Knowing When to Step Down
Retirement
Most of us don't know when it's time to step down. We need someone to help us face the truth. How can you help your parents retire with dignity?
In Dad Voorheis's case, you saw the signal in the eyes of his congregation. After forty-four years as one of the most powerful preachers and effective pastors in the conference, Dad saw his sermons begin to take on the tone of a long-practiced routine. One prominent member of the church led a minor mutiny in the congregation and requested that Dad be moved.
News of the rebellion deeply wounded Dad's sensitive spirit. Still young at the age of sixty-five, he had expected to make this parish his last pastoral appointment. Perhaps at sixty-eight, no later than seventy, he would retire voluntarily. Now, however, he had no choice. To remain under episcopal appointment he would have to accept a lesser charge, which has the reputation for being an exit point for pastors who were burned out or used up.
Always before I had come to Dad Voorheis for counsel. This time he came to me. "What do you think?" he asked, "Should I move or
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retire?" At the risk of our relationship as father and son by marriage, I dared to answer, "Dad, you and Mom have lived for the day when you could move into your own little home that you just bought for retirement. Why not enjoy these years together? You would still get plenty of invitations to preach. If I were you, I would retire."
Those were the words he heard from my lips, but in my mind I pleaded, Retire, Dad, while you still have your dignity and while you still have options.
Dad retired. Whether he responded to my youthful advice or to his own Spirit-guided impulses, I don't know. I do know this: Dad lived for twenty-six more years as the pastoral patriarch in his hometown of Spring Arbor, Michigan. He preached when he wanted to, prayed with hundreds who came to his door, and set the tone for the town as he walked the streets of the small college community. Along with all the residents of the village, every entering class of freshmen soon became acquainted with "Brother Voorheis." Well into his eighties, if anyone sympathetically inquired, "How do you feel?" he brightly returned the patented answer, "Finer than frog's hair." Later, when he began to fail physically, he modified his answer, but not his humor, by falling back on the old quote, "I'm still able to take my regular meals." And that he did.
Dad Voorheis died at the age of ninety-one with all the dignity of an elder statesman in the church and with more love than ever. I've often asked myself, "What if he had tried to hang on?" Perhaps his indomitable spirit would have triumphed on the new pastorate. But if not, I shudder to think of the congregation wanting him to leave but hesitating to hurt him. Almost half a century of dignity could have been lost in the subtle signals of withdrawal and rejection. Someone would have had to tell Dad that he was no longer wanted. The effect of forced retirement upon his gregarious spirit might have been a mortal wound. Even if he lived as long as he did, his verve for life would have been blunted, and his continuing ministry rendered far less effective. Dad knew when to quit.
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Stepping Down Gracefully
Ever since my experience with Dad Voorheis's retirement, I have been an observer of older people in long-term positions. Out of these observations have come some guiding principles that I recommended for sons and daughters who are asked for advice by aging parents.
Retire while you are still wanted
Tragedy stalks a person who hangs on to a position when he or she is no longer wanted. Men in high positions are especially vulnerable. Over the years I watched a prominent pastor whose personality became the length and shadow of the megachurch that he founded. His preaching attracted people to the church, his gift for remembering names endeared him to every parishioner, and his leadership for a talented pastoral staff exemplified his skill in empowerment. But he overstayed. All of his leadership theory told him to prepare for pastoral succession and then retire. Periodically, he would set the date for his retirement only to claim a crisis as the time came near. Deferral after deferral proved to be his tactic — at the expense of the church, the pastoral staff, and the membership. While the momentum of past years kept attendance up and programs flourishing, behind the scenes the on-and-off again search committee resigned one by one in frustration, the pastoral staff began circulating their vitas, and the lay leaders put the plans for urgent expansion projects on hold. Finally, the pastoral staff and lay leaders dared to ask the question that sounded like heresy, "How do we tell the truth to the pastor without destroying the man?" Because the pastor had gone past the point of no return, the only answer was a clean, surgical cut of truth. While he would be seriously wounded, the blow would not be fatal. He too had a price to pay.
On the other side of the ledger, a prominent denominational executive approached me one day with the flattering question, "Do you think I should retire?" His query came during a general
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conference of the church after a resolution had been introduced to prohibit denominational executives from being elected to a four-year-term in office after they reached their sixty-eighth birthday. I understood then why he asked me the question. His sixty-eighth birthday fell just a few days after the cut-off, and he wanted my vote on a "grandfather clause" that would make him an exception.
