Guest Post from Dr. Dennis Ortman: Rebirth
REBIRTH
“Unless
you change and become like little children,
you
will not enter the kingdom of God.”
--Matthew
18: 3
I reached a milestone with my seventy-fifth birthday. I have
now lived three-quarters of a century. My father died at the age of 46 of cancer.
My four brothers and I held our breath when we reached that age. We did not
exhale peacefully until that year passed. Our mother died in 2006 at age 84 of
the exact same illness that claimed our father’s life—throat cancer. Cancer
took my younger brother at age 57 years. My brothers and I talk about one day
being victims of the “big C.” Destiny follows biology.
As I am attaining elder status, I am acutely aware of my
vulnerability. Recent research indicates that 46% of Americans 75 and older
report having a disability. They have a significant medical problem or
cognitive deficit, have difficulty hearing, seeing, walking, living
independently, and so forth (Pew Research Center: July 24, 2023). Fortunately,
I experience the usual aches and pains of aging without a serious medical
problem. I live on my own and continue to work as a psychologist. While these
are declining years for me as I slow down physically and mentally, they are
also reclining years. I spend more time sitting and doing nothing. I have
become more contemplative.
I reflect on my mortality and how to age with wisdom and
grace. I seek role models. Unfortunately, my grandparents lived far away and
died when I was young. My father died before reaching old age. My mother
advised us as she grew older, “Make younger friends.”
I admire how both my parents died peacefully while in great
pain. Both suffered from throat cancer and endured horribly painful treatments
that ultimately failed. Neither complained nor fell into a victim role,
indulging in self-pity. They fought the good fight until the end, and then
surrendered. My parents both drank heavily and died from a cancer related to
excessive alcohol use. I sense they accepted their dying as reparation for
their failings. It was their redemptive penance.
How can I age with wisdom and grace? There is always the
temptation to become depressed and resentful as I suffer the inevitable losses
of health and relationships. How can I become better and not bitter? As my body
and mind decline, can I experience a rebirth of my spirit?
FOREVER YOUNG
As I become increasingly aware of my vulnerability, the
words of Jesus resonate in my heart, “Unless you change and become like little
children, you will not enter the kingdom of God.” (Matthew 18: 3) No less a
genius than Shakespeare applied Jesus’ directive to old age. He wrote: “All the
world’s a stage/And all the men and women merely players:/They have their exits
and their entrances;…Last scene of all,/That ends this strange eventful
history,/Is second childishness and mere oblivion,/Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans
taste, sans everything.” (As You Like It, act II, Scene 7, 139)
I want to play my last scene well. My life’s ambition is to
dwell in God’s kingdom now and forever. How can I become like a little child as
I grow older? What does it mean to become childlike, without being childish? As
I reflect on being youthful as a mature adult, I realize the challenge of
integrating both the old and the new in my life. The following are some
childlike characteristics I currently pursue:
Open to the new:
Children have a short past and a long future. Because of
their brief experience, they are burdened by neither memory nor expectation.
They engage fully in the present moment. Everything they encounter is new.
In contrast, I have a long 75 year history. Most of it has
been following some program in pursuit of a goal. I sought an education, built
two careers as a priest and a psychologist, and tried to balance work and
family responsibilities. I have learned how quickly time passes and takes so
many unexpected twists and turns. It was not in my original program to leave
the priesthood or get divorced. Yet somehow, without understanding how, life
enfolds according to its own natural rhythm, not according to my plans.
I am rediscovering in my elder years to live more fully in
the present moment. The past is gone, and the future is uncertain. Regrets and
worry only cause misery. This Buddhist wisdom resonates with me: “All things
are impermanent./They arise and pass away./To live in harmony with this
truth/Brings great happiness.” Each day I begin with a prayer: “I offer you
this day, Lord, all my prayers, works, joys, and sufferings. What do you want
of me today? May I do your will.” With openness to the new in every moment, I
have enjoyed surprising treasures in chance encounters.
Curious and full of wonder:
Children are naturally curious and love to explore their
environment. Since the world is all new for them, they are fascinated by their
discoveries. A sense of wonder brings them joy.
