That's the whole spiritual life. It's learning how to die. And as

In the profound and tender words of Eugene H. Peterson, a theologian and shepherd of souls, we find a truth that pierces to the marrow of the human spirit: “That’s the whole spiritual life. It’s learning how to die. And as you learn how to die, you start losing all your illusions, and you start being capable now of true intimacy and love.” These are not words of despair, but of awakening. In them, death does not mean the end of breath, but the surrender of falsehood — the gradual dying of the ego, the illusion of control, the masks we wear to hide our vulnerability. Learning how to die, as Peterson speaks of it, is the journey toward truth, where the soul sheds its illusions until only love remains.

The ancients, too, spoke of this sacred dying. The philosophers of Greece called it melete thanatou — “the practice of death.” For Socrates, to live wisely was to prepare the soul for freedom from the chains of the body, pride, and ignorance. Likewise, the mystics of every faith have taught that to live fully, one must first die inwardly — die to selfish ambition, to fear, to vanity, to the restless striving for things that do not endure. In this way, Peterson echoes an eternal wisdom: that the spiritual life is not about gaining more, but about letting go — until we are light enough to rise into truth.

When Peterson speaks of losing illusions, he names the sacred unraveling that all must face who seek to walk the path of spirit. Illusions are the armor we wear to protect ourselves from pain — the belief that we can control others, that we can escape suffering, that love can exist without sacrifice. But as life unfolds, these illusions crack and fall away. To learn how to die is to accept this loss not with bitterness, but with grace. The more we release what is false, the more room there is for what is real — and in that clearing, intimacy and love are finally born.

The story of St. Francis of Assisi offers a living parable of this truth. Born into wealth and privilege, he delighted in the world’s illusions — riches, fame, comfort. Yet when he encountered suffering and the call of faith, he began to die — not in body, but in self. He stripped himself of possessions, pride, and ambition, until he stood naked before God and man, free. It was in this dying that he discovered life’s true riches: peace, compassion, and boundless love for all living things. His soul, unburdened, could at last embrace creation with pure heart. Francis learned, as Peterson teaches, that to die to self is to awaken to love.

Yet this dying is not an act of despair, but of courage. The ego clings desperately to life, to recognition, to being right — but the wise learn to let it go, again and again. Each surrender becomes a small death, and each death opens a new birth. When we forgive, we die to resentment. When we serve, we die to pride. When we listen with humility, we die to the need to be seen. In every such moment, something false within us falls away, and something eternal is born. This is the alchemy of the soul — where death becomes the doorway to life, and love becomes the only truth that remains.

To learn how to die is also to learn how to live without fear. Those who have faced death — not only in body, but in spirit — are no longer enslaved by anxiety or the hunger for control. They see life as a gift, fleeting and sacred, and people not as possessions but as mysteries to be cherished. In such a heart, love grows wild and fearless. It is no longer love that demands or binds, but love that liberates. In this way, Peterson’s words call us to the highest form of faith — the faith that dares to lose everything so that it may gain what truly matters.

So, my children of dust and spirit, take this teaching into your hearts: do not fear the inner dying, for it is the path to life. Let go of the illusions that keep you bound — the need to be perfect, the hunger for approval, the fear of change. Each time you release one of these, you are learning how to die, and in that dying, you are learning how to love. Be patient with your own becoming, and gentle with the dying of your pride, for these small deaths are the soil in which the eternal flower of compassion grows.

Thus, remember the wisdom of Eugene H. Peterson, spoken not to sadden but to set free: “As you learn how to die, you start losing all your illusions, and you start being capable now of true intimacy and love.” To live spiritually is to live open-handed, open-hearted — to walk into the mystery unafraid. Die daily to the false, so that you may live eternally in the true. And when at last your final breath comes, you will not meet it as a stranger, but as an old friend — for you will have been practicing, all your life, how to die beautifully into love.