Doing rather than being is the rule for today's enterprise culture. So what happens when people face inevitable diminishment in later life? They have a chance to start living as never before, answers the Jesuit author of God of Surprises. This article was originally delivered as an address to the Ascent movement for older people. IN recent years I have had the privilege of being with two close friends who were both terminally ill. One was Ursula Burton, who had a life-long interest in spirituality and who, a year before she died in 1993, opened the Coach House, an old barn on the Black Isle just north of Inverness, which she converted into a spirituality centre. When I last saw her, a few weeks before her death, she said to me, Don?t let them pray or put on my gravestone ?May she rest in peace?, for I have no intention of resting in peace. What do you intend doing? I asked. I want to be there to accompany people who are crossing over from this stage of life to the next.

Sure enough, I recently received a telephone call from a complete stranger. In the course of the call she spoke of the help she had received from a book she had read by Ursula Burton, called Vicky, a Bridge between Two Worlds, an account of her daughter Vicky who, after a minor operation, never recovered consciousness and lay completely paralysed for almost two years before her death. Ursula is still working, not resting!

The other friend was Donald Nicholl, historian and spiritual writer, whom I met weekly in the last nine months of his life, coming away from every visit infected by his sense of peace, gratitude and wonder. He, too, spoke of a conviction that he would continue working after death in helping others to move from this present stage of life to the next, less restricted stage.

A third friend, whom I only met as a friend a few years ago, but who died in 1897, is St Th?r?se of Lisieux. When first I read her Story of a Soul over 50 years ago, I was put off by her pious style. Reading her again a few years ago, I recognised the diamond-like quality of her spirituality, so simple, yet costing not less than everything ? a spirituality inclusive of all people, of all things, and transcending time. In her final conversations, she spoke frequently of the work she intended to do after her death. On 17 July 1897 (she died the following September), she said, I feel especially that my mission is about to begin. I can?t rest as long as there are souls to be saved. The following day, 18 July, she said: God would not have given me the desire of doing good on earth after my death, if he did not will to realise it.

As growing older is not about our end but about approaching a new beginning, how are we to prepare ourselves for it? The reflections which follow are applicable to young and old. As we grow older and the veil grows thinner, the reflections become clearer.

In today?s enterprise culture, full of images of young, healthy, clever, economically successful people, those over 50 have difficulty in finding employment. Descartes? I think, therefore I am, could be changed for modern Britain into I have earning power, therefore I am, with its corollary, I have no earning power, therefore I am not. This is not an encouraging culture for older people, conscious of failing strength and ability. When physical strength begins to fail, we can become prey to fears which, when younger, we could easily ignore.

The first step in preparing for our new beginning is to face the fears that haunt us.

If younger people, too, could learn to face the fears that haunt them, our frenetic, individualistic and competitive society might be transformed into one which co-operates rather than competes, which cares for the earth instead of plundering it and robbing future generations of the means of life.

We are naturally reluctant to face our fears, but that is the price of our freedom. When Ursula Burton was diagnosed as having cancer for the third time in her life and told she would have to undergo immediate surgery, she rang to give me the news, adding that she had walked home from the doctor?s surgery through the Botanical Gardens and had never seen them look so beautiful. She described her walk at length. Afterwards I thought that if I had received such news about my health, I would not have noticed the beauty of the gardens, my mind too preoccupied with visions of operating theatres and funeral services. Ursula had befriended death and found such inner peace that she was able to appreciate the present moment to the full. She was also, as was Donald Nicholl, full of gratitude for both past and present, a sense of gratitude which overcame any sense of resentment at the wrongs which both had suffered in their lives.

For people who have been brought up in a religious environment, one of the worst fears which can beset them, most especially in later life, is the fear of God. Conscientious parents, unreflecting preachers and teachers can communicate to the child a monstrous, capricious God, whose primary interest is in our sins, and whose main preoccupation is in preparing appropriate punishment, probably lasting for ever. This image of God can grow like a malignant tumour in the human psyche, blighting lives. Intellectually, a person may know that such an image is deformed, but if it has taken root at an early age, it is not eradicated just by a once-off reading of ? or hearing of ? more true and enlightened images of God, the images which Jesus presents through his life, through his parables, through his Sermon on the Mount.

The non-believer is not afflicted by fears of God nor, I hope, are most Christians, but no one, whether believer or unbeliever, relishes the prospect of diminishment in body and mind. Loss of job, status, influence, power, reputation, ability to control things is not something we look forward to. In addition, there is the fear of becoming a burden to others, of not being able to look after ourselves, of losing our minds. Memories of the past can also burden us, regret and remorse for the harm we have done, the people we have hurt, resentment and bitterness for the harm done to us and for our helplessness in the face of it.

Focusing our attention on any one of these possible afflictions can turn our old age into a time of torment. Fear acts on us like a bully. The more we try and run from our fears, the more relentlessly they pursue and torment us. We cannot help the ageing process and the fears it brings, at least not for long, so what are we to do?

The most frequent phrase uttered by God in the Bible is Do not be afraid. I read once that it appears 365 times. The only way to get rid of fear is to turn round and face it. If we can do this in faith, trusting in God present in every circumstance, we can discover that what we fear is, in fact, an ally, which can lead us into greater freedom and deeper peace.