Immediately I began to relive my experience with Dad Voorheis. The basic issue seemed to be the same. Before me stood an honored man who wanted to hang on after getting a signal that time was running out. He didn't expect me to reject his plea, but I did. Disappointment dropped his eyes and erased his smile when he heard me say, "Our church needs elder statesmen. If you retire now, you will be honored by all and set free to write and speak from experience. I say retire."
A day later he requested a point of personal privilege with the general conference and stood before the delegates to announce his retirement before the resolution could be enacted. With a modest summary of his achievements and a gracious word of thanks to the church for letting him serve so long, he opened up the years ahead with a vision of writing, speaking, traveling, and serving wherever the church might call. A standing ovation brought him to tears and a unanimous vote for "executive emeritus" stood him up tall. Almost twenty-five years have passed. I've never found out whether my words made the difference. It doesn't matter. At last report, he was approaching the age of ninety with his books still selling and his presence still in demand. Thank God, he knew when to quit.
Lengthen your plans with the length of your years
I've learned this lesson from several sources. A Christian businessman took me by surprise when I asked him how he had celebrated his fifty-fifth birthday. "I started making my thirty-year plan," he answered. Suddenly I knew why I had feared the thought of retirement. My plans stopped with my working days.
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While pondering this insight, I realized that we Christians should see the plans for our mortal lives extending into eternity, where we will continue to work with meaning and grow as persons. Thirty-year plans for a fifty-five-year-old Christian are not out of order. In fact, they may be too short! Our model for long-term planning should be Enoch, who walked with God on a continuous journey from time to eternity (Gen. 5:24).
Paul Rees is my other model. He died in 1991 at the age of ninety-one. Although our personal contacts were limited over the years, he served as my model for writing and speaking. In 1982, when I became president at Asbury Theological Seminary, Paul Rees had already retired from the board of trustees with the honor of being named a "Life Trustee." He did not attend the board meetings, but he received all of my memos and reports to the trustees. After each mailing, he wrote me a letter of encouragement. Not one of them ended up in the wastebasket because every letter contained a gem of a sentence that deserved preservation for all time. One of those sentences comes to mind. At the age of ninety, Paul Rees had a disabling injury. His body stopped temporarily, but not his mind or his spirit. In his regular letter, he described his circumstances this way: "Life is like a slab of bacon, a little fat and a little lean. This is one of the lean times."
When Paul died, a friend of the seminary sent me an article that he had written fifteen years earlier under the title, "I Shall Go to My Grave." At the age of seventy-five Paul confesses that he was not young, but neither was he "ill... morbid or despondent." He only wanted to ring some bells of his strong and persistent convictions. With peerless language and engaging style, Paul Rees struck the bells ten times as he completed the sentence, "I shall go to my grave..."
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Can anyone wonder why he lived with the vigor of youth until the age of ninety-nine? Paul Rees lengthened his plans for the length of his years. Like Enoch, he walked with God on a continuous path from time to eternity.
Plan your life in chapters
Elton Trueblood, in his autobiography While It Is Day, proposes that life is lived in chapters.2 Looking back on our personal history, we can see that he is right. Infancy, childhood, adolescence, young adulthood, and middle age all divide nicely into sections, with the possibility of intriguing chapter names. Old age, however, tends to be a blur without design, anticipation, or intrigue. If so, we need to remedy the situation. Why not encourage older people to think of the honor of aging by planning and naming chapters for the years of early,
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middle, and late retirement? In each case new dimensions of body, mind, and spirit await exploration. Even if there is a chapter of physical suffering, the mind can be well and the spirit can grow. Why not envision old age as an adventure rather than an apprehension?
Cultivate interests and develop identity outside the job
One of the false and sometimes fatal notions that aging people nurse is the assumption that new interests and new identities can be established instantly at the time of retirement. How many times have you heard middle-aged people pledge themselves to start new hobbies and assume new roles when they retire? Evidence contradicts their dreams. Unless a person has a hobby before retirement, it's not likely that he or she will start a new one. Likewise, if a person depends upon work for his or her identity, it's not likely that a new identity can be established. Aging, then, is an extension of our ongoing interests and identity just as it is an extension of time and personality.
Good people can get into trouble after retirement if they are married to their job before retirement. I recall an executive who came to retirement age and could not face the prospect of losing his personal identification with his position. He asked for a two-year deferment and got it. Time slid into a third year and he asked for another grace period. When the directors of the company told him no, he left with the bitterness of being betrayed. In retirement, no new hobbies sparked his interest and no new identity could replace the position from which he received his status. Only time could heal the hurt.
Retirement planning begins years before the fact. A child who cultivates lifelong hobbies may become the healthiest retiree. An adult with multiple identities in family, career, church, and community may be the most satisfied person in old age. In any case, the recommendation is clear. As our parents grow old, we need to encourage them to discover and develop a range of interests and diversity of identities. For many, it may be too late, but it is worth a try.
