Frailty

As a man, I am proud to be able to make my way in the world. But it was not always so. I, like all of us, started as a helpless infant, completely unable to care for myself and without my mother’s care, I would not have survived. We are born in a terrifying instant, ejected into a strange and cold world where we know fear, and cold, and hunger until we are put to our mother’s breast. Hearing her heartbeat, feeling her arms around us, warming us, we are once again at peace.

The Golden Years

Not everyone is fortunate enough to have experienced this idealized beginning, however, it is true that without someone else intervening, each of us would not be here. We are born in frailty. And for a short time, we are content to return to our mother’s embrace, to return home.

All too soon, we begin to assert our independence. I can walk! I can feed myself! I’m potty trained! I go to school! I get bigger! ...and so on, I grow! Reaching adulthood, I realize I can take care of myself! This is not to minimize damage that can occur along the way, but in the end, for the most part, we reach a maturity in which we are largely self-sufficient. It is interesting that a significant number of us fail to get through this process without damage. But that’s another story.

The bad news is, we are not forever self sufficient. From maturity, we are forced into senescence. Decrepitude. A strange cold world in which we know fear, cold, incontinence, decline, infirmity, and dependence. Frailty. For awhile we comfort ourselves with the aphorism, “I may not be as good as I once was, but I’m as good once as I ever was.” This, too, shall pass. Our bodies don’t obey our brains. We shake, become weak. We can no longer see. Our hearing slips, and those around us deride us for our undeserved infirmity.

It gets worse. And worse. And worse. Until in our frailty, we have totally lost all control. We are no longer masters of our own destiny. We wander in circles, often unaware of our own filth, trying to find our way back home. Our weakness makes us angry, bitter. To be forced to ask someone for help with something so simple as putting a spoonful of food in our mouth, well, it’s degrading. It is outrageous, this culmination of decrepitude. Even the great ones, the mighty ones, the brilliant, the compassionate and generous among us end this way unless violence and calamity or disease takes them out first. I just want to go home, but I don’t know how to get there. Frailty. Sad. Undeserved. Pitiful.

I ask myself, why? As I watch the decline of my ninety-six year old dad, I ask, does he deserve this? Is God “teaching him a lesson?” Perhaps. Perhaps not. Maybe it’s not about Dad. Perhaps it is a lesson for me to apprehend, study, and ask why a loving God would put us through this. O Father, why?

The question reverberates in an empty room. And here I am, on my knees, beseeching God for wisdom, understanding, insight, and patience. O, patience! But my insight is dim and my patience is so frail. My understanding is so limited and I realize that frailty overcomes endurance. Why is this so? With all the bards and poets of history, I rail against this reality. I rage against the injustice of it, the seeming pointlessness of a life lived to end this way. In frailty. I exit as I entered. All is indeed vanity.

I had to take a couple of months to recover somewhat after writing the preceding paragraphs. I could not come back to my pen. I was in a spiritual desert. Wandering aimlessly, my eyes beseeching heaven for answers, for guidance, for a word from God. And let’s not forget our ancient foe, who loves to bring us woe, and kick us when we are down. “Curse God and die!” The liar says or at least, “Abandon all hope ye who enter herein.”

“No!” I say. I run to my Father. I don’t have time to even think of our Lord’s prayer, I can only cry out like a helpless child, “O Lord, save me!” And my Father comes; the Evil One is banished in the wee hours of the morning; and putting one foot in front of the other, I slog on through the sand.

What lesson is to be learned? What truth to discover with delight? What is the point? Why? In the Gospel of John the Apostle chapter 21 verses 17 and 18, I find a very interesting conversation between Simon Peter and our resurrected Lord. He said to him the third time, "Simon son of John, do you love me?" Peter felt hurt because he said to him the third time, "Do you love me?" And he said to him, "Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you." Jesus said to him, "Feed my sheep. Very truly, I tell you, when you were younger, you used to fasten your own belt and to go wherever you wished. But when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will fasten a belt around you and take you where you do not wish to go." Frailty.

Frailty. The final humiliation of the flesh. The worm agonizes in its death throes. It is terrifying to watch. Compassion it should bring, and a terror of anticipation. Frailty is not for the coward.

In a somewhat controversial passage, Job, in the midst of his suffering exclaims the famous words, “Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him.” As if that were the end of it, but it is not. Read what follows as Job continues to speak in 13:15ff, “but I will defend my ways to His face. This will be my salvation, that the godless shall not come before Him. Listen carefully to my words, and let my declaration be in your ears. I have indeed prepared my case; I know that I shall be vindicated. Who is there that will contend with me? For then I would be silent and die.” Hmmm. It took until the last Chapter (42) to get to Job’s final words, “I despise myself, and repent in dust and ashes." The last vestige of flesh. Frailty.

There is no negotiating, no bargaining; only submission.