The Fourth Quarter

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. (Psalm 71:18).

You don’t have to know much about football to understand the importance of the fourth quarter. This is where the outcome of the game is ultimately determined. Regardless of how well one has played during the first three quarters, all can be lost if one performs poorly in the final period.    

I turned 72 last month. So I think it is safe to say that, for me, the fourth quarter has officially begun. Although I feel fairly good about the first three quarters of the game, I have some anxiety as I watch the clock ticking steadily downward. When my parents reached this stage of life, I made jokes about their decline in mobility, need for naps, loss of hearing, memory issues, and obsession on health. But now, as I enter the fourth quarter, I’m no longer laughing. I feel unprepared. This is harder than I thought. I find myself terrified at the thought that I might actually fumble the ball now, in the final period of the game!  

My fears are not unjustified. Solomon, the wisest man who ever lived, did not finish well. Although his first three quarters were truly remarkable, he blew it in the final period of the game. It was “as Solomon grew old” that his whole-hearted passion for God metastasized into half-hearted spiritual mediocrity. Tragically, he died a greedy old man, manipulated by women, worshipping idols. In the words of T. S. Eliot, he ended his days “not with a bang but a whimper” (The Hollow Men).  

The Scriptures tell us exactly why Solomon fumbled the ball in the final quarter of the game. It wasn’t because of his failing health, loss of energy, or difficult circumstances. The heart of his problem was the problem of his heart. I’m talking about his spiritual heart, not his physical one. As he aged, he ceased to love God with all of his heart. This alone explains his disastrous fourth quarter performance. 

As Solomon grew old, his wives turned his heart after other gods, and his heart was not fully devoted to the Lord his God, as the heart of David his father had been… So Solomon did evil in the eyes of the Lord; he did not follow the Lord completely, as David his father had done… The Lord became angry with Solomon because his heart had turned away from the Lord, the God of Israel, who had appeared to him twice. (I Kings 11:4, 6, 9 NIV).

Recently, I sat with a dear friend who I had not seen in many years. He is a medical doctor and a life-long lover of Jesus. Because we are the same age, we found ourselves talking about some of the challenges of growing old and the dangers that were uniquely associated with this season of life. In the midst of our conversation, he began quoting a poem. As he recited the verses, his face began to glow. The twinkle in his eye let me know that he was no longer speaking to me, but to God! I began to realize that the poem was a prayer. My friend was pleading with God that he would finish strong! That he would make it to the Father’s house “before dark.”  

Since sharing that moment with my friend, I’ve learned more about the poem he prayed. It’s entitled Let Me Get Home before Dark and is written by J. Robertson McQuilkin, former president of Columbia International University. I’ve begun to pray this prayer for myself and thought perhaps that you might want to do the same. Whether you are in the first quarter or the last quarter of the game, these words can help you to pray a prayer that God delights to answer.

LET ME GET HOME BEFORE DARK

by J. Robertson McQuilkin

It’s sundown, Lord.

The shadows of my life stretch back

into the dimness of the years long spent.

I fear not death, for that grim foe betrays himself at last,

thrusting me forever into life:

Life with you, unsoiled and free.

But I do fear.

I fear the Dark Spectre may come too soon –or do I mean, too late?

That I should end before I finish or

finish, but not well.

That I should stain your honor, shame your name,

grieve your loving heart.

Few, they tell me, finish well…

Lord, let me get home before dark.

The darkness of a spirit

grown mean and small, fruit shriveled on the vine,

bitter to the taste of my companions,

burden to be borne by those brave few who love me still.

No, Lord. Let the fruit grow lush and sweet,

A joy to all who taste:

Spirit-sign of God at work,

stronger, fuller, brighter at the end.

Lord let me get home before dark.

The darkness of tattered gifts,

rust-locked, half-spent or ill-spent.

A life that once was used of God

now set aside.

Grief for glories gone or

Fretting for a task God never gave.

Mourning in the hollow chambers of memory.

Gazing on the faded banners of victories long gone.

Cannot I run well unto the end?

Lord, let me get home before dark.

The outer me decays –

I do not fret or ask reprieve.

The ebbing strength but weans me from mother earth

and grows me up for heaven.

I do not cling to shadows cast by immortality.

I do not patch the scaffold lent to build the real, eternal me.

I do not clutch about me my cocoon,

vainly struggling to hold hostage

a free spirit pressing to be born.

But will I reach the gate

in lingering pain, body distorted, grotesque?

Or will it be a mind

wandering untethered among light phantasies or

grim terrors?

Of your grace, Father, I humbly ask…Let me get home before dark.

( As printed in the Spring, 1989 Columbia Bible College & Seminary Quarterly. )

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