Parts Wear Out

                  A good friend of mine shared words of wisdom he often heard from his father, a cardiologist. When patients would wonder why their heart needed work, he’d simply say, “Miles on the vehicle.”  And I’ve heard a similar response at the office of an orthopedist, “Parts wear out.”

                  We know this is true with cars.  With our Honda CRV, we faithfully follow the service schedule, and often it needs nothing more than an oil change and lube.  But there are times of “major service” when key parts need to be carefully inspected and possibly replaced. Our mechanic says if we stick to the maintenance schedule, the car can easily reach 200,000 miles and beyond.

The same is true for furnace filters, water filtration systems, and roofs.  We want them to last as long as possible but know they will eventually need to be replaced.

What’s true in the realm of mechanics is true of our bodies.

                  One of the joys of childhood was losing baby teeth.  That meant you were getting older.  It also meant you could exchange a worn-out part for some hard currency by depositing the tooth under your pillow.  (This may be the last time we will show a profit from having parts replaced.)

                  Life goes on … parts wear out.

For several years, I had pain in my right arm that increased over time. I went through the usual exams and X-rays, and eventually an MRI.  I met with a surgeon.  He recited a list of what was causing my problem: bone fragments, torn tendons, arthritis, etc.  I was surprised at how much wear and tear there was under the surface.  But I also thought, “It’s pretty amazing all these moving parts have been functioning without complaint day after day for 70 years.”  We scheduled the surgery. He made the repairs.  I wore a sling for a month and went through the usual physical therapy. Now I’m pain-free. I can pick up our granddaughter with ease.  Parts were wearing out, and I’m grateful for the repairs.

                  In the meantime, what of our spirit?  Does our spirit wear out like our bodies?

One theory is that our inner awareness dies with our body.  That may be the case.

Many spiritual traditions assume that the awareness that dwells within us does not die when the body dies.  Neither does it wear out.  It’s not a part we ever replace. 

                  St. Paul was not only a scholar but also practiced an important trade in the first century: tentmaking. Roman armies required canvas tents, and all the ships that sailed the Mediterranean used canvas sails.  Paul earned his income making and repairing them.  As he cut and sewed, he must have had plenty of time to think about what wears out and what endures.  In one of his letters, he wrote:

¹⁶ So we do not lose heart. Even though our outer nature is wasting away, our inner nature is being renewed day by day. ¹⁷ For our slight, momentary affliction is producing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all measure, ¹⁸ because we look not at what can be seen but at what cannot be seen, for what can be seen is temporary, but what cannot be seen is eternal.  For we know that, if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens… ⁵ The one who has prepared us for this very thing is God, who has given us the Spirit as a down payment.

I’m not quite sure if there are heavenly houses for us out there somewhere.  But I get the point: we live in our “tents,” but are not limited by them.  Our true essence is this mysterious presence we call spirit or soul which is not subject to the same wear and tear as our bodies.

                  Native cultures assume that the spirit outlasts our “parts” and is fundamentally connected to our ancestors.  In some schools of Buddhism, the practice of meditation can lead us into the limitless field of “open awareness” that is untouched by death.  This field can absorb all our fears and pain and give us a sense of profound peace. 

As I think about these teachings, I think of the concept of “agape,” a divine love that underlies all life.  Our everyday emotional “loves” may ebb and flow, but “agape” is timeless.  We do not create it or possess it; we access it through an open heart and mind and can experience a “peace that passes understanding.”

I bought a Prius in 2008.  Five years later I used it as a trade-in for the CRV.  When it was time to drop it off, I took all my personal possessions out and drove it to the dealer.  We finished the paperwork, and I handed the salesman the keys. I started to walk away, then paused and looked back.  I thought of how much life I had lived in that car, and now I was leaving it behind. I was struck by how worn and empty it looked.  I wondered, ‘Is this what it’s like when we die?”

                  Parts wear out.  But we are not just our parts or the sum of our parts.  We are not our thoughts, fears, or feelings.  We are something more.  Something subtle. Mysterious.  Wondrous. And beautiful.