I was an inquisitive child. I had a thirst to know, to
understand things. My love of learning enabled me to well in school and
progress through graduate studies. I chose professions that challenged my
understanding. Reading and accumulating knowledge, especially about the
intricacies of the mind and universe, have been, and continue to be my passion.
I enjoy playing with ideas and words. Unfortunately, as I accumulated
knowledge, I could be arrogant, taking pride in how smart I was and in how much
I knew.
As I enter senior status, my love of learning has continued.
I pray, though, that I am becoming a bit more humble. The more I reflect, the
more I sense the infinite expanse of the unknown and the puniness of my
knowledge. I am drawn into the Mystery of life that fills me with wonder. I
desire more to contemplate the Mystery than to try to understand it. More often
now, I just sit and do nothing. I relish the “not-knowing mind.” I also ask
more questions than give answers. I enjoy asking probing questions to awaken
awareness and conversation with others. However, not everyone appreciates my
Socratic questioning. Frankly, it can be annoying.
Innocent and transparent:
We are born innocent, untainted by the world. Children are
not burdened by moral failings, guilt, or shame. They do not need to hide. They
are completely free to be their natural selves.
I do not remember the first moment I lost my childhood
innocence. However, I recall as a youth the strong need to succeed, to be the
best, and to gain approval. I then felt pressure to maintain a heroic image and
to hide my failings. Over the years, I have become well acquainted with my
demons. I also experienced a sense of powerlessness over some of my character
defects. I can identify with St. Paul who admitted, “I cannot even understand
my own actions. I do not do what I want to do, but what I hate.” (Romans 7: 15)
As I am maturing, I appreciate the importance of a regular
fearless and searching moral inventory, an honest examination of conscience.
Then, I need the humility to admit my mistakes promptly and make amends. I
desire to take full responsibility for my life and actions—no excuses. I used
to dwell on the past, on what I did wrong or could have done better. However,
now, as I try to live more in the present moment, I focus on being a more
loving person. I continue to clean house. Admitting my own imperfections makes
me more patient, less judgmental, of others’ faults. Jesus’ words inspire me,
“Blessed are the pure of heart, for they shall see God.” (Matthew 5: 8)
Trusting and dependent:
Children are completely dependent on their caregivers. They
cannot survive on their own. To survive and thrive, they develop a bond of
trust with their parents.
Over the years, I strived to be trustworthy in my
relationships and work. I wanted people to be able to count on me. Although I
know I failed at times, I hope I succeeded for the most part. As I have been
cared for by so many, I wanted to return the gift to others, to pay it forward.
As I age, I know the roles will reverse. I will depend more
and more on others caring for me. As the saying goes, “We begin and end life in
diapers.” My challenge will be to let go and not cling to my illusion of
independence. Embracing the weakness and loss of autonomy of aging can be
humbling. I draw confidence again from the words of St. Paul: “Who will
separate us from the love of Christ? Trial, or distress, or persecution, or
hanger, or nakedness, or danger, or the sword?...Yet in all this we are more than
conquerors because of him who has loved us.” (Romans 8: 35, 37) Even old age,
sickness, and death cannot separate us from God’s love. I will experience and
hopefully accept His love through the generosity of those who care for me.
Loving and affectionate:
Children are naturally loving and affectionate. They thrive
on touching and holding, and whither without it. That is not surprising. Our
essential nature is love.
Loving and being loved has always been important to me. I
have a burning desire to belong. Acts of service are my love language. So I
pursued professions to serve others as a priest, and then as a psychologist. I also
longed to be part of a family, in the parish community and then through
marriage. My circle of friends has also been a source of strength. Through the
years, my love has taken on a spiritual meaning: “God is love, and he who lives
in love lives in God, and God in him.” (I John 4: 16)
With my advancing years, relationships have become even more
important. However, there has been a shift in their meaning. I seek more to
love than to be loved. True love is about giving, not getting. I aspire to take
on the attitude of Christ who emptied himself. Consequently, I seek nothing in
return and value others as more important than myself. I tell myself, “Expect
nothing, seek nothing, and grasp nothing. Allow others the freedom to be
themselves.” My love has also become less partial. I look to see the face of
Christ in everyone I meet. “My religion is kindness,” proclaimed the Dalai
Lama. Simply being kind, without grand gestures, makes me feel alive. I follow
the advice of Mother Teresa, “Perform small acts with great love.” Because we
are one body, even small acts affect the whole.
