Category Archives: Senior Adults

The sweet time of life. When exactly is it?

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(I posted this in 2012 when I was 72 years old.  At the moment I’m 84 and still counting.  Could update this with meetings and such, but it seems to work the way it is, so decided to simply run it as it was then.) 

Last evening, I was listening to the NPR program Fresh Air in which host Terry Gross was interviewing the author of a book called Winter Journal.  The man explained that now that he’s in his 60’s, he is in the wintertime of life and it’s a great time to look back.

It’s a familiar metaphor: the Spring of life = youth, Summertime being the young adult years, Autumn standing for maturity, and Winter for all that follows.

Frankly, I’m not too crazy about the image of these last decades being wintertime.

Winter suggests a time of shutting down, of dormancy, of sitting inside by the fire, of barrenness and starkness and cold temperatures.

I’m 72 at the moment, but that’s subject to change. (Note from Joe in 2024: And I am especially not too crazy about age 60 being the time of shutting down! My sons are that age, for pete’s sake!) 

And let it be known far and wide, I am not in the wintertime of anything. It’s still Springtime around here, ladies and gentlemen.

“They will still bear fruit in old age; They will be full of sap and very green.” (Psalm 92:14)

This is not to say I overlook the shock of white hair staring at me from the bathroom mirror, or am in denial about the increasing hearing loss, according to the audiologist’s test two days ago.  Those are reality also.

But I am not sitting by the fireside reminiscing about better times (or, for that matter, complaining about what the world is coming to!).

I’m still out in the fields. I’m planting seeds and cultivating young growth and reaping for the Lord wherever I can.

This is a Friday. Tomorrow, I fly to St. Louis where two deacons from a small town in western Illinois will meet me and we will drive to their hometown. I’ll be preaching there Sunday through Wednesday, as well as addressing a civic club and possibly some other groups. (Later, this fall, we’ll have a revival in Missouri and two in Kentucky.)

Two days after returning from Illinois, I’ll be teaching a class at New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary. This will be my third time for “Interpersonal Relationship Skills,” but the first time in the unusual arrangement the seminary calls CIV. (That stands for C–something–Interactive Video.) Technology connects our class of 15 students with classrooms at the Atlanta and Orlando seminary extensions where two other professors will be on duty. The students in our class will be able to see the students in the other two locations and interact with each professor. In a three-hour session, each professor will have 45 minutes to teach.  Seminary these days requires the professor to be capable in areas unheard of in the 1960s when I arrived on campus: Blackboard (a program where we post assignments and have online discussions), Self-Serve (to get our class list and post grades), and such.

My brain hurts when trying to learn these things, but after getting them under my belt, I feel a sense of accomplishment.

Being able to invest in the next generation of kingdom workers is a rare privilege, one I do not take for granted.

A friend who teaches Hebrews at a Baptist college in another state sent me a note this morning: “Are you still preaching? Could you talk to my class about lessons learned over your years in the ministry?”

I could and I would love to. I sent him to my website (this one) where we keep my preaching schedule current. The schedule shows that a month from now, I’m filling the pulpit at the First Baptist Church in his city, both morning and night. I said, “Can you use me on that Monday morning? I could stay over.”

Most mornings when I’m at home, after walking on the levee and doing the around-the-house errands Margaret has for me, I spend a few hours in my office provided by our church working on articles for various online publications and for this blog. Yesterday, I posted installment number 21 on a series called “Reforming the Deacons.”  Where did they come from? After all, I have scars on my soul from interaction with a few deacons over the half-century of ministry. The answer–whatever it is–would have to involve the fact that in the three-plus years of retirement, I keep getting these invitations to lead deacon-training sessions. This forced me to think through what the Lord and scriptures and life had taught me and to lay it out there. The result is this series. Will it be published, people want to know. The Lord (alone) knows.

Two nights ago, the editor of one of our state Baptist weeklies texted to see if we could get together on a cartoon for one of their features. Since my wife is in Seattle for the wedding of her sister and I was at home alone, we went back and forth over the phone (texting, sending photos of what I sketched, etc). Yesterday morning, we finished that and I emailed them to the editor’s office.

Can you tell I’m having fun?

In an old book, Harper Shannon tells of a pastor running into a seminary classmate who had left the ministry and was now selling insurance or something. He asked him, “What do you miss most about the ministry?” The man said, “I miss the trumpets in the morning.” (Note: In fact, that is the title of his book: Trumpets in the Morning. I recommend it.)

I still hear those bugles. I wake up excited, with a dozen things crowding in on my mind—people to call, sermons to prepare, blogs to write, cartoons to draw, things to do.

It’s great. Thank you, Lord.

If the Lord decides that all this shuts down tomorrow, I hope to have the courage and faith to give thanks for that, too. Even old age and infirmity are times of sowing and reaping when done right. And just think what comes after that!

The real trumpet in the morning!

How I want to be when I get old. If I do.

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This little incident popped up in my “Memories” today.  It was eight years back, but still valid….

The old man stood at the checker’s station in my grocery store. The line behind him stretched out for a half-dozen people.