The most obvious example of this is our fear of death itself. Those who can face that fear can, as we have seen, experience a deeper appreciation and delight in life. The same is true of our fear of all that accompanies the dying process, our fear of diminishment physically and mentally. Facing those fears, we are forced to ask ourselves, Where is my ultimate security? This is the question the psalmist keeps asking, and the answer:

Yahweh is my light and my salvation whom need I fear? Yahweh is the fortress of my life, of whom shall I be afraid. . . . Though an army pitched camp against me, my heart would not fear. (Ps 27:1?3)

As we grow older, we usually have more time on our hands. If we can learn to be more still, we need never be bored. Loneliness can be changed into aloneness, and aloneness becomes all oneness. We can begin to become free of our ego?s shackles, which keep our attention focused on ourselves, as though we were the centre of the universe. Freed from them, our spirit can begin to soar.

Stillness exercises can help us towards this state. You can do such an exercise either sitting, your feet firmly on the ground and your back straight, but without being rigid, or you can do it lying down. To still our minds can be very difficult, because our very decision to be still can act like an invitation to every interesting thought, memory and imagining we have ever had to come rushing back. Our minds are so constructed, however, that we can normally only concentrate on one thing at a time, so that if our attention is totally focused on what we are physically feeling in any part of our body, we cannot at the same time be wondering, What?s for dinner?

So try this exercise for five minutes, beginning at any part of your body. There is no need to cover the whole syllabus: the longer you can concentrate on one part of the body, the more still you are likely to become. If you experience an itch, or discomfort, acknowledge the itch, and focus your attention on some other part. This exercise can also be used for pain control. Similarly, if thoughts come to mind such as, What?s the point of this exercise? Isn?t this a bit of a waste of time? Is this a Hindu thing? Is it safe?, acknowledge these as interesting thoughts, which you can look at later, but return your attention to feeling the body.

This practice of stillness is a most valuable activity, because it enables words and thoughts, with which we may be so thoroughly familiar that they bore us, to make the longest journey in the world ? from our heads down to our hearts. There they can effect an inner transformation, enabling us to see ourselves, our world and God very differently. Nothing so masks the face of God as religion, wrote that most religious man, Martin Buber. The greatest obstacle to our meeting God in prayer and in life is our store of images and ideas about God.

The second greatest obstacle is our effort to focus on these images and ideas instead of letting God become our teacher, as Isaiah promises: He will be gracious to you when he hears you cry; when he hears he will answer. When the Lord has given you the bread of suffering and the water of distress, he who is your teacher will hide no longer, and you will see your teacher with your own eyes. Whether you go to right or left, your ears will hear these words behind you, ?This is the way, follow it.? (Is 30:19?21).

In his poem Emerging, R.S. Thomas writes:

As a form in sculpture is the prisoner
of the hard rock, so in everyday life
it is the plain facts and natural happenings
that conceal God and reveal him to us
little by little under the mind?s tooling.

I love that last line, little by little under the mind?s tooling, but God reveals himself to us also little by little through the heart?s gazing.

We need to learn to gaze and wonder at every stage of life. It comes most easily in early childhood before the ego has begun to restrict our vision: the gift can return as we grow older, if circumstances have loosened us from the ego?s grip.

Out of the stillness exercise we can gaze at the mystery that we are, billions of cells making up our bodies, each cell unique to us, containing an intelligence which transcends our conscious mind, for each cell bears within it the design of the whole body, and the cells together form a communication system and a nourishment transport system which scientists struggle to understand. The more they understand, the more aware they become of their inability to understand. And this body of ours, however weak and ailing, is connected with everything else in the universe, is intimately interwoven with everything that exists.

Who are we? In God we live, and move, and have our being. Before the world was made, he chose us, chose us in Christ, to be holy and spotless, and to live through love in his presence (Eph 1:4).

THESE words we can so receive that instead of arousing a sense of wonder and of freedom in us at the mystery of our being enfolded within the goodness of God, we feel overcome by our failure to have lived holy and spotless. What should raise us up, give us hope, delight and joy brings instead sadness at our own lamentable performance. We do not have to deny our failure, but the root of it is our innate tendency to focus on ourselves, as though God did not exist. Our lack of faith is our undoing. We cannot live holy and spotless lives. God alone is holy and spotless: God alone is good. But God is, in St Augustine?s words, closer to me than I am to myself. We can only be holy and spotless and live through love in God?s presence in so far as we have surrendered our lives to God. Surrender can become easier for us as we become aware of and accept our own diminishment.

I am the vine, you are the branches (Jn 15:5). Make your home in me, as I make my home in you (15:4). You did not choose me, no, I chose you; and I commission you to go out and bear fruit, fruit that will last (15:16). As we listen to these words, aware of our diminishing strength of mind and body, we can lose sight of the heart?s focus on God and feel depressed at the instruction to go out and bear fruit, fruit that will last, for, far from going out anywhere, we are likely to become more confined.

If we can face these fears, we can discover new strength, more cause for hope and joy. We are intimately connected and interwoven with everything else in the universe. What goes on in our hearts has repercussions throughout creation. The mystics have been saying this for centuries. Modern nuclear physicists are beginning to say similar things ? that human observation, for example, can affect the behaviour of subatomic particles, and change in one part of the universe affects immediate change in other parts separated by thousands of miles. St John of the Cross said that one act of perfect love is more effective than any amount of activity.

In our old age, with diminishing physical and mental powers, our heart can still long for and pray for the well-being of all peoples. Perhaps those prayers, wrung from us in our weakness and helplessness, we will one day discover to have been the most effective moments of our lives, preparing us for the next stage of our journey, when we can more effectively work for the salvation of all peoples and of all creation.

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