When I'm 64

        Those of us at a certain age remember the Beatles’ hit, “When I’m 64.”  As a teen, I could not imagine being so old.  But now, 64 does not seem old at all.  Besides, what I longed for and prepared for since my late thirties has finally come to pass.

        This year, my August 4 birthday fell on a Sunday and, as usual, I was happily engaged in the morning worship, singing in choir, and fellowshipping with others over coffee and snacks after church.  Our part-time interim pastor asked to speak with me about a matter we had discussed over the phone the previous week.  I was ready with my answer.

        It was a difficult opportunity to turn down.  Ray was looking for a program director/pastoral care person.  I had to tell him that I was not a good pick for program director:  creating programs, managing them, and advertising them is something of which my nightmares are made.  No, seriously, that type of work would stress me to the max.  However, pastoral care would make my heart sing.  Sadly, I turned down the part-time paid position because of the program director part.

        Ray surprised me then and asked me if I would take on the pastoral care role.  He was willing to split the position in two!  Happily, I said yes.  He offered a small salary, and I asked when I should start.  August 1, he said.

        My ministry title:  Interim Director of Pastoral Care.  I even have an office and business cards.  I should also mention that I am a Commissioned Lay Pastor in the Presbyterian Church USA.  Everything sounds so official, but all I do is what I’ve always wanted to do.

        Besides preaching one Sunday a month, I visit with people:  at church, over the phone, in their homes, in the hospital.  I help serve communion to shut-ins once a month.  I remain on Session (our local church board) as an ex-officio member. And, so far, I have assisted in one memorial and conducted one graveside service.

        Since August, I’ve had the privilege of getting to know more people in our congregation than I did before.  I’m doing what I should have been doing all along but didn’t.  I guess I needed permission—the ministry title—to step beyond my shyness. 

        There is much more to do:  more people to visit, a Bible study/support group on death and dying to develop, local nonprofit agencies to learn about and possibly collaborate with, a May conference for commissioned pastors to attend.  It is all joy that, I hope, will extend to and beyond my 65^th year.

A New Wardrobe

 I've been preaching instead of blogging on a regular basis since the spring.  Here is today's sermon:

        On June 10^th, Bible Gateway’s verse of the day was Colossians 3:12.  It appeared on my Kindle screen in The Message translation:  "So, chosen by God for this new life of love, dress in the wardrobe God picked out for you: compassion, kindness, humility, quiet strength, discipline."  Immediately, I jotted down the reference and a few brief notes, recognizing that this verse was going to give birth to a sermon.

The first word I jotted down was dreams to remind me of a particular recurring dream in which I suddenly discover a closet full of beautiful clothing—a whole new wardrobe for me!  I happily choose an outfit . . . and then I wake up, disappointed that the dream is not reality.

I like the imagery of God choosing a wardrobe for believers.  Whether you are a fashion buff or not, clothing is important.  It helps us live comfortably when we dress according to the season.  Imagine how uncomfortable we all would be clothed in winter attire today!  Clothing also makes a statement about who we are . . . or what we can afford.  Other people form opinions about us based on what we wear.  Yes, clothing styles are radically different than in the Apostle Paul’s lifetime, but his use of analogy still strikes home today.

I wonder what would happen if every morning we intentionally reviewed God’s wardrobe for us.  And what would happen if we made daily efforts to try it on?

Getting dressed in our own wardrobe is pretty automatic.  I mean, once you have chosen your clothing for the day, it goes on easily.  Unless, for example, you are working with arthritic fingers that don’t manage small buttons the way they used to.  Or unless you are a toddler just learning how to get dressed.

I think of my grandson, Josiah, who is bound and determined to tackle the problem of dressing himself.  He regularly practices with any stray piece of clothing he can find.  I’ve seen him put dirty socks on over his clean socks, pull a larger shirt over his head, and struggle with the mystery of winter coat sleeves—the coat zipper always ends up at his back.  He is determined.

