Dreamer to Geriatric
Genesis 37:1-4, 12-28
Joseph sold by his brothers
37:1 Jacob settled in the land where his father had lived as an alien, the land of Canaan.
37:2 These are the descendants of Jacob. Joseph, being seventeen years old, was shepherding the flock with his brothers; he was a helper to the sons of Bilhah and Zilpah, his father's wives, and Joseph brought a bad report of them to their father.
37:3 Now Israel loved Joseph more than any other of his children because he was the son of his old age, and he made him an ornamented robe.
37:4 But when his brothers saw that their father loved him more than all his brothers, they hated him and could not speak peaceably to him.
37:12 Now his brothers went to pasture their father's flock near Shechem.
37:13 And Israel said to Joseph, "Are not your brothers pasturing the flock at Shechem? Come, I will send you to them." He answered, "Here I am."
37:14 So he said to him, "Go now, see if it is well with your brothers and with the flock, and bring word back to me. "So he sent him from the valley of Hebron. He came to Shechem,
37:15 and a man found him wandering in the fields; the man asked him, "What are you seeking?"
37:16 "I am seeking my brothers," he said; "tell me, please, where they are pasturing the flock."
37:17 The man said, "They have gone away, for I heard them say, 'Let us go to Dothan.'" So Joseph went after his brothers and found them at Dothan.
37:18 They saw him from a distance, and before he came near to them they conspired to kill him.
37:19 They said to one another, "Here comes this dreamer.
37:20 Come now, let us kill him and throw him into one of the pits; then we shall say that a wild animal has devoured him, and we shall see what will become of his dreams."
37:21 But when Reuben heard it, he delivered him out of their hands, saying, "Let us not take his life."
37:22 Reuben said to them, "Shed no blood; throw him into this pit here in the wilderness, but lay no hand on him" --that he might rescue him out of their hand and restore him to his father.
37:23 So when Joseph came to his brothers, they stripped him of his robe, the ornamented robe that he wore,
37:24 and they took him and threw him into a pit. The pit was empty; there was no water in it.
37:25 Then they sat down to eat, and looking up they saw a caravan of Ishmaelites coming from Gilead, with their camels carrying gum, balm, and resin, on their way to carry it down to Egypt.
37:26 Then Judah said to his brothers, "What profit is it if we kill our brother and conceal his blood?
37:27 Come, let us sell him to the Ishmaelites and not lay our hands on him, for he is our brother, our own flesh." And his brothers agreed.
37:28 When some Midianite traders passed by, they drew Joseph up, lifting him out of the pit, and sold him to the Ishmaelites for twenty pieces of silver. And they took Joseph to Egypt.
It’s a timeless story, so much so, in fact, that Andrew Lloyd Webber further immortalized it in his musical, “Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat.” But as I’m about to turn 72 this month, what first caught my attention was the line that “Israel [Jacob] loved Joseph more…because he was the child of his old age.” While Dara and I did not start our family until later than many of our peers did, and while we weren’t “old” when our children were born, comparatively, here we are, in our 70s and with two very young grandchildren. The “young grandchildren” part is wonderful, but the fact that we ARE “old,” by biblical standards (three-score and ten), and living therefore on “borrowed” time, gets my attention anytime it comes up. Here, it comes up again.
When we told our friends and peers that we had put ourselves on the waiting list for Wesbury, the United Methodist-related retirement community in Meadville, PA, they balked. “You guys are too YOUNG to be going to an ‘old folks’ place!” they protested. At least one of us looks years younger than her age, and the other of us is capable of very juvenile behavior, from time to time, but we are NOT “young” by anyone’s definition. And yes, I know, “You are only as old as you feel” is a thing, but there are certain facts of human longevity that are hard to ignore. We both seem to have pretty good genes going for us, but one of us DOES take a handful of daily medications for cholesterol, blood pressure, and acid reflux, and he knows who HE is. Fact is, we are aging, and making plans for our “elder” years has always made sense, especially given that as a pastor, I have seen what happens when folks DON’T make such arrangements, and wind up in a place or a situation that they would never have desired being. Besides, our two beloved, adult children are in Alaska and Hawaii, so they are out of the picture, in terms of care-giving issues. SO, we made plans years ago that we would take care of ourselves, and promising our kids that their inheritance would amount to nothing more than the junk we must leave behind, as the cash would pay our way into senior care. Both of us were quite familiar with Wesbury, having grown up in Northwestern PA and in the Methodist/United Methodist Church. We had even visited a number of parishioners who had entered the various independent living options here, and while we looked at other “age in place” communities, they were either too remote, or well out of our more limited price range. Enough of the backstory…
We now reside in Thoburn Village, the preeminent independent living neighborhood of Wesbury. We have a home that is a bit larger (and more expensive) than we had originally opted for, but with a little financial “squeezing,” we can manage. It is great to have all of our maintenance and landscaping cared for, and to have a staff and neighbors who watch out for us (and each other). Our place has those “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up” emergency cords at strategic places, and it is all on one level. The doors are wide enough for various mobility aides, including those cool Power Chairs that I can imagine racing around on (see aforementioned juvenile behavior comment). Now comes the rub: I really DON’T feel old, but this place forces me to confront that I AM old, as evidenced by the hairy eye I got from staff when they saw us unloading a step ladder from the moving truck. Ladders are like contraband here. Their maintenance people regularly remind us that we should call THEM for the kinds of things that I have always taken care of myself. Why? Because at my age, I’ve probably surrendered at least 20 percent of my balance. Bummer. I LIKE ladders.
