Growing Old Ain't For Sissies

NUMBER SEVENTY-EIGHT
Creed

Here is an old poem for the New Year.


CREED

Yesterday
Is a memory.

Tomorrow
Is a dream.

I will live today
With full attention
To the reality
God brings me,
Fitting myself to it
By doing
What needs to be done.

JS
6/84
038

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I got to thinking how life narrows down to just one thing and how you can’t do nothing about what’s already happened, and not a hellova a lot about what’s coming next. How life ain’t measured out like we think in days and weeks and years, but only in just moments that come and go. And once they’re gone there ain’t nothing left but memories.

Claude Dee Moran Jr., The Abiding Gospel of Claude Dee Moran, Jr., Jack Farris


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I Lift you high in praise, my God, O my King!
And bless your name into eternity.

I’ll bless you every day,
And keep it up from now into eternity.

Yahweh is magnificent; he can never be praised enough.
There are no boundaries to his greatness.

Generation after generation stands in awe of your work;
Each one tells stories of your mighty acts.

Your beauty and splendor have everyone talking;
I compose songs on your wonders.

Psalm 145. 1-6 The Message, Eugene H. Peterson

NUMBER SEVENTY-SEVEN
The Ghost of Christmas Past

On December 14th there were three pictures on the front page of the Lexington Herald-Leader.

The first was a deadpan headshot of Scott Peterson. “Jurors urge death for Scott Peterson” was the headline.” Below, “His cool demeanor cinched decision.” It seems like the cable news networks have played uproar over this trial since God was a boy. Even the reporters seem glad they can finally let the murdered Laci and her unborn son Conner rest in peace and get on to something new – like the Michael Jackson case.

The second was a big picture of Missy Jenkins in her wheel chair. “POMP AND PERSEVERANCE” the headline said, “Woman shot at high school set to graduate from college.” Missy was in her prayer circle at Heath High School in Paducah, Kentucky in 1997 when Michael Carneal finally got tired of being bullied and hassled and took a gun to school. He killed three classmates and wounded several others. Missy survived but will never walk again. She has earned a degree in social work and has a desire to work with troubled teens like the one who tried to killed her. She says she has forgiven him.

The third picture is a headshot of Michael Carneal. Life in prison has not agreed with him. At twenty-one he has gained weight and still has that aggrieved, put-upon look that characterized the pictures of him at his trial when he was 14.

These three pictures came together in a strange way for me. Yesterday three of the Scott Peterson jurors gave an extended press conference. They all seemed like decent, ordinary people in their thirties who were conscientious, hard-working jurors. The thing that struck me was their answers to questions about what clinched the decision, both as to Peterson’s guilt and as to his punishment. I got the impression that had Peterson just shown a little more emotion and some kind of remorse, he would have escaped the death sentence and might even have not been found guilty.

It was all about emotions and feelings and issues – the psychobabble of this generation. There were lots of facts too but it appeared that these facts were just invitations to extended trips into the touchy-feely world of our therapeutic culture. Listening to these sincere jurors I got the feeling they would have liked to have understood the accused and forgiven him and made it all better - but his stony-faced presence kept them from doing this.

I admire Missy Jenkins for her perseverance and her attitude. For her own sake, she needed to forgive Michael Carneal and get on with life. This is Christian forgiveness at its best. But I can imagine there were some on the jury in Paducah who would have preferred the jury forgive him also, after all he was only 14 and had a lot of “issues.” Fortunately the law is not quite loose enough yet to let murderers walk free to sooth the feelings of some of the jurors (Excepting the O.J. Simpson case, and probably others not so famous).

Perhaps I am strange, but I have never felt that America should apologize to Africa for slavery, forgive Hitler for the holocaust, or forgive Osama bin Laden for 9/11. There is a proper place for forgiveness and Missy Jenkins is a good example of that proper place. Laci Peterson’s parents may choose to forgive their daughter’s murderer, but the jury may not and society may not. But society will try. The judge has not even passed the recommended sentence and the lawyers are already planning their appeals – which will likely stretch on for 15-20 years at least. The last two murderers to die in California were on death row for 20 years.

To these thoughts add Mark Steyn’s memorable observation that after the Democrats were soundly defeated in November, Nancy Pelosi tried to “turn the Democratic whine into holy water” by becoming chummy with the Apostle Matthew. It turns out the liberals do have a Bible – it has only a few short verses;

“You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” Matthew 22.39

“Pure and undefiled religion before God is this: to visit widows and orphans in their trouble.” James 1.27 (They drop the second part, “and to keep oneself unspotted from the world,” because this would likely lead to judging and could easily cause to irretrievable diminution of esteem to self or others.)

“Do not judge so that you will not be judged.” Matthew 7.1

For those not really acquainted with the Bible or the God of the Bible, these three verses pretty well cover the waterfront. They are one-size-fits-all verses to handle every good situation (love), every social problem (visit), and every evil situation (don’t judge).

