Do not cast me off in the time of old age; forsake me not when my strength is spent.
Psalm 71:9
We do not know the author of this psalm, but we know that he is in the twilight of life, after years and years of walking faithfully before the Lord. He tells us as much in verses 5-6, “For you, O Lord, are my hope, my trust, Lord, from my youth. Upon you have I leaned from before my birth; you are he who took me from my mother’s womb. My praise is continually of you.”
Such a saint has undoubtedly voiced countless prayers to the Lord over such a span of time – prayers of exuberant adoration, soul-rending confession, warm-hearted thanksgiving, earnest supplication. Perhaps it could be said of this saint that, like James the brother of Christ, his knees were like a camel’s after so much time in prayer. He says in verse 17, “O God, from my youth you have taught me, and I still proclaim your wondrous deeds.”
We can almost picture this faithful brother, growing in wisdom and stature, in favor with God and man. First he is with his parents in the Temple, singing out the hallel psalms as he has been instructed, listening dutifully to the Torah being read, one of those olive shoots Psalm 128 describes. Then as a young man, as described in Psalm 119, he keeps his way pure before the Lord by hiding God’s Word in his heart, even as he takes a wife and raises up children in the fear of the Lord. And now, as his hair turns silver with age, he is viewed as a pillar of faithfulness by the believing community. He is the model believer.
And here in this psalm, we are invited to listen in on the private prayer of this grand old man. Imagine an invitation to sit quietly by during Billy Graham’s morning devotional. What spiritual riches might we glean from hearing such a man in prayer before his Lord? What sorts of stirring, tested expressions of faith might pour forth from the lips of this spiritual giant? As we draw near to the door, and lean over to catch what he says, we are surprised to hear the words that are recorded in verse 9, “Do not cast me off in the time of old age; forsake me not when my strength is gone.”
It seems there is a trace of fear in the voice of the aged saint.
We do not know all the details of his circumstance. It is very likely that he is a king of Israel, whose enemies now see him as weak and vulnerable. We are told at various points in this psalm that he is pursued by those described as “wicked,” “unjust,” and “cruel.” (:4) He reports a plot against him in verses 10-11: “For my enemies speak concerning me; those who watch for my life consult together and say, ‘God has forsaken him; pursue and seize him, for there is none to deliver him.” And as he looks around at the enemies who surround him, and considers his own condition, he is fearful. He is not as strong as he was in the days of his youth. He finds himself often short of breath. Perhaps many of the advisers and friends and family members whom he has leaned upon throughout his life have already died. And on this day, his honest plea is, “Do not cast me off in the time of old age; forsake me not when my strength is gone.” (:9)
John Calvin once said that the psalms are an anatomy of the human soul. Every conceivable emotion is expressed in some way within these 150 psalms. And here, in psalm 71, we find the cry of the aged saint.
I found this psalm striking after spending part of the afternoon yesterday in a nursing home, going to visit a brother in his eighties who was just admitted that morning. As I weaved my way through the hallways to find the man’s room, I realized that everyone in that place was once youthful and healthy, able to do whatever they wanted to do. And now they are dependent on nurses and attendants to care for their most basic needs. Many are in physical pain. Many are lonely, separated from their families and the life they have always known. Many are depressed because they feel that they have lost their usefulness. This particular brother has lived a full life, serving in the Navy during WWII, driving a truck all over the US, and laying down a legendary bass in a Gospel quartet for decades. And as I took my seat by hi bed, it hit me that many of the men and women there are probably scared. Maybe not necessarily scared of death and facing the judgment seat — though perhaps that — but just scared of the whole process of aging and dying. It is so unfamiliar, so unnatural. And for the first time in my life, I realized that being in that position is probably terrifying.
And then I come to Psalm 71 this afternoon, one of the five psalms of the day, which expresses this very cry. This was such a kind providence, and as I read the text in amazement this afternoon, several important applications leaped out at me:
First, feelings of fear in aging are normal among even the people of God. I know that the context of this psalmist’s prayer is in some ways drastically different from ours, and the fears he feels here are different than ours would be. And yet these psalms were inspired by God in part to to give voice to his people’s experiences at all times and in all places. If the psalter is God’s instruction for how we are to speak to him in various life experiences of life, how can we not make this application for our people today?
Second, the Lord knows these fears and tenderly cares for his aging people in the midst of them. The very existence of this psalm as a record of God’s faithfulness to a needy saint in old age demonstrates as much. He is not aloof in our time of need; he draws near and speaks a specific word of peace and comfort. We should be ready with this word to share at the bedside of our discouraged and frightened older brothers and sisters.
Third, the memory of God’s faithfulness throughout life strengthens the aging saint in his hour of need. We find that throughout the rest of the psalm, as we listen to the old man’s faith strengthen with each additional sentence until he is rejoicing in song. [:10-24] How precious are those past conversations with our people, when they have shared testimonies of salvation, of God’s financial provision during the leanest of years, of his mercy in sparing their life in an accident. Tenderly recounting his faithfulness to them is a sweet and powerful encouragement to hope in him for the days ahead.
Fourth, the aging saint serves the vital role of bearing witness to God’s faithfulness to the coming generation. Hear the words of the psalmist: “So even to old age and gray hairs, O God, do not forsake me, until I proclaim your might to another generation, your power to all those to come. Your righteousness, O God, reaches the high heavens. You who have done great things, O God, who is like you?” They can show us how to trust Christ all the way up to the waters of the Jordan, and give us a model to look back upon when we come to the same point in our lives.
Let us love our aging people.
There is something touching in the sight of hair whitened with the snows of many a winter: the old and faithful soldier receives consideration from his king, the venerable servant is beloved by his master. When our infirmities multiply, we may, with confidence, expect enlarged privileges in the world of grace, to make up for our narrowing range in the field of nature. Nothing shall make God forsake those who have not forsaken him. Our fear is lest he should do so; but his promise kisses that fear into silence.
- C.H. Spurgeon, Treasury of David, Psalm 71:18
