Share our wisdom and the stories that compose our lives
I’m tramping through my 67th year and claim that I am too young to be this old. I’ve become a composite of my elderly kin. I have the habits they had, along with the maladies they put up with. I now understand the chattering about their medications, the various physicians they depended upon and the hapless condition of today’s world, especially the youth.
We have seen marvelous developments, have secondhand information of life 100 years ago, and firsthand knowledge that reaches back 70 years. The crowd of events and people that you and I recall are worth remembering.
We shared the best and the worst of human life; we flourished because of that common sharing of resources, affection, wisdom and devotion. We must hand to our children and grandchildren not only our skills, but the stories that compose our lives and that wisdom we’ve acquired.
Above all, we can listen to the triumphs of third-graders and 30-yearolds because they are precious to God our Creator, which is why they are dear to us. In that patient attention to their stories, the young learn that they have great value, not for their skills, but for themselves.
I worry today’s virtual relationships, social media and technologies simultaneously unite yet separate us from the profound delights of friendship, trust, intimacy and understanding.
In a culture of artificial and immediate ratification, the powerful appeal of pornography consumes innocence through riveting images which drive wicked thoughts deep into one’s mind. These blind people from the ability to grasp, or even care, about the authentic meaning of human love and intimacy.
Times have changed, as they always will. Priorities need to shift according to particular circumstances, and we thrive because we are adaptable. We are resilient beings; we are mortal too, which is part of the mystery of being human. Speaking about the reality of our dying creeps people out. I’ll talk about my mortality instead.
On Ash Wednesday, crowds of Christians will come to churches to have ashes imposed on their head to a line from Genesis 3:19, “Remember man that you are dust, and unto dust you shall return.” I will hear those words, yet they’re not terrifying to me. They are a matter of fact and ground my thoughts within a lifetime.
I do know that I am grateful to God for the people I know, the friends I have made, the experiences I have had. Pondering those moments and people that brought the love of God into my life, sometimes as I brought that same love into theirs, brings a peace that is beyond understanding (Philippians 4:7). It comes as a gift; it should be received as such. Of the abilities I’ve come to admire most, gratitude ranks up there. It needs to be taught by example; it’s one of the legacies handed on to me. It’s one I want to hand on.
That’s one of the advantages of seniority; I have a perspective I lacked when I was youthful. My shortest sermon is a single sentence: “You can’t give thanks for what you take for granted.”
I’m old; so are many of you. I have a lifetime filled with amazing things; not all were welcome, but that is a small matter. You and I are not victims of history, we are its creators. My work is not done; my vocation is not over. Neither is yours.
Jesus said it best: “Love one another as I have loved you (John 15:12).” Less talking, more doing, right?