Last week I heard a radio report about two generations coming together in a sweet and powerful way. The story actually included some residents of a retirement home across the street from my church. These senior residents had been paired with international college students with the purpose of improving the student’s English language skills. The seniors and the students would gather to have conversation,to learn from one another and to share life stories while the younger people improved their ability to communicate in a language that still holds pitfalls and moments of embarrassment for them.
The report included some actual conversations with both the younger and older generations. The younger people spoke of loving to hear the stories of their older conversation partner’s early lives, how they met their spouse, what school had been like for them, what kind of work they had done. The older people liked listening to the students talk about their families, the far away places they call home, what they are studying in school, their relationships, what they do for fun. It was a give and take, sometimes slow working through of words and understanding. You could hear the mutual respect the two generations had for one another in what could have felt like a contrived and awkward situation.
Listening to this account of these two generations filled me with such hope. I thought of how I wished this experience for all young people, for all older people. For a long time now I have held that the church is one of the few remaining places where generations intentionally come together. It is one of the places where toddlers and octogenarians share the same seat in a long row of people of even different ages. It also seems a shame, to me, that we have done so little to encourage the kind of relationships like the students and seniors whose stories I heard.
Perhaps my mind was so ripe for this because just days before I myself had had one of those rare generational experiences. It was the week of vacation Bible school at church and the usual rather stagnant energy of our weekday building was instead filled with the electric energy of children. The small ones moved about with a little apprehension trying to acclimate to a new setting, trying to feel their way into school-like behaviors. The middle-schoolers were junior counselors dressing up in costumes to entertain and help emphasize the lesson of the day. Adult leaders moved around with the enthusiasm of cheerleaders who clearly loved what they were doing. It is always a wonderful and exciting week for both the children and those of us who come to the building every day as a part of our daily routine.
As one morning was coming to a close, I headed outside to eat my lunch on a park bench near the playground. As I sat down one of the middle school boys came and sat on the bench near by. He is a young man who has grown up before my very eyes and I have always loved his spirit. We sat and talked about his summer, what his plans for the weekend were, what he was looking forward to at school this year, what he was reading these days. The talking was easy and a true conversation not the interrogations that often pass for conversations between adults and adolescents. We laughed. The sweetness and privilege of this experience was not lost on me and I valued its rarity.
When his mom came to pick he and his sister up, I said goodbye but not before greeting her and his sibling strapped into her carseat looking sleepy from the warmth and rhythm of riding. They went on their way into another August day, to try to grab hold of a few more ounces of summer freedom.
But I walked back into my office filled to overflowing with gratitude for a few moments on a bench with a young man who trusts me enough to sit still and talk. Really talk. Person to person. Generation to generation. It would be my hope that more people could have such experiences, such blessed experiences.
Somehow such precious moments seem to have the power to transform our world. It certainly did mine.