Singing the Lord`s Song in a Foreign Land

Singing the Lord`s Song in a Foreign Land
By Jimmy D. Neff

[Dr. Jimmy D. Neff is pastor of the First Baptist Church in Edmonson, Texas where he preached this sermon on June 13, 1999. He has pointed out that the notion that old age is a foreign land is suggested by the title in Mary Pipher`s Another Country: Navigating the Emotional Terrain of our Elders (New York: Riverhead Books, 1999) and that while she, an internationally noted psychologist, does not write from a faith perspective, her book has nevertheless provided much of the organizational framework for this sermon.]

In Jerusalem, jackals howled and tumbleweeds drifted where throngs of earnest worshippers once jammed the temple complex. Mighty Israel had fallen. Nebuchadnezzar`s minions chained the best and brightest Hebrews for the long trek to bondage in Babylon. Once there, the captives sat down and wept when they recalled the splendor of what once was in Zion. Their spirits were so dejected that they put away their musical instruments. But their captors, possibly wanting entertainment for a pagan banquet, demanded songs of mirth. The entertainment committee insisted, "Get dressed up in your little native temple costumes and sing us one of those cute songs of Zion with the tambourine rhythm."

Now, the dilemma front and center was this: How is one supposed to be an authentic believer in such difficult circumstances? Or, to put the question as the captives posed it in Psalm 137:4, "How shall we sing the Lord`s song in a foreign land?"

Though most of us have never sat beside the streams of Babylon, we all likely know something about singing the Lord`s song in a foreign land. This is especially so if we have cared for the aged. We discover what it means to be a believer in difficult circumstances. When I speak of the aged, I`m not referring to the young-old who are having the time of their lives pulling travel trailers to national parks, volunteering as pink ladies at the hospital, playing cards or dominoes with friends three times a week, or having a standing tee time for golf at the country club. I`m speaking of the old-old whose capacity to care for themselves has been significantly diminished by failing health. One reason that caring for our loved ones can be so difficult is because the land of old age is such a foreign place for those of us who are younger.

When dealing with most foreigners our nervousness is allayed a bit if we can find a derogatory way to refer to these people; e.g., "Krauts," "`~Qops," "Kikes," "Spics," "Cooks," "Rag-heads," "Wetbacks" etc. The list of pejorative terms for old age is long; e.g., "biddy," "codger, coot, geezer.

Further the fact that we tell jokes about the old, as if they were an ethnic group, betrays our uneasy cultural phobias. Perhaps you heard the one about an old woman who was fishing from the riverbank when she spied an unusually alert frog. As she stooped down to pick up the frog, it said, "If you will kiss me, I`ll turn into a handsome prince." Instead of kissing the frog, the old woman put the frog in her pocket. The frog croaked loudly, "Hey, don`t you want to kiss me and have a handsome prince?" "Not particularly," the old woman replied, "at my age, I`d much rather have a talking frog."

In this foreign Land where there ate mjiititu4es of the aging, we struggle for appropriate words, in a culture that prizes youthful, wrinkle-free bodies, it is not surprising that no one wants to be labeled "old." In ordinary usage "old" has a negative connotation. To call something "old hat" is an insult; to say, "That`s an old idea" is to kill the proposal in favor of some more innovative way; to say, "You haven`t aged a bit," is to bestow a compliment. Well, then, how do you sing the Lord`s song in this foreign land of loathed linguistic options? Shall we rely on the politically correct language, like "senior citizen?" Or shall we say, "I`m not old, just `chronologically challenged"`? One of the better words is "elder," which suggests wisdom and respect.

For the most part we are unfamiliar with the world from which our elders have come. Elders come from a time zone on the other side of sliced bread, electric light bulbs, radios, telephones, movie theaters, slick magazines. Folks from this foreign land call oatmeal, oats; refrigerators, ice-boxes; sinks, lavatories; restrooms, privies. What passed for discipline in their strange land looks a whole lot like abuse to the rest of us. In this strange land "depression" has nothing to do with mental health, but refers to a time when there was no money. And, if the Super Bowl is anything like the Dust Bowl most of these folks would just as soon skip it. In this foreign world few strangers clamored for individual rights; instead, neighbors and friends forged communities that worked for the common good. How shall we sing the Lord`s song in a foreign land of such quaint notions?

