Go West, Old Man, Go West

“Life’s a long journey in the same direction,” said some philosopher long ago. And for me, the direction is west.
I had preached my sermon at chapel the day I had to catch the train. I took a chance on “mountains”. I had already preached on Bones in the Bible, with some success according to feedback.
So I took as my text the last chapter of Deuteronomy. “Old Man Mose done gone up de mountin.’ His eye warn’t dim nor his strength abated. And dat is sumpin’ given he was 120 at the time.”
Nebo is almost 3000 feet above sea level, right smack dab in front of the lowest lake on earth—the Dead Sea. 100 miles north he could see a white patch—snow-covered Mt. Hermon over 9000 feet in elevation. But he could see Mount Tabor, too. He didn’t know it at the time, but that’s where he and Elijah would come back some 1400 years later to talk with Jesus before he started the last lap of his race with our race.
Moses saw Mount Moriah, where Abraham had won the test of faith when he raised the dreaded knife over Isaac, the son of promise. David would later take the citadel of the Jebusites there and make Jerusalem the forever capital of God’s earthly kingdom. And just outside that high place Moses had predicted that a greater prophet than he would come. That prophet would be the lamb that would, unlike Isaac, actually be slain for our redemption.
On the long lonely trek up the trail Moses must have mused on the promise that God would give Abraham a land, a seed, and a blessing for the world. The seed was now several million souls. They had done well on that part. But they possessed not a single acre of the land. Moses wanted at least to see it before he died. And God had said, OK.
So God took Moses and buried his body somewhere on Nebo—no one knows just where. I think Moses died content. And so may we if we trust God. You see, people don’t just croak like frogs. God sends for us—maybe with angels, I don’t know. But we don’t just die. It says, “precious on the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints.”
Meanwhile there’s work to be done. Moses perhaps sees the camp of the Israelite hordes a few miles from their first challenge. Jericho is the first walled city—the oldest one on earth. Ahead were lots of valleys to go through and battles to fight. But as for them, so for us, God is going before us. Since Jesus, the land cannot be the geography of Palestine—that’s way too small for the billions now in the kingdom. Jesus changed the kingdom to the places where God rules as king. And that is in the hearts of those who like Moses, leave the privilege and wealth of the world to seek for the city whose builder and maker is God. Hebrews 11 tells us what we are in for if we join the king. Really tough going. But worth every tear shed and drop of blood that we spill in solidarity with the tears, groans and blood of Jesus.
I had a good time preaching that one to those precious brothers and sisters who are going out to serve in India, come what may.
One of those is Ashish Kandelahar, whom I met five years ago. He wanted to go into the hills where Christ had never had a presence and start a church. He came to campus the day before I left and told of the school he has now with about 100 kids and several small house churches. Wow! His wife was a student of mine. Preema and Ashish have a year old girl and are just full of joy in the work far off in the primitive towns a six hour drive from the college. (Preema is no slouch either. She got one of the highest marks in all India after she finished New Theological College.)
I thought back on all these blessings as I took the 6-hour train ride through the darkness to Delhi. Upon arrival I wave off the red-turbaned porters eager to carry my luggage. I had no idea where to go if I had used their services. I am waiting for Premji to come into the coach to help with the bags. But he doesn’t come. I struggle to the platform and sit on a bench. It’s midnight. Thankfully there are a few souls nearby, as I have almost no money, no way to call the office, and the platform is not a friendly place to park for long. I keep telling myself he’s stuck in traffic. Every five minutes seems like a long time. I keep whistling in the dark, so to speak, to keep up courage. Half an hour later, sure enough, he shows up and we are soon in the little van and off to the airport.
I have five hours to wait. Not enough time to have gone for a room. So I snooze, do sudokos, and snack on some nuts and an apple I took along. I’m thinking lots of people would think me nuts, floating in a faraway land like that. But in due time I am on the flight. And—I got an upgrade! Whoo-hoo! One of those larger seats. And by the window. I found out that when you wander to that forward galley usually forbidden to us peons, they have juice and snacks and chips and real fresh fruit that you can just help yourself to! And I do. I never knew how well these wealthy travelers made out. I wonder what its like upstairs in First Class?
I’m by the window, too. I get to see the barren land of Pakistan, Afghanistan, and the other “stans.” I could see tiny squares on the dry hills that marked settlements—far from any roads it seems. Snow-capped ranges in the distance. Beautiful!
But what’s this? My seat mate is an Indian who works in London. He tells me he goes back for month each year to visit family. He thinks India is the most beautiful place on earth. I choose not to challenge that. However, he is antsy. Restless? Man—he was all over, hoggin’ the armrests. Jumping in my window seat went I went to the lavatory. O well—he was pleasant and I did doze off a dozen times for about ten minutes. After all, I had been up all night.
We flew over the Netherlands. It was fairly clear by then, with the morning sun slanting in under the clouds. We had early morning sun for 8 hours, the pace keeping the full moon on the horizon for hours as we chased it westward. I waved at granddaughter April Gustafson living now in Amsterdam. I doubt she noticed. But it was a nice gesture. I’m all for gestures!
And as I write this at Heathrow (London) I have been up nearly 40 hours with a flight across the ocean still ahead. I expect Ellie to be at Logan with chauffeur Jim Herrick. She never comes to see me off—only on return. As they say, absence makes the heart grow fonder. Wait ‘til I get home from my trip to Kenya next January. She’ll probably hire a brass band!
As I sign off the blogs for this excursion of four weeks, I thank all for their prayers and thoughts. My heart is full. God, as usual, does wonderful things that make it a joy to venture forth, doing a tiny bit in the sweeping events that will come to a crescendo when the King comes back.
So whether we die on Mt Nebo or whether God takes us from bed in old age, we are the Lord’s. Meanwhile—we have work to do, knowing that in the Lord our labor cannot be in vain.