At the gate of an old cemetery, a weathered sign bore a chilling message: “Today is my hour; tomorrow is yours.” It was as if the dead themselves were speaking, reminding us that we, too, shall die. The message awakens a fear that we often pretend does not exist.

Why are we afraid of death? Why do we cling to life so fiercely even when we are afflicted with a lingering illness, dementia, or a painful sense of aloneness and uselessness?

For many people, death is terrifying because of its finality. We crave second chances. For others, it means the ultimate judgment: heaven or hell. Those who do not believe in an afterlife fear death because of the anguish of being separated from loved ones or their hoarded wealth. One psychologist say people are afraid of death because they do not want to be forgotten.

In a world where violence and murder have become rampant, we have learned to mask our fear of death behind elaborate defenses: funeral parlors that beautify the dead; memorial parks that suggest our loved ones are not forever gone, but merely out of sight; the beauty and youth cults that despise signs of our mortality, like aging; and films that trivialize death through spectacles of violence and gore.

The internet also keeps our attention away from death by endless distractions, like livestreamed entertainment, news, politics, and shallow humor. Each day, we lose ourselves in the virtual world of the social media, thinking that our posts, selfies, memories, and identities are preserved in the digital realm, giving us the comforting delusion that we can defy death, at least online.

Our Lord Jesus Christ showed us an effective way to overcome our fear of death. After all, He came not only to teach us how to live, but also how to die. By embracing His vulnerability and accepting the finiteness of human existence, Jesus revealed what lies beneath our fear of dying: our desperate desire to control everything, especially the relentless passage of time.

Death frightens us because we refuse to accept that our tenure on earth has a limit. This denial keeps us from living to the full. To live fully is to utilize our lifetime to the utmost, not letting a single moment pass unused. Death continually reminds us that every second is precious because it is unrepeatable, and possibly our last. So, when we realize that we have to make some necessary changes in our life, we must do it NOW, rather than postpone it for tomorrow.

One such change is to let go of destructive habits. When we come to think of it, living fully is difficult, not because of what we cannot do, but because of what we cannot stop doing. There are many habitual patterns that keep us trapped in a relentless cycle of sin, until we become numb to its destructive power. Letting go of these patterns requires a kind of dying, a surrender of the old self and of a way of life that no longer serves us.

I once heard of a thief who chose to return what he had stolen to his victims. He said that in doing so, he felt reborn. His story changed the way I saw that cemetery sign I once feared. No longer do I read “Today is my hour; tomorrow is yours” as a grim warning of death’s certainty. Instead, I see it as a reminder of God’s constant invitation to change. Every moment can be a moment of grace, a divine opportunity to let the old self die and be born anew.

Today, All Souls’ Day, let the words of Jesus resonate in our hearts: “Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and eat with him, and he with me” (Revelation 3:20). These words tell us that life, not death, comes without warning.