Not all liberals are Biblical illiterates. There are plenty of Tenured Professors, Professional Preachers and Pontificating Pundits who search the Scriptures daily for ammunition to attack people of faith, find excuses for their own perversions, and pick up debating points for their op-ed pieces in the New York Times. There are feminists who are sure the Bible is all about them if we read it correctly and sodomites who are sure the Bible is nothing about them, if we read it correctly.

There are millions of nominal Christians who believe God is there and the Bible is true but seldom read His Book or discuss it with Him and get very nervous when the subject of objective moral evil comes up. Don’t expect them to even think about objective truth in an age of relativism, let alone express an informed opinion,

This is stretching into a rant or maybe even a grumble so let me give one concrete example of what I am fussing about -- and it is apropos to the season.

Around Christmas in 1997, Al Gore, that great theologian and highly underappreciated Vice President observed, “Two thousand years ago, a homeless woman gave birth to a homeless child.” Two years later, Hillary Clinton, erstwhile “Great Mother of Us All,” echoed his observation, remarking that we celebrate at Christmastime “the birth of a homeless child.”

Both Al and Hil went to Sunday School so they know this is a real stretch, but the homeless mother and child image fits their Nanny State political ideology neatly so it keeps cropping up. It was probably only their early Sunday School training that kept them from calling Mary an unwed single mother, something other less Biblically literate Democrats have done.

There is nothing so sacred it cannot be easily twisted and formed into a tool of statist ideology by pragmatic politicians. The Word of Truth is regularly dragooned into the war against truth by those who believe feelings are knowledge, opinions are truth, and all sincerely held opinions are equal. In anticipation of 2008, Hil is already positioning herself as an “evangelical conservative Christian.”

So, just for the record at Christmas 2004, let me remind us of what the Bible really says about the birthday we celebrate:

Isaiah 7.14
“Therefore the Lord Himself will give you a sign: Behold a virgin shall conceive and bear a Son, and shall call His name Immanuel (God-with-us).”

Isaiah 9.6-7
“For unto us a Child is born,
Unto us a Son is given;
And the government will be upon His shoulder.
And His name shall be called
Wonderful, Counselor, Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
Of the increase of His government and peace
There will be no end,
Upon the throne of David
And over His kingdom,
To order it and establish it with
Judgment and justice
From this time forward, even forever.
The zeal of the Lord of Hosts
Will perform this.”

John 1.14
“The Word became flesh and lived among us, and we
beheld His Glory, the glory as of the only begotten of
the Father, full of grace and truth.”

John 3.16-18
“For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life. For God did not send His Son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world through him might be saved. He who believes in Him is not condemned; but he who does not believe is condemned already, because he has not believed in the name of the only begotten Son of God.”

Matthew 17.5
“This is My beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased. Hear Him!”

1 Corinthians 15. 3-4
For I delivered to you first of all that which I also received: that Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures, and that He was buried, and that He rose again on the third day according to the Scriptures.

Acts 10.42-43
“And He commanded us to preach to the people, and to testify that it is He who was ordained by God to be judge of the living and the dead. To Him all the prophets witness that, through His name, whoever believes in Him will receive remission of sins.”

Revelation 1.8
“I am the Alpha and Omega, the Beginning and the End,” says the Lord, “who is and who was and who is to come, the Almighty.”

What we celebrate on December 25 is something that began in eternity past and will go on into eternity future. I trust you will find the time and the silence to get beneath and beyond the blather of the chattering classes and the shouting of the merchants and recognize that the Ghost of Christmas Past is really the Holy Ghost, the Spirit of God, the Third Person of the Holy Trinity. May we all keep Christmas this year in spirit and in truth.

NUMBER SEVENTY-SIX
The Ten Commandments in Public

With the victory of the “Moral Values” voters in November, the culture war over posting the Ten Commandments in public places will heat up again. Those “aggravating Fundamentalist Christians” who believe the Declaration of Independence ought to be welcome in schools and court-houses, the Decalogue should not have to hide in the back room of the courthouse, and God should not be deleted from our pledge of allegiance, our money, or our public life will take new heart and stir up new trouble for the secularizers. Meanwhile, the secularizers are busy deleting the “Christmas” from “Merry Christmas” as fast as they can. Here is a poem on the subject.

ON POSTING THE DECALOGUE IN PUBLIC PLACES
"Interfaith Alliance of the Bluegrass supports removal of
Ten Commandments from county courthouse"
Headline, Lexington Herald-Leader

CONTRA THE INTERFAITH ALLIANCE OF THE BLUEGRASS,
The ACLU, all Liberal Humanist Wolves In Sheep’s Clothing,
and all Cultured Despisers of the faith of our fathers.

