A Liturgy for Grey Hairs

Lord,

You have numbered every hair on my head.
Today, you and I know exactly how many hairs are grey.
It will not be long before I tire of counting,
And this number becomes a secret thing, known only to you.

In this moment, I am afraid.
Though my years may stretch long before me, I will surely die.
Nothing I can do will change even one hair or add a single hour.
In a slow gradation, my youth is departing.

Grey hair is said to be a crown of glory,
Yet if I earn any deference from this crown, will it be deserved?
Are these colorless strands gained through a righteous life?
Do I have the wisdom to match them?

John saw that your hair, Jesus, is also white, like wool.
Even when you had reversed death,
Did you choose to keep this symbol of age, O Ancient of Days?
Then, I will not fear.
You, the First and the Last,
Faced death and now firmly hold the keys.
For you now live forevermore!
Because of you, I will just as surely be raised to life.

Jesus, the living one,
While each turning hair humbles and sobers me,
May my days be yet more fruitful,
May my heart be warmed more and more to you,
And may my head be lifted in hope,
Wearing the crown you have prepared for me.

Amen

Photo by Tamara Bellis on Unsplash