growing old

There are a lot of older folk in our congregation. I spend a fair bit of time with them, calling by to see them in their homes, and seeking to be a pastor to them in these 'twilight' years of their lives.

It's not easy growing old, that's for sure. I was seeing a man today who's hearing is going, whose sight is going, and whose mobility is also going.

He can't really read any more (he was a great reader): he can't really engage in conversation much (he was great company): and he can't really get around (he was a very active man).

Growing old is hard.

I came across this the other day from a guy called Kevin DeYoung. Kevin DeYoung is a young man (by which I mean he's younger than me!), but he's wise with it. And what he has to say about this business of growing old is perceptive, challenging, and (I hope) really helpful.

This is what he wrote -

2 Chronicles 16.10-14 record the last stubborn days of a great king. Asa was a grumpy old man. His major offense? He got a disease in his feet and didn’t ask the Lord for help. Now, there’s nothing wrong with going to doctors. God wants us to be wise. But he also wants us to trust him – more than counselors, therapists, doctors, and pills – and trust him to the end.

There are two types of old Christians. There are those who fret and fuss about how bad things have gotten and how rotten kids are these days. These cantankerous old rascals don’t like the church’s music, people, or pastor.

But then there are Christians who, like fine wine, get better with age. They pray more. They get wiser and kinder. They understand what really matters. They love the Lord and every day they read their big print Bibles with the devotional tucked in as a book mark. They pray for their kids and grandkids without ceasing. They’re a pastor’s best friend and they long to be with Jesus. These are the un-Asa-like believers the church desperately needs.

So for all those out there heading into life’s last lap, what type of senior saint will you be – crotchety or Christlike?

It's challenging, that. But it's also meant as an encouragement. If you get to live into those 'senior' years, you can choose to be a blessing or a burden. And it's not our health or our needs which determine that choice.

It's our attitude.

no regrets

There was a lady I called on today whom I've not really known before.

I've seen her before, but not much more than that. She's now in a home, getting on in years; frail and weak and none too well.

But still entirely with it, so far as her mind is concerned.

"I've no regrets," she said, as she reflected on a life that's been long and full. Even if hardly spectacular. Just another very ordinary individual, living her life in the context which was given her.

Finding work and doing a job each day throughout her working life for those who paid her wages.

Caring for her parents, with whom she'd lived for the bulk of her life, while they were still alive. And bearing the brunt of the burden which that care increasingly brought.

Tending the garden and keeping it trim through the 57 years she's lived there.

Coping with loss, in the deaths of her parents, her sister, and the untimely death of her nephew.

As I say, nothing exactly spectacular.

A civil servant. A spinster.

No high profile career. No fulfilling romance. No remarkable dramas.

A very ordinary life.

But one in which, as she nears its close, there were no regrets as well.

She had a good home, good friends, and a good life.

And now she's not afraid to die. We chatted about that for a while. The God who does us good through life enables us now, through Jesus, to have a good death. To die well, at peace, assured, and confident of a surging resurrection hope.

Sometimes the biographical books we read make us think that there needs to be drama in our lives. All sorts of thrilling, exciting things to punctuate our lives with all the mundane routines they comprise.

Not so.

There won't be a book being written about this lady's life.

There were no great dramas, no romance: no fame, no honours, no headlines: no notable achievements, no rags to riches story.

But no regrets.

A very ordinary life.

Act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with your God. That's all the Lord requires of us.

It's not complicated.

no ordinary wedding

Michael and Brenda were married here on Friday.

Some weddings are self-evidently special. The Lord pitches up and makes the day his own. It's exhilerating when it happens and you know you wouldn't have missed it for the world.

This was one of those occasions. We had sensed in advanced that it would be so. And had prayed accordingly.

The service of worship was wonderful. The singing of the spine-tingling variety.

One lady from another part of the country (something of a 'veteran' of worship and weddings, I took it from the way that she spoke: she was certainly 'veteran', anyway) remarked that she had never heard singing like it - and certainly had never been at a wedding where the organist dared to leave the congregation to sing a verse unaccompanied. And that without any warning.

If ever you'd wanted to know the meaning of the phrase in the psalms - "the Lord inhabits the praise of his people" - this would have been a good place to start! If you'd been there on Friday, you'd have understood all right.

The forecast had anticipated rain. Instead there was sunshine.

It was that sort of day.

And it all continued on throughout the reception as well.

The hotel remarked afterwards that they had never had a wedding reception like that. Everyone plainly so enjoyed themselves from the outset. Everyone was so pleasant and courteous. Everything ran so smoothly. No one abused the free bar. And no one at all got drunk (not even remotely).

What explains a day like that? Two things, I think.

First, the Lord was making a statement. There are marriages he plainly goes out of his way to 'own'. This is my doing, he insists. My servants, my purpose, my call, my work.

This was that sort of marriage. He was glad to go public and make it quite plain that this was all his doing.

