Never Too Old

“David, after he had served the purpose of God in his own generation, fell asleep…” (Acts 13:36).

The opening phrase of T.S. Eliot's poem “The Waste Land” contains a poem by the Roman poet, Petronius: "With my own eyes I saw the Sybil of Cumae hanging in a bottle; and when young men said to her: 'Sybil, what do you wish?' she replied, 'I want to die.'" 

The Sibyl, according to Roman legend, was a prophetess, suspended in a bottle in the temple of Hercules near Naples, Italy. She was granted long life by Apollo, as many years as grains of sand she held in her hand, but she had forgotten to ask to retain her youth. As she aged she withered away. Now she only wished to die. 

Is this now your thought? Has strength and beauty so withered away that you’re only waiting to die?

Think of your longevity as God’s uncommon gift to you. We live in a world in which most people die young. (Life expectancy in the United States is 79 years. In Afghanistan it is 44.) It’s a marvelous thing to live in a society where, by God’s providence, you can grow old. There must be a reason for it; God must not be done with all he has purposed to do in and through you. View your aging as a gift, a gift to give back to God. Though old and gray you can declare His goodness to the next generation (Cf., Psalm 71:9-18).

I think of Anna, approaching Mary, Joseph and the baby Jesus, “to give thanks to God and to speak of him to all who were waiting for the redemption of Jerusalem” (Luke 2:38). Anna was 84! We’re never too old to speak to those who long for salvation.

Paul put it this way: “For me to go on living in this world may serve some good purpose. I should find it very hard to make a choice. I am torn in two directions—on the one hand I long to leave this world and live with Christ, and that is obviously the best thing for me. Yet, on the other hand, it is probably more necessary for you that I should stay here on earth. Because I am sure of this, I know that I shall remain and continue to stand by you all, to help you forward in Christian living” (Philippians 1:23-25, J.B. Phillips).

David Roper

Growing old but not retiring,

For the battle still is on;

Going on without relenting

Till the final victory’s won.  —Anon.

Happiness is…

"Present mirth hath present laughter…"

 —William Shakespeare, “Carpe Diem”

I was examining the magazines at our grocery store checkout stand the other day and concluded that happiness is firmness, fitness, prosperity, power, stardom, sex and pleasure. Bless my soul, we’ve forgotten that we do not live by bread alone.

Happiness, of course, is what everyone is seeking. That “end” was established long ago by the likes of Plato, Aristotle and other philosophers, who were musing on something we’ve always known: Regardless of the means, our end is happiness.

Human beings cannot not seek happiness. It’s why we do everything we do: It’s why we become tri–athletes or checker champs; why we speed–climb vertical rocks or turn into recumbent couch potatoes; why we become mechanics, machinists, mothers, fathers, doctors, lawyers, or Indian chiefs. Masochists hurt themselves because they think that will make them happy. Murderers kill others to make themselves happy. Suicides kill themselves because they can’t stand to be unhappy. We are made to be happy and nothing else will do.

That’s why happiness is said to be our final end by philosophers and theologians, by which they mean that happiness is not the means to anything else. We don’t seek happiness so we can be rich. We don’t seek happiness so we can find love. It’s the other way around: We seek love, wealth and everything else so we can be happy. Thus happiness is our final end.

Happiness is not our chief end, however; that’s God. But even with reference to God, happiness is our final end. We don’t seek happiness to find God; we seek God to find ultimate happiness.

Our modern English word “happiness” normally means subjective satisfaction or contentment, usually the result of good fortune. A friend approaches me with a goofy grin on his face and I think: “Something good must have happened to him.”  Thus we think of happiness as happenstance. Indeed, our English word “happiness” is based on an Old English word, “hap” that means “chance.”

The word ancient Greek philosophers used for happiness, however, was eudaimonia, best understood by breaking the word down into its component parts:  The prefix, eu, means “good,” daimon is the Greek word for “spirit,” and ia suggests a “lasting state.” So authentic happiness is an enduring state of inner peace. It is knowing, despite all counter-indications, that it is well with one’s soul. For Jews it is shalom.

Here’s the crux: St. Thomas Aquinas wrote, “Since it is possible to be happy and there are certain acts that make us happy we must in due sequence consider by what acts we may be happy and by what acts we are prevented from attaining it.”

How eminently practical! It’s possible to be happy and there are certain things we can do that will make us happy. Should we not then, “consider by what acts we may be happy?”

