“Fun” Before The (Expected) Oblivion
The United Kingdom is a heathenish, Christless Country. People's concerns are largely material. When they call themselves “spiritual”, they usually mean how beautiful and profound they feel they are. There are exceptions, but what I have described is the norm.
This heathenish thinking extends to the time before death. Every now and then you read of “brave” people who, once told they are going to prematurely kick the bucket, decide to “do something”. Normally, this something is linked with “fun” (the Paris alcohol binge), or with something “they wanted to do” (the exotic travel) or with someone “they wanted to meet” (a spiritual giant of our time like, say, an actor).
It is as if their spiritual (and otherwise) dumbness would want to cling to them until death, not even the announcement of the end to come being enough for a much-needed realignment of priorities. It is, in fact, fair to say that in an age in which fun and self-centredness are a religion, people who focus on those on their last stretch are considered examples worthy of following, as if they were the pious faithful of our time. A great waste of immortal souls, sadly, as the announcement of his impending demise is the last massive opportunity for, say, an atheist to send his brains into overdrive and (with God's grace) start working on his salvation until there's time.
Nor is there any warning, anywhere, of the judgment to come. People who die positively unable to think – and to publicly say they do – about their judgment are called “courageous”, when all generations before ours would have called them foolish. But hey, they launched a hashtag that made an awful lot of people of every conceivable degree of stupidity feel good with themselves. Isn't it wonderful?
And by the way: is it surprising? Nowadays even the Pope tries to make you march to your death without thinking of judgment; unless he suggest that you become a member of the Communist Party perhaps, because Jesus was kinda lika sorta Lenin, no?
The way we die is a very good indication of the rest of our – infinitely long – existence.
In a heathenish time, you see these indications all the time, whilst the press applauds.