Isn’t this a silly question? Is there anyone out truly arguing it is a sin to retire? Yes, and no. As is always the case, it is vitally important to define our terms. No one, I suspect, would argue that one has an obligation to work a 9-5 job for a paycheck until the day you die. That said, I trust no one would deny that the fourth commandment says we are to work six days and rest one. If by “retirement” we mean spending our last days indulging ourselves, living a perpetual vacation, then maybe we’d better slow down long enough to ask if it’s a sin.
The fourth commandment cannot be taken so woodenly to forbid a vacation. We know this not because we want vacations but because God commanded them in establishing the feasts. That said, neither should it be so gutted as to say, “Six days shalt thou labor until you have accumulated enough cash to ride out your days in comfort.” Somewhere in between I suspect we’d end up here- there’s not a thing wrong with quitting your day-to-day job, even to taking it easier. Productivity, the work of manifesting the reign of Christ over all things, however, should never cease until we enter into our rest.
“Retirement” can be a wonderful time in a man’s life where he can turn his attention to things that matter but that don’t typically put bread on the table. He can rid himself of the pressures of deadlines, invest in relationships, teach younger men, serve. He can preach the good news in the darkest corners of his community. He can build relationships on the golf course, the softball field or the local community college. He can fix the cars or mow the lawn of widows. He can lead a Sunday school class.
I don’t pretend to know if there is a line that separates taking it easier and failing to labor for six days. I don’t need to as I’m not standing in judgment on any man with respect to how he spends the days the Lord has given Him. I’m not the master here. I do know, as I get older, that I am increasingly drawn to ease and need to be on my guard. I know, on the other hand, that I have my own propensity to fence the law of God, adding burdens the Lord has not given.
My hope is that thinking about not working would give us a better understanding of our call to work. Whether we are marketing widgets, giving investment advice, preaching or teaching, we are all to be busy bringing all things under subjection. That labor we do not rest from until the fullness of rest comes, until the Master says to us, “Well done, thou good and faithful servant. Enter into your reward.” That will be a good day, because of Jesus. It is, after all, His reward that we enter into. Work well. Rest well.
We all have the propensity to conjugate adjectives. Here we take a series of pseudo-synonyms, words that are kissing cousins, and apply them from first to worst based on the proximity of the one we’re speaking of. Consider these three words or phrases, “careful with money,” “cheap,” and “miserly.” All three express a similar idea and in a pinch could be traded one for another. But we typically end up conjugating this way- “I am careful with money,” “You are cheap,” “He is miserly.” Words carry with them a range of meaning and those who are devious are not averse to using that fact to their advantage.
One of the ways we do this is with respect to sin. Sins could be considered failures in judgment, giving in to our baser nature and high-handed rebellion against the living God. We tend to conjugate the same way- “I had a failure in judgment,” “You gave in to your baser nature,” “He is in high-handed rebellion against the living God.” Thankfully, we are reasonably skeptical when a person describes his own sins as failures in judgment. We see how self-serving such a description is. Where we are less astute, understandably given the monolithic reign of victimhood, is seeing how self-serving our accusations are against others.
Sometimes, in fact, it is our failure to avail ourselves of nuanced meanings that makes room for this. Consider the word “abuse.” We all agree it’s a bad thing. Nobody wants to be on the receiving end of abuse and, except for when we are guilty of it, no one wants to be guilty of it. The question is, how bad is it? There has been increasing cries within the evangelical church to include abuse as a biblical just cause for divorce. There are different ways of coming at this. Some outstanding scholars have argued that physical abuse falls within the range of meaning of “sexual immorality” that our Lord affirms is just grounds for divorce. Many others, however, have simply insisted that because abuse is so bad, of course it’s biblical grounds for divorce.
My goal here isn’t to settle that issue. Rather it is to consider a vital question that must be answered first, what is abuse? Every husband in the world, save One, has been guilty of abusing his wife. Every father in the world, save One, has been guilty of abusing His children. Every wife in the world has been guilty abusing her husband and her children. And every child in the world has been guilty of abusing their parents. Does this mean then that every wife has biblical grounds for divorce, every husband having the same? Every sin is a form of abuse, just as every momentary, illicit thought is a form of adultery. Verbal abuse is abuse. I concur wholeheartedly. Emotional abuse is abuse. Sad but true. This is the scope of sin in our lives.
