In early February, the church where I intern received an email from a nearby senior living facility seeking a minister willing to lead weekly Bible studies with the residents. Within minutes of hearing the request, I excitedly volunteered. I had been looking and hoping for an opportunity like this, especially as an aspiring chaplain and a self-proclaimed admirer of the stories older adults share. 

On my first day, I mentally prepared myself for the residents to be disappointed when they realized not only that I was not a minister yet, but also that I was twenty-two years old and not a wise sage who could impart wisdom as we delved into scripture together. Ready to face criticism, I sat down in front of roughly thirty senior adults on a Thursday night in March and braced for the worst. 

The worst did not happen. With a few minor hiccups, I successfully led our first Bible study together. 

Enthused and ready to personally introduce themselves, a line of participants formed in front of me following our session together. After I shook hands and exchanged warm hugs, the employee who had emailed the church approached me, exclaiming her thanks for my help through tears and chills. 

Apparently, they had been waiting for something like this, for someone like me. Completely surprised, I stood before her, nodding, and explained I was delighted to help. Internally, I wondered if she knew I needed them way more than they probably needed me.

I am as stubborn and loyal as can be. Perhaps it’s the eldest sibling in me or the ample amount of time I spent with my headstrong grandmother growing up. Either way, my stubbornness and loyalty run deep, pumping through my veins and guiding my heart. 

As the kind employee thanked me for my willingness to help, in between my doubts, I also felt the overwhelming emotions racing through my body. I couldn’t ignore them as they made their course.

So I thought to myself, “Alright, I am determined to prove people wrong about senior adults. Our churches are better because of them, and there is something here to be learned.”

With the national decline in church attendance and religious affiliation, I’ve heard a thing or two about the roles our aging communities play (or don’t play) in sacred spaces. With all the attention church leaders placed on winning over Gen Z and Millennial involvement in our shrinking faith circles, we’ve forgotten about a very important and necessary devoted demographic. So, when I say I was ready to prove people wrong about my new friends, I mean, in part, that I was dutifully prepared to help others see how enriched our lives are because of the older followers of Christ around us.

In an effort to unite with younger generations, we’ve scapegoated the very generations that have helped lay important groundwork for our faith. In turn, we’ve made religious affiliation concerns strictly a generational concern, not one of our own cyclical and natural humanity. 

Most recently, I guided my new friends through a Bible study of the book of Ecclesiastes. Attuned and aware, it didn’t take me long to realize the room I taught in was full of wise, seasoned followers of Jesus. I certainly wasn’t going to be doing as much teaching as I was going to be learning.

So, each week, I come with a brain full of commentaries and a paper full of questions. I figured if I couldn’t provide life-changing insights, then I would pull “a Jesus” and lean into holy curiosity through inquiry instead. 

Thankfully, my questions have led us to deeper places. I suppose Jesus did offer some valuable insights! 

Some questions have led to answers, to disagreements, to pondering and to silent reflection. Some have led to life stories, laughter and giggles, hand squeezes and contagious smiles. Most often, my questions have led to more questions. 

How can I continue to make a positive impact in a world marked by disunity? Why are so many young people leaving the church where I’ve heard God’s voice most clearly? How do we help people experiencing homelessness? Why do we tithe 10% of our income? 

The Ten Commandments mattered a lot to me as a kid, so why does it seem they aren’t taken as seriously anymore? My kids aren’t Christians anymore, and what did I do wrong?

When I take note of the participants and their questions (which sound akin to mine), I see people longing to understand and connect. I see people hoping to be trusted and to trust others. I see people still wanting to learn and grow while also wishing for more opportunities to share their lifetime of insights. 

I see people who have experienced familial tragedies, the Great Depression and sudden political changes. I see people who have marched in protests, walked through addictions, and grappled with life after death. And, all the while, staring back at me, I see people who still believe in the goodness of our God. 

As a curious skeptic, witnessing my Bible study participants live out a thriving faith in God after leading such varied lives, full of mountain highs and valley lows, has led me to greater hope. There’s an opportunity here for us to learn a great deal. 

At church dinners, maybe we should sit at tables with more grey hair. Maybe, in addition to our church-wide Facebook posts, we should send more emails and make more phone calls. 

Maybe it’s worth asking your aging neighbor if they need anything from the store. Perhaps something good will happen from lingering a little longer around the front porch rocking chairs.

When you look at older generations, and all you see are roadblocks to the gospel, you are missing the point. The church cannot afford to forget our older pew neighbors. We must remember them, include them and call upon them. 

My loyalty and stubbornness have guided me to claim our communities function most healthily when they are intergenerational. Will you follow Jesus’ footsteps and ask your older friends questions? Will you have the courage to listen to them?