Growing Old Together

Reading

Our reading today comes from the poet Archie Randolph Ammons.  He was a nationally-recognized Professor of Poetry at Cornell University for almost thirty years.  Ammons passed away about six years ago, in 2001.   

Over the course of his lifetime, he won many honors and prizes, including: The Library of Congress' National Prize for Poetry, the National Book Critics Circle Award for Poetry, and the Poetry Society of America's Robert Frost Medal.  

In addition to this distinguished literary career, Ammons had a variety of life experience -- he was an elementary school principle, a corporate executive, and an editor.  As such, he brings a rich and varied background to his poetry.  

The poem we will be hearing this morning explores Ammons' experience of aging, its journey and its meaning.  I offer you his poem entitled In View Of The Fact...    

"The people of my time are passing away: my
wife is baking for a funeral -- a 60-year-old who  

died suddenly -- when the phone rings, and it's
Ruth we care so much about, in intensive care:  

it was once weddings that came so thick and
fast, and then, babies, such a hullabaloo:  

now, it's this that and the other and somebody
else gone or on the brink [of going]: well, we never  

thought we would live forever (although we did)
and now it looks like we won't: some of us  

are losing a leg to diabetes, some don't know
what they went downstairs for, some know that  

a hired watchful person is around, some like
to touch the cane tip into something steady, so nice:  

we have already lost so many,
brushed the loss of ourselves ourselves: our  

address books for so long a slow scramble now
are palimpsests, scribbles and scratches: our  

index cards for Christmases, birthdays,
Halloweens drop clean away into sympathies:  

at the same time we are getting used to so
many leaving, we are hanging on with a grip  

to the ones left: we are not giving up on the
congestive heart failure or brain tumors, on  

the nice old men left in empty houses or on
the widows who decide to travel a lot: we  

think the sun may shine someday when we'll
drink wine together and think of what used to be:  

until we die we will remember every
single thing, recall every word, love every  

loss: then, we will, as we must, leave it to
others to love, love that can grow brighter  

and deeper till the very end, gaining strength
and getting more precious all the way. . . ."              

In View Of The Fact, by A.R. Ammons

Sermon
by Rev. Mishra

"...until we die we will remember every single thing, recall every word, love every loss: then, we will, as we must, leave it to others to love -- love that can grow brighter and deeper till the very end, gaining strength and getting more precious all the way. . . ."    

The words of poet Archie Randolph Ammons remind us that every single thing, every word, every expression of love matters.  We never cease experiencing life until we've left this world.  And, taken in this light, aging is not merely something that happens with retirement.  It is a lifelong process.  

I've been thinking about this topic for awhile, among other reasons because I'm keenly aware of my own aging process.  I look back to the days when I was 20 and could stay up all night long and still do everything else I had to the next day.  That ability, with time, has long since disappeared.  Or then there is the curious fact that having been nearsighted my entire childhood, I increasingly need to hold menus and newsprint further away from me, rather than closer to me, in order to read it.  Further down the list, I'm now living with the irony that having grown up in an Indian household, with some of the most flavorful and fiery food on the planet, overly spicy food now causes me indigestion.  And, lest we think that my deteriorating condition is only physical, I will admit that I can no longer simultaneously watch TV, learn a foreign language, and hold a conversation with a roommate, something I somehow, magically, was capable of doing when I was younger.  I am now easily distracted and need absolute quiet in order to stay mentally focused.   

I'm sure some of this will sound familiar to you.  What I find fascinating is that it never occurred to me when I was younger that I'd be experiencing these mental and physical changes in my 30s.  I always just assumed that things like this happened when you were older, I didn't know what age, just older.  So, at times surprised by all this, I've muddled along, adapting as best as I can to the changes life has brought.  

