I think that it is possible that some of us never really achieve wisdom. We collect experiences. We reflect on the things that we have done and the things that have happened to us. We process our lives, but somehow, we don’t learn enough from life to become truly wise. Wisdom comes with age. It takes having had a certain amount of experience to begin to process that experience into wisdom. But there is much more to being wise than merely being old.

One person who did, in my opinion, achieve wisdom was Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel. He died in 1972 – before I had read any of his words. In fact what I know of the man I know primarily from collections of his writings that were published after his death such as “Prophetic Inspiration After the Prophets,” “The Insecurity of Freedom,” “I Asked for Wonder” and “Moral Grandeur and Spiritual Audacity.” He was a stunning essayist.

And, I believe, he was truly wise. I don’t know how he became wise, but the legacy he left to those of us who read his words is undeniably rich.

In 1961, he delivered an essay at the White House Conference on Aging entitled “To Grow in Wisdom.” In that essay he reflected on elderly people living in nursing homes. The character and nature of nursing homes has changed a great deal since he wrote. But I recognize the people of whom he writes:

“I see the sick and the despised, the defeated and the bitter, the rejected and the lonely. I see them clustered together and alone, clinging to a hope for somebody’s affection that does not come to pass. I hear them pray for the release that comes with death. I see them deprived and forgotten, masters yesterday, outcasts today.

“What we owe the old is reverence, but all they ask for is consideration, attention, not to be discarded and forgotten. What they deserve is preference, yet we do not even grant them equality. One father finds it possible to sustain a dozen children, yet a dozen children find it impossible to sustain one father.

“Perhaps this is the most distressing aspect of the situation. The care for the old is regarded as an act of charity rather than as a supreme privilege. In the never dying utterance of the Ten Commandments, the God of Israel did not proclaim: Honor Me, Revere Me. He proclaimed instead: Revere your father and your mother. There is no reverence for God without reverence for father and mother.

“In Jewish tradition the honor for father and mother is a commandment, the perfect fulfillment of which surpasses the power of man. There is no limit to what one ought to do in carrying out this privilege of devotion. God is invisible, but my mother is His presence . . ”

Now that the lives of my parents are complete, I find myself in the position of becoming an elder. I don’t think I imagined this much when I was younger. I always thought of the elderly as someone else – never me. But the years go by and the losses accumulate and time passes. Suddenly, it seems to me, I have come to a place where many of my colleagues are much younger than I. In the community of the church, I am viewed as someone at the end of my career – to old to be seriously considered for new positions in the church. It is expected that I will continue to serve for a few more years and then retire, making room for a younger person to provide dynamic leadership and renewal to the church.

I know that within a few short decades I will exist only in memory. What I have done or contributed will be complete. My time will have passed. And now, at this point in my life, I wonder what that memory might be. What legacy will I leave to future generations? Like the aging people in Heschel’s essay, I don’t really ask for much. But there is a part of me that would like to be remembered.

And sometimes, in the dark of the night, I wonder if I have done anything worthy of memory.

The novelist Kurt Vonnegut put together three quotes like this:

“To be is to do.” – Socrates
“To do is to be.” – Sartre
“Do Be Do Be Do.” – Sinatra

Philosophers have long questioned what constitutes proof of existence. Both Socrates and Sartre believed that existing and doing were intimately connected. Rene Descartes questioned whether action was necessary. Perhaps one does not have to do anything to exist. Having a thought may be sufficient to prove one’s existence. Descartes famous quote is one I have memorized in three languages:
“Cogito ero sum.” (Latin)
“Je pense donc je suis.” (French)
“I think, therefore I am.” (English)

Descartes would find the simple fact that I question my existence proof that I do indeed exist. Perhaps, however, I am not really questioning my existence. At least I rarely question whether or not I exist in this time and place. What I wonder is whether or not I will exist in the future. I what I do and what is most important to me in this life of any consequence in the big span of history?

Maybe Sinatra is the wisest of those quoted by Vonnegut: “Do Be Do Be Do.” A little whimsy may be what is most required. We are capable of deep thought, but sometimes what we need to do is to allow the big questions to remain. And in the midst of the questions to live – and on occasion to dance.

From the Christian perspective, in the final analysis, our existence is not dependent upon our accomplishments. We do not gain favor with God by working and accomplishing things that are noticed by other humans. We are born beloved and remain beloved throughout the span of our lives simply because God is invested in relationship.

The surest evidence of my existence is that I am loved – not because I deserve it, but simply because God is love.

And love never dies.

So I will take the Vonnegut quote and to it add the ruminations of two more philosophers:

“To be is to do.” – Socrates
“To do is to be.” - Sartre
“Do Be Do Be Do.” – Sinatra
“Scooby Dooby Do!” – Scooby Do
“Yaba Daba Doo!” – Fred Flinstone

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