Who are these thoughtful Reverends, the Hims and Hers
That play Conductor on a train God must have missed
Somewhere back along the Mainline?
And who are these reasonable Rabbis, to whom belong
The Adoption as Sons, the Glory, the Covenants,
The giving of the Law, the Temple Service and the Promises?
How is it these make common cause with the Reverends,
Denying together their Creator His rightful place
In the affairs of His creatures?

They are like a race of pygmies, composing hymns
To the gods of Diversity, Multiculturalism, Tolerance,
Sensitivity, and Compassion. They dance in the light
Of a blazing equatorial sun at high noon,
Waving small candles to show them the way
Out of their darkness. They multiply candles,
And Candle Carriers, and hoard waterproof matches -
And think that quantity will make up for
The shoddy goods they peddle at a loss.

They crowd into boats of paper machè and float slowly downstream,
Singing their inclusive hymns, reciting their bloodless liturgies,
Busily writing their critical essays about
The few boats they see making headway upstream.
They forget that any dead thing
Can drift with the current –
It takes life to go against the flow.
All the while the sun immerses them
In blinding light as they tend flickering candles,
Thinking to dispel their gloom.

In three generations these Reverends and Rabbis
Have let things slip from Christian to Post-Christian
To Pagan to Barbarian. They seek,
With the noble Paganism of Aristotle,
To hold off the Barbarian hordes,
To recapture the blessings of rational virtue.
But the Barbarian is blind to their candles,
Unimpressed by their critiques,
Unchecked by their collective initiatives.
The Barbarian is too busy
Offering his children, if he has any,
To Moloch, the god who gets things done,
And to the bloody mercies of the goddess Choice,
Both sorry deities borrowed from the pantheon of pygmies.

But the Barbarian will yield only to "Transcendence,"
A thing for which the mythology of Pygmies has no word
And with which its prophets have no patience…

JS
2/03
014

NUMBER SEVENTY-FIVE
At Home: Where?

One of the reasons growing old ain’t for sissies is that eventually we die. Although life expectancy at birth has risen from 25 years in Roman times to almost 77 years today, everyone still dies…eventually. About ten years before his death, the Apostle Paul was writing about this to the churches. (read 2 Corinthians 4.8-9, 1 Thessalonians 4.4-17, and 1 Corinthians 15)

The missionary business was difficult and dangerous. The Apostle was having some bad days; “We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not despairing; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down but not destroyed.”

But he was optimistic; “Therefore, being always of good courage, and knowing that while we are at home in the body we are absent from the Lord—for we walk by faith, not by sight—we are of good courage, I say, and prefer rather to be absent from the body and to be at home with the Lord.”

For the disciple of Jesus Christ, Paul only admits to two states; Alive (at home in the physical body and absent from the Lord) or dead (absent from the physical body and at home with the Lord.) There does not appear to be anything in any of Paul’s other letters, or the whole Bible for that matter, that suggests an intermediate state. I will close my eyes in death and open them in eternity, in the presence of the Lord.

Paul is clear about my body – I leave it behind. And I don’t get my new resurrection body until all God’s children get theirs; “If we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so God will bring with Him those who have fallen asleep in Jesus. For this we say to you by the word of the Lord, that we who are alive and remain until the coming of the Lord will not precede (go ahead of) those who have fallen asleep (died). For the Lord Himself will descend from heaven with a shout, and with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first. Then we who are alive and remain will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air, and so we shall always be with the Lord.”

So where are we thus far? I close my eyes in death, leave my body behind, and open my eyes in the presence of the Lord. Life goes on for others. At some future time God decides his purposes have been met, His plans have all been accomplished, and it is time to wrap things up. The last trumpet sounds, those then living join those dead in Christ and we all get our new resurrection bodies.

Paul explains; “Behold, I tell you a mystery; we will not all sleep but we will all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet; for the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed. For this perishable must put on the imperishable, and this mortal must put on immortality. But when this perishable will have put on the imperishable, and this mortal will have put on immortality, then will come out the saying that is written, ‘Death is swallowed up in victory. O death, where is your sting?’”

I have been thinking about this mystery and wondering what is happening in the presence of the Lord for those who have died? What has the apostle Paul been doing in the last 1937 years since he died. I am not aware that this question has been asked often or by many although I suspect the idea of soul sleep is an attempt by the Seventh Day Adventists to answer it.

I have a theory. I don’t have chapter and verse to prove it, I don’t even have a neat model to show how it could work – no black holes or white holes or differential time equations or new revelation about general relativity – just an idea. My idea does not touch on what leads up to death or what happens after the last trumpet sounds, just the time between when I shut my eyes in death and open them in the presence of the Lord.

