The day Princess Diana’s car collided in that Paris tunnel in 1997, the world winced at the brutal harshness of an untimely death. There, in full bloom, was this woman, this young, beautiful one, felled in the space of a heartbeat. Many can’t believe that the clock on her had already rung its final—her departure was already scheduled for that time, to that location, and for that reason.

We like to hold on to the idea of “dying before one’s time” because it makes us feel secure. It allows us to fantasize about a different ending where the individual lived longer if only the accident had not happened or the illness could have been avoided. Life is not a “choose-your-own-adventure” novel whereby we can rewrite the pages ourselves. The time of death is in the script we never have a chance to read beforehand, and no hindsight can rework it. Even when catastrophe hits us off guard, the fact is unyielding—it was supposed to occur at that exact time and that exact place.

There are many examples throughout history that challenge our perception of timing. John F. Kennedy’s shooting in Dallas in 1963, for example, was sudden and seemingly untimely. But his death, as is the case with everybody else, came a second sooner or later than planned. We struggle with this because it makes us confront our helplessness over the ultimate page of life. It takes away the illusion that proper preparation, good living, or even good fortune can keep a life from crossing some unperceived limit already written.

Such knowledge should not lead us to fatalism, where we do nothing since “everything is already written.” It should rather set us free from the hubris of believing that we can control the terms of our leave-taking. Death is no sneak thief; death is an appointment we have made all along, an appointment whose details are not given to us until the very end. Thinking that makes us change our outlook on the fragility of life, less about staying ahead of death and more about living out the days we have.

Accidents, illness, natural disasters—they are only the means. Time itself is the motor, and when it decides to stop along the road, all the forces in the world cannot keep us moving. Think about those who cheated death in a plane crash by a hairsbreadth, only to be killed weeks later by some other cause. To us, that is a callous or ironic order. But to the tick of time that rules our lives, it is just on schedule. Death assumes innumerable forms, but the timing is precise.

In our society, we invest so much energy into keeping death at bay—diet regimens, gym memberships, herbal remedies, even the occasional superstition. We steer clear of dangerous roads, avoid dangerous sports, and avoid dangerous jobs, all in the hope of “buying” a few extra years. Although these certainly may influence the quality of our living, they don’t conflict with the date already printed on our exit ticket. That realization should keep us humble.

But having this truth does not diminish the passing of one that one loves as anything less than sorrowful. Loss is always painful because love hates absence. But it can be lessened by understanding that the person did not pass “too soon.” They passed at precisely the time that their path was to be cut short. That isn’t surrender—it is reverence for the harmony of life, which sounds no note of ours but its own.

Perhaps the best we can do is shift our gaze from death’s uncertainty to life’s possibility. We cannot negotiate with the timing of the end, but we can make the middle pages worthwhile, something tender, something courageous. If today has the date inscribed on the calendar, invisible but inescapable, then let each preceding day until then be worth recalling

DEFINITELY, it is not in being adorned with sorts of medals and public recognition, showered with all kinds of honors and privileges. It’s rather in being simple and humble, in having a heart completely emptied of its ego and filled with love and compassion for everyone, even to the extent of offering one’s life for the others out of love, the way Christ offered his life for all of us.

We are reminded of this truth of our faith in that gospel episode where the disciple asked Christ, “Who is the greatest in the Kingdom of heaven?” (Mt 18,1) To this, Christ simply called a child over, and placing him in their midst, said: “Amen, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will not enter the Kingdom of heaven. Whoever becomes humble like this child is the greatest in the Kingdom of heaven.” (Mt 18,2-4)
There you have the clear description of who can be considered truly great and how we can be so. It is to be like a child, simple and humble, the qualities that would enable us to be like Christ himself, able to capture and assume the very spirit of God in whose image and likeness we are.

We have to acknowledge the intimate and mutual relation between simplicity and humility, on the one hand, and greatness on the other hand. When one is great in his earthly stature and dignity, he knows he has to serve more and to give more, to be truly great. True greatness is never shown in pride and vanity. It is proved and verified in humility and simplicity.

Christ is the epitome of true greatness. And he showed it by going through this process of self-emptying that St. Paul once described in this way—that Christ “being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage; rather, he made himself nothing by taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to death—even death on a cross!” (Phil 2,6-8)

This mutual relation between humility and greatness is expressed when we manage to value others, whoever and however they are, above ourselves and when we look after their interest instead of our own. (cfr. Phil 2,3-4)

In other words, our greatness is when we are fully driven with love. That’s when we would not have any dull moment since we would always be thinking of others, of how to help them. We would even be most willing to make sacrifices for them. We would have our whole life dedicated to serving God and others.
This is what we clearly see in the life of Christ. Let’s call to mind that stunning example of his when he shocked his apostles when he started and insisted to wash their feet at the Last Supper.

For us to have this humility and greatness in our life, we need to be always with Christ. We need to be in constant conversation with him, referring everything to him, asking him for the answers to our questions, clarifications to the many issues we have to grapple with in life, strength for our weaknesses and temptations, contrition and conversion after our falls, etc.