About being an old duck

I can remember when I first took a 10% discount because I was 55.  I was reticent at first, as though I was cheating.  Some restaurants issue a card for seniors, but even then I had the feeling that I was stealing.  I feel fine.  Why should I pay less than others for this meal?

A few more places joined the benevolent policy when I turned 60.  Then it was 62 or 65 or I don't know.  Those increments are all so irrelevant now.  And I no longer feel a qualm.  There are too many other reasons to lose sleep now.  I'll take all the courtesies merchants will offer, thank you.  They don't really compensate for the pains of aging.  Getting old is a bummer!  But as they say, it's a lot better than the alternative.  Yet even that is not true for the Christian.  God is still reminding us that to depart and be with Christ is far better.  Hey, all this and heaven too!

I can remember the first time a little teen age girl, a bagger at the supermarket, offered to help me out to the car with my groceries.  Are you kidding, Missie?  I could carry you and the groceries myself.  That was then.  Now I am frequently tempted to take the offer.  Walking the full circuit of the market, toting my stuff home and putting it away is now a day's work.

It was much later in my life than it should have been when I first realized I would never play professional baseball.  I did have a few memorable highlights in the church softball league.  The day I made "the catch" for example.  Or the night I hit home runs in two consecutive times at bat.  Evidently my son, Bobby, remembered my prowess and yet discounted what all the intervening years (and several "Outback" meals) had done to my constitution.  When we visited him on a night when his team from work was playing, he asked me to be the ringer for a missing player.  I asked to play catcher so that I wouldn't be required to run.  But he wrote me into the batting order in clean up position.  Traditionally the fourth hitter was the heaviest hitter so he could bring in the men who had reached base before him.  Well I was the heaviest hitter, alright, but only when you can appreciate the double entendre.

Social gatherings find women discussing recipes and the men talking about exploits and skirmishes from their places of employment.  But when we become seniors, we talk about other things.  My lengthy hospital stay with pneumonia for example, or my heart attack or my hip replacement surgery.  Someone has cleverly dubbed this "the organ recital".

I remember when I felt sorry for the old duffer who was struggling to cross the street.  Now I AM that old duffer.  I used to rise to the challenge of little things that broke and fix them, feeling so smug about saving repair bills.  Now I'm planning to hire some strapping young man to dig up a pernicious plant that is gradually invading our flower bed.  It takes enough of my fleeting energy just to prune the roses, pick tomatoes and zucchini and water the crops.

God has his own way of encouraging us to long for heaven, and not all of my motives are noble and pious.

The Old Rugged Cross

It's been a favorite of Christians for so many years.  I cringe to say this, but I do not like to sing this song.  For many years I conducted a hymn sing/devotional time at the local retirement home.  They frequently asked that we sing this old gospel hymn, and we usually had no pianist, so I had to lead out loud and strong to get them to sing.  I wasn't comfortable doing this, and once in a while I would make a few comments as to why.

Many wonderful truths are celebrated when we sing this song.  "In the old rugged cross, stained with blood so divine, a wondrous beauty I see; for 'twas on that old cross Jesus suffered and died to pardon and sanctify me."  This references the blood of Christ as "divine".  Strictly speaking, God has no blood.  But on the basis of Acts 20:28 we appreciate that it was with His own blood that God purchased His church.

The real meaning and beauty of that cross is found in the work of Christ that accomplished our justification and our sanctification.  "Jesus suffered and died to pardon and sanctify me."  Every Christian wants to sing this in one form or another.  It is the joy that carries us through this broken world into glory.  It is the only hope for sinners to gain the eternal city who's builder and maker is God. It is the substitutionary atonement that opens the door for grace to flood and govern our lives forever.

So why do I find any discomfort when I sing this gospel song?

Well, I want to know why George Bennard planned to exchange that cross for a crown.  If we are singing about the cross of pain and persecution we might bear in life, yes, I will exchange that for a crown.  But in the words of this hymn it is that old rugged cross--the one on which my Savior died for me--it is THAT cross that gets exchanged for a crown.  

No, no, Georgie boy, we will never exchange that cross for anything here or in eternity to come.  In glory it will be the cross that brought us there that we celebrate.  More accurately, of course, it will be the Savior who died on that cross who will be the focus of our devotion.  As surely as the resurrected Jesus bore the print of the nails and spear for Thomas to examine, he will show us that same, marked, resurrected body in heaven.  No crown that He is pleased to give any of us in glory will ever be an exchange for the old rugged cross.  If I receive a crown in glory, I know I will follow the example of the 24 elders who throw their crowns at Jesus' feet and say, "Worthy are you, our Lord and God..."

