This past weekend I played and spoke at First Baptist Bridge City; a key player in my family’s history: It’s where my mom grew up, where we said good-bye to my grandmother, where Mr. Johansen introduced my parents to each other, where they tied the knot.
More than 45 years ago my Dad drove from Texas A&M to First Baptist in Bridge City to see the cute redhead his buddy from college wanted to fix him up with. Β Dad sat in the balcony where he could get a look at her without her getting a look at him. After that church service he asked Mr. Johansen to introduce him.
He did. Β And because of that, well, I am.
My brief time with Mr. Johansen on Sunday reminded me of something Dr. Harvey taught me years ago. Dr. Harvey was the token senior citizen and I was the token Gen-Xer on the worship planning team of a mega-church in the Nashville area. I was twenty-five, my mouth constantly in motion, incessantly pushing week after week for louder, bigger, more contemporary, “relevant.” He was in his seventies and sat through most meetings with a slight grin on his face, silently watching the tug-o-war of ideas. Until one day.
Someone read aloud a comment card written the previous Sunday. We relished this moment at the beginning of our meetings, the moment when we could hoist our persecutors up as evidence that we were doing the Lord’s work the Lord’s way. As soon as the card’s complaints left his lips another minister began criticizing the person who wrote them, calling her “stuck” or “out of touch” or “selfish” – we used all those words pretty regularly to describe all who didn’t agree with us so it’s hard to recall exactly which ones were used that day.
What I do recall are Dr. Harvey’s words to us. He picked up the card, read the name on it, and told us about her life. With all the patience of a veteran parent he asked us to imagine living in a world we once built but don’t fully understand anymore: with technology our kids gave us but we don’t know how to operate, grandchildren speaking a strange language, phone buttons we can’t see anymore, waking up in an aging aching body, independence giving way to dependence a little more every day, burying a spouse, then a friend, then another, and another, and another…
“Everything around her is changing,” he said. Nothing of her youth remained. That world was gone. Her church was the one place she hoped would never change on her and I was fighting to change it no matter what.
She wasn’t stuck, or out of touch or selfish. She was scared.
She mattered.
But not to me. My brand of “relevance” was for the young and by the young. And she wasn’t anymore.
My mom is a worshipful listener with a great deal of empathy. She stood there with swollen pink eyes and listened to Mr. Johansen, her former Sunday school teacher, tell of burying close friends recently. “I’m the last one left,” he chuckled. And then he cried.
My dad put his arm on one shoulder. My mom rubbed the other.
A few minutes later Mr. Johansen left alone, back into a world that’s still changing.
I wished I could be twenty-five again.
Kristie says:
wow. don’t think I would’ve gotten it @ 25 either. Bless them. Bless you.
Ron says:
Thank you for writing this.
Kent Kingery says:
Your story brought back memories of “Peanut”, an elderly man in my church when I was young. Peanut always had a stick of gum for me, a joke, and an admonition to mind my parents and do my schoolwork. He had been a postal worker his entire life and a fixture in our church until his death.
Now I’m 47, not yet “elderly” but closer to that than to “youth”. I tend to think of myself as an early adopter, change agent, modern thinker, and generally forward facing. But I know there will come a time when I don’t care about that any more and really want stuff to just stay the same. Comfortable, known, and not scary. And I hope and pray that my kids have listened to my lessons about respecting their elders and that they will be kind to me as I start down that path.
Oh, and I’m stocking up on gum. π
Alexis Huff says:
Hmm, the story made me cry π
But what I wanted to tell you was, when I first opened this page, I saw your parents, and thought, hmm, that’s Shawn’s mom! That’s Shawn’s Dad! Hmm, he looks kind of familiar…. wonder why?
Then it hit me! Ecuador 2002! π
Beth says:
I grew up in a fairly large Southern Baptist church, in the South. The city I lived in was lovingly referred to as “the home of the newly weds and the nearly deads.” We had LOTS of “nearly deads” in our church. One was my Sunday School teacher, Mr. Farmer He was somewhere around a hundred and three when he taught my third grade class. I adored him! Mr. Farmer also operated the elevator on Sunday mornings. It was efficient, and it allowed him to pass out mints too. He made us all learn the books of the Bible; and we had to tell something we were thankful for each Sunday. It had to be something different each week too. He was the first one to challenge me to read my Bible everyday; really read it.
