pain

 

In the first half of life, we accumulate many blessings. We may get married. We may have children. We may discover and grow into the gifts that have been uniquely bestowed upon us, and found ways to bring them to bear in a professional capacity. None of these things are inevitable, but all of them are common to human experience.

In the second half of life, the longer we live, the more we experience bereavement, of every kind. Our marriage may break down, irretrievably; or we may need to accept that we will never marry. Or else, we may need to face up to the knowledge that, statistically speaking, it is likely that one of us will die first and the other will be left to live on, alone. Our children may leave home. Our bodies start to betray us. The technologies and methodologies of our workplaces change beyond our capacity to keep up. The songs they play on the radio, or that we sing in church, are ‘rubbish,’ compared to the songs we listened to, or sang in church, when we were younger.

Pain is inevitable, and unavoidable. And pain has a purpose. Its purpose is to bring us to the end of ourselves, so that we might discover, there, beyond our means, the immeasurable, unchanging compassion of God towards us.

But this is not inevitable. If this is the invitation of pain—of the losses of the second half of life—then the temptation of pain is to find something, however small, we might take control of. Whenever we do this, we cause both others and ourselves great heartache.

Jesus told a parable about forgiveness—which is the art of letting go of control, and abandoning ourselves to the compassion of God.

A certain servant of a certain king had accumulated—from the king’s hand—incredible, over-the-top, blessings. Yet the thing that defined his life was not gratitude but fear, the pain of the knowledge that one day he would lose everything he had been given. And so, when the king decided to settle accounts with his servants, the servant was thrown into torment. Despite being the king’s servant, he did not know the king’s character. He did not know that compassion was the very, steadfast, nature of the king. The king sought to test the servant’s heart—how well was he known? The servant failed to recognise the one before him; thought, if I can come up with a good enough plea, perhaps I can persuade the king to show mercy. The servant failed the test. And yet, the king did what the king had always intended to do: he wrote off the great debt of every blessing the servant had received from his hand. There was nothing to pay back. It was always gift.

The servant departed the king’s presence, released from debt but still in pain, the pain of the knowledge that one day he would lose all that he had gained. And he succumbed to the temptation of pain, to take control of whatever circumstances he still could. Which turned out to be the debt owed him—an incredibly small and trivial thing—by a fellow servant. When that servant could not pay, he had him thrown in the debtors’ prison. When this was reported to the king, the king brought about the consequences of the servant’s decision: that he, himself, would find himself trapped in a prison cell of his own making.

We heard this parable read this morning at our mid-week Holy Communion, a service attended by the Elders of our congregation and those of us who are becoming Elders. By which I don’t primarily mean the elderly, but those of us in the second half of life, those of us who have known and walked with God for a lifetime.

We are also blessed with an increasing number of members in the first half of life, in the process of accumulating the blessings God has for them, and who are coming to an awareness of their deep hunger and thirst for God.

And it is the dual vocation of those of us who find ourselves in the second half of life to allow our experience of pain to bring us to an ever-greater experience of God’s compassion towards us, and to model this response—resisting the temptation, choosing the invitation—for those who are younger, in life (for the most part) and in faith.

Those people connect mostly with our 10.30am Sunday service. And that service is for them: it is no longer ‘for’ the Elders. It is no longer the place where the Elders come to be fed, but has become the place where the Elders are needed to help feed the lambs. Elders, mature sheep, are able to feed themselves—at the midweek service, through daily prayer and bible reading in our own homes, through joining the hymns of the weekly Sunday service on Radio 4 or Songs of Praise on the BBC, and in a great many other ways. Elders are those who have either inherited wells that enable them to draw on the great underground river of God that flows below the surface of our lives, or who have dug their own wells in their youth; they do not need to dig new wells, but they are those who can teach those, new to faith, how to dig. The younger generation needs to be introduced to the old hymns that carry something of our faith, and ground us in a story bigger than our own time; but also need the opportunity to respond to God in praise that is of their own time, a new generation pouring out praise (where we had been told, over many long years, that noone is interested in praising God anymore). It has ever been thus (and every age has struggled to affirm the accents of the generation below them).

We need Elders who know enough of the compassion of God to let go of seeking control. Who demand no debt be paid in return, from those who, as yet, think they are immortal.

For all its challenges, I am thankful that we have, among us, both those in the second and the first half of life.

Matthew 18.21-19.1

‘Then Peter came and said to him, ‘Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?’ Jesus said to him, ‘Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven times.

‘For this reason the kingdom of heaven may be compared to a king who wished to settle accounts with his slaves. When he began the reckoning, one who owed him ten thousand talents was brought to him; and, as he could not pay, his lord ordered him to be sold, together with his wife and children and all his possessions, and payment to be made. So the slave fell on his knees before him, saying, “Have patience with me, and I will pay you everything.” And out of pity for him, the lord of that slave released him and forgave him the debt.

‘But that same slave, as he went out, came upon one of his fellow-slaves who owed him a hundred denarii; and seizing him by the throat, he said, “Pay what you owe.” Then his fellow-slave fell down and pleaded with him, “Have patience with me, and I will pay you.” But he refused; then he went and threw him into prison until he should pay the debt.

‘When his fellow-slaves saw what had happened, they were greatly distressed, and they went and reported to their lord all that had taken place. Then his lord summoned him and said to him, “You wicked slave! I forgave you all that debt because you pleaded with me. Should you not have had mercy on your fellow-slave, as I had mercy on you?” And in anger his lord handed him over to be tortured until he should pay his entire debt. So my heavenly Father will also do to every one of you, if you do not forgive your brother or sister from your heart.’

‘’When Jesus had finished saying these things, he left Galilee and went to the region of Judea beyond the Jordan.’