Put simply, the way to be happy is to be good, something about which virtue theorists have agreed for millennia. Plato, in his dialogue, The Republic, said that happiness is elusive, but can be achieved though justice, i.e., doing the right thing. Aristotle, Plato’s pupil, said, “Happiness is the reward of virtue” (Ethics 1.9). One of Israel’s poets said the same of his king: “You love righteousness and hate wickedness. Therefore (for this reason) God, your God, has anointed you with the oil of gladness…” (Psalm 45:7). This is also the burden of Jesus’ beatitudes, his instruction on happiness. (The word “Beatitudes” comes from a Latin term beatus that means “happy.”) “Happiness is…” he insists, and then proceeds to give us a list of seven virtues (Matthew 5:3-10).

“Goodness is better than badness because it’s nicer,” Mammy Yokum said. “Nicer,” surely, but also more happifying. Happiness does not come from wealth, honor, fame, power, pleasure or any bodily good, as our popular culture would have us believe, but in doing the right thing. Should we not gain our understanding of happiness from the wise and not from fools?

[Here I add a parallel premise: If virtue makes us happy, vice makes us sad. Wrong–doing may awaken immediate, short–term, superficial exhilaration, but its after-taste is bitter. The Bible puts it plainly: we enjoy the pleasure of wrong-doing “for a season” (Hebrews 11:25).]
So, I ask myself, if I’m made for happiness and happiness comes from goodness why would I choose misery instead of joy? Wretchedness instead of happiness? Because I’m insane, that’s why. There can be no other explanation.

Now, it is true that neither you nor I will ever know complete happiness in this world. The best proof of that premise is that even in those moments when we’re supremely happy, we’re not happy. Something is missing. “This world is full of many miseries therefore man cannot be perfectly happy in this life,” Aquinas said,  “but a certain participation of happiness can be had in this life” (Summa 111,5,3). Perfect happiness awaits heaven and home

But, if I want to be as happy as I can be in this world, I must be as good as I can be—overcome my sensuality, immodesty, moodiness, irascibility and intolerance, among other things—something I cannot do unless I ask for God’s help every day. “Only God is good,” Jesus said (Mark 10:18).Thus any goodness in human beings must be the work of His hands. “What a labor He has with us all! Shall we ever, some day, be all, and quite good like Thee?” George MacDonald asks (Annals of a Quiet Neighborhood).

God help us.

David Roper

Kuna Cave

Vice is a monster of so frightful mien,

As to be hated needs but to be seen;

Yet seen too often, familiar with her face,

We first endure, then pity, then embrace.

—Alexander Polk

There’s an underground lava tube cave south of Kuna, Idaho that has gained a certain amount of local notoriety. The only entrance, as far as I know, is a 50’ vertical shaft that drops straight down into the tube.

The Bureau of Land Management discourages exploration—no one knows exactly where the tube leads—but as I crept up to the edge of that black hole and looked down I had an almost irresistible urge to explore the cave! I would go a little way, I said to myself, and climb back out again. Surely no harm could befall me.

Sin is like that: It draws us into the darkness. How often have I listened to men and women who have destroyed their families, reputations and careers through adulterous affairs that began with a mild flirtation—one small step away from complete fidelity that led to another, thoughts and actions that inexorably drew the participants into deeper moral failure and eventual ruin. Looking back they almost always say, “I never thought it would come to this.”

We think we can temporize with sin, but that’s a fool’s dream. Children’s fantasy writer, Susan Cooper describes these dalliances as “channels into the dark,” the means by which the dark forces of the invisible world ride to power over us (The Dark is Rising). We know an action is wrong and yet we toy with it. Then inescapably, we are drawn into deeper and darker sin. Jesus put it simply: “Truly, truly, I say to you, everyone who practices sin (becomes) a slave to sin” (John 6:34).

And so we pray with David, “Keep back your servant from presumptuous (deliberate) sins (however small); let them not have dominion over me (by giving in to them)! Then I shall be blameless, and innocent of great transgression” (Psalm 19:13).

David Roper

The Souls That Fail

“And when you have turned again, strengthen your brothers” (Luke 22:29)

History is unrepeatable, historians say, but it can be re-lived many times in one's memory. Our successes we like to savor; our failures we'd rather forget. I'm learning, however, to cherish the days that I fail.

I'm learning that blunders, mistakes and missed opportunities are means of grace and great blessing if I accept them as part of my call. "It came as a revelation. It was worth the price of the gale: To know that the souls that conquer must at first be the souls that fail” (George Matheson).

Through humiliation our strength is baffled, we're disabused of our illusions of grandeur and brought low. There, we learn to meet with the lowly. We’re able to get in touch with other people’s feelings. We can empathize with those that have fallen; we can accept and love them as no other can. 

But we must let go of regret. Brooding over past failure intimidates us and turns us away from love; feelings of inadequacy overwhelm and isolate us. We're afraid to venture ourselves again. But when we accept our failures as simple proof that we're utterly inadequate, God's strength is made perfect in our weakness. We have grace to turn outward to others and to do so with greater compassion, wisdom and sensitivity. Thus our mistakes are turned into good.  