He cried when my father walked me down the aisle of that same church at my wedding. When I deployed to Saudi Arabia for the first Gulf War, he asked my dad for an update each week. He was one of my biggest prayer warriors. I came home when my dad had a stroke and died. Mr. Farmer stood with me and cried then too.
I couldn’t make it home for his funeral, but I assure you, I cried. Cried for my loss, for future third graders who won’t get to have him for a teacher; but mostly for joy. Joy because God welcomed him home. And because when I get to heaven, I’m pretty sure he’ll be waiting for me, with mints and wanting to know what I’m thankful for.
Rebecca says:
Man, that’s powerful. I can think of several in our church who have weathered some mighty strong changes through the years. But how often are they forgotten? if only the youth could see that these elders have such wisdom if from nothing else but experience, if only us young parents would listen to the stories of when they raised their kids and used every home remedy in the book to cure just about anything, if we would listen to their stories of how they fought for life, love, freedom, if only we would just stop, and remember that they were young once too and they made it. Thanks for sharing this story.
rebecca
E-Jayjo says:
True. I can relate.
holly Panter says:
what a wasted, precious gift our older generations are to us….
Laura @ Texas in Africa says:
I’m pretty sure you’re talking about the church in which I grew up and the Dr. Harvey I’ve known for most of my life. What gets lost by ignoring the wisdom of those who came before us, and what we lose by only worshiping with those who are just like us is profound.
Dawn~Canada says:
Thanks for sharing that touching story!
It’s hard to think that we all will be Mr. Johansens one day. Our brains scream “WHAT?! We’re still young + invincable!” Meanwhile our bodies whisper “Well…not really.” Thankfully our Heavenly Father is always there for us, no matter how old we are. No matter how much our world changes around us, His love never does. There’s alway Him.
And shuffle board.
NancyTyler says:
I’ve become nearly obsessed thinking about age lately. Part of it is because I lead a team at work whose members are 11-19 years younger than I am. But the bigger part of it is that I have a lot of friends, mentors and favorite family members in their 60s-80s and I’m watching them look back on their lives as they’re coping with bodies that are betraying them and friends who are disappearing one nursing home and one funeral home at a time.
I’ve been noticing–and surprised–that being planted in the middle of these wildly different generations is making me more merciful toward and respectful of the people on both ends of my spectrum.
Friends and coworkers in their 20s and early 30s aren’t “kids.” They’re people I have the honor of mentoring and nurturing and from whom I learn about trends and technology. They re-energize me. And my friends and family on the senior side of the seesaw aren’t “old.” They’re full of hard-earned wisdom and many of them, well-weathered faith. They ground me.
A lot of my mentors are moving into their senior years, and I’m standing with a couple of them who I fear I’ll lose soon to the cancers that they’re fighting. I listen so much more intently now, in my 40s, as my more seasoned friends talk about their lives and successes and regrets, and as they fight their fears and make peace with what is ahead for them in this life. I feel lonelier as each of my senior friends leaves me for the next life, and the buffer between my generation and the grave becomes thinner.
Shaun Groves says:
So good to see your face now when you post!
And, as always, good to read your thoughts…elder one ; )
NancyTyler says:
Thanks, Kid. π
rachelpage says:
Thank you for sharing this, Shaun. I really appreciate your blog, and this story definitely resonated with me today as I think about my own church experience.
Jim says:
Dude…I got to church with a lot of saints old enough to be my grandparents…and i love the stories and histories
Christine says:
Just finished reading “Who Stole My Church?”…it’ll be a book discussion at our church in the near future. I currently sit on the worship team, and have those same discussions. I loved the book. It addresses all these issues, but not just to the older folks who need to “get with it”. It also speaks to the younger generation as well, giving them insight into what it is and why the older generations are fighting change so hard. It’s a book meant for the multi-generational church…the pix you posted could’ve been from the stories in that book! Loved them! Yayy for redhead moms! π
SD says:
So, Shaun. . .how do you respond to the Mr. Johanson’s of the world in 2010?
Tracey Giorgio says:
Shaun this is beautiful, you are beautiful, I love you and your family so much!!! You are such an inspiration to so many, and you have always been to me…I miss you, I love you ALWAYS, Tracey π