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Watch for signs of running down on the job
Entropy is the second Law of Thermodynamics. Simply stated, entropy means that physical resources run down with use. A similar loss of quality can take place in us emotionally, relationally, and spiritually on the job. Particularly in aging, we must be alert to the signs of entropy; they'll tell us that it's time to change or quit.
Every person has entropic signs that are unique to his or her personality. With aging, the signs will tend to be aggravated as physical energy declines. The following list of entropic signs is in part a personal confession. I have seen these signs in my self. The other part is the result of my observations of people for whom I have been responsible. When people need a rest, a change, or retirement, you will see these signs of entropy.
1. Boredom on the job. Although the person may still be able to function effectively, due to routine and habit, their performance is effectively flat and their attitude is effectively negative.
2. The loss of joy within oneself. In physical health, we know that being well is more than not being sick. So at work we know that doing the job with joy is more than not being bored. Joy is an intrinsic satisfaction that does not depend upon achievements or rewards. When a person loses what the French call joi de vivre, "the joy of life," the consequences are contaminating. The person, as well as everyone with whom he or she works or relates, will feel a loss in the quality of life.
3. Small things become big. It's no secret. When little things that we once handled easily take on the magnitude of a federal case, we are in trouble. Of course, aging has a way of magnifying little things. But when the size of the case is out of proportion to the issue, something's gone wrong.
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4. Decisions are deferred. When little things become big, we often resort to the tactic of deferral. Decisions that once were made with surgical precision now are put aside with the hope that the issue will fade. Confrontations that once kept relational conflict from festering are now avoided with the hope that the problem will go away. Worst of all, a series of wrong or halfhearted decisions is made, and it creates a muddle of confusion. Especially when the decisions involve the welfare and destiny of people, deferral that leads to muddling borders on the inexcusable.
5. Emotions become detached. Emotional detachment is one of the reasons why businesses prefer that people who quit a job leave as soon as possible. Otherwise, the results can be demoralizing. An employee who burns out or makes a decision to leave invariably reveals an emotional distance from both the job and people. No one can hide such a change of attitude very long. While the person may not say, "I don't care anymore," the limited span of attention, the lack luster eyes, and the lifeless tone of voice betray an early departure. "Lame ducks" who retire on the job are equally frustrating. In fairness to our employer, as well as to ourselves, we need to leave all at once — emotionally and physically.
6. Fatigue after sleep. Of all the symptoms of entropy, this one is the most evident telltale sign. If a person awakens with fatigue after a full night's sleep, the warning light is burning red. The cause may be stress or sickness, overwork or guilt, aging or anxiety. Whatever the reason, fatigue after a full night's sleep is nature's way of warning us against total breakdown.
There's nothing sacred about these six signs of entropy. Perhaps you found your own symptoms on the list. Or perhaps you found the symptom that trouble your aging parents. If so, it's time to act.
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Lean into the future
At first thought, lengthening our plans and leaning into the future may seem to be overlapping recommendations. Highly successful executives often climb to the top of the corporate ladder while still in their forties. Their view from the top, however, is not as glamorous as we imagine it to be. Having gained the position as chairman of the board or president of the company, they have no place to go. The tendency is to look back on the past achievements and turn inward until alcohol, divorce, drugs, physical stress, and suicidal thoughts take their toll. Special sessions were offered at the Menninger Clinic in Topeka, Kansas, for these victims of success. The therapy was simple: The goal is to get the chief executives looking forward again. Once they do, their vision clears, their energy rises, and their problems become manageable. Leaning into the future is good therapy for all of us, especially for our parents who are tempted to look back or turn inward when they grow old.
Cultivate the inner life
Our aging parents have a choice. They can either turn inward to work out their frustrations, or they can cultivate the inner life to enlarge their souls. With age, the scale tips from the outer life to the inner life, just as it tips from the body to the spirit. It is a sad sight to witness an aging person whose spirit is shrinking. Certainly, it need not be so. Spirituality is a gift of aging, so every encouragement should be given to our parents to cultivate such spiritual disciplines as prayer, Bible study, devotional reading, solitude, fasting, and journaling in order to build the soul, model the spirit, and serve the church as elders of the faith. From them we have much to learn.
Knowing when to quit, then, is more than a brutal exercise to get elderly people out of the way. With adequate preparation, good timing, long-term planning, and loving care, retirement is just opening another chapter in the futuristic saga called "the good will of God."
Chapter Four || Table of Contents