And then, as well, there had been for months such a huge volume of prayer rising to the throne of God. Such a cry from so many folk that the windows of heaven were opened and a deluge of grace was poured forth.

That happens. It's the real 'marriage'. The King and his bride. The purpose of Christ and the prayers of his church combining to effect an extraordinary day such as Friday proved to be.

You can catch the service on-line. The reception? Well, I'm afraid you've missed that!

heading north

In a couple of weeks' time or so I'll be heading up north to Melness and Tongue to conduct the Sunday morning services there.

One of our members has been called to minister there, and he's kindly asked me to 'preach him in'. (That's just means that I conduct the first service he's there, and in that way sort of introduce, through the preaching, the ministry he's going to be exercising).

Not being that familiar with those parts (I've been there once before I think), I thought I should check it out a bit. And try and fix up some accommodation for the Saturday night.

I went onto the internet and googled 'Melness and Tongue'.

In a couple of clicks I was on to a site which spoke about the church.

I clicked on the heading MINISTERS on the menu bar.

And, no kidding, this is what I got -

Just a bit alarming!

Do all their ministers end their days washed up on the shore like this, an absolute wreck?!

I'm sure it was a mistake (though I did try the process again with the same result); but it did make me think of the 'brokenness' of Jesus himself and the cost of all ministry in his name.

I was really looking for a place to stay. Checking out the many Bed & Breakfast options that there are up there.

I eventually called a lady in a place a bit along the coast from Tongue. Once we'd conversed for a while she asked why I'd decided on her - there were other places a good deal nearer to Tongue, she said.

So I told her about 'Trip Advisor' and the consistently high praise which she and her B&B place had received from those who have sampled her hospitality. She was surprised, I think, to learn how much folk use and rely on resources like this.

Personal testimony.

It's an interesting phenomenon.

An establishment's website is one thing. There you'll get the 'official' line, the doctrinal statement, as it were: how many rooms, what like they are, the tarriff, the rating, and that sort of thing. And all of that is helpful, of course.

But you really want to know from those who've been there, from those, that is, who've exercised faith, and sampled the place first hand. What do they have to say?

'Trip Advisor' gives a global dimension to that whole 'word of mouth' sort of thing. It was that which sold the place to me in the end.

The power of personal testimony.

That's what's always needed in relation to the Lord. The "I once was blind, but now I see" sort of testimony. Not just the formal teaching of the Scriptures from the pulpit, important though that is. But that website-like exposition being supplemented and complemented by the 'trip-advisor' comments of practitioners.

I'd love us to be more and more that sort of 'trip-advisor' congregation!

thank you

It's very easy in the maelstrom of 'catching up', when I'm trying to hit the ground running, to forget to say 'thank you' to those who've been filling in for me while I've been away.

A neighbouring minister covers for me in terms of any major pastoral work which requires to be attended to. That's on top of everything else that the guy is doing day by day. I'm grateful for his willingness to 'stand in the breach' and field these additional tasks.

And then, as well, I have a number of visiting preachers conducting our worship when I'm not there. It's not just the Sunday, of course, that's involved for them, but long hours of preparation too. I'm grateful for that, and glad to be able to leave our Sunday worship in their hands.

They know that, I'm sure (the fact that I'm grateful). But it helps to be said, and, indeed, to be put in writing. So today I made sure that before any more time has elapsed I dropped them a note to convey a sense of my thanks.

I recall a long, long time ago visiting an elderly couple in their home in Cumbernauld. They had their daughter staying with them, along with their son-in-law. They were glad to be able to help like that.

And with the two young folk being out at work all day, the lady of the house would make their evening meal each day and have it ready for the two of them when both returned from work.

She was glad to do so, but I remember her, in a slightly unguarded moment, remarking that it would be nice if at least on occasion her daughter and son-in-law simply said 'thank you'.

I don't mind doing it at all, she said. In fact I really enjoy it, it's something I'm good at and I'm glad to be able to help. But it would be nice, it would make it all seem so much more worthwhile, if at least from time to time they actually thanked me for it.

Not once in all the months and years she'd been doing this for them had a word of thanks been uttered. And not, I'm sure, because they weren't profoundly thankful. It was just that they hadn't got round to saying it.

There was a book we used to read to our children which had as its climactic punch line - "... but he never once said thank you!"

It's a line we need to learn. Our culture is not all that good when it comes to giving thanks.

The Scriptures, by contrast, are full of the theme.

Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good.

Whatever you do .. do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.

.. Always giving thanks to God the Father for everything.

Always.

Jesus once healed ten lepers who went off to the priest and found as they went that they were cleansed. Only one came back, throwing himself at the feet of Jesus and giving him thanks. And he, adds Luke rather pointedly, was a Samaritan.

Where are the other nine? asked Jesus.

Good question.

They were thrilled to bits. I don't doubt that. They were profoundly thankful. I don't doubt that.

