Outside vs. Inside

I recently celebrated my 60th birthday and I have to confess that I had mixed emotions about celebrating it.  Over the last year I have begun to notice and experience the aging process.  It’s not so much that I am growing more hair in my ears than on my head, or even that my hair is no longer blond but gray; and I can live with a knee that goes out on me sometimes when I am coming down a flight of stairs and I can be patient with cuts and scrapes that take longer to heal then they used to.  No, what really has been bothering me and causing me some concern is my ability to remember things. 

On Sunday mornings when I am greeting people after the service is over I sometimes don’t recall a person’s name until after I have shook their hand and they have walked away!  I have found myself in the home of a shut-in and not being able to remember their name in the midst of praying for them.  I have gone for days trying to remember somebody’s first name or last name until at some odd hour of the day or night it pops into my head out of nowhere.  All of this I can cope with and get around.  It is preaching and my memory that I won’t be able to get around.  I like preaching without a manuscript or notes.  I like being outside the pulpit and preaching from the chancel.  But for how much longer will I be able to continue to do that?  How soon will my mind begin to ramble and struggle to remember what comes next?  No, I don’t like it; not one bit.

So the day before my birthday (my birthday was on a Monday, obviously) I was preaching on I Peter 3:13-14, using the theme of No Fear.  In the sermon I was asking the question if anybody was afraid of dying, failure, success (yes, success), and making the wrong decision.  For each one I had a scripture passage that spoke to why we shouldn’t be afraid.  At the final service, turning sixty must have been on my mind because I added an extra question.  I asked if anyone was afraid of getting old.  That is when the Lord thumped me on the head and the Holy Spirit brought to my remembrance the account of Pharaoh asking Jacob how old he was (Genesis 47:7-10).  Jacob didn’t tell Pharaoh how old he was, he told him how long he had been walking with God—130 years.  Jacob didn’t think of his life in terms of getting old; he didn’t think of his life in terms of how age was limiting or restricting his abilities.  He only thought about walking with God.

And if that wasn’t enough, God further thumped me on the head with Paul’s thoughts on aging from II Corinthians 4:16-18—“So we do not lose heart.  Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day.  For this light and momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen.  For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal.”  Praise God that while my memory may fail and my focus may move from Christ to the right or to the left, the Holy Spirit is always there to bring to my remembrance all that he has taught me (John 1426).

Yes, physically I am getting older.  But inwardly, in my spirit, I am headed in the opposite direction—I am getting stronger, smarter, wiser, and more steadfast in Christ.  And I have noticed that too, I just haven’t paid as much attention to that as I have the physically getting older.  But it’s true.  The longer I walk with my Lord the more I find myself relishing our Lutheran liturgical way of worship.  The words to the hymns speak to me more and more.  The seasons and traditions of those seasons have taken on a very rich meaning and purpose for me.  My eyes of faith are observing and noticing more from God’s Word than I have in the past, and that is affecting my perspective, my teaching and preaching.  My personal devotional life has taken on greater meaning and I find myself lingering longer as I read through my daily devotions.

Paul was right.  It is silly and it is dangerous to allow ourselves to focus on the things that are seen—such as growing old.  For growing old is only for this world, a side-effect of sin.  Old age will come and go at the point of death.  I will join my Lord in glory because Jesus died for me to make it so.  I will no longer be old; I will no longer bear the effects of sin as I will be made new.  And when the resurrection occurs my body will be raised to newness of life.  What was once mortal will then be immortal.  What once was a natural body will become a spiritual body. 

No our focus should be on the things that are unseen, for those things, the things of God, are forever and timeless.  I will not lose heart at having hit 60 for the Lord knows my needs and will take care of every single one of them.  I will, however, rejoice in having walked with the Lord for 60 years.  Outwardly I am 60 years old.  Inwardly, spiritually, I am just a baby—60 years young and growing into eternity!

Still Speaking Today

By faith he (Abel) was commended as a righteous man, when God spoke well of his offerings.  And by faith he still speaks, even though he is dead.

Hebrews 11:4b

The grass, while unkempt, had a beauty all of its own as the wind gently blew, the blades of grass dancing back and forth like gentle waves on a lake.  Violets dotted the landscape while knurly trees that had stood the ravages of time reached toward the sky like mountains.  Squirrels, paying no mind to the visitors that were intruding on their urban paradise, scampered about while a choir of birds filled the air with beautiful music. There had been a time, long ago, when everything was neatly kept and tidy and visitors were plentiful.  But that was a different time, a different place; a time that was no more. 

That which had invited and encouraged visitors had either been covered up by the violets and grass or had been destroyed by vandals.  Only a few remained—cold, hard, and silent; and yet they spoke powerfully when one took the time to listen and consider their words.  One grave marker listed a young man who had been a soldier and was killed in battle.  Next to him lay his pastor father whose marker, in quiet confidence, labeled him a “soldier of the cross.”  Another marker listed a man as pastor, missionary, and advocate for justice. And Another marker, a large granite cross rising out of the ground with the symbol—IHS—engraved where the beams of the cross intersect, simply bore the first letter of man’s first name and then his last name.  Hidden behind the grass growing around the base of the cross, whispered a witness to the man, his faith in the God who had created and redeemed him, and the faith and love of those who were his students at Concordia Seminary.

Other markers in the cemetery spoke softly through words and engravings that had been hushed over the years as hail, wind, rain, snow, and sun took their toll.  A hand, with its fingers folded into the palm and the index finger pointing toward heaven proclaimed that Jesus was “the way, the truth, and the life.  No one comes to the Father but through me.”  Others bore weeping willow trees on their faces.  The willow tree had become popular on grave markers during the Victorian years of the nineteenth century.  Obviously the willow stood for the sorrow that comes from the sting of death.  But the willow was, and is still, a hearty tree; one that can grow anywhere in any kind of conditions, thereby lessening the sting of death with the sure and certain hope of the resurrection of all flesh.

Western Lutheran Cemetery has been forgotten by most in the world, left to succumb to the wiles of nature.  Once it occupied an entire city block in a thriving neighborhood on the north side of St. Louis.  In its northwest corner stood Immanuel Lutheran Church, the second Lutheran church west of the Mississippi River.  J. F. Buenger, one of the original pastors that emigrated from Germany with the Saxons in 1839 had proclaimed the Word of God and administered the Sacrament to the people of Immanuel who were hungering and thirsting after righteousness.  Also worshipping in the pews of that congregation was Franz Pieper, onetime president of the LCMS, president of Concordia Seminary in St. Louis, and doctrinal theologian extraordinaire.    

But now the neighborhood is as rundown and forgotten as the church building and cemetery.  And while these saints had long ago transferred their membership from Immanuel to the church triumphant in heaven, like Abel, their faith continues to witness to Christ over a century past their deaths.  While those who hear their witness become fewer and fewer with the passing of time, and while their voices are softer due to the wearing of time, the message is just as powerful as the day their markers were set in place.

May we be attentive to the voices of faith gone by; and as their voices fade over the passage of time may they be joined and lifted up by our voices and the voices of those who follow us.