For my Tuesday ancients. I’ve written of you before, but today you caught my heart again. I love you all!
I ate with the ancients today.
Now before anyone takes offense, you need to know that by my calling them “ancient,” I do so in the spirit of Hebrews 11:2.
Ancient. Presbuteros meaning “elder; of age; the elder of two people; advanced in life; a senior.”[i] And in the context of the scripture, an elder bearing the witness of a life built on the solid foundation of faith.
Yep. Those are my ancients—women seasoned with the grey and the wisdom of walking a long life with Jesus. We are in our fifth year of “doing lunch” on Tuesdays. We began gathering upon my family’s arrival to this community, and rarely have we missed a week in that time.
I seek them out wherever I go. The ancients. I suppose it won’t be long until others might consider me as one of theirs. It is a label I will humbly accept, for to be numbered alongside my ancients of today and the pilgrims in Hebrews 11 is, indeed, an honorable tribute.
The pilgrims that gathered today walk deep. On the surface, we may seem a little shallow, for rare is the occasion void of our laughter. We do our fair share of discussing politics, current events, doctor’s visits, and offering up of ideas on how to “fix” the problems in our church. Mostly, I just listen to their thoughts, and I am glad to do so, for they have stored up a lifetime of memories worthy of my pause.
But underlying all of our chatter, there runs a sacred thread of a well-spun truth that anchors us all to the table and keeps us coming back every Tuesday for more.
Faith, and the certainty of things therein.
For all of the changes that flood their current, there are a few things they would voice as certain. Things like…
This life is full of pain.
This life is full of joy.
This life is but a breath.
This life is not the end.
This life is to be celebrated because…
This life is a gift from God.
I bet that you have lived long enough to voice a few of these certainties as your own. It takes awhile to come to some conclusions in these matters. Our youthful immaturity and need for reasoned parameters often prohibits our clarity.
When pain is our present, it’s hard to reason the joy. When life fades to the certainty of death, it’s difficult to vision beyond the grave. And when celebration goes unnoticed—seemingly forgotten and pushed under because the urgent and desperate blankets the party with wet—well, life unwraps more like a tragedy rather than the sacred wrapping of a gracious God.
Indeed, it takes years of well-worn living to reach some conclusions in this matter called faith. My ancients have lived those years.
Some years have authored sad. Since moving here, three of my friends have buried husbands. One of them has buried a son. All of us have walked to the grave on behalf of loved ones—friends, family and one of our own named Maxine. Many have been escorted to the hospital because their bodies have betrayed them. Surgeries and procedures have been their portion. There are tears and remembrances a plenty that speak the witness of such sadness.
Some years have authored joy. Untold numbers of marriages and babies and graduations and birthdays have passed through their hands in our time together. There have been parties, vacations, and family reunions enough to fill a scrapbook the size of heaven. There are pictures and newspaper clippings that speak the witness of such treasured milestones.
My ancients know about years and about the threading the weaves them together. They know Jesus, and they are wild and wonderful and just on the other side of “crazy enough” to believe that He is the one who holds the needle that sews them ever closer to their eternal home.
They walk toward heaven, not from it. And if they harbor any fear in the matter, they keep it from me. Somehow, they realize that their faith, their hope, and their certainty about the season soon to come are needed commodities in a world that suffers from self-centeredness and short-sighted visioning. They’ve lived long enough to get over their bitter, to live with the unanswerable, and to surrender their need for control.
They simply live by faith, and not by sight. And they would all tell you that this is a really good way to live, considering that their temporal vision seems to fade with the passage of time. They have caught the vision of their forever, and that, my friends, is reason enough to lunch with the ancients every Tuesday.
I need to see, and they need to color the sacred canvas of their witness while the brush is yet strong and the paint is still wet. Like the saints of Hebrews 11, theirs is a portrait worthy of the throne room of heaven, and thus I pray this night with tenderness in my heart,
Thank you, Father, for surrounding my life with the ancients on Tuesdays. They breathe the witness of faith unlike any other women with whom I share my life. You knew I needed them, Lord, and with gratitude I accept their influence in my life. Script my heart with the certainty, hope, and faith in the truth of who You are. They are sure of their tomorrow. Let my life breathe with the same measure. And when we all finally reach our home with You in heaven, it sure would be nice to have a Tuesday table with our names on it. Please tell Maxine that we won’t be long in coming. Amen.
[i] http://studylight.org/desk/view.cgi?number=4245
~elaine
I would love to hear about the “ancients” who surround your life. If you don’t have any, find some! They are a treasure trove waiting to be discovered. Shalom.