There's the exchange.  Crowns for the Cross-bearer.

Unforgettable "Red" Gage

When he thought he was having a heart attack he drove himself to the hospital.
"Red, why didn't you call.  I would have been glad to take you there."
"No need.  I know how to get there, and it was faster than calling anyone."

If there was an appliance or gimmick that you needed to acquire, it was wise to ask Red if he knew where you could get it before shelling out the money for a new one.  If it wasn't in his remarkably stuffed garage, he probably knew someone who knew someone else, etc.  We once visited a naval cadet.  She must have visited the church in order for me to have contact with her, I don't remember just now.  But she was this cute young girl who had a baby and was divorced and short of cash.  In conversation she revealed her need of a washer and dryer in her new quarters at the local base.  It was Red who located the machines which we delivered to her home.  She was delighted, and I thought we were making points to be cashed in by getting her to church again (and perhaps getting her to come to Christ, Who was the real source of this blessing).  But we never saw her again.  When I called again two weeks later, I found she had taken off with a suitor.

When I knew Red, he was no longer red haired, but rather grey, including his scruffy facial hair.  He could have passed for one of the homeless people he was forever helping.  I'm not quite sure with which agency he was once employed, but I know he talked about when he used to carry a 45 to enforce the law.  We became fast friends, and often found a lunch counter or diner to hang out together.  Most places seemed to know Red, and were glad to see him.  I think he had more friends in town than I ever did.

Red made a deal with the manager at a local supermarket and loaded day old bread and other goods in the back of his pickup which he distributed to homeless folks.  He seemed to know where to find them all.  At certain addresses of people who were scraping to get by, and in back alleys he knew how to give away all these leftover donuts, cakes, breads and other stuff.  Red never considered himself an evangelist, but he made sure the recipients of his generosity were aware that these provisions came as the compliments of the "good Lord Jesus."  He paid a little to obtain the supply, but he very seldom asked the church to reimburse him.  Red always had his resources.  He was a deacon long before the church finally ordained him a deacon.

I used to ride along with sheriff deputies.  That's an interesting story all its own.  But I remember one night we needed Red.  We had a call that said there was a homeless man sleeping by a certain dentist office, scaring away the patients.  Soccer moms who finally dragged their little ones to the dentist would park the car and had to walk by this scruffy, snoring dirt bag to get to the office.  He had been chased out of there before, but just brought his shopping carts and vermin-infested mattress back in a few hours.

Neither the deputy nor I could form a plan that might disenchant this vagrant of his favorite sleeping accommodation.  I recommended my street-wise deacon friend to this deputy, and we called Red out to help us.  He took the lead like a drill sergeant, barking orders to this mumbling urchin.  He told him to throw half his stuff in the trash bin at the grocery, and keep all his stuff in only one shopping cart.  After hassling him, he was intimidated enough to stay away from the dentist's office.

Melford "Red" Gage was never confused as a Rhodes Scholar, but he was really a loving man who was interesting to engage in conversation and had street smarts, learned from his manifold experiences.

Driving smug

I must confess that when I see the blond chick, in her red sports car, getting ticketed at the side of the road, I drive by with a very smug smile on my face.  The "girls just wanna have fun" crowd just got nailed.  It doesn't take long on the gendarme force to learn the phoniness of that flirty wink and silly grin with which ditsy girls hope to avoid the traffic citation.  I used to ride along with the sheriff, and believe me that approach only fires the constabulary ire.

The driver who whips his car out from behind me and maneuvers right in front of me, only to jam on his brakes for the stoplight, stirs primal emotions from my gut.  I am mature enough not to lash out with road rage.  I don't even carry a gun.  But I confess to another moment of that smug smile when I see that same car caught in a slow pocket of traffic when I make the next signal and he doesn't.  Okay, shame on me.  It has to be another disguise of sinful pride, but it feels so good.  Yes, I know, there are many sins that "feel" so good for the moment.

The broadest smile of smugness crosses my face when I see miles of parking lot traffic on the freeway headed in the opposite direction.  There are times and days that everyone must know when there are too many cars and not enough road.  When one has employment that requires his presence at certain hours, and his home is remove from that locale by several miles, there is nothing he can do about this flow (or rather lack thereof) of traffic.  It's naughty of me, I know, but I feel smug as I speed along on the opposite side.

If I were truly spiritually mature, I would pray for their growth in patience.  I might pray that they will have a nice dinner date with their significant other.  But all I can think is how glad I am that I'm not caught in that traffic horror.  I'm thinking that we may be at our most vulnerable show of spiritual immaturity when we are driving.  Or am I only embarrassing myself?