I was doing stir fry the other night, and as a neophyte chef, am finding the transition from gas to electric range somewhat challenging. A waft more smoke, and off went the fire alarms. Now, at our townhouse, my searing and stir frying often set off our interconnected smoke alarms, and we’d just wave a magazine under the nearest sensor to stop the beeping. The warning was just to us, it didn’t connect to any emergency services. Guess what? At Wesbury, there aren’t “beeps,” but those annoying, extremely loud klaxons that sound when your stir frying sets off the detectors, and you know what else? Within five minutes, you have a man in full fire-fighting regalia standing in your kitchen with an AX! I invited him for dinner, but he had to get back to the station. Did this make me feel old? Mostly just stupid, but it’s certainly in the “aging” equation. I told our neighbors that being thorough people, we just “had to test all the systems.” They worked, by the way.
Last Friday night, we went to a “Hotdog and S’Mores” event at the Wesbury dog park, just down the street from Villa Sterling. As I sat there among a large crowd of independent livers, I must say it appeared to be a parallel universe. In walkers, wheel chairs, and with canes, they came, and white hair was certainly the dominant style being shown. I thought to myself, “This isn’t MY crowd, certainly?” But it was, and it is. A two-person “band” presented music, and we all knew the words to each Beatles and other popular tunes they played. All of us, and I do mean US. “This IS my crowd,” I realized, as we sang a great unison versions of “Hey Jude” and “Sweet Caroline.” I confess that I still feel “out of place,” here, and it DOES often feel like I’m in a parallel universe. It is SO easy to default to the long accepted role as “these peoples’ pastor” as an escape from the reality that I am both a peer and a “subject” of this extra-caring community. The one thing that takes me out of this mental malaise is the caliber of the people we have met here. Yes, we’re all here as part of a plan for our aging years, but NO, none of us has “given in” to being “old.” This is an educated, highly energetic, and articulate crowd—something with which I always wanted to be affiliated. We are amongst investment bankers, MANY teachers and school administrators, college professors, and medical professionals. I have enjoyed making connections and good conversation with these folk, and this gives me great hope for the future.
Which brings me back to “Jacob and sons,” as Lloyd-Webber wrote the tune. Jacob has been a kind of role model for me: sometimes a clever conniver, which all local pastors must be, from time to time, to either get a program passed and funded by Church Council or the fence painted at the parsonage. Jacob wrestled with God, and basically prevailed, because God cheated. What serious Christian HASN’T wrestled with God, or at least God’s Spirit, at some point? God has a nasty tendency to “call” us to do things outside our comfort zone, and yet here we are, doing it, and being blessed by it, most of the time. Jacob fell in love with a woman whose presence and beauty dominated his consciousness. So, too, have I, and what an incredible privilege it has been to share my life with her, each and every day. But above all, Jacob was a “dreamer,” who had a continuing vision for his life, his family, and certainly for what would become God’s people, Israel. The “dreamer” part he passed on to the “child of his old age,” Joseph. I’m not going to rehearse the whole story here, as most of you know it well, but the symbol of Jacob’s “dreamer” blessing he bestowed on Joseph got the poor boy in a lot of sibling issues. Of course, God the cheating wrestler, finagled a way to use what they “intended for evil” as a way to put Joseph in the catbird seat that would later save his family AND pave the way for Israel’s emergence as a great people. That symbol was the famous “technicolor dream coat,” and what a symbol it is! Like the colorful rainbow God used to promise the earth that God would never destroy the earth by flood again, according to the Genesis tale, so the colorful coat is put over the shoulders of Joseph, who then shoulders a tremendous responsibility in Egypt, as second banana to the Pharoah. Do you see all of the “poetic” tie-ins here? The coat is a symbol not just of dreaming, but of vision. The vision Joseph becomes the point person for not only rescues his family, but helps launch Israel. And his “calling” even paves the way for God’s later emancipation of Israel’s captivity FROM Egypt. When Paul wrote, “God causes all things to work together for good for those who love God and who are called according to God’s purpose,” I’m guessing he had the Joseph story in mind. Jacob and Joseph—like father, like son, truly.
Oh that we all might keep dreaming and vision as the “children of our old age,” instead of just back pain and sinus trouble! I believe God wants to call us to so much more, as we see time and time again in these Bible stories. Each of us must deal with the realities we have been “dealt,” I realize, but we don’t have to give in to the stereotypes of age and the erosion of our physical selves, whether it be minor or acute. The soul and its ponderings on vision—maintaining our “dream” life, for example—can be just as vital now as it ever was. It is NOT limited by chronology. To use an old Greek dichotomy, we can live in Kairos (special, or “dreaming” time), instead of succumbing to mere Chronos (“ticking” time). So, friends, what will it be?
Here at Wesbury, I’m going to look for the other Jacobs with whom to have coffee and conversation with. I am already part of a Monday morning “men’s” coffee hour, wherein we are urged to avoid religion and politics as topics. (I have a problem with this, as these are ultimately the two things that have the power to bring about change and move us toward compassion and justice, but oh well…) These prohibitions nudge us to talk about other things, and that is good, I suppose. The challenge will be to help steer the group toward “visionary” things, and away from just complaining that maintenance is slow to get the garbage disposal fixed. I hope I can be a part of the kinds of conversation a “dreamer” might have. Good conversation, especially of the variety that may move us toward some benevolent and purposeful action, should be one of the “children” of our old age. So, Dear Ones, may we of greater years be “fruitful and multiply!” Amen!