Another reason this world is foreign to us is that we have a tendency in this country to segregate people by age. Our three-year-olds are at Kindercare; the thirteen-year-olds are over at Estacado Junior High; the eight-year-olds are at the Prairie House. When we are isolated from each other, we become strangers. When we become strangers, we have no reason to interact as community. An old Russian proverb says, "The tears of a stranger are only water." Yet, each age has its own kind of love and wisdom. For the sake of community, that love and wisdom needs to be shared with each segment of society. By isolating people the way we do, we lose a lot as a culture. How shall we sing the Lord`s song in a foreign land of sequestration? One of the vital things to note about the church is that it is one remaining vestige of communal gatherings still taking place. Will we let this too slip away?

In this foreign land of the aging, what constitutes an important issue is intriguing. Most notably, it is a land filled with loss. There is the loss of brothers, sisters, spouses, friends, peers. Old age is like a cruel game of dodge ball where, in random fashion, people are hit out of the game, one by one. Further, there is loss of hair, muscle, memory, strength, agility. Letter writers no longer have legible penmanship; avid readers lose very person who taught them to drive. As eyesight, attention spans wane; champion athletes fret about making it to the bathroom. In this foreign land of the aging, everyone seems to be consumed with the latest details of dwindling health. Even dinner conversation is about aches and pains. How can we sing the Lord`s song in this foreign land of such dismal news and doleful brooding?

Residents of this land live with the dreaded double standard. While adolescence is about loss of childhood, old age is about loss of adult status and the power and perquisites that go with it. Children and young people burn counter tops, forget appointments, write overdrafts, have fender benders. And when they do, we say "Oops, accidents happen." But, for the elderly these same mistakes have severe implications and loss of privileges and freedoms. How shall we sing the Lord`s song in such a strange land of inequitable response?

Perhaps the greatest fear in this strange and foreign land is loss of control. Inhabitants are frightened by one of two conditions: Becoming trapped in a body without a mind or having a clear mind without a functional body. For many, age becomes a cage. Along with loss of control comes loss of dignity. No father wants to ask a daughter to help clean him up. No adult son or daughter wants to take the keys away from the

the actress, Bette Davis, said, "Old age isn`t for sissies." How shall we sing the Lord`s song in this foreign land where elemental fundamental rights are being gradually diminished?

What to do? What to do?

First, care for our elders is good for them and us. While there are certain aspects of aging that can`t be controlled, no one deserves to grow old and then die surrounded by a bunch of unknown technicians monitoring machines. Aging, and then death, if at all possible, ought to be a family event. And on this last leg of the journey, elders need love, respect, time, and touch. Almost no one objects to being told they`reappreciated. Dying should not be wholly unlike that exercise where you close your eyes, cross your arms, and fall backwards. It works best if you are relaxed and the people catching you are strong and nurturing.

Caring for our elders is good for the care givers, too. Admittedly, the adult child will likely feel guilty no matter what is done. There is an old saying, "You`re damned if you do and damned if you don`t." There are anxieties about doing too much and doing too little. As one adult child said, "I may have been a good nurturer to my mother in her last months, but I was a lousy wife to my husband and an even poorer mother to my own children."

In the end, nobody can ever do enough. There is not enough money, enough time, enough opportunity to repay the gift of life and all the sacrifices of parenting. Parents can`t be saved from pain, sadness, loss, nor ultimately from death. But, there are choices to be made; balances to be struck. You can be a responsible nurturer or walk away and refuse to grow up. Good counsel is: Pace yourself. Be a marathon runner. Don`t sprint too quickly. You`ll burn out. Finding your own proper level for providing care is the morally responsible, adult thing to do.

Among the Native American tribes of the great Plains were the Omaha. Long before the covered wagons came to domesticate the land, the Omaha would survive the harsh winters of the Great Plains by sleeping grandparents beside grandchildren. It kept both generations from freezing. The old need the warmth of the young; the young need the light and wisdom of the old. Sharing is one way for us to sing the Lord`s song in the foreign land of aging.