Biblical marriage

I recently used that phrase on FaceBook, and was disappointed at the response it evoked.  Advocates for redefining "marriage" to include homosexual relationships don't react well to the phrase "biblical marriage".  In fact it quickly becomes apparent that there is an angry rebellion against anything "biblical".

But the interesting response I am thinking about just now is the one that makes snide references to David and Solomon et al. who had multiple wives.  David is even spoken of by God as the man "after my own heart."  This is supposed to prove that biblical marriage can be bigamy and have God's blessing.  So what's so problematic about gay marriage?

Such reasoning, of course, comes from a source that is not the least interested in what the bible teaches, unless (of course) that teaching can be shown to be silly or embarrassing.  It comes under the category of a little knowledge is a dangerous thing.

Now it doesn't require a Masters degree in logic to understand the point I am about to make.  Any fair minded approach to the bible (or any didactic literature) must ask the question, "What is this document trying to say?"  That there are examples of multiple wives taken by those who are even heroes of the faith does not prove that this is biblical marriage.  It only proves that the bible is honest about the sinful lives of even the best of men.  It records such as historical fact.

Rather the question is "What is the kind of marriage that the bible prescribes as ideal and proper."  Does the bible say that men should have many wives?  When Jesus was accosted by bible teachers who wished to justify divorce, Jesus went back to basics.  He said, "Have you not read that He who created them from the beginning made them male and female, and said, 'Therefore a man shall leave his father and his mother and hold fast to his wife, and they shall become one flesh.'?" (Mat. 19:4-5)

Whatever one reads in the bible, he should ask himself, "Is this a normative text?"  That is to say, is this what the bible is telling me how I should conduct my life?  Or is it another instance of recording the hard truth about people?

In any case, dear reader, you must realize that the bible is at heart a message of the love and grace of God.  It tells us how God is very holy, and we are not.  If we are desirous of living in God's presence in heaven, our sinful record needs to be erased and our sinful hearts need to be changed.  Jesus, God's one and only Son, can make those changes, but he will only do it for those who recognize their sin and ask Him for salvation.

Please don't ever make the mistake of thinking the bible presents us with some sort of moralistic ladder by which we climb our way to heaven.  There are high moral standards presented for sure.  These are intended to make us realize we are sinful and cannot save ourselves.  These moral teachings are also there to help those who already have been forgiven and changed to understand what kind of living pleases God.  One of the sure signs that one's heart has been changed is that he now wants to keep God's commandments, especially to love God and others.

And only one of those moral standards is that marriage is a lifetime relationship between one man and one woman.

When half of you is in pain

I was dramatically reminded that I am only half a person without my sweet wife.  She fell and broke her hip April 3.  She is repairing in rehab now, but I know what guys mean when they refer to the wife as "my better half".  It's not really surprising.  Scripture clearly teaches that the man leaves his father and mother and cleaves to his wife and the two become one flesh.  When that half is in pain, you are also in pain.  That pain is not as sharp, that's true, but it is severe discomfort nevertheless.

We were coming out of the nail salon following our pedicures.  Since I refuse to have my toenails painted, I am always the first one finished.  I waited in the car.  When she emerged from the shop she suddenly tripped over something and fell to the pavement.  I jumped out of the car and offered her my hand to get her to her feet, but she begged off, saying she wanted to wait until the pain subsided.  It didn't.  I offered again, and when she declined again I began to entertain the idea of a broken hip.  I tried to push it out of my mind, but there it was.

Many times when I was still a kid I remember hearing of some old geezer who broke her/his hip.  It wasn't much later that I heard of the passing of this geezer.  A broken hip seemed like a death sentence for anyone who qualifies as an old geezer.  But things in the medical field have improved a great deal since I was a kid.  Cruelly as it seems to be, they get you out of bed and walking right away.  The pain, though more than unpleasant, is not fatal.  Inactivity, however, is fatal.  Bed sores, pneumonia, locked joints, shut down organs et al. settle into your body and it's all over.

All this to say Barbara is my heroine for gritting her teeth and walking what looked to me like home plate to first base (90 feet).  She hopes to be home by Saturday.

When all the nail salon people came rushing outside, someone said they would call for 911.  But Barbara cried out, "No, no, no...they will only charge us a lot of money and they won't take me where I want to go."  So here she was, lying on the cement with a crowd around her, and no one quite knowing what to do.  So the girl who had just finished working on Barbara ran back inside and came out with the bottle of polish and began to repair her sullied toenails.  Get the picture?  Here is this lady, lying on the sidewalk, probably with a broken hip, and the girl was busy touching up her nails.  It seemed like a rather ludicrous option of priorities.