But where were they when it came to giving thanks where thanks was due? They were nowhere to be seen.

Ours has become a culture of complaint. Finding fault has taken the place of giving thanks. We take too much for granted.

That simple phrase, "Thank you", can mean so much. To the Lord as much as to anyone else.

no ordinary year

This coming year will almost certainly be an important and significant one.

In exactly what ways, and precisely why - well, I'm not entirely sure I could tell you that. I'm simply aware of a God-given burden that's laid on my heart that these next twelve months are going to be hugely important.

I suspect it has something to do with events taking place in the life of the church at large. I'm not naive. I'm aware that issues arising, and decisions being made, next May (when the Church of Scotland meets in General Assembly again) will potentially have major ramifications.

I suspect, as well, it has something to do with the state of the country itself. This is not as unrelated to the life of the church as some might like to think, of course. There's a connection. There always has been in this our land, for long generations back.

The clear and deliberate departure from our spiritual roots is there for all to see. We have turned our back on the rich, Christ-centred heritage which our forbears sought to secure. We are at least far on in the process of becoming an essentially godless nation; if we're not already there. We have chosen, and presumed, to become the masters of our own fate; to run our life ourselves.

The whole thing's getting messier by the minute.

Rembrandt's painting of 'Jeremiah lamenting the destruction of Jerusalem'

I feel more and more like my namesake Jeremiah as the time goes by. I'm drawn to the man, sensing a certain affinity with this giant of a prophet from the past. Our times are far too close for comfort like the times in which he lived. Our call, as the servants of God, is more and more like his.

We live, I suspect, in the end times of a favoured nation's life. Just as Jeremiah did, in days long past. We've a lot to learn from the man.

And one of the things we will need to learn is just what following Jesus Christ really means. We will need to learn what it means to be a member of the church of Jesus Christ. We will need to learn discipleship.

So one of the things I've been praying is that the Lord would indeed, in his mercy, be opening the eyes and opening the hearts of many folk to respond to the message of grace in Jesus; that there'd be many who are brought by the Lord to faith in these days - and strengthened thereafter as new believers in Christ.

There's a part we have to play in that, of course. But it's the Lord who alone, in his sovereign mercy, effects that in people's lives. I believe he means to do that. I believe he longs to do that. I'm praying with real urgency that he would do that.

It was, you'll appeciate, therefore, a real encouragement today when, walking through the local shop, I got to talking with a lady whose daughter's at the primary school. It was the daughter who saw me and called out after me, "Hello, Mr Middleton."

I think the whole shop looked around. Such is the price of celebrity status a local school chaplain can have!

It wasn't like meeting a stranger, of course. I know the mother a bit. But there in the shop, in the midst of a whole crowd of shoppers, she was wanting to know both whether and how she might come to be part of Christ's church.

It seemed like a sign. A gentle indication from the Lord that this is what he will indeed be doing through these coming days.

Lord, have mercy upon us.

seaweed

After some weeks away on the island of Harris, it's something of a culture shock to return to life here in the Athens of the north.

I think it's the all-pervasive awareness of the presence of God which there still so often is on these outer Hebridean islands - it's that, I think, which ensures their life is lived in such a different manner. And I think it's the widespread absence of that which I notice most on returning.

Yesterday was technically my first day back. But today's been the day for starting to pick up the bits. Responding to e-mails. Giving some thought to the upcoming services which the next few days will involve. Catching up with a number of folk.

Ordinary, routine, humdrum things, in the main. But it's out of the ordinary, inconsequential things that the Lord does extraordinary work. Sometimes we forget that.

When the wheat is finally harvested, it's a wonderful feeling. I've worked on farms in my time, so I understand how fulfilling, exciting and altogether satisfying harvest time can be. Seeing all that grain being loaded onto the trailers, taking it up in your hands and running it through your fingers - there's something almost magical about it all. The miracle of growth.

But most of the process which leads to the time of this harvest is very mundane. There's nothing very exciting about the thing at all. A lot of ordinary, routine sort of work, where you don't see much in the way of any immediate results.

God doesn't deal in fireworks half as much as our high-octane, excitement-seeking culture would wish. He's a lot more careful and sparing with the fire that he brings than we'd maybe have thought.

He's far more content with the ordinary, seemingly inconsequential things than most of us are.

I was struck by that on holiday, when I 'walked' along the beach with my 9 month old grand-daughter. She was fascinated by the ordinary. A little strand of seaweed. The feel of the thing. The intricate design of the thing. The way the thing could move and dance around in the wind.

All of it intriguing, fascinating, engrossing for a little infant girl. Her perspective so different from that of an adult. (When did you last take a good long look at a bit of straggly seaweed?)

A girl content with, and delighting in, the ordinary. Very much like the Lord.

A lot of our time is given to tasks which are of the straggly seaweed variety. Ordinary in the extreme.

But ordinary doesn't mean inconsequential.