When we perceive ourselves to be victims we want every wrong we’ve experienced to be categorized as the most grievous of wrongs. We want micro-aggressions to be treated as compelling proof of massive conspiracy. We see those who seek to reign in our perceptions as enablers and victim-blamers. The truth is every single one of us is both a victim and a victimizer. Where we are the former we need compassion and understanding. Where we are the latter we need conviction, repentance and forgiveness. We’d all be wise to distrust our own ability, or that of our dearest friends, to make that determination.
The hard driving forces of individualism do not yet stand astride the culture like a colossus. We have divided our homes into mini-apartment complexes and our churches into age and gender- segregated shopping malls. We break the ties that bind any time we find them the least bit binding. We live by ourselves and for ourselves. None of which has yet undone the truth that we are an incurably communal people.
Sociologists have argued for decades, for instance, that children in the inner-city, coming out of unstable homes, often without fathers, naturally gravitate toward the pseudo-family that is gang life. Even the mob mimics the contours of the family. Casa Nostra, after all, means “Our House.”
One need not, however, live in the context of a criminal subculture in order to see faux families at work, to see the parade and charade of ritual togetherness. One can see it driving into most any small town. As you come down into the edge of town, you see a sign of welcome. The sign welcomes you to town, but the welcome comes not from all its citizens, but from its leading “families.” That is, there on the sign you will see the logos for Ruritan and the Knights of Columbus, for the Rotary Club and the Masonic Lodge.
I’m no expert on these civic organizations. I’ve never joined one or visited one. Rumor has it, however, that quite apart from the service to the communities, separate from the business deals that are made there, there are sundry rituals and secrets that bind the members together. Which makes perfect sense. For these organizations invariably become not just pseudo-families, but pseudo-churches. They take on the shape of the one great organization wherein communities are served and dominion is exercised, the church of Jesus Christ.
We ought not, because of the obvious similarities, be ashamed of our practices. We do not greet one another with a secret handshake, but with qa holy kiss. We do not wear funny hats, but crowns of gold. And the ritual that binds us together is as plain as it is powerful. There is no great power in bread. There is no great mystery surrounding wine. But Jesus, He is a different matter altogether. There is not just power and mystery, but power and glory.
The Lord’s Supper is a rite, a ritual, a form, and a raging storm of power. Of course there is the power to remind us of our sin. The body wasn’t broken by a car accident. The blood was not shed because of a mishandled kitchen knife. No, we come to the table knowing that we crucified Him. We broke the body, as our sin shed the blood. The very act of eating and drinking the destruction our sin has wrought will penetrate our hearts far better than the most cogent lecture on the doctrine of total depravity.
But there is greater power. For the Table not only tells us of our sin, but tells us of His forgiveness. It is, after all, the Table of the Lord. He invites us there that we might enjoy table fellowship with Him. We enter into His forgiveness and His peace as He lays out before us a table in the presence of His enemies. He bids us to rest not just in Him but with Him.
When we affirm the power of conviction, when we affirm the power of connection with Him, we still, however, miss the Body. For the glory isn’t merely that we commune with Jesus but that as we commune with Jesus, we commune with each other. The Lord’s Table has the power to make of bickering, back-biting, and squabbling siblings the very body of Christ. Just as hundreds of grains of wheat join together to form a single loaf, so too hundreds of grains of wheat join together to form the body of Christ, the very bread of life. The Lord doesn’t set His table for one or for two, but for the teeming multitudes that are His. The Table opens our eyes not just to see Him, but to see Him in our brothers and sisters, that we might love them as we are called.
It all, of course, ties together. When the Table reminds us of our own sin, it helps us look past the sins of our brothers. And when the Table shows us the glory of the Son, we set aside seeking our own glory and so love our brothers better. When we enter into the power of the Table to make of us one, then suddenly the formulaic copies of the world around us lose their appeal. Who needs funny hats and secret handshakes, when Jesus, the one we crucified, when Jesus, the one He raised from the dead, when Jesus, the one who is the express image of the glory of the Father, comes and feeds His bride? May He purify us that we might love Him, and so better love His body, the church.
People are still dying from COVID. Russia and Ukraine wage war. Christians are being martyred in Communist and Muslim countries. These are all real, true, painful hardships. There are human beings losing their homes, their wealth, their lives. Prayer is fitting. Mercy ministry makes perfect sense. And we are called to mourn with those who mourn. Let nothing that follows diminish faithful Christian response to any hardship anywhere.
