Too many older saints have stepped off the field of play and checked out thinking age is a restriction regarding their service in God’s Kingdom. That’s just what hell wants us to think as we grow older. It removes us from a place of service where we can offer the experience and wisdom needed to help younger and still developing believers (and leaders) finish well.

About ten years ago, when I was still the senior pastor of our church, we had a men’s retreat. We rented a camp high in the Cascade Mountains between Medford and Klamath Falls, Oregon. As it was with men’s retreats it was filled with fun, food, and fellowship. It also revealed all kinds of strange noises heard in the middle of the night when men were sleeping in bunkbeds stacked high. 

One event during the retreat was a baseball game. I played baseball as a kid like most boys growing up in America. I was no longer that limber kid able to contort my body to hit, pitch, and run. At the time of the retreat, it had been multiple decades since I last played the game.

The younger men loved seeing a few of us older guys grab a mitt and walk onto the field. A few loving taunts were tossed our way and returned by us with smiles of bravado expressed through our wrinkled faces. Deep down inside we knew we had the heart for the game but also knew we were not able to keep up with the speed and agility of the younger guys. What we did have was the remaining grit needed to play the game and the eye of the tiger kind of stuff that old contenders carry with them into the remaining years of their earthly journey.

I came to bat a few times during the game. Nothing spectacular happened. I got a base hit and a walk. On my third time at bat, I felt a Babe Ruth moment coming upon me. I didn’t have the guts to point at the center field fence line to indicate what was about to happen but I felt this was my moment. I focused on the incoming pitch and swung with all the remaining back-muscle-tearing strength I could muster and whacked the ball. I knew I hit the sweet spot. Up and away the ball flew, over the infield players and over the head of a friend playing in the outfield. The ball landed in the brush just over the outfield fence. Around the bases, I trotted with a growing smile increasing its width with each step I took as I rounded third heading for home. 

For the next three days, I could barely walk, literally. Every muscle that had not played baseball in four decades screamed at me in defiance. I had to call in sick, but it was worth it. The pain was a trophy of an aging dude who could still play the game.

The Lord is inviting older saints of God to get back in the game. You didn’t come this far to sit on the sidelines sipping a cool one and watching others play the game. While you might not run at the speed of the young ones, you still know how to swing the bat of faith and put one over the fence for the Lord.

What I enjoyed most that day was not the home run. It was the joy on the faces of the young bucks who loved to have the old man in the game. That was a sweet moment.

“Those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint” (Isaiah 40:31) …and on occasion when they are older, they might put one over the outfield fence and bring in the winning run.