choice to be born; we also have no choice about being alive after we die. Following death, we go on existing either with God or without Him. So, facing death is really about facing life and living with an eye toward eternity. Our mortality reminds us that life is brief and therefore should be lived to the fullest and to the glory of God.

Psalm 90 is the oldest psalm in the Bible. And it’s the only one written by Moses. In it, Moses offers a prayer that might naturally be prayed by any of us alive today: “Teach us to number our days that we might live wisely.” We have a limited number of days. Facing that fact, we’ll find an incentive for wise living rather than foolishly wasting the one life we’ve been given.

Apple co-founder, Steve Jobs once said, “If you live each day as it was your last, someday you’ll most certainly be right.” Our days are soon gone, and we fly away (Ps. 90:10). And in God’s presence, those who have embraced the gift of eternal life through faith in Jesus Christ will enjoy life as it was meant to be. A euphoric, pain-free, joy-filled new life. And death—the last enemy—will be no more.