Failure is not ruinous; we are called to failure and owe much to each day that we fail. The lessons that we learn there "are worth the price of the gale."

David Roper

A Friend of Man

Let me live in a house by the side of the road

And be a friend to man.

—Sam Walter Foss

Warm-Up: Genesis 14:17-24

Melchizedek is clearly a type of Jesus. The book of Hebrews leaves no doubt (Hebrews 7:1-28).

But, he was also a man, and as such is an example of the kind of man I want to be.

I want to be a friend of souls. I want to stand by the way as Melchizedek did, waiting for weary travelers, “laying low, in the places where the ragged people go.”

I want to look for those who have been battered and wronged by others, who carry the dreary burden of a wounded and disillusioned heart. I want to nourish and refresh them with bread and wine and send them on their way with a benediction.

I cannot “fix” those who pass by, but I can love them and listen to their hearts. I can pray with them. I can share a word of scripture when it’s appropriate. I can sing “sustaining songs,” as good Poohphiles know to do. And I can leave them with a blessing.

A “blessing” is more than a parting shibboleth, or a polite response to a sneeze. We bless others when we bring them to the One who is the source of blessing. Melchizedek blessed Abram, saying, “Blessed be Abram by God Most High…” As Billy Graham would say, he blessed him real good.

I cannot strengthen feeble hands, nor can I fortify knees that have given away, but I can bring weary travelers to the one who can. His bread gives endurance, strength and eternal consolation. His wine gladdens the heart and sustains it.

I cannot undo the cruel or dreary circumstances of anyone’s journey, nor can I take away its travail, but I can remind those who trudge by that there is one who walks with them, who holds them with his right hand, who guides them with his counsel, and afterward will take them into glory.

I cannot help the helpless, but I can pray with them; I can take them with me to the throne of grace to find help in time of need.  I cannot show them the way, but I can “show them God,” as John Piper says.

This is my blessing.

David Roper

On Caring For Your Horse

“And so in gymnastics, if a man takes violent exercise and is a great feeder, at first the high condition of his body fills him with confidence and spirit, and he becomes twice the man that he was.” —Plato, The Republic

I was a physical education major in college and have always had an interest in personal fitness. When I was a young man I took a lot of "violent exercise,” and tried to be a "great feeder." I’m a bit stove–in now, but I still manage a little dog–walking, light lifting and Carolyn manages my diet. I find these efforts "beneficial" to use Paul's modest word (1 Timothy 4:8). 

I don’t exercise to extend my life span, for such things are determined in the counsels of heaven, nor am I concerned so much with quality of life issues, though exercise does reduce stress and can produce a happier frame of mind. I exercise to take care of my “horse.” 

I'm thinking here of a remark David Brainerd made to a friend. Brainerd, as you may know, devoted himself to missionary work among Native Americans and drove himself relentlessly and without thought for his health. He died at age 29, having worn out his body. "I have killed my horse," he said "and cannot continue my journey." 

I wouldn't disparage Brainerd's zeal for a moment, for his efforts and diary have turned many to serve God here and abroad. Furthermore, he was driven by the love of Christ and there can be no higher motivation.  But I can't help but wonder what he might have done if he had taken better care of his horse. 

The Wise Man provides some balance: "The horse is made ready for the day of battle, but victory is from the Lord" (Proverbs 21:31). There’s no spiritual power in physical exercise; it’s just a practical consideration.

I think Paul would agree and would recommend walking. He did a lot of it in his time. 

DHR

Mirrors

“The wearer of Grandmother’s (Lady Wisdom’s) clothes never thinks about how he or she looks, but thinks how handsome other people are” (George MacDonald, The Golden Key. p. 16).

I read today that “(Barzalel) made the basin of bronze and its stand of bronze, from the mirrors of the ministering women…” (Exodus 38:8).

Bezalel was the artisan that made the articles of the tabernacle in the wilderness. Here we’re told that certain “ministering women” gave up their precious copper mirrors to form the material for the bronze basin he was constructing.

“Giving up” our mirrors can be equally costly, but it can be a very good thing—for men as well as women. To be sure, we have to see that our faces are in place each morning, but too much scrutiny and self–examination can be disconcerting, especially as we age. Furthermore, it can be disorienting: It can make us think too much about ourselves, and not enough about others.

We should forget about our own faces just as soon as we can, remembering that God loves us as we are—in all our imperfection—and bring other’s faces to mind, thinking more about them than we do about ourselves (Philippians 2:4).

Augustine said that we get lost in loving ourselves, but found in loving others (Sermon 96:1). Put another way, the secret of happiness is not getting our face right but giving our hearts away, giving our lives away, giving our selves away, in love.

DHR