Secondly, see elders as indispensable teachers. They teach the younger generations about a more civil time, about accountability, about our past. If elders live to become great-grandparents, and they themselves knew their great-grandparents, they span seven generations. That`s a tremendous resource. Alex Haley, the author of Roots, said, "The death of an old person is like the burning of a library." Consider it an honor to learn from elders. Their stories are about how to live together, how to nurture children, how to share the loads of life.

Julia Kasdorf`s poem, "What I Learned from My Mother," written nearly a hundred years ago, illustrates what can be learned from a previous generation.

I learned from my mother how to love
the living, to have plenty of vases on hand
in case you have to rush to the hospital
with peonies cut from the lawn, black ants
still stuck to the buds. I learned to save jars
large enough to hold fruit salad for a whole
grieving household, to cube home canned pears
and peaches, to slice through maroon grape skins
and flick out the sexual seeds with a knife point.
I learned to attend viewing even if I didn`t know
the deceased, to press the moist hands
of the living, to look in their eyes and offer
sympathy, as though I understood loss even then.
I learned that whatever we say means nothing,
what anyone will remember is that we came.
I learned to believe I had the power to ease
awful pains materially like an angel.
Like a doctor I learned to create
from another`s suffering my own usefulness, and once
you know how to do this, you can never refuse.
To every house you enter, you must offer
healing; a chocolate cake you baked yourself,
he blessing of your voice, your chaste touch.

Learning. That, too, is how to sing the Lord`s song in a foreign land.

Third, recognize that we all have teaching roles, too. As we care for our elders, we are inadvertently instructing our children how we want to be cared for. This truth is a simple application of the Golden Rule we learned as children: "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you." As we care

for our parents, we teach our children to care for us. The more we love and respect our elders, the more we teach our children to love and respect us.

A worthy example. That`s how we sing the Lord`s song in a foreign land.

Fourth, realize the importance of saying good-bye. Good byes linger. Because the last years are spent in the cauldron of loss, parents and children have new opportunities to know each other. Dying offers a chance for both to come clean. It offers an occasion to work through and understand relationships that may have been contorted, misshapen, or misunderstood for years. There are no perfect parents. Neither are there any perfect children. Loving someone means living with bitter disappointments, tolerating imperfections. We mend what we value; we value what we mend. Sometimes, a bad life can be redeemed by a good death.

When the time comes, how do you say "good bye"? Hospice suggests that five statements be uttered: (1) "I forgive you," (2) "Please forgive me.," (3) "Thank you," (4) "I love you," and (5) "Good bye, for now."

A meaningful good bye. This is another way you sing the Lord`s song in a foreign land.

Fifth, rehearse the full dimensions of our Christian faith. As Christians, our faith is in a God who knows about difficulty. One dark Friday afternoon in a public execution on Calvary`s hill, God`s boy died unjustly. Our pain really counts with this God. No wonder the writer of Hebrews proclaims, "For we have not an high priest which cannot be touched with the feeling of our infirmities; but was in all points tempted like we are… .Let us therefore come boldly unto the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy, and find grace to help in time of need" (Heb. 4:15-16).

Christian hope is grounded firmly in the resurrection of Jesus Christ. As the apostle declared, "…[I]f Christ be not raised, your faith is vain" (1 Cor. 15:17). Though physical separation is inevitable, our Christian hope affirms that nothing shall "…separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord" (Rom. 8:39); that".. .to be absent from the body… [is] to be present with the Lord" (2 Cot. 5:8; that "…to die is gain" (Phil. 1:21). Our Christian hope gives witness to "a new heaven and a new earth" (Rev. 21:1) in which "God shall wipe away all tears… and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away" (Rev. 21:4).

Indeed, it is our belief that because of the awesome dimensions of the Christian gospel, "Death is swallowed up in victory" (1 Cot. 15:54). So, get to your feet. Get up from besides the waters of Babylon. Chafe no more. Fetch the musical instruments hung there on the willows! With the full dimensions of the gospel in our hearts, we can sing the Lord`s song in any foreign land, including the strange land of the Elders! Hallelujah!.

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