That said, there are a number of dangers that come with consuming the news. That these are dangers does not mean everyone or even anyone always falls into them. It does mean we should be on our guard. The first danger is when we try to put ourselves in the news by proxy. We sometimes compete with our friends to see who can get closest to the big story- “My in-laws had to evacuate their home because of the wildfires.” “My best friend from college is a banker in Greece and that riot was outside his office.” “We support missionaries in Nigeria that meet just three blocks from where the last assault happened.” It’s a good and healthy thing to think in terms of who your neighbor is. It’s a bad and unhealthy thing to try to bask in the glow of tragedy’s fame.
In like manner a second danger is to treat the news like a movie, as an opportunity to experience emotional thrills while keeping a safe distance. We wring our hands over the fires. We stoke our indignation over overspending governments. We soak our hankies over murders in Nigeria. There is not a thing wrong with such an emotional response, if it is grounded in genuine concern and compassion for genuine human beings. There is something terribly wrong with such a sentimental approach that, like a cyber-vampire, feeds on distant tragedy.
Which leads us to the third danger. We skew our view when our consumption of great and distant hardship dulls our senses to common and close hardship. These hardships, on the one hand, are rather ordinary. People get sick and die all the time. They get incurable cancer. Complications of renal tubular acidosis create myocardial infarctions in once strong men. On the other hand, the commonness, the fact that these hardships won’t make the news doesn’t mean the heartsickness is any less. How often are we able to summon great concern for those far away that we can’t help, but remain unable to serve, or comfort those who are close, whom we can help?
We would be wise to remember that people are people. They don’t become more than human because their story is on the news. They don’t become less than human when their story is not on the news. We would be wise to remember as well that tragedy and hardship are common to man. Staying off the news, and even staying out of hospitals will not make you immune. And finally, we would be wise to give thanks in all things. God has sent fires into the homes of believers and unbelievers alike, that in part they would learn to not put their trust in earthly treasures. God has toppled pretentious states for the same reason. And He calls home His martyrs, who are witnesses of His glory. Close or far, large or small, the God Lord reigns over all.
There is, in the end, no such thing as news. There are only people’s lives, and the Lord who orders them. Better to live our lives together than to watch others live theirs alone.
When we are yet outside the kingdom, before we are born a second time, we suppress the truth in unrighteousness (Romans 1). This does not mean we are stupid. It does mean we are foolish. We know what we know, but because such knowledge exposes our guilt, we suppress it. We are born again when God the Holy Spirit changes us, replacing our hearts of stone with a heart of flesh, when that same Spirit indwells us, and cleanses us.
But we are not changed fully and instantly. We are still dirty. We are still, in ourselves, guilty. And we still seek to suppress the truth in unrighteousness. Consider those Marylander legislators who recently proposed a bill outlining why no investigation should ensue for a death soon after birth. Their reasoning has a diabolical logic to it- there is no real difference between the baby before it is born and after it is born. We are free to kill the child in the first instance, why not in the second? This is a rather telling illustration of Romans 1 level foolishness. It ought not, however, surprise us. We’re dealing with unregenerate people here. This is the kind of thing they come up with.
It seems however that Christians are indeed surprised by this revolting development. Not just surprised, but outraged, furious, indignant and morally flabbergasted. We write learned pieces decrying this new evidence of cultural decline. We cluck and fret on twitter and facebook. And, as is our wont, we miss the point. Because we are still dirty, we miss the blood on our own hands. If it is true, as these “legislators” argue, and it is, that there is no moral difference between the practice of abortion or pre-natal infanticide and after birth abortion, or infanticide, why do we, who have been blessed by the indwelling Holy Spirit, get up in arms about one, and yawn over the other? Why the moral outrage over the moral outrage du jour, and the lack of moral outrage over the moral outrage of our generation?
We in the church are blind because we walk backwards, in the face of a decadent culture, drawing perpetual lines in the sand, boldly declaring “Thus far, and no further.” We’ve done it so many times we have forgotten where we came from. Our salt has lost its savor, and we are trodden underfoot. Abortion, the murder of babies in their mothers’ wombs, has, by virtue of the church’s relative ease on the matter now become distasteful, uncouth, and normal, like Playboy magazines behind the counter at the convenience store. The Maryland lawmakers are not pushing the boundaries of their ethics; they are embracing the norms of our ethics.
We expose our hypocrisy, our callowness and shallowness when we protest after-birth abortion, sex-selection abortion, partial-birth abortion, late-term abortion, unsafe, unregulated abortion, Obamacare funded abortion, all the while living a business-as-usual life in the face of babies being butchered in our neighborhoods every day. The evil of killing babies is that they are babies, no matter their age, no matter whether they are born, no matter how they came to be, no matter what butchering technique is used. We, the living, must repent. Lord have mercy on our souls, and the souls of the babies we destroy.
