I will be your God throughout your lifetime—until your hair is white with age. I made you, and I will care for you. I will carry you along and save you. [Isaiah 46:4 (NLT)]
While writing Monday’s devotion about the seemingly insurmountable giants we face, I wondered about the identity of my Goliath. Of who or what am I afraid? What giant looms over me and blinds me to the presence of God?
Unlike David’s Philistine foe, my Goliath doesn’t look imposing, strong, or powerful. Rather than being nearly nine feet tall, he has osteoporosis and is stooped, frail, and weak. Instead of wielding a sword and being accompanied by an armor bearer, this fearsome enemy uses a cane and has a caregiver. My Goliath isn’t surrounded by an army because he’s outlived his spouse and most of his friends. It’s the inadequacies, limitations, and loss that accompany old age that frighten me.
Back in 1819, Thomas Jefferson painted a vivid but grim picture of those limitations with these words: “First one faculty is withdrawn and then another, sight, hearing, memory, eucrasy [physical well-being], affections & friends, filched one by one till we are left among strangers, the mere monuments of times past, and specimens of antiquity for the observation of the curious.” My in-laws lived to the ages of 96 and 102 and we saw first-hand the toll those years took both physically and mentally. Unfortunately, no matter how well we care for ourselves, as the years progress, our bodies and minds start to wear out and cease operating at full capacity.
It was when our family gathered to celebrate our youngest child’s 50th birthday that my eyes were opened to the gifts accompanying advanced years. As I relished the time with family that weekend, I thought of my parents. Having died at 47 and 56, they never celebrated a child’s 30th birthday, let alone a 50th, nor did they get to celebrate their 100th surrounded by their great-grands as did my mother-in-law! Although they’d planted the field, they never got to enjoy the harvest! It wasn’t just the red-letter days like weddings, birthdays, and graduations they missed; they never enjoyed the special moments that come with grands and greats—another round of soccer matches, Legos and Tinker Toys, tea parties and dress-up, and endless games of Crazy-8s and LCR.
Although my parents avoided things like arthritis, memory loss, hip replacements, cataracts, and assisted living, I think they would have accepted all that and more to have had additional years with their children and to hold a grandbaby or a great. A walker, hearing aids, and macular degeneration are a small price to pay for watching one’s children and grands develop into the kind of people you’d want to spend time with even if they weren’t family! Indeed, as daunting as it is, old age is a privilege granted to few and should be embraced.
My Goliath really isn’t old age; it’s my fear of old age! I can’t vanquish the indignities and decline of the oncoming years nor can I evade my body’s final defeat, but God will give me the power to rout my defeatist attitude. Knowing He is with me, I can confidently face the future with confidence. As long as God gives me breath, He will continue to calm my fears and give me both purpose and strength in the coming years (whatever they may bring).
When a nomikós (Scripture lawyer, an expert in religious law) tested Jesus by asking what he must do to inherit eternal life, the Lord countered with his own question, “What does the law say?” When the man responds with the words of Deuteronomy 6:5 and Leviticus 19:18, Jesus says he’s answered correctly. Wanting clarification, he then asks, “Who is my neighbor?” His query tells us the nomikós is more interested in the letter of the law than its spirit. Apparently, he wouldn’t want to waste any love on someone who wasn’t his neighbor or miss loving someone who was! Jesus answers the man’s question with one of his best-known stories—the Parable of the Good Samaritan.
Brent Askari’s play, The Refugees, begins with an unusual premise. Because of a violent civil war in the United States, an upscale American family become refugees in a Middle Eastern country. When the family’s Arab social worker referred to the American refugees as “you people,” the once suburban housewife’s expression spoke volumes. In her previous Connecticut life, anyone who wasn’t white and upper middle class had been “those people” but the tables have turned and the roles reversed. Instead of being the ones with the money and advantages, her family and others like them are “those people:” a minority, seeking asylum in a new country, unfamiliar with the customs, and unable to read, write, or speak the language. Wearing clothes they once would have sent to Goodwill, they need government assistance to survive. Her once high-priced lawyer husband is now a stock boy whose boss takes advantage of his immigrant status. This family and other American refugees are as unwelcome in the unnamed Arab country as are the refugees at our border.
It was while Jesus and the disciples were eating the Passover meal that the Lord instituted the Eucharist. The 1st century church followed His lead by celebrating the Eucharist in the context of a communal meal. The wealthier contributed the food and portions were set aside for the sick, poor, and widowed. Nourishing both body and soul while building a sense of community, these fellowship meals were known as agape or love feasts!
All Saint’s Day for the Western Christian Church is November 1. While Roman Catholic and Orthodox church observances tend to focus on those who’ve been canonized saints, the Protestant church has a different approach to this holy day. Whether living or dead, it regards all Christian believers as “saints” and part of the Communion of Saints we speak of when reciting the Apostles’ Creed. For Protestants, All Saint’s Day is a time to commemorate Christian family members, church members, and friends who have died. At our liturgical church, there will be a solemn reading of the names of all church members who passed during the year. After each name is read, the bell will toll.
I recently met Esha while walking and we occasionally stop to chat. Although the bindi (mark) on her forehead told me she is a Hindu and the cross I wear told her I am Christian, our different faiths have not prevented us from talking about God and our beliefs. My younger son’s marriage brought many Hindus into our extended family and I try to understand this complicated religion.
Devotions of the Heart 