I sat with a friend today, a man of white hair and wisdom.  He’s retired now but has trod a similar path to me professionally and spiritually.  As I listened to his recollections, I heard nothing but gratitude and generosity.  And scattered amongst the stories of yesterday, those both of joy and pain, were the most delightful observations of where he is now and the simple pleasures of his later years.  I left him feeling better about me and the world.

From there I boarded a train back to the city.  I sat just a row in front of an elderly couple, similar vintage to my white haired friend.  She sat with an empty stare, hunched at the shoulders.  He scowled the whole way, making loud, surly and disparaging comments about other people in the carriage.  His language was crude and his demeanour churlish.  By the time the train pulled into my stop, I was glad to leave them behind.  But I left the platform feeling both anxious and sad, for them.

I have often though of ageing well as one of the challenges of life I want to embrace.  Not that I am there yet!  But as I approach yet another significant birthday, I am conscious of it.  I would say my elderly friend is ageing generously. And I suspect that has much to do with his having lived generously.   

This Sunday at Collins Street we are celebrating Harvest Sunday, a day of gratitude for the simplest provisions of life.  There is something about drinking deeply and intentionally at the well of God’s generosity that transforms my own ability to live generously  with others.

Some years back I came across this prayer.  It’s one I keep coming back to.  In fact, this past week I have been using it each day in my own prayers. They are good words for me.

Extravagant God

Excessive

Generous

lavish God …

why do you waste so much time on us?

You create rainbows that no one sees;

shower down intricate separate unique

stunning autumn leaves by the billions

and one at a time

that we greet not with applause

but with complaints of inconvenience.

You place whales beneath fathoms of ocean

singing their plaintive haunting songs

too deep for our ears to hear.

You create fantastic jungles within a square foot of grass

a universe in an atom

breathtaking places that have never been seen or appreciated

by a single human being.

Why are we so bored and dull?

Why do we appreciate water most in the desert

health only during sickness

our friend when he leaves

our love when she dies?

Should we pray for less

for you to ration Your grace

to waste no rainbow?

Forgive us.

You don’t paint rainbows just for us to see

nor make birdsong just for us to hear.

Rebuke our terrible pride

and chastise our deism

that imagines You created only once

long ago

and can’t perceive Genesis now

or Eden here

or what a new day means.

Help us to do two impossible things:

to take it ALL in

(every miraculous atom of it)

and to waste our time on a rose

a place

a time

a person.

Perhaps one will bring us all

full time to eternity

one blackbird to You.

Prodigal God, may we find

a millionth of the joy that clearly is yours

Amen

Frank Ohler, Better than Nice and Other Unconventional Prayers, Westminster John Knox Press, 1989.  (With apologies for making some small adaptations to suit the southern hemisphere)