Next to arrive were two girls who worked at the Subway shop two doors down from the salon.  They were sweet and solicitous, expressing great concern.  Well it turns out that they were as strong as they were sweet.  Someone brought out of the salon one of the chairs with wheels.  These two girls lifted Barbara right up off the pavement and into the chair.  They wheeled the chair to the car, and then lifted Barbara out of the chair and into the car.  From there I knew what to do.   Barbara wants to find those girls as soon as she is able, and shower them with all the Avon they want (and more) as a "thank you" for their efforts and their sweet concern.

I drove to Kaiser's Emergency Room, went inside and told them that my wife may have a broken hip and I can't get her out of the car.  I let them take it from there.  They did seem a bit puzzled as to how she got into the car in her condition, but no one pressed the issue.

James E. Moore

 


There are several turning points in everyone's life.  Some you recognize right away, but most you appreciate more as time gives a better perspective.  One of those turning points in my life was found in the person of the Rev. James Erskine Moore.  He became my pastor shortly after I became a Christian, and he taught me the distinctives of the Reformed faith, right from the Bible.

In the providence of God I met this man at the funeral of my beloved uncle Walter Saumert.  I vividly remember Mr. Moore reciting from memory I Thessalonians 4:13-18 as though God was speaking to me directly.  The episode was dramatically enhanced by the fact that, as a new Christian, I had not yet read much of the Bible.  The fact that this was the first time death had struck down someone I loved also increased the impact of the moment.  God was working.  Anyone who knew Jim Moore will also understand that he had a flair of unaffected drama in his preaching and recitations.

Again I must attribute to divine providence the fact that my father decided the family needed to move about that time, and our move put us in the same area as the Westminster Orthodox Presbyterian Church and its pastor, the Rev. James E. Moore.  My mother and I began to attend the church, and that is when I first joined the O. P. C.

It was at this church that I came--albeit kicking and screaming--to be convinced of predestination.  Here also I was to meet the spunky girl who became my dear wife.  Barbara had been taught much of this good stuff, growing up in the home of an OPC minister, but in God's timing we were both prepared to grow under the ministry of Jim Moore in our understanding of Christ and his church.  Barbara and I both were impressed with Mr. Moore's preaching, but his manner required some acclimation.  He had an engaging, conversational style, and his voice was pleasant.  His vocabulary and syntax invited our thoughts to follow him easily.  But he flexed his jaw with certain words that made it appear he was trying to hold his teeth in his mouth.  This was most memorable when he pronounced the word "chuch" (or at least it sounded like that to me).  It took at least one full sermon, more for others, before one could actually hear the message without distraction.  Once acclimated, however, we were strongly edified by this dear man's preaching.

The church was very small, and the youth group was accordingly small.  The Moore's son, David, his sister Gwladys Ann, John Molloy, Dorris Stegemeier, Barbara and I were the regulars.  In addition there were some occasional visitors.  Younger kids included Katie Moore (now Mrs. Yaegashi, a missionary in Japan).  David Moore served many years as a missionary in Japan also, and now uses his Japanese language proficiency to serve as a translator for emergency calls with the phone company.

Jim Moore made his home a friendly and inviting place for us all.  His beloved wife, Maglona, was no small part of this pleasant environment.  They always had ice cream to dispense, and we habitually played "up Jinx" (a team game which included slapping a quarter on the table in stealth so as to keep the opposing team from guessing which hand lay upon the quarter).

Sometimes we sang hymns in this home, sometimes we had prayer.  It was in the Moore home that I first met Professor John Murray.  Mr. Murray was in the area to deliver a series of lectures to Fuller Seminary on the subject of Christian ethics.  Those lectures were later published as "Principles of Christian Conduct".

Mr. Moore taught us to be careful Sabbitarians.  He had definite convictions about the church and that the bible only knows of two perpetuating offices.  As a brash new Calvinist I once made comment about a minor baseball injury, being glad that was over, but Mr. Moore chided me not to make light of providence.  He was indeed a man of propriety and integrity, and a man of firm convictions.  Unfortunately it was his conviction that it was sin for me to get married before I attended seminary that drove a wedge between us.  We never experienced as close a relationship after that.  But we respected each other to his dying day.

He was brought into my life at an important time, and God used the Rev. James E. Moore to bless my life immeasurably when I needed him.