Playful and carefree:
Children are naturally playful and carefree. They trust in
their parent’s love to make them feel safe and secure. They are free and
spontaneous interacting with their world. They enjoy the simple pleasures of
life, like playing games.
For most of my life I have been careworn. I welcomed many
responsibilities in my career and my family. I pushed myself to excel at
whatever I was doing. Even playing golf, my lifelong passion, I always wanted
to improve. As much as I tried to avoid it, however, there were many times I
was burdened with worry. Will I be able to complete that task on time? Will I
do a good enough job? Will I be able to pay the bills? Self-doubt plagued me.
The demon “not good enough” possessed me.
Aging has slowed me down and shrunk my world. I no longer
desire to go to so many places or do so many things as in my youth. I am
content to sit and do nothing more often. I continue to work. People ask me
when I will retire. I tell them, “When any of the three Bs breaks down—my
brain, my back, or my butt.” I love my job and feel engaged in life through it.
Ironically, though, as my outer world shrinks, my inner world is expanding. I
feel a greater inner freedom and joy in whatever I am doing. I enjoy more the
simple pleasures of life, like a good conversation. I am more playful with my
patients and my friends, indulging my weird sense of humor.
In the Hindu tradition, it is believed that God created the
world because He was lonely and wanted someone to play with. The world is
“Lila,” His playground. For me, my life has become more a playground than a
courtroom in which, in the past, I had to prove myself.
Content and joyful:
Children are so naturally content and joyful. They don’t
have to earn anything. They rest secure in the care of their parents.
Everything they need is given to them. They enjoy the gift of their life.
The Protestant work ethic guided most of my life. I set high
goals for myself and pushed myself to achieve them. I took pride in my
accomplishments, but also paid a price. I often lost myself in my work,
neglecting enjoyable times with my family and friends.
Now I do not work so hard. I stop more often to smell the
roses. I look back on the 75 years of my life and realize there is nothing I
have that has not been given to me. Even my abilities and desire to work hard
are a gift. All is grace. Even the difficult moments. I am God’s work of art,
shaped by His grace. I identify with the aged Job who prayed in the midst of
his trials: “Naked I came forth from my mother’s womb, and naked I shall go
back again. The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away, blessed be the name of
the Lord!” Gratitude for God’s unending goodness, no matter the situation,
brings joy.
As I age, I am becoming more aware of living in the shadow
of death. Daily I receive reminders: aches and pain, forgetfulness, weaknesses,
fatigue, and so forth. A fellow senior and I participate in a regular boot camp
exercise class and an occasional yoga class. We say, “We are old, slow, steady,
and stiff.” The trainer keeps encouraging the group to set high goals, to
become better, faster, and stronger. We tell her our goal is more modest, “To
slow the slide.”
I am learning to let go and let God as I slowly lose the
things I used to count on in my youth. If I surrender, there is no fear, even
of death and the often painful process of dying. My mantra is that of Mary, “I
am the servant of the Lord. Let it be done to me as you say.” (Luke 1: 38) I
have the peaceful, holy indifferent attitude of St. Paul while in prison facing
death. He wrote: “Christ will be magnified in my body, whether by life or by
death. For to me life is Christ, and death is gain. If I go on living in the
flesh, that means fruitful labor for me. And I do not know which I shall
choose. I am caught between the two.” (Philippians 1: 20-22) So I leave the
decision up to God.
I am in a new stage of life as an elder. My body and mind are gradually dying, but my spirit is being reborn. My physical capacities, energies, and activities are shrinking, but my inner life is expanding. Meanwhile, I have many gifts to offer, especially the childlike wisdom I am gaining. I rejoice at the precious gift of aging and prepare myself for the final surrender of myself into God’s hands, into eternal life.
Kops-Fetherling International Book Awards/winner in psychology
American Bookfest Best Books Awards finalist
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