I've wondered why it is that we adults don't really get much support in understanding aging.  Adolescents get barraged with tons of information about their bodies - at school, at church, hopefully at home, as well.  In fact, even elementary school children are educated about their bodies.  But, once you graduate into adulthood -- sorry, you pretty much have to figure it out yourself.  Now, many of us do have doctors who we can turn to and ask questions of.  That's helpful, though often enough they'll just tell you that whatever you're experiencing is normal, you need to adjust to it.  In comparison, when I think of the intentionality that goes into spiritually, psychologically, and intellectually teaching children and teens about their development, that kind of concerted effort is almost completely absent for adults.  This is starting to change, with doctors, nurses, and ministers increasingly working together, but the depth of collaboration that is starting to take place is still relatively new.  

Our worship service today is designed to reflect that increasing level of cooperation -- minister and medical professional collaborating, each providing their own, different perspectives on aging.   So, let's look at this topic from a spiritual angle, starting out with the notion that the word itself, 'aging,' is a dirty word.  Many people have a bad reaction to the term, nobody wants to be described as 'aging' or 'aged.'  We just don't say: "May I introduce you to my aged friend, Henry?" and we don't casually ask a friend "How is your aging process going?"  We somewhat avoid the topic, and the words 'aging' and 'aged' are not considered complimentary; the process of aging is understood as something negative, as the loss of ability.  Therefore, we consider aging a bad thing.   

I asserted this myself, just a few minutes ago.  Did you catch it?  In talking about my own physical and mental changes, I described them in terms of my condition 'deteriorating.'  Yes, partly in jest, but most people wouldn't really blink an eye at the process of aging being referred to as physical and mental deterioration.  Think about the negativity that is so clearly apparent in that.  There is an assumption that we had some ideal physical and mental condition, and that we are now in the process of losing it.     

The negativity in such an outlook reflects the potential for spiritual crisis -- if everything that lies ahead of us is a deterioration, we are bound to eventually feel depressed, frustrated, and resentful as we age.  Such negativity is ultimately rooted in the fear of loss and change, and runs the risk of focusing our attention backwards in time, to some imagined ideal state, instead of looking ahead, cherishing all that can still be.  

Let's look at an alternative.  What if instead of aging being a process of decay, what if it was just a process of our abilities naturally changing with time?  In reality, what we are able to do as an infant is different from that of a child, which is different from a teenager, which is different from every subsequent decade that follows.  There is no time in our life when our abilities are static, they are constantly evolving.  There need not be any subjectivity associated with this - aging is not a bad thing, or a good thing, it just 'is.'   

How about if we went beyond that and found ways to honor the different seasons of our lives, finding distinct joys in each.  (And there are distinct joys in each.)  

I received some unwitting insight in this regard.  As I was researching this sermon, I stumbled across a web-page on which an unnamed individual had posted their thoughtful reflections entitled The Benefits of Aging.  In defiance of the idea that aging is a bad thing - and in affirmation that it can, in fact, be celebrated -- I have decided to share with you this author's reflections.  Here we go:  

"Among the many benefits of becoming older, here are but a few...  

People will stop calling you call you after 8 pm.

Your friends no longer consider you a hypochondriac.

No one will expect you to rescue people from a burning building.

Your wardrobe is probably back in fashion.  (If not, just wait, it will be.) 

You can eat dinner at 4:00 o'clock.

You can have a party and the neighbors won't even realize it.

You no longer think of the speed limit as a dare.

Your joints are more accurate than the National Weather Service.

In a hostage situation you are more likely to be among the first released.

You can now karaoke with elevator music.

And, finally, your secrets are safe with your friends -- they can't remember what you told them anyway.

So, enjoy the benefits - you're getting older!"  

No doubt, this tome is unattributed because our author is in hiding from the AARP...

We frequently lose the light-hearted side of aging, because our egos are so deeply invested in the process.  Our popular culture tells us that the young are beautiful.  As a result, we have dye for our hair, and when it begins falling out, dozens of ways to keep it in; anti-aging crèmes, and when those crèmes don't work we have plastic surgery; and let's not forget that fountain of eternal youth called viagra.  