He’d bought a few things, but the process of paying for it was taking forever.  He fumbled around in his pocket for his wallet, then struggled with it in search of his debit card, and only with the checker’s help was he able to insert it into the machine and complete the transaction.  In the process, he flirted with the lady behind him, the one just ahead of me, and made friendly comments to anyone else who might be overhearing this.

I was pleased to see both the checker and the customer were patient with him.

When he finished, the man seemed in no hurry to pick up his purchase and move out of the way for the next customer.  He looked at the line forming behind him and muttered something about being 82 years old, as though this were an achievement for which he was being honored.

You will not believe this since I’m writing about it, but I was not impatient with him, and said nothing to anyone.  I did not roll my eyes, did not react, but sent up a quick prayer for the man.

But I was warned.

“There,” everything inside me shouted, “is how you do not want to be when you get old.”

I smile at that.  “When I get old.” I’m only six years behind that fellow. So, am I old yet? And when will I know?  (As I say, it was eight years ago.  I’m now 84, two years past that guy.  Wonder how I’m doing?)

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Now, take the 23rd Psalm for instance…

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The Lord is my Shepherd.  I shall not want…

Oh? You already know that Psalm?

These days, one of my missions in life is to urge God’s people to get into the Psalms, the beloved “songbook of Israel,” and to live there. The older we get, the more this wonderful collection of hymns seems to speak our language, to understand us, and to know where we live and how to touch us in the deepest, most personal places.

In addressing a seniors group when I recite the six verses of this beloved Psalm, I can hear some thinking, “We all know that Psalm.  It’s old news.”  My response is: No, you do not know it.  You may know the words and may be able to recite it. But no way do you “know it.”  I’ve been preaching over six decades and I still make discoveries in that psalm–as well as the rest of them!  That, incidentally, is one of the lies Satan uses to keep you and me out of God’s Word.  He says “you already know that scripture; there’s nothing new there” and tells us “no one can understand that scripture; it was written thousands of years ago in another language; only scholars can do this.”  Both are lies.

We can understand much of it, and more of it as we live in it.  And no, you will never plumb its depths.  The word of God is a bottomless well.  We never reach its end.

Take the 23rd Psalm for example….

Now, I personally am convinced a teenage David did not write this while keeping his father’s sheep.  There are too many deep references in this Psalm for a teenager to have penned it.  One has to have lived a long time to know how that having “the Lord (as) my Shepherd” satisfies, provides, leads, and gives victories.

When I was a kid, I would read the Psalms and once in a while stumble across a nugget.  But most of these 150 songs of Israel were closed to me.  I had not lived long enough, suffered enough, experienced enough betrayal and disappointments to see life as the Psalmist saw it.  But in time, that all changed.

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The last temptations of the aged

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“They will still bear fruit in old age; they will be full of sap and very green….” (Psalm 92:14)

Can I tell you something odd?

While surfing this website’s articles from nearly twenty years of blogging, I came across an unfinished draft I had titled “the last temptations of the aged.”  I breezed right past it, in search of something else I was looking for.

A moment later, I was back.  That was an intriguing title, I thought.  Must have started that article a couple of years back. Wonder what it says.

After reading it, I deleted the entire thing.

It was indeed written about two years back, and then left in the program and forgotten.  But the strange part is that nothing about it is true in my life now.

Not a thing.

I had listed as temptations of the elderly things like not exercising as much, not eating as healthily as previously, reading more for indulgement rather than edification, wanting to sleep more, and such.

“Where was my head?” I wondered. “I’m not reading shallow novels, I’m exercising, and I’m trying my dead-level best to stay healthy.  I am not lying around resting all the time. I’m constantly at work serving the Lord.  In some ways, these are the most productive years of my life.”

Wonder what was going on to inspire such a depressing list.

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Learning to receive graciously

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Freely you have received; freely give. (Matthew 10:8)

Is there a Scripture telling us to “freely receive”? I can’t think of one.

The giver is in the power position.  While it is “more blessed to give than to receive” (Acts 20:35), many of God’s children have also found it easier to do so.

A friend suggested an article on “how to receive graciously.”  So, when someone suggests an article, I asked for their back story.  (There is always a reason behind these requests.)  Thank you, Pastor Doug Warren of Brandon, Mississippi.

In 1969 while a student at Mississippi College, I served a church as associate pastor/music. One day the pastor and I were calling on seniors in their homes.  Mr. and Mrs. Thom were an elderly couple, she was an invalid, and they were poor.  As this was the Christmas season when our churches promote the “Lottie Moon Christmas Offering for International Missions,” at one point Mrs. Thom asked her husband to “get my purse.”

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The retired pastor moves away and begins searching for a church

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Question from a retired pastor–

I recently retired from full-time ministry, and my wife and I find ourselves in the position of having to find a new church for the first time in 43 years.  It’s not as easy as I thought it was going to be.  Part of the problem may be our location.  After spending the last 27 years of our ministry in a metro area of California, we retired to a small town in a nearby state.  We’re close enough that we can easily visit our children and grandchildren, who still live in California.  Problem: In our little town, there’s only one church of our denomination.  We attended twice, and then because of Covid watched at least two dozen services online.  Expository preaching is at the top of my list of what I’m looking for in a church, so we would not be happy going to this particular church.  Then, we considered the other churches in town:  one Methodist church, two Presbyterian churches, two Lutheran churches, two non-denominational churches, and one Catholic church.  We’ve looked into each of them and so far, we don’t seem to have found where we belong.  Some neighbors of our denomination drive nearly 50 miles to a larger city for church.  With a population of 100,000 there are a couple of fine churches of our denomination.  We may end up doing that too, but we’d prefer to belong to a church in our little town if possible.

