Things Wear Out

“You were rescued from the useless way of life that you learned from your ancestors. But you know that you were not rescued by such things as silver or gold that don’t last forever.” 1 Peter 1:18

The longer I live the more I observe the decay inherent to this world. The photos from our wedding 34 years ago are faded. (The fashions have decayed in altogether another way.) Rust invades my vehicles. The Bible I’ve used for preaching the last 20 years is well-worn with pages falling out. But most of all I feel the decay in my own body.

The usual aches and pains speak of growing older call out that this body is not made to last forever. Leave aside the headache I have suffered the last two years (I say “headache”, in the singular, because it is not as series of headaches experienced every day, it is one long, two year constant headache). My knees creak when getting up, when I run it looks like someone swimming through pudding.

My parents are both now dead, as are my wife’s. And, just as the universe apparently expands, so has the distance between myself and my loved ones over the years. Sisters in California and Texas, a brother in Chicago, one son in Minneapolis and the other in Guatemala; that leaves our daughter who just started college in Pullman, WA, 300 miles away. Who knows where she will end up in another three to five years.

Things wear out. People die or move apart. Those who accompanied some of my fondest teen or childhood memories are scattered as far away as my family. Photos do fade, paint flakes and sidewalks begin to crumble, so that my handprint impressed upon the new cement as a child is in danger of being obliterated.

This world is not meant for the long-term. Our bodies, given proper nutrition and exercise still only last an average of 70 to 80 years. And we notice the decline in our forties when our arms are no longer long enough to enable us to read.

Even the most precious metals, silver and gold, will not last forever. Some of the most famous ruins from antiquity still impress for their grandeur and architecture. But they have lost the bloom of the gilding that covered much of the decorations. Silver, gold, so precious, and still so transitory.

We are all born into this world with its fading glory. We don’t realize how short our time here really is until well into adulthood. Popularity means everything. Success makes our hearts beat quickly with anticipation. Relationships bring us joy; babies are born, our sons marry beautiful girls, and our girls marry handsome men. And, late in life, after remembering what it was like to have children laughing with the cat and dog when they are supposed to be getting ready for school, as we rehearse those days, we look into the mirror one more time to shave and are reminded the years are catching up with us. With a vengeance.

As I write this I am having an extremely blue day. I hate admitting it because “blue” has become my norm. I’d like to rewind, refresh friendships, and spend the night with a pal, drinking a case of Coke so we will stay awake long enough to see the sunrise over the Diablo Hills. Whether my case is bluer than others, one thing is true, the best life we have here has a period at the end.

How does all of this relate to Jesus rescuing us with something that does last forever, His precious blood? For me, it allows me to trudge through one more dark day knowing that my tears will be over soon. I talk to my therapist, take my anti-depressants and still have little respite from a life that floats a foot below the surface of enjoyment.

Jesus did not use the transitory stuff of this world to rescue me. If He had, it would avail me no joy, no hope given my present condition. I know people think I am nuts for battling tears, that I have a beautiful family, pastor a good church, and live in such gorgeous surroundings. Maybe they are right: I am nuts.

But, Jesus has rescued me. And maybe I won’t be cured here, but when it is finally time to go home, when this world that is going to pass away like dried grass in the fire, I will know that I am not doomed to embrace sadness for eternity. Christ has rescued me with His own precious blood; having been chosen before the worlds even began!

Though I believe Jesus is able to rescue me here and now, and enter into my weary melancholy, and that, apart from Him, I might actually live a horribly hopeless existence; I also know there is coming a complete cure and redemption. Today, in all the best ways of saying it, today I wish it were this very moment.