Sundown Comes to Us All

I love Gordon Lightfoot.  So when I heard he was coming to play The Vets, I called my sister and booked tickets.  Now, I realize that seeing a 78-year-old performer . . . and a vocalist at that . . . can be a dicey proposition.  Time is not usually gentle on the cords.  I lucked out last year when I saw Neil Diamond at The Dunk, though, so I was willing to take a chance.

(Let me just say Neil Diamond was AMAZING--he played an hour and a half straight, no break, very little talking, still jumping around the stage and jamming and FABULOUS!  I actually want his NEW album, Melody Road, he was so good!  75 has nothing on him!)

Life has hit Mr. Lightfoot a little harder.  I wish it weren't so, but there isn't much good I can say about the concert musically except for the guitar picking: both Mr. Lightfoot and the lead guitarist played very well.  The main problem is that Mr. Lightfoot is a supreme balladist . . . his rich lyrics and flowing melodies are what make him so great.  Unfortunately, in the concert his lyrics were undecipherable and his voice very aged . . . and the background music too repetitive to sustain interest.

But he's Gordon Lightfoot.

Over the past couple of days, I've been thinking about that concert a lot.  I felt bad for a musician on the back nine . . . and I started thinking about myself in 30 or 40 years.  I, too, am a vocalist, and I already hear a decline in range and power.  Trumpet is okay . . . but what happens when simply breathing gets harder?


Ahh . . . but I'm a writer!  Age can't harm that!  Really?  How often do I stop in conversation at loss for the word "cabinet"?  As I age it may very well become harder to find the right word, or any word, harder to keep my train of thought as I type.

Depressing.

So what keeps the "Sundown" of life from being a miserable, useless, waiting-to-move-on?

Ultimately the answer to that is the answer to every interesting question in life: Jesus.  Jesus' love for us does not fade with age.  It is not dependent upon how well we perform or how many standing ovations we get.  And our love for Him is much the same.  I have heard stories of people who forget their families but somehow remember Scripture or the words to their favorite hymns.

What if, however, you are one of those who does forget all those things?  What if you are the sweet-tempered grandmother who slowly turns into a grouchy, foul-mouthed stranger?  Has your love for God failed?  Has His love failed?

NO!

Return to the earlier premise: God's love for us is not dependent upon our performance.  It is in those lives that decay the most that God's love is most vividly displayed, for He looks at the heart, hears that true confession of faith, and embraces His child with unabashed adoration.  It is truly God who does the work, not us.

That knowledge should give each of us comfort as we confront our own inevitable mortality . . . and the eternal glory that awaits us if we have trusted in Christ's perfect work. 

Thank you, Gordon Lightfoot, for the reminder.