Even as I speak of opening my eyes in the presence of the Lord I realize you may say, “How can you open the eyes you left behind in the box or in the urn?” The reason I say this is that I suspect that there will be no time between my departure from my mortal body and my arrival in the presence of the Lord where I will put on my immortal body. I will close my eyes in death and open the eyes of my new, immortal, imperishable, resurrection body to hear the echoes of the last trumpet and to see the face of my Redeemer.

I believe this was true of the Apostle Paul, and every believer in Jesus Christ who has died since. When you ask, “How can 1900 years be the same as 1 minute?” I have to say, “It’s a mystery--we shall not all sleep but we will all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye.”

So what has Paul been doing the last 1,900+ years in the presence of the Lord – nothing, it has been but an instant, the blinking of an eye. If you have a better idea than mine, I would love to hear it. If you have an argument from Scripture to show my idea is wrong, I would love to hear that as well.


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In the meantime, here is John Wesley’s Rule, a good one to follow:

Do all the good you can,
By all the means you can.
In all the ways you can,
In all the places you can,
At all the times you can,
To all the people you can,
As long as ever you can.

NUMBER SEVENTY-FOUR
The Bridge That Was Born Again

For the most part, the river dividing the Guatemalan village of Cimientos was a friend. It brought water to drink for the people and the corn. It carried away the things that caused sickness and death in less fortunate villages. It was pleasant to look upon as the sunlight danced on its moving surface in the afternoon and it sang gentle songs in the night.

But when the rains came, the Rio Blanco became an enemy. It began to flow faster and deeper and challenge any who would cross. It kept sick children from the doctor and farmers from the market. It kept half the village children from crossing over to school. Escaping its banks, the river often ran wild thru the fields, seeking the villagers even in their homes.

So it had been with the river since Gregorio was a little boy. He loved to swim in it, to catch its fish and to hear its song. But he loved school also and was angry with the river every rainy season when it kept him from going.

When Gregorio grew up the flooding turned a simple trek to market into a twelve-hour ordeal over a twisting mountain trail. His tired legs and aching back did not think of the Rio Blanco as a friend on these long trips.

The villagers had always talked about a bridge. Although they were poor, it was all they could do to feed themselves--each dreamed of something better. But a bridge! Who could think of something as magnificent as a bridge? Gregorio and a few others could, and did.

They talked of the bridge as if it were real. They saw it joining the separate halves of Cimientos. They spoke of the time and the energy and even the lives the bridge would save in the rainy season.

They not only spoke among themselves, but day by day the talked of their dream with the others. Finally, all were able to see the bridge. It was agreed they would set aside $900 from the repayment of post earthquake loans for the building of the bridge. With this magnificent amount of money in hand, they asked an engineer to tell them what such a bridge would cost. The Engineer came, looked, calculated and told them they were
$4,100 short.

Gregorio did not give up--he prayed, and kept on trying.

God answered his prayer in a strange way--some Christians came from other countries. They offered materials and technical advice if the villagers would build. The villagers would! So the work began with carrying the hundred pound bags of cement and the heavy cables over the twisted trail Gregorio had often taken to market.

After consulting with the oldest man in the village, they set the bridge above the highest point the river had ever reached. They sweated and strained together in the hot sun pouring the great concrete cable anchors, stretching the cables and laying the planks.

When the job was finally done, they celebrated. The whole village crossed and re-crossed their bridge, singing and congratulating one another. They marveled at the beauty of the bridge, its strength and its wonderful possibilities. They remembered the lives that had been claimed by the river and said to one another, "Never again."

Here the story should end, but it does not.

The next rainy season brought a "one hundred year" rain. The water rose more rapidly than anyone remembered. Soon it was straining against the bridge itself, stretching the cables taut. The people all stood in the pouring rain, praying for the bridge. While they watched in horror a huge wave filled with rocks and tree trunks came down against the bridge and swept it away. The earth shook as the concrete moorings were torn from the banks and the cables parted. Without thinking Gregorio and eight other men jumped into the raging river, swam to the other side and pulled the cables onto dry land.

Many were discouraged, but they all spoke together and the dream was refreshed. With one heart and voice they determined to build the bridge a second time.

Today there is a new bridge across the Rio Blanco in the village of Cimientos.
The same Christians provided materials, except for the cables, which were already there. The same villagers built the second bridge, set this time six feet above the new "one hundred year" rain level. When the job once more was done, they all celebrated twice as hard and twice as long for the bridge that had been born again.

Today Gregorio's children cross over to school every day of the rainy season.
When they are sick he can take them to the doctor. The farmers carry their produce to market the short way, singing, and the people of Cimientos speak often and fondly of "the bridge we built together-twice."

Today, the Rio Blanco is a friend all year long. Something of God’s shalom has visited Cimientos and stayed.


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"Do all you can in the time you have with what you’ve got in the place you are."
Nkosi Johnson, Zulu child who died of AIDs the age of 11.