Musical Musings: Bob Dylan “Forever Young”

Forever Young by Milishor, uploaded July 9, 2008 I’ve heard it said that you’re only as old as you feel. We’ve surmised that, after I missed out on much of my childhood, I decided to reclaim it as an adult, and certainly my house and my life seem to stand in silent (and sometimes not-so-silent) testimony to that attempt. We have roller skates, legos, board, card, and video games, movies, coloring books and crayons, play-dough… and I am known by my laughter. I’m looking forward to parenting so that I can delight in opening this world to my child, and exploring it again with them. It would seem that while my body has no concept of staying “forever young”, my soul has no intention of releasing the idea.

But while all of that may lead to an enjoyable life, is there any spiritual merit to it? Am I hedonisitic and clinging to a childhood that I never had, or is there some value to retaining a child-like innocence? (OK, I’ll grant that there could be spiritual merit and value to the idea, and I’m still just a hedonist clinging her lost childhood. But set me aside for now). What is Dylan talking about when he speaks this benediction (and it is a benediction; he begins by blessing his audience) over his listeners, and what, if anything, does the Bible say about the idea?

Actually, Jesus addressed the idea of being forever young directly. When he was teaching, he saw some children nearby. The disciples, thinking the children would bother the teacher, were trying to keep them away from the busy master. Jesus rebuked his followers and called the children over, drawing them into his arms, and then he wove his lesson around the very children that the disciples feared would disrupt him. “The kingdom of God belongs to such as these,” he said. “I tell you the truth; anyone who does not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.”

Now, was Jesus saying that we have to become children to go to heaven, or saying that adults can’t go to heaven? I don’t think so. Instead, I think he was telling us that we have to have the absolute and certain faith that a child has. What do I mean by “absolute and certain faith”? Go to the pool and watch small children interact with their attentive, loving parents. “Catch me, Daddy!” Little boys and girls go sailing off the side of the pool into the water with no thought of their safety, convinced that Mommy and Daddy will catch them. Or watch them at the playground. Or at home. Think about the moments you’ve share with your child at three and four years old, as they explored their world, as they expressed an absolute and certain faith that you’d be there to catch them, that you’d be there to care for them. There’s no doubt in your child’s mind.

In the mind of a child, faith isn’t blind. It’s solid, concrete. It’s been proven, over and over. Every leap from the side of the pool, every soaring swoop off the slide, every jump from the chair or couch has been met by a parent who caught them. There is no second guess; there is no looking before leaping. They soar into the unknown, trusting that goodness awaits them.

That’s the kind of faith it takes to enter the kingdom of Heaven. Not a twisting in your gut, “gee, I hope it’ll be there, but I’m not sure, but just to hedge my bets, I’ll add this cross around my neck.” Not “I think Jesus was a good man, so I’ll try to live like him and hope that my good outweighs my bad at the end.” Not “I hope this is the right path up the mountain to god.” No. Jesus says that it takes the absolute certainty that a child has, to fling yourself out there, risking everything you have, everything you are, everything you know, and trusting that goodness awaits you and that the God He promised to be will actually reach out and catch you.

The problem is that this life isn’t built to keep us forever young, forever innocent, forever trusting with an absolute faith. I may have lived a worst-case scenario, but even those who have lived best-case scenarios don’t stay forever young. We tumble pell-mell through life, rushing towards adulthood, racing away from the innocence and trust we had as children. We take the stairs two and three at a time, hurrying to the top, just to see what’s coming next… only to get there and wish we could get back down again.

And all along the way, the little things in life chip away at all of that absolute, certain faith we once had. One day, we’re heavier than Mom or Dad were ready for, and their hands are slicker than we expected, and we slip into the pool faster than we expected, and we get a nose-full of water. No real harm is done… physically. But we’ve learned that Mom and Dad can fail us. The first chip in our unassailable armor appears. We think twice before we jump the next time… and now we know what doubt is, and another gap in the armor shows up. Even in the most perfect of lives, faith falters and fails eventually.

Is there a solution to this problem? Is there a way to keep from losing the the faith you need so desperately that life determines to steal away? I would say yes, but I will also freely admit that this is an unproven hypothesis, one I’m working to live out after I’ve had to reclaim what I’d already lost.

You see, Beloved, God knew that keeping the faith a child has would be essential, so He told parents to make building that faith a habit. He gave them the two things they needed to know to enter the kingdom of heaven: “Hear, O Isreal, the LORD our God, the LORD is one. Love the LORD your God with all your heart and with all your with all your soul and with all your strength.” And then he told his people to make those two things part of every part of their life, and to teach it to their children as they sat at home and as they walked on the road, as they laid down and when they got up.

God said: “Here’s the secret, Beloved. I’m the only one. It’s just me. Love me, and only me, with all you have. Make loving me a part of everything you do, and teach your children to love me the same way. Teach your children to make loving me a part everything they do.” And when Jesus came and walked the earth, God in human flesh, he drew a child to him, and he repeated it again. “Oh, Beloved, have you forgotten? Until you love me and trust me the way these children love you and trust you, you can’t be with me. You have to love me with all you have, trust me with all you have, make me a part of everything you are, and then, Beloved, my kingdom is yours.”

With that in mind, Dear Reader, I dedicate Dylan’s song to you. I pray you will slow your heady rush to grow up so fast. Life will chip away at your faith fast enough. Slow down and seize this day, seize this moment while you have it. It will not come again, and once it is gone, the most you can do is try to reclaim the innocence you lost today. But take heart; Jesus said we could do it. He said we could become like the children. So no matter if you are eight or ninety-eight, it is my prayer that you will stay forever young… because the kingdom belongs to the forever young.