I’m not exactly sure how to apply Josiah’s determination to clothe myself in God’s wardrobe, but I daresay it involves motivation and practice over a lifetime. 

As with any analogy, this one breaks down after closer examination.  Putting on God’s wardrobe of “tenderhearted mercy, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience” is very different from getting dressed for the day or, in Josiah’s case, trying on random garments.  For instance, have you ever said to yourself, “I’m going to be patient today,” and utterly failed? 

Putting on the Christian virtues is impossible on our own.  If we could, then we would not need Jesus Christ.  Christian virtues get developed in our lives as a result of an ongoing relationship with Christ.  As we spend time in prayer, Bible study, and other spiritual disciplines, our inner lives are gradually transformed.  As we get more connected with the reality of God’s undeserved and generous love for us, we want to know him more.  As we choose love for him as our guiding light, he teaches us how to love each other.

You see, God has chosen our wardrobe.  In fact, he is the source

 of it.  You might say that he is our wardrobe.  Galatians 3:27 says,

“And all who have been united with Christ in baptism have put on Christ,

like putting on new clothes.”

Putting on Christ is, I think, the key to understanding.  If we grit our teeth and try harder to put on a single virtue—let’s go back to everyone’s favorite, patience—it does not work.  But if our desire is to love Christ, to serve him, to be obedient to him, then his character—his virtues—rub off on us by association.  Spending time with him and admiring his wardrobe—in other words, worshipping him, praising him for who he is, and thanking him for everything—puts us in the position of being transformed by him.

I think we have all heard the words, “Be careful of the company you keep.”  The people we are around, the ones we do life with, affect us.  If I keep company with Christ, he is bound to affect me.  In fact, he promises to transform me.  And how I long for exactly that.  That long, slow process of transformation requires my cooperation.  I need to keep company with him.  I need not give up because of my failures.  Like my grandson, I need to persevere.  Then, someday I will throw open that closet door and find, to my delight, that God’s wardrobe fits and is not just a dream.

Books

            Earlier this spring, I found the children’s book, Heidi, at a garage sale.  Snatching it up, I gladly paid a quarter for it.  Warm memories of reading Johanna Spyri’s lovely tale over and over convinced me purchase the illustrated book even though I still have my copy from the mid-1960s. 

            I loved the days our class visited the school library.  By fourth grade, I was hooked on books, and Heidi was one of my favorites.  I liked to imagine that I was just as brave and good and lovely as Heidi. 

            Tonight, I finished the book, which I thoroughly enjoyed again at the tender age of 63.  It is a sweet and sentimental tale that leaves me homesick for a place in the mountains of Switzerland that I have never been to—and homesick for all the characters in the book who still seem so real to me.

            But a new realization dawned on me as I read Heidi this time: God used that book to teach me truths about Him.  From it I learned more about God’s love.  I learned the importance of gladhearted generosity and sincere forgiveness.  I learned that God is trustworthy; He hears and answers our prayers in unexpected ways, though often not in our timing.  Perhaps it was not only the sentimental story that drew me to the book time and again.  Perhaps it was also the Holy Spirit.

            You see, I needed mentoring, and I found it in Heidi and other books.  There are great gaps in my childhood memories, and I assume that trauma caused those empty spaces.  My father was an alcoholic who went his own way when I was barely six.  I remember seeing him once when I was seven, and again when I was thirteen.  He left my mother with a boatload of debt and four children, ages eight, six, three, and newborn.  Within a year and a half, my mother’s parents—whom we visited every weekend--died.  Mom taught elementary school physical education and did her best in raising us four, but there just wasn’t enough of her to go around.  I was the shy introvert, rightfully afraid of my older sister who was simply out of control. 

            Thus, I can see now that books became my friends and my teachers.  I could escape into a story and find happiness there.  Books have continued to mentor me through my adult years as well.  Whether I am reading nonfiction or novels, God has connected me with just the message I need so many times.  What a wonderful God we serve—One who is ever creative in the ways He reaches out to us.