Aging
Jesus replied, “Now the time has come for the Son of Man to enter into his glory. I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat is planted in the soil and dies, it remains alone. But its death will produce many new kernels — a plentiful harvest of new lives. Those who love their life in this world will lose it. Those who care nothing for their life in this world will keep it for eternity. Anyone who wants to serve me must follow me, because my servants must be where I am. And the Father will honor anyone who serves me. (John 12:23-26)
Doesn’t it bug you when someone has to remind you about your age? Like the barber. "Getting a little thin on top here, Randy?" Or the stylist: "Next time you come in, Sue, we'll do something about those gray streaks." Maybe it’s the invitation, "You’re invited to your 30th high school reunion." Even your kids get into the act. "Tell me again, who were the Rolling Stones?" And then there’s the doctor. "Nothing to worry about, Joe. Your condition is common for folks getting older like you." The dawning of old age – where you have more life behind you than ahead of you. The first pages of the closing chapters, and face to wrinkled face with the fact that you’re getting older. And although we may joke about it, not everyone laughs. Especially those who’ve been taught to treasure youth.
For decades we worried about everything except getting old. Out of all the things we couldn't count on, there was one thing we could and that was our youth. We could eat like a horse and not look like one. All the schoolteachers were older than us. Professional athletes were about the same age as your older brother. Life was an open highway, and death was a millennium away. But then they came, the subtle messages of mortality: you buy your first life insurance policy and it includes burial and funeral expenses. Your carpool friends ask you why you squint when you read road signs. The kid helping you out with the groceries calls you "Ma'am."
At first it's just raindrop reminders splashing on our watercolor convictions of perpetual youth. With time, however, the raindrops become steady and stronger. Everything hurts when you wake up. And what doesn't hurt, doesn't work. Your parents begin acting like your children. The smile lines don't go away when you stop smiling. And then the rain becomes a torrent. The gentle taps become thunder. Cardiac arrest. Empty nest. Fifty candles. BOOM! And now there’s no denying the fact that Ponce de Leon didn't find the fountain of youth, and neither will you. We try, mind you. Barbells get pumped. Black hair gone gray goes black again, or maybe even blond. The face gets stretched. The chin gets tucked. Breasts get a lift.
But try as we might, the pages of the calendar still turn. The clock still ticks. And the body still grows older. And with every new pill we take we’re reminded that growing old is a pill that has to be swallowed. But why does the pill go down so slowly? And why is it so hard to swallow? What is it about birthdays, even the beginning of a new year that causes us to quiver? Certainly part of the problem is the mirror, or at least the reflection in it. What was tight now sags. What once swung now bounces. Time, as they say, is a great healer, but it's a lousy beautician.
For others, it’s failure. What you set out to do, you didn't. You set out to avoid the trap of suburbia and now you're paying a mortgage. You swore you'd never be a corporate puppet, but now your closet’s full of gray flannel suits. You determined to leave a legacy, but all you've left so far is a trail of diapers, check stubs and bills. But the real pain is even deeper. For some it is the hollowness of success. Life at the top of the ladder can be lonely. Mahogany desks grow cold. Sales awards tarnish. Diplomas fade. Sometimes a dream-come-true world has come true and it's less than you'd hoped. Regret becomes a major pastime. The plumber wishes he'd gone to law school, and the lawyer wishes he’d become a plumber. The woman who works regrets the time she didn't spend with her kids, and the stay-at-home mom wishes she had a career.
But it can get even worse. Regret can lead to rebellion. Rebellion against the demands. Rebellion against the mundane. Rebellion against the ho-hum. Rebellion against whatever ties you down: your job, your government, your SUV, your God. Growing old can be dangerous. The trail is treacherous and the pitfalls are many. One would be wise to be prepared because you know it's coming, and it's not like God kept the process a secret. It's not like you’re blazing a trail as you grow older. It's not as if no one has ever done it before. Look around you. You have plenty of opportunity to prepare, and ample case studies to consider.
