Old people get it, I don't

Being a Christian on a college campus can warp your view of the world sometimes. When I took this job as "Children's Ministry Summer Intern," I was quite sure of myself. Why wouldn't I ... I had passion and zeal and creative juices and all that and I was going to turn the church upside down. This southern baptist church full of old farts didn't know what they had coming to all their stuffy old-fashioned let's-cling-to-tradition-and-not-dance ways. They probably needed a little youth in their lives, to teach them how to really love the Lord and be passionate about Him. Old people don't know how to do that like us revolutionary-full-of-fresh-idea college students. They don't live out Christ as good as we do. They're just not relevant.
I poked my head into Rod's office on day one of my job. I was a little embarrased because I was 6 minutes late because I couldn't figure out how to get in the church. I finally found an open door with a sign that directed me to a "Golden Tones" meeting on it. I skipped the meeting and went straight to Rod's office.
"Uh, hi Rod. I'm here."
"Oh hello Mamie! How are you?"
I explained how I couldn't get in the church and how I didn't think people in this town drove over 45 and he laughed and told me how to get in next time.
"As a matter of fact," he said "why don't we go ahead and take a look around the church so you'll know where everything is."
We covered the second floor with the offices, library and sanctuary first. Then we took the elevator to the third floor to see all the classrooms for the kids and youth and a supply closet scattered with construction paper, markers and band-aids. Finally, we went down to the first floor, where I had come in.
"Now here is the kitchen and right here" he pointed "is the fellowship hall."
I looked in at a swarm of white haired people. Then they looked at us.
"OOOOHHH hello, hello come in. youmustbemamiethechildren'sinternwe'resogladtoseeyou weirweuioncmnsjdkfn ..."
All the wobbly voices and wrinkly hands became mixed up as the old women clamored over to greet me, shake me and squeeze me. I didn't know what to do. I just smiled and nodded and squeezed back. One especially tall woman began to talk after everyone quieted down.
"We are soooo glad to have you. Now we just made goodies boxes for all the staff. Let me give y'all yours. Now honey," she touched my arm. "you don't mind taking this one do you. The handle broke but everything in it is just fine."
"Um no ma'am that's ok." I stammered back. They were so nice and ... alive. She shoved little red boxes with pink and purple hearts into mine and Rod's hands.
"Now you enjoy those ok." She turned around, walked over to the table of oldies and started to sing. Everyone joined in. Loud, robust voices.
As Rod and I turned to leave I was silent, just listening to the trail of the song and laughter of the Golden Tones trail behind me. I couldn't have said anything because I was overwhelmed by the thought that these people seemed to love Jesus and know friendship and community in a way I had never known with my college friends. It stung, that first clue that the old people got it and I didn't. But then I kind of started smiling to myself. I liked it. I liked these old people and their passion.
Later that week I was sitting in my office, which is really just the room where people used to come to get water and now has me in it too, typing something when I heard all these gravelly slow voices and footsteps in the hall. I swiveled in my swivel chair and saw more senior citizens walking down the hall than I knew were still living.
"Might wanna close your door, the senior citizens are having a Bible study and the noise could be distracting." Rod blocked the entrance and my view to warn me.
"oh it's fine. I work better with a little distraction."
I had been typing for maybe 20 minutes over the soft drone of an old man's voice talking about the Bible when the noise changed. It was a soft sound at first but flowing and it reminded me of something. Then it grew stronger and I could recognize words.
"At the cross, at the cross Where I first saw the light,And the burden of my heart rolled awaaaayIt was there by faith I received my sight,And now I am happy all the daaaay!"
I knew the hymn from church, probably could have recited at least half of it by heart, but it had never sounded so good as it did right then with all those aged vocal chords pouring forth the melodies. I stopped typing and sat at my desk just listening and thinking, 'Man these people get it. They just get it. And they get it in a different way than college kids and its relevant in a weird way and its real and experienced and I can hear it and that's weird.'
I guess it's been a week and it's still sometimes a shock when I see an old person around and catch a whiff, more like a gust, of truth from them. But I like it. It gives me something to aim for, to look forward to. Funny how things change ... I don't want them to be more like me (or what I thought I was) anymore ... I want to be more like them.