My piano was tuned the other day. It’s been a while. We’ve been in our current house for almost twenty three years, and it hasn’t been tuned all the time that we’ve been here. Before that it was in our house in Glasgow, and before that a flat in Edinburgh. It had been moved there down several spiral flights of stairs from a third floor tenement flat in Edinburgh. So it has travelled around throughout my adult life, since the days when I would daydream rather than practice in the front room of my Granny’s tenement flat in Glasgow’s east end. And that, it turns out, is only a small part of the story of this particular piano.

As far as I had known, it was bought from a shop in Duke Street, Glasgow, some time in the 1950’s by my “auntie” Mary (actually a great aunt). It was later, in the 1960’s, that it was moved to my Granny’s front room, where I encountered it most weeknights. I’m sure I started piano lessons with the best of intentions; they lasted barely a fortnight, the lessons lasted much longer. I went to lessons for about eight years – poor Mrs Stephenson (my long-suffering piano teacher). I didn’t know if Auntie Mary had bought the piano new, but I do now. When the piano tuner removed the front of the piano, both top and bottom, to get at the mechanism, in addition to some mould and a broken dampener, the most significant thing to be seen was a label that I assume was affixed when the piano was new. It listed the dates of the first few tunings along with the initials of the tuners. The date of the earliest tuning was in 1903 - my piano is about 120 years old. It is in fairly good nick for its age, especially now that it is approaching being in tune for the first time in a while. Gets you thinking though.

I met all four of my grandparents, although my paternal grandparent both died when I was a small boy. It is worth noting that it is only relatively recently that knowing your grandparents became common. When my piano was first tuned, average male life expectancy in the UK was only about 45 years. According to the latest ONS figures, average life expectancy is now around 80 (and greatly improved from the 68.1 for my birth cohort). These numbers are population averages and hide vast variation. The 20^th century was a tough one for many. After all, there were two world wars and the privations that came with them. Disease for many was an ever present, potentially fatal threat. The pandemic has reminded us of how modern medicine has improved our lot. In the mid 20^th century, infectious diseases like TB were still killing large numbers of those infected (the pre-WW2 case fatality rate was about 50%), and childhood diseases like measles still killed hundreds every year. Polio, in the news recently, was a major scourge. I remember, as a child, visiting a family friend who was in an “iron lung”, the result of a polio infection. The antibiotics that became widely available after the war, and the childhood vaccines that were gradually introduced, fundamentally transformed this health landscape. The net result of this, plus other innovations like the NHS, improved diet, improvement in air quality because of the clean air acts, is that my children have known all four of their grandparents, and I (maybe/probably) might get to know mine.

Back on the subject of old age and music, we had the sight and sound last week at Glastonbury of the 80-year-old Paul McCartney introducing those two young whippersnappers Dave Grohl (a mere 53) and Bruce Springsteen (72) to the crowd during an acclaimed set lasting almost three hours. It was a reminder that by and large we are not only living longer lives, but we’re remaining healthy into old age. All things being equal, I might have quite a long time to enjoy my newly in-tune(ish) piano. And I get to enjoy other things too. I celebrated my own 60^th birthday this week (hence all this meditating on age). So the other day (as a special treat) we made our way into town and I obtained my Merseytravel over-60s travel-pass. The (Merseyside) world is now my free oyster, although only after 9.30am and at weekends. I have no idea if I will actually avail myself much of this new-found freedom of buses, trains and yes, the famous Mersey ferry. But it’s the principle that counts. I don’t have quite the same life to reflect on as Macca; he has been a cultural icon for at least sixty of his eighty years. But my life, the only one I have to ruminate on, has been truly blessed, and by much more that even living in Liverpool.

Many things have changed over my sixty years, and many things will change should I have twenty or so more. But for fifty of my sixty years there has been one constant. One of the things I was blessed with was parents who know and love Jesus, and so introduced me to Him. This was about example, not coercion. For reasons we needn’t go into, at the age of ten I asked Him (as it seemed to me) to keep me safe (I had something pretty specific in mind that I wanted to be kept safe from). I had no deep understanding of what I was doing, or its implications, but something fundamentally changed at that point which has shaped my life since, and indeed my eternal destiny. My understanding has grown. I am surer now of the basis on which I made my commitment to Him, and I am clearer about His commitment to me. This is not a symmetrical relationship; how could it be? But it is a relationship that goes both ways. The basis of that transaction (for that’s how I saw it) was all to do with who He is, and what He accomplished in His death two millennia ago. That basis is unchanged and unchanging – it is His grace through which His benefits have continued to flow to me.

There have of course been bumps along the way. There always are in real life. And there will be more. But when knocked of out of tune, He always has the skill to set me right; He has perfect pitch.