From my mid-30s and into my late 50s, I had the privilege of pastoring senior citizens: first in a church environment and later in a retirement community.

I thought then, and do now, seniors are the most interesting folks alive.

When a person has been many times around the sun, has seen many moons -- use whichever astronomical metaphor is agreeable -- a fascinating perspective is often formed.

Something older people learn through the passage of years is their bodies can no longer accomplish what the young often take for granted.

I used to tell elderly parishioners if their eyes opened in the morning, there was still something God-honoring for them to accomplish.

A rejoinder would sometimes come to that statement.

"I can't see well, can't hear either, can't walk, so what can I do?"

A person physically compromised can do two things, it seems to me -- one requires active participation, the other does not.

Active

A person who no longer feels physically useful can pray.

Alfred Lord Tennyson once wrote in his series of late 19th century narrative poems "Idylls of the King": "Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice, rise like a fountain for me night and day."

Prayer requires an intact mind but good eyesight, keen hearing or even any physical mobility? Not required.

In other words, the ability to see, to hear and to be mobile are secondary considerations where prayer is concerned.

Passive

In a diminished state, even in that lamentable situation, the eventual destination for us all if God grants sufficient years, we can be of use even if we can do nothing.

Allow me to explain.

If we accept that persons are called to be their brother's keeper, to borrow the words of Genesis 4:9, then we need living human beings in order to exercise the ministry of care.

Case in point.

The late Cape Girardeau dentist Mike Bennett, who passed last October, had a massive stroke in 2014 that his family told me could easily have killed him.

Instead, Bennett, a starting defensive end on the 1969 Missouri Tigers Orange Bowl football team, survived albeit with reduced eyesight, and turned his energies toward the homebound and those living in nursing homes.

Dr. Mike had a visiting mission which enlivened his final years but needed living people on which to exercise that caring ministry.

Even if we can do little in a physical sense due to the ravages of long life, we therefore still serve a purpose.

Friends, if you are ever tempted to say, "Why am I still here?" -- please remember the example of Dr. Mike.

Developing the caring "muscle"

Many churches today offer training in Stephen Ministry, named for the New Testament deacon who became the first Christian martyr.

Stephen Ministry trains people to listen actively.

It's a skill, a mental muscle, that can be grown if someone decides to care and needs a living person on which to exercise person-to-person ministry.

Yes, I greatly value the chronically advanced.

Perhaps part of the reason for my interest is not long from now I will join their ranks as Medicare eligibility looms larger and larger in my personal life windshield.

A friend of mine, five years my junior, texted this to me the other day: "Man, you are so old!"

I'll gladly claim that mantle.

Seniors are the most interesting people on earth.