If growing older catches you by surprise, don't blame God. He gave you plenty of warning. He also gave you plenty of advice. Consider John 12:25: “Those who love their life in this world will lose it. Those who care nothing for their life in this world will keep it for eternity.” In other words, there are two ways to view life, Jesus is saying. Those who protect it, and those who pursue it. The wisest are not the ones with the most years in their lives, but the most life in their years. There is rawness and a wonder to life. So, pursue it. Hunt for it. Sell out to get it. Don't listen to the whining of those who have settled for a second-rate life and want you to do the same so they won't feel guilty. Your goal is not to live long; it's to live. Jesus says the options are clear.
On one side there is the voice of safety. You can build a fire in the hearth, stay inside and stay warm and dry and safe. You can't get hurt if you never go out, right? You can't be criticized for what you don't try, right? You can't fall if you don't take a stand, right? You can't lose your balance if you never climb, right? So, don't try it. Take the safe route. Or you can hear the voice of adventure – God’s adventure. Instead of building a fire in your hearth, build a fire in your heart. Follow God's impulses. Adopt the child. Move overseas. Teach the class. Change careers. Run for office. Make a difference. Sure it isn't safe, but what is? You think staying inside out of the cold is safe? Jesus disagrees. "Whoever tries to keep his life safe will lose it." (Luke 17:33) I like the words of General Douglas MacArthur when he was seventy-eight: "Nobody grows old by merely living a number of years. People grow old by deserting their ideals. Years may wrinkle the skin, but to give up interest wrinkles the soul." Charles Lindbergh, the first pilot to fly across the Atlantic, had this to say about living safely: “I decided that if I could fly for ten years before I was killed in a crash, it would be a worthwhile trade for an ordinary lifetime. . . . Who valued life more highly, the aviators who spent it on the art they loved, or the misers who doled it out like pennies through their antlike days?” Once again, read Jesus' admonition. "Whoever tries to preserve his life safe will lose it, and the man who is prepared to lose his life will preserve it."
Reclaim the curiosity of your childhood. Just because you're near the top of the hill doesn't mean you've passed your peak. Your last chapters can be your best. Your final song can be your greatest. It could be that your entire life has prepared you for a grand exit. God's oldest have always been among his choicest. It was his octogenarian activities that got Moses into the Bible. Old and mellow Abraham was much wiser than young and brash Abram. Caleb still claimed his mountain when he was eighty-five. Anna was a 105 year-old widow who had enough strength to pray for the Messiah, and enough vision to recognize him when he came.
And look at John, the aged apostle John. The last of the apostles. The dear friend of Jesus. Surely his final years would be quiet and restful. Surely John had done what he came to do. Nope. Don't tell that to John. And don't tell that to God. For neither of them were finished. John had one more chapter to write. What was intended to be an island of isolation became a place of inspiration, and in his final years John wrote the final book of the Bible. Could it be that all of John's life had led to that very moment? Such is the ring of Robert Browning's well-known words: “Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be, the last of life, for which the first was made. Our times are in his hand who saith, 'A whole I planned, youth shows but half; Trust God: See all, nor be afraid!” Or, ask Winston Churchill who could have rested after World War II, but he didn't. Instead he took up a pen and won the Nobel Prize in literature at the age of seventy-nine.
Some get old and go fishing. Others get old and go hunting – they go hunting for what they always wanted to do. And they do it. A friend of the late American jurist Oliver Wendell Holmes asked him why he had taken up the study of Greek at the age of ninety-four. Holmes replied, "Well, my good sir, it's now or never." When J. C. Penney was ninety-five years old, he affirmed, "My eyesight may be getting weaker, but my vision is increasing." And as we get older, our vision should improve. Not our vision of earth, but our vision of heaven. Those who have spent their life looking for heaven gain a skip in their step as the city comes into view. After Michelangelo died, someone found in his studio a piece of paper on which he had written a note to his apprentice. In the handwriting of his old age the great artist wrote: "Draw, Antonio, draw, and do not waste time." Time slips by. Days pass. Years fade. And life ends. And what we came to do must be done while there is time.
We would think it bizarre for a traveler not to be prepared for the end of the journey. We would pity the poor passenger who never read his itinerary. We'd be bewildered by someone who thought the purpose of the trip was the trip. And for that person some of the saddest words in Scripture were penned. "The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we are not saved!" (Jer. 8:20) Others, however, are anticipating the destination. I hope you are. And I hope you'll be ready when you get home. For you, age is no enemy. Age is a mile-marker – a gentle reminder that home has never been so near.
Tell that to your barber.
Grace,
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