Recently
the New Testament readings in the Lectionary have been from the pastoral
epistles, and I have taken the opportunity to preach a mini-series which you
may recall I introduced as letters from an older Christian to a younger
Christian. Letters full of wisdom and encouragement, written with affection to
friends wrestling with how their faith relates to their experience of life,
with all its challenges. And today we come to the culmination, as Paul shares
end-of-life wisdom.
We
are so privileged to get to read over Timothy’s shoulder; for we are a
congregation where many of us are living in the final years of life – a season,
beautiful in its own time, towards which we all journey – alongside others who
are both younger and younger in the faith.
The
first thing I want us to note are these words: ‘As for me, I am already being
poured out as a libation, and the time of my departure has come.’ (2 Timothy 4:6).
Paul
describes the inevitable acceleration towards the end of life as being poured
out, as an offering to God. For Paul, approaching death has meaning and purpose,
in itself – as well as the hope that
life does not end in death, hope that sustains us in our longing to see Jesus
face-to-face. This last season is not a diminished
experience of life, but a different
one. One that comes with great loss, undoubtedly; but also with its own gift,
its own calling. As the elderly mother of a friend of mine wrote recently:
‘I have moved to
a different country of late: the country of old age, weakness, increasing helplessness, and grief. This
is also a country with time
for prayer and reflection; of deepening relationships, and
increasing sensitivity to the beauty of the world around, to the kindness of others; a
place of unexpected gifts, sometimes from what seem the most unlikely places.
‘As I travel
around this country, I frequently experience fear, acute anxiety, depression,
grief and at times panic.
‘It is also a
place where I am
trying to learn to trust; to trust that God is a God of love,
who cares for us; to try to discern God’s love and care for us all, even though
there are many times
when I struggle to do so; to not close my eyes and my ears,
or “harden my heart”, because if I do that, if I don’t try to trust, God cannot
help me.’
The
image of being poured out as a libation might call to mind Jesus’ first
miracle, as recorded in John’s Gospel, turning water contained in large clay
jars into wine, drawn out for a wedding banquet, a sign that revealed his glory
(John 2:1-11).
It
might call to mind Mary of Bethany, pouring out costly fragrant perfume over
Jesus’ feet; in front of Judas, who, caught-up in himself, cannot understand
why this is as necessary in its time as public works of service (John 12:1-8).
It
might also call to mind Paul’s own imagery of our lives being like treasure
contained in clay jars, ‘always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so
that the life of Jesus may also be made visible in our bodies. For while we
live, we are always being given up to death for Jesus’ sake, so that the life
of Jesus may be made visible in our mortal flesh.’ (2 Corinthians 4:7-12).
The
wine is being poured out. It cannot defy gravity, and flow back into the
vessel. Indeed, the clay jar that had contained it is soon to be broken, by
careless hands. But not before it has been taken up by loving hands,
nail-scarred hands, the life within blessed and transformed, a foretaste of
glory.
We
enact this Sunday by Sunday, as different members of the congregation bring the
wine forward, and it is poured out into the chalice. Yes, we do this to remember
Jesus’ blood poured out for us; but we are also offering ourselves, our souls
and bodies as a living sacrifice of thanks and praise. The wine is ‘fruit of
the earth and work of human hands’ … and it is also symbol of our lives poured
out in response to the one who poured out his life for us. This returned love is
a holy mystery, and one which surely becomes more poignant as we intentionally
face death, whether through aging or illness.
The second thing I want us to
note are these words: ‘But the Lord stood by me and gave me strength…’ (2 Timothy 4:17a). In his trial, Paul’s
friends deserted him. On the surface, Paul is on trial before the authorities and
his friends can’t face it, just as Jesus’ disciples deserted him, out of
complex emotions of fear and sorrow. But I think that we can also quite
legitimately read these verses beneath the surface: that Paul’s younger
companions could not yet face what he had to face, could not go where he had to
go – the end of life – and that Paul, while understanding and gracious, did not
want Timothy to be so unprepared.
I have been a member of local
churches that are made up predominantly of younger people, and I have been a
member of local churches that are made up predominantly of older people. Those
of us who are younger need those of us who are older, need to learn from you
how to experience life in all its fullness even as outwardly we are wasting
away. And those of us who are older need those of us who are younger, need your
support in a society that withdraws from the elderly out of a pathological fear
of aging and dying. One of the beautiful things about the Minster is
multi-generational families. And my hope and prayer is that this is a community
where the more frail our members become, the more valued they are. Not in false
ways that resist the new thing that the Spirit is doing in any given moment,
but in faithful ways that anticipate and respond to the Spirit, in prayerful
trust and joy, as together we learn to stand with Jesus who unfailingly stands
by us.
A week ago, I had the most
profound spiritual encounter as I served the bread at Communion. I found myself
mesmerised by the hands of each who came forward to receive Jesus, especially
the older hands with fingers bent by age. Your hands are beautiful. They shine
with future glory that has been seeping into the present over many years. As I
ministered to you, you ministered to me; you showed me what it looks like to be
poured out as a libation, lives reaching beyond themselves, beyond outward
circumstance, reaching out for Jesus where the intangible is made tangible.
And I imagine that I will have a
similarly holy goose-bump moment when the wine is brought forward and poured
out in just a little while.
So if you are old, or if you are
dying, may the Holy Spirit yet again transform the wine of your life, along
with the wine in the chalice, that you might carry the presence of Jesus into
the world.
And if you are young, and that season
of being poured out lies many years ahead, may the Holy Spirit strengthen you again
to stand alongside those being poured out, however painful that might be. Amen.
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