The fight against aging reflects, on some level, a buying into the cultural assumption that it is somehow a bad thing.  And so, when we inevitably reach the limit of what surgery, and medications, and new technologies can do, we are left with a crisis of identity.  The natural processes of aging can be stalled, or hidden, but it cannot be reversed.  We eventually have to live our lives differently, in order to adjust to our changing capabilities.  We wind up wondering: Who is this changed person?  How will our friends and family look at us?  Will they now use adjectives such as 'dependent,' or 'fragile,' or 'forgetful' in describing us?  Our very sense of who we are is thrown up in the air.

And even if we find the courage to avoid pessimism, even if we fight to ensure that the fear of loss does not dominate our worldview, age-related changes can still be traumatic.  Pride is involved.  We don't want to admit that we are having difficulty driving, shopping, cooking, singing, dancing, or walking the way we used to.  Ego is involved, because we remember that we could do certain things, and it is painful to us that we can't anymore.  There are no easy answers to these dilemmas, I wrestle with them myself, even as my own abilities change.  One thing that does help, I have found, is to have peers of around the same age, with whom one can honestly explore these challenges.

Along these lines, I took a class some years ago with a famous Harvard professor, an expert in human development, named Robert Kegan.  In one of our discussion groups Kegan had us break up into age cohorts - all the 20-somethings in one group, 30-somethings in another group, and so on, decade by decade.  He had us then reflect on several basic questions.  They were easy enough: What are you struggling to figure out at this particular life stage?  What is the struggle characteristic of your decade of life?  And, what would you most like to ask the age group ahead of you?  It was one of the most fascinating exercises I've ever participated in.

When we came back into one larger group, having reflected on these questions, the 20-somethings had this scattered, enthusiastic energy, there was so much they all wanted to try and figure out.  Relationships, different vocational possibilities, even different cities and countries in which they could live.  All this possibility was wrapped up in a flurry of energy.  The 30-somethings, of which I was one, were a bit more sedate.  We had made mistakes, both vocationally and with relationships.  And we were learning from those mistakes and in many cases were in the process of re-orienting our lives.  We were also yearning for a life that was more settled, one with greater stability.  The 40 and 50-somethings, who were in one group, had stability, but questioned whether it was the right stability.  They wanted to be sure that the life choices they had made were the right ones for them; they didn't want to wake up a few years later with regrets, or wondering if it was too late to do something that was important to them. 

With each of these groups, the question that they wanted to ask the age group older than them was inevitably a variation of "Does it get better?  Does figuring all this stuff out get easier?"  Only one age group had a clear answer to this question, and that was the group of 60-somethings and older.  For the most part, these folks felt like they had cobbled together lives that were pretty good.  For the most part, there was a calmness, a lower level of anxiety, than the other age groups.  This group also admired the vitality and the energy of the younger generations, and they wanted opportunities to share with those younger than them the things that they had learned about life.

Aging is clearly deeper than just the inevitable changes in physical and mental abilities.  It is also about the experience of life, and the gifts that come with additional decades of experience.  Kegan's experiment brought alive the fact that there are predictable life issues that we wrestle with as we age, and as we do, some part of us holds onto hope that the next stage of life will bring greater clarity.  It also demonstrated, to me, that those ahead of us on life's path, more likely than not, understand something about the life struggles of those who are younger.  To me, it was a clear affirmation of the value of intergenerational community; an affirmation of the time of community we try to create here, in church.

Our church offers us the possibility of this type of meaningful connection.  But in order to get the full benefit of being in spiritual community, of having a place where we can grow old together, we must do more than attend Sunday worship.  Relationships within the community are only formed after worship, on Sundays, and during the many activities that take place here during any week. 

In this vein, I invite you to take advantage of the possibility our community presents of new friendships -- both with congregants your own age, and with those younger and older.  It is with our age peers that we can be companions as we explore similar issues about life.  And, it is our elders who have the experience to be mentors and guides.  Those younger than us can learn from us, even as they lend us their enthusiasm, vitality, and new ideas.  Through the relationships we can form here we truly can be a community in which each supports the other, in which wisdom is shared, and in which exploring life in all its richness is encouraged.  With such warmth and caring, aging need never be frightening or lonely.

This is the community I dream of.  Together, here, today - we come together to make that dream a reality.  Come, let us grow old together...