A wonderful homily presented by the former presiding Bishop of the ELCA – Herbert Chilstrom. It was forwarded to me by email and I am posting here for some of my blog readers. Enjoy!
ELCA Retired Bishops' Gathering
Buffalo, Minnesota
October 24, 2011
"…we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is form God and not from us. Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day." 2 Corinthians 4: 7, 16
About a year ago I felt enough discomfort in my back to see my physician. She ordered an X-ray. She called a few days later and rendered this wonderful diagnosis: "Age-related degeneration." I felt like shouting back, "So what else is new!"
I know you all understand. At an event like this the words "Oh my!" go through our minds in the first hours. We meet a couple we haven't seen for some time and think, "Oh my, she hasn't changed a bit in the last four years." Then we look at him and say, "Oh my, what happened to him!" Let's face it – for even the halest among us the story is about the same. We all have an identical diagnosis: "Age-related degeneration." Some jars of clay are less cracked than others. But all are cracked.
In his book "Healthy Aging," Andrew Weil suggests that if possible all older persons should have a pet. First, they make wonderful companions. But there's a more important benefit. As we watch our dog or cat age at a comparatively rapid pace it reminds us of our own mortality.
Our pet is a friendly little tail-wagging Cairn terrier named "Jonah." He joined our family a year after we retired. If he lives that long he'll turn 15 on New Year's Day. He used to jump up on our bed at the crack of dawn to sleep for another hour, cradled among our tangled feet. Now we wake him, even when we sleep late. He's getting white around his eyes and under his chin. If he hears the neighbor's dog barking he just rolls over and keeps on napping.
Do I see myself in Jonah? Oh, yes, it's all too familiar. I got hearing aids three years ago. Corinne, after some gentle encouragement, got hers three months ago. Several days later I said something to her and she didn't respond. So I raised my voice and asked if she remembered to put in her hearing aids. That was a huge mistake. She looked at me and said, "Yes, I have them in. But hearing aids don't help if you don't make sense."
My vision, to take but one more example, has taken a huge dip in the past year. I'm now legally blind. Like Paul, I now say, "See what large letters I use as I write…." (Galatians 6:11) Your faces out there are like blank slates. I miss the gleam in the eye, the smile and, yes, a tear on the cheek. I keep planting them, but I can't enjoy the loveliness of my flower gardens.
Last January my eye specialist said, "Herb, you've dropped below the threshold where it's safe for you t drive." It was sobering to go to the dresser the next morning and, after decades of freedom to go when and where I pleased, leave my car keys laying there.
When I walked Jonah after breakfast that morning I met my crusty neighbor Dennis. He comes from Duluth. In that part of Minnesota, and even more so up on the Iron Range, folks speak plain English. When I told Dennis that I had to stop driving he turned to me and said, "Oh, shit! Oh shit!" I looked back and said, "Thanks, Dennis. That's exactly the expression I was looking for.
The more I reflected on what Dennis said, the more sense it made. Most of the things that happen to us at this stage of life are not the stuff of lament Psalms or of what the theologians call "deus absconditus" – the hidden or absent God. Those are for times in life that make no sense whatever and drive one to wonder why God has abandoned us.
At this stage of life, however, the natural process of aging will bring all kinds of evidence of cracks in our jars of clay. For me it's loss of vision. For most of you it's something else. A few may slip through unscathed. But even they will finally face the BIG D-generation. There's no point in being angry or bitter when things happen that are part of the aging process. That only makes matters worse, both for us and for those who live with us. Without being irreverent, isn't it better at times to use Dennis' expression and just say, "Oh shit!" or, if that's too strong for you, "Oh shucks!" and then get on with life? I think so. We should, of course, add a prayer that God will help us to be tolerable to live with at these times. Yes, and also a prayer that God will preserve for us a bit of good humor in the midst of it.
That leaves the question: Is that all there is? Is that all there is?
"Sunrise, sunset; swiftly fly the years.
One season following another,
laden with happiness and tears."
Is that all there is?
We who believe have an answer. On the one hand, we say, "Yes, that is all there is. We are in the grip of age-related degeneration." But we also say that there is something else: "Non-age related regeneration."
"We do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day."
We believers have this scandalous, unbelievable, ridiculous idea that we have already died.
"We were buried with (Christ) through baptism into his death in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, we too may live a new life." (Romans 6:4)
Last Tuesday I marked the day I was born 80 years ago in a small town hospital an hour west of here. At three minutes after midnight I took my first breath. I've been breathing --and degenerating -- ever since.
That's why I look forward to November 29th. On that day 80 years ago I was baptized. My godparents couldn't make it out to the country for the morning service. The pastor agreed to baptize me at my parents' farm home. My mother placed this cut-glass bowl on the dining room table. She filled it with water from the pump outside the kitchen door, heated on her cook stove.
Gathered round the table were my godparents, my mother and dad, my grandparents, and, with some heads just barely above the table top, my four wide-eyed older sisters, all atwitter over what was about to happen to their new baby brother. Pastor Gottfried Larson took me in his arms, held me over the water and baptized me "In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit." The Spirit will keep regenerating that faith until I take my last breath.
Whenever and wherever it happened for you, we were all "sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked by the cross of Christ forever."
Some of you may have known Paul Holmer, professor of religion and philosophy at Yale. I heard him only once. He was a rising young star at the University of Minnesota. He crossed the river one evening to lecture at Augsburg College. It was electrifying. That high forehead of his seemed to burst with brilliance. He was indeed a fine jar of clay, embellished with marks of intelligence.
When he moved to Yale he was a colleague of those other Lutheran luminaries – Sydney Ahlstrom, George Lindbeck and Jeroslav Pelikan. Though I never know him personally I've learned that his was a rather complex personality. On the one hand, he was known to visit bars and get acquainted with men with drinking problems. If they ended up in jail or the state prison he visited them. Some students recall wonderful evenings with Holmer and his wife in their home.
But Holmer also had a dark side. He could not suffer fools, even slightly. He could be intimidating and domineering.
My friend Hal was Holmer's pastor at Bethesda Church in New Haven in those years. Hal tells how Holmer would come to church, sit near the front, and take out a legal pad on which he scribbled notes while Hal preached. Hal was certain the notes had nothing to do with his sermon.
Another friend, Alan, was a student at Yale in those same years. When he arrived on campus he was told Holmer would be his advisor. On the first visit Holmer asked Alan, "Why are you here?" After giving what he thought was a reasonable reply Holmer observed, "Oh, another student who should have settled these questions in confirmation class." The exchange went downhill from there. Alan never returned a second time.
Fast forward to the year 2002 – nine years ago. We had just moved to St. Peter, Minnesota when my friend Bernhard Erling told me that Holmer, now in his 80s, was a resident in one of our local nursing homes. He suggested I visit him. Having heard only of his reputation for being rather irascible, I wondered if I even dared go to see him. But I did. I found a man whose body was completely ruined from Parkinson's disease. That once magnificent jar or clay was now cracked and shattered. Others had to attend to his basic physical needs.
Over the next weeks we had good visits. He enjoyed it when I brought flowers from my gardens. Now I discovered the tender side of Holmer. He appreciated my prayers.
On my final visit before his death I asked Corinne to accompany me. After a good exchange she asked him what this experience was doing to him. He pondered her question for a moment and then, completely choked up with emotion and with tears welling up in his eyes he said quietly, "I'm learning to love God. I'm learning to love God."
In these years when age-related evidence of degeneration is a certainty we have a choice to make.
We can turn bitter.
Or we can learn to love God.
"…we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away; yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day."
Thanks be to God. Amen.
Herbert W. Chilstrom