My Dear Shepherds,
A seminary student once told me, “When I think of grace, I don’t think of my pastors or youth pastor. I think of the old ladies in my church.” He didn’t mean that his pastors had failed him but rather that those elderly women had brought him a unique gift of grace.
Psalm 92, the only psalm designated, “for the Sabbath day,” reorients God’s people to the Sabbath rest God offers when we gather each week. It reassures us that, unlike the wicked, “The righteous will flourish like a palm tree, they will grow like the cedar of Lebanon; planted in the house of the LORD, they will flourish in the courts of our God” (Ps. 92:12-13).
Which leads to why those old ladies were such exceptional emissaries of God’s grace:
They will still bear fruit in old age, they will stay fresh and green, proclaiming, “The Lord is upright; he is my Rock, and there is no wickedness in him.” (Ps. 92:14-15)
I can tell you from personal experience that old age brings a sense of weakness and insignificance, but these verses tell me and my elderly Christian kin why it matters that we show up on Sundays, dressed in Christlikeness.
This statement from Cicero has helped shape my retirement: “The crowing grace of old age is influence.” That is truer with Christ! Your senior saints may not be as visible or active as they once were, but they have Sabbath message no one else can convey so convincingly.
All believers can proclaim that “the LORD is upright,” but when someone says it who has walked long with Jesus, it carries different weight. Elderly believers have endured this dizzying, dark world for a lot of years but can still sing for joy to the Lord. They’ve endured afflictions, buried dear ones, and learned to come boldly to God’s throne of grace. They listen to your sermons. They love their brothers and sisters. They yearn for heaven. They “still bear fruit in old age.”
Be sure your flock sees and hears these elderly fruit-bearers. Let them pray once in awhile. Ask them to tell a story of God’s love and faithfulness. Introduce them to the youth group. Tell the church what they’ve taught you. Find ways to let them proclaim, “This is what I know is true, what does not change: you can depend on God. He is my rock. No matter what happens he is never wrong. He always loves us. No matter what!”
Beside these verses in the margin of my old Bible I penciled the name F. Folkes. F for Frederica. I met her in 1987 while waiting for the elevator at a rather grim geriatric center. She was a small, nut-brown, elegant lady in a wheelchair, patting the hand of a young, incapacitated man. I started talking to her, missed the elevator, and found a friend. When I asked if she was a Christian she said, “Why, of course!”
We went to her room and sang together. We quoted Scripture, finishing each other’s sentences. For example, I started Psalm 91 and when I got to, “I will say of the LORD, he is my …” she rushed ahead of me, “my refuge and strength. My God in whom I trust!”
I asked what I could pray for. “I want to go home,” she said. I hesitated, “Uh … home here?”
“Oh, home in heaven,” she said, as if giving her address. Still fresh and green.
The next time I stopped she was gone; home to the courts of our God.
Be ye glad!
