You're Not Done.

Stark gray chairs lined the building; all centered around the minimalist platform, hanging screens dark above.  He buttoned black, of course, and preached to the masses, each bending forward, hungry and curious with a listening ear.  Different words, phrases, churned within the chorus' of those sitting, peering, listening to this church, this pastor, this emerging.

Then, he made them stand.  Stand and be honored, revered; proudly risen.  The retired.  The grayed, the balding, the sun tanned, color-dying; each sixty-plus individual halted and honored before the crowd.  Ready to hear their pat-on-the-back from this young pastor, this blooming crowd.

But instead, his words called out like a chime, a command, a calling, a clear purpose, as he challenged the aged:  "You're not done!  We need you!"

The air felt stiff with surprised; his forward words catching many off guard.  They had stood to be acknowledge for a life of work, of values, of now-earned reward, but instead were challenged to press on, to persevere, to keep purposing forward.

He spoke about the needs; their gifts, their time, their purpose.  He begged them to continue, to offer themselves to the church, the orphan, the organizations.  

I sat there, roughly eight years ago, among them and burned inside.  Yes!  Yes!  Yes!  We need you!  I felt the strength of the burden burn within my soul, lists of needs piling one-by-one, all scrambled, unfiltered. The church needed them.  The schools needed them.  The urban kids needed them.  The young mothers needed them.  The tradesmen needed them.  The nursery homes needed them.  The squatter villages needed them.  We all needed them!

Retirement is portrayed in American society as golf carts and plane tickets and book clubs and fishing poles.  These are good things; very good.  And earned!  Very earned!

But that is not the whole story.  That is bubbles that fill the void.

Many look at retirement as a badge to be worn, a paycheck to be complete, a labor to be final.  It is a date, a marking line, a hurdle.  To some, sweetly dreamed of, like licking cool ice cream on a steamy, weary day.  To others, greatly feared, like blank black space, fiercely shouting emptiness and void.  Like Columbus and the ocean; the end of the map, the falling of the sea.

But perhaps there is a different worldview, a perspective not from society but from the Bible as a whole.  Perhaps there is a plan from Genesis to Revelation that says God wastes nothing, from beginning to end.  Like the newness of Genesis to the completeness of Revelation, everything has a purpose, a meaning, a reason, a season.  So too then, perhaps each life from infancy to mortality, God designed with something to offer, to steward, to grow from start to finish, beginning to end.

I've had the privilege of watching my grandparents grow old.  And when I say "grow old" it is with vagueness, for their years do not detract from their youthfulness, their purpose-ness, their fullness of days.  I've watched with take-for-granted eyes, learning eyes, with reverence eyes, with challenged eyes.  I've lived under their roof and taken notes from their days, grace from their table, and freshness from their spirit.  Silver lining shines more hopeful than silver hair.

I started noting their lives, gathering tid-bits and time slots like pearls on a string. As years rippled into years their days stood set-apart, a contrast to other grandparents I started to meet.  Their hours were filled, from dawn to dusk, with purpose and people, fulfillment in giving life and aid to the needs that they'd meet. In the years of nursery and Sunday School and grandchildren to oversee, they mixed in  disaster relief trips - kitchen duty and construction sites and week-long labor for the least of these.  To the elderly, they delivered meals and offered rides to church. With Marv, the giving continues, caring for refugees, babysitting at MOPS, tutoring at an elementary, and befriending the special needs through Friendship -- every week for 30 years!  At 84 and 86, respectively, they are still the warm home that opens when I travel, and their legacy, their years of "retirement", blooms with purpose and peace, a proud heritage for me.

These years after "work", after the books close, the children raised, the final hammer stroke, still billow with Biblical purpose, with bounty, with command to a life of calling.

There is a burden, a blessing, a benediction in retirement.  The reaping of decades of planting, seeds sewn in deliberation, now harvested anew.  Years of toil and labor crescendo with wisdom and skills and relationships, all set to bloom in fresh colors. This beautiful arrangement of purposed time, stewarded gifts, and fostered humanity lends to a fulfillment all creation calls out for. 

So enjoy grandchildren.  Sew a new quilt.  Play another round of 18.  But just remember, Philippians 1:6 -- "Being confident of this: that He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus."  

God is not done.  You are not done.  God is not done with you.