What do we do? 

I don’t like being in a position of having to be “critical” of churches, yet now that we’re looking for the church that will be our home, it’s hard not to look at them with a somewhat critical eye.  So perhaps another way of framing my question would be, what should one look for in a church?  What things are important?  What things are not important?

An unsolicited note came this week.  The retired pastor and I do not know each other and have never met.  He asked if I had written anything on this subject.  I said I have not but invited him to give a fuller description of his situation.  The above is his response.  Below is mine.

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When I get old, how I do not want to be

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Hey, I’m only 81.  But common sense and regular observation assures me my time is coming.  Anyway, here’s what happened…

The old man stood at the checker’s station in my grocery store. The line behind him stretched out for a half-dozen people.

He’d bought a few things, but the process of paying for it was taking forever.  He fumbled around in his pocket for his wallet, then struggled with it in search of his debit card.  Only with the checker’s help was he able to insert it into the machine and complete the transaction.  In the process, the old guy flirted with the lady behind him, the one just ahead of me, and made friendly comments to anyone else who might be overhearing this.

I was interested to see that both the checker and the woman customer were patient with him.

When he finished, the man seemed in no hurry to pick up his purchase and move out of the way for the next customer.  He looked at the line forming behind him and muttered something about being 82 years old, as though this were an achievement for which he was being honored.

You will not believe this since I’m writing about it, but I was not impatient with him, and said nothing to anyone.  I did not roll my eyes, did not even react, but sent up a quick prayer for the old gentleman.

But I was warned.

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Retiring pastor, it’s not your church, your pulpit, your office. Be faithful!

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A pastor friend was serving a large church in a metro area.  Even though his staff had half a dozen ministers, he handled all the hospital visitation himself.  Every bit of it.  I said to him, “My brother, you are making life impossible for the pastor who will follow you.  Because no pastor is going to want to do all the hospitals, not when he’s got plenty of help. And the congregation is going to be unhappy with him.”

He smiled and said, “This is what I do.”

I know the rest of that sad story.  He retired, remained in the church, and the congregation called as pastor another friend of mine.  I watched from two states away as the congregation turned on the new pastor and criticized him mercilessly for not pastoring them the way they’d been used to.  The retired pastor friend wallowed in their misery, indicating, he was convinced, that he was so well loved no one could follow him.

He sabotaged a great preacher’s ministry.  (They’re both in Heaven now, so the Father will be sorting this out, but I’d hate to be in his shoes.)

Once when I announced my plan to write about retired pastors who stay on to make life miserable for their successors, people began sending me their horror stories.

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Grandparenting by faith

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The just shall live by faith. —Habakkuk 2:4, and quoted in the New Testament in Romans 1:17;  Colossians 3:11; Hebrews 10:38.  That truth formed the basis of the Apostle Paul’s theology, and his Epistle to the Romans (on that subject) fueled the theology of Martin Luther and the Reformation, and two centuries later of John Wesley.  

I tell friends who are about to become grandparents for the first time, “You are about to be more in love than you have ever been in your life!”  I tell them, “Right now, you don’t even know that child.  But pretty soon, you will not want to live without them.”

It’s a marvelous thing the hold that the child of my child can have on my heart.  In many respects, my eight grands have given me more joy than my three did.  Perhaps it’s because we had our children when we were young–in our twenties–and our grands when we were in late middle-aged and were far different, even better, people.

We want to cherish these little ones and to do all we can to make a lasting difference in their lives, for now and for eternity.  So, let’s talk about that.  Let’s talk about grandparenting by faith.

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“Why are you so angry?” I asked. “I’m not angry!” he bellowed.

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“And all in the synagogue were filled with rage as they heard these things….” (Luke 4:28).

“These things they will do because they do not know the One who sent Me” (John 15:21).

My notes from that church business meeting a quarter-century ago are fascinating to read from this distance, but nothing about that event was enjoyable at the time.

Our church was trying to clarify its vision for the late 1990s and into the 21st century.  What did the Lord want us to be doing, where should we put the focus? Our consultant from the state denominational office, experienced in such things, was making regular visits to confer with our leadership.  For reasons never clear to me, the seniors in the church became defensive and then combative.  No assurance from any of us would convince them we were not trying to shove them out the door and turn over the church to the immature, untrained, illiterate, and badly dressed.  To their credit, the church’s leadership, both lay and ministerial, kept their cool and worked to answer each complaint and every question.

My journal records a late Sunday night gathering in my home with 30 young marrieds from a Sunday School class.  They were a delightful group.  They wanted my testimony and had questions about the operation of the church.  Then someone asked the question of the day.

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