From a sermon by Charles Spurgeon:
Here is a very beautiful comparison, the comparison of the aged Christian to a shock of corn. Go into the harvest field, and you shall see how much the wheat reminds you of the aged believer. How much anxiety has been expended on that field! When the seed first sprung up the farmer dreaded lest the worm should bite the tender shoots, and the blade should be devoured, or lest some sharp frost should consume the infant plant and cause it to wither and die. And, then, month after month, as the seasons came, how did he anxiously look towards heaven and long that the rains might come, or that the genial sunshine might pour out its vivifying floods of light upon the field. When it has come to somewhat of maturity, how greatly has he feared lest the mildew and blast should shrivel up the precious ears. It stands in the fields now, and in some respects he is freed from his anxiety. The months of his travail are over. He has waited patiently for the precious fruits of the soil, but now they are there. And so with the grey-headed man. How many years of anxiety have been expended upon him! In his youth how likely did it seem that he might be smitten down by death, and yet he has passed safely through youth, manhood, and age. What varied accidents have been warded from him! How has the shield of the Providential Keeper been over his head to keep him from the shafts of the pestilence, or from the heavy hand of accident that might have smitten his life! How many anxieties has he had himself! How many troubles has he passed through! Look upon the hoary-headed veteran! Mark the scars that troubles have inflicted upon his forehead! And see, deep written in his breast, the dark mementos of the sharp struggles and trials he has endured! And now his anxieties are somewhat over; he is come very nearly to the haven of rest. A few short years of trial and trouble shall land him on fair Canaan's coast, and we look upon him with the same pleasure that the farmer regards the wheat, because the anxiety is over and the time of rest is now approaching. Mark how weak the stem has become! how every wind shakes it to and fro; it is withered and dried! See how the head hangs down to earth, as if it were about to kiss the dust, and show whence it had its origin! So, mark you the aged man; tottering are his steps, "they that look out of the windows are darkened, the grinders cease because they are few, and the grasshopper has become a burden." Yet even in that weakness there is glory. It is not the weakness of the tender blade, it is the weakness of the full ripe corn, it is a weakness that shows its maturity, it is a weakness that gilds it with glory. Even as the colour of the wheat is golden, so that it looks more beauteous than when the greenness of its verdure is on it, so the grey-headed man has a crown of glory on his head. He is glorious in his weakness, more than the young man in his strength, or the maiden in her beauty. Is not a shock of corn a beautiful picture of the state of man, moreover, because very soon it must be taken home? The reaper is coming. Even now I hear the sickle sharpening. The reaper hath well edged it, and he shall soon cut the corn down. See! he is coming across the field to reap his harvest; and then, by-and-bye, it shall be carried into the barn and safely housed, no more subject to blight, or mildew, or insect, or disease. There it shall be secured, where no snow can fall upon it, no winds can molest it. It shall be safe and secure; and joyful shall be the time when harvest home shall be proclaimed, and the shock of corn, fully ripe, shall be carried into the farmer's garner. Such is the aged man. He, too, shall soon be taken home. Death is even now sharpening his sickle, and the angels are getting ready their chariot of gold to bear him up to the skies. The barn is built; the house is provided; soon the great Master shall say, "Bind up the tares in bundles to burn, and gather the wheat into my barn."
This week my family ventured back to my parent's hometown to attend a funeral for dad's sister-in law, Aunt Jeannette. A simple woman of beauty and grace she was much more at home in her small country town than going out and about in the world, but her greatest epitaph is she was a woman of God, whose unfaltering faith endured through these past eight years of struggle and pain. Her funeral, filled to capacity, celebrated her life in Christ and it just felt good to witness the love exhibited by everyone in attendance... The day was a fine autumn day reveling in the glory of first autumn's hues as we left home but as we ascended into the mountains of southwest Virginia the color began to blaze... the glory of God's world took the sting out of our journey.... and as the day unfolded our once downcast spirits were uplifted to the heavenlies because of the wonderful hope we have in Jesus... for the death of a christian is not something to mourn, really, but it is a going home a release and a blessing! The following poemwas read by the minister:
Miss Me-But Let Me Go
When I come to the end of the road
And the sun has set for me
I want no rites in a gloom filled room
Why cry for a soul set free?
Miss me a little, but not for too long
and not with your head held low
Remember the love that we once shared
Miss me- but let me go.
For this is a journey that we must take
and each must go alone
It's all part of the Master's plan
A step on the road to home.
When you are lonely and sick of heart
Go to the friends we know
And bury your sorrows in doing good deeds
Miss me- but let me go.
For each of us in the family, we all come to the cemetery with a differing view... for some it is with remembrance of those who have gone before us and the renewed feelings of loss..
for some it is like my parents who will soon be knocking at heaven's gate... and for myself who will be bearing that bittersweet feeling of grief.. but one thing is a surety... our days are numbered and we all must travel that road, praise God His children will not be alone... for our wonderful Savior, Jesus, will walk through the shadow of the valley of death along side us..
