A Few Thoughts on Listening to the Elderly

and my organ debut at church

Photo by Tim Gouw

---

I felt the urge to play the organ Sunday morning before worship practice.

The organ had been sitting there for several years, unplayed, on the other side of the pulpit and the (empty) choir pews. My husband and I occupy the other side of the platform with guitars and a piano and mic stands.

I learned to play church music with a praise band; there was no organ involved. We did a lot of 90s Vineyard stuff, then Hillsong. When I rebelled in my mid twenties I learned the old hymns, and I always played them a bit differently (and several full steps lower!) than the way they are written in the hymnal.

But I've never played an organ. I figure, the piano is hard enough; why would I try an instrument that also requires you to play with your feet, (plus, as I have since learned, you use both your heels and your toes)? But it was sitting there last Sunday, and I just had to play it for some reason.

I opened the lid. There were all kinds of buttons and knobs; I had no idea what any of them meant. I pressed the keys, pushed some of the knobs, and then tried the pedals. How do people do this? I couldn't see my feet. I guess you're supposed to do it without looking. The shoes I was wearing made it difficult, so I took them off. I had to pull the long skirt I was wearing up to my knees. Surely this is not the way the real organists do it. But I played a few notes, and the sound was grand, solemn, and expressive. I wanted to play it more. I banged out a little tune-- “On Christ the Solid Rock I Stand”--recognizable enough to summon the church secretary. “You play the organ!” she said, with rapture on her face.

Before and after service that day, I was approached by at least ten people—most of them elderly—who asked me to please play the organ sometime at church. They were quite emotional about this. They love the sound of it; they miss hearing it in church. One woman came and talked to me for about 10 minutes about the songs she loved from her youth. Another man came and told me his life story.

I found myself thinking things like, why haven't these people talked to me before? And what a treasure they are!

For much of my life I have felt that the older generations didn't have much to tell me. We live in a tangle of complexities older people simply don't understand. The lives of the earlier generations were like landscape paintings: straightforward and full of rugged beauty. Our lives are like mosaics: fragmented, pieces constantly shifted around, harmonious and beautiful at times, at other times a nonsensical mess.

I remember in my youth asking an older relative for advice. I explained my situation the best I could, with all its facets and nuances. I realized, after talking to him, that my sort of problem didn’t exist in his day. His only advice for me was to go to a church prayer meeting and tell them I had an “unspoken request.”

At the time, I was disappointed; but now I see the wisdom in his advice. In complex situations, waiting and praying are often the best ways forward. Sometimes talking and explaining and analyzing a thing to death gets you deeper into the emotional quicksand…whereas with a little time and quietness, things become clear and work themselves out.

In general, the wisdom I have gained from listening to the elderly is not necessarily the kind that gives you a quick answer to a problem. You have to listen past your immediate need and take in the panoramic view. You have to listen bigger and wider; listen past the specifics for principles and values, possibly discarded by subsequent generations.

Rather than dismissing the elderly, even when they seem not to understand us, we should ask, in what ways are we misunderstanding them?

Sometimes the things they have to teach us are more difficult and complex than the things we are used to and require more patience—like learning to play the organ.

We might ask them, what traditions have we despised that deserve a second look?

What forgotten beautiful things from their time can we use to adorn our own lives and expressions of faith?

I used to work in a senior home, and one of my favorite things I did with the seniors was to host tea parties and lead discussions. We had some fancy china and lace tablecloths, and the kitchen would make us delicious scones for the occasion. I would serve tea and pose a question or two.

One time we discussed a school shooting had taken place earlier in the week. I wanted to know: From their perspective, what has changed in our society that has led to these horrific acts of violence?

There was nothing said about guns (we are in Tennessee, after all, so there’s that…), video games, or mental health. The consensus among them was that the older generations were raised with the golden rule as a kind of baseline morality. They were raised to show a basic level of respect to their fellow human beings—whether they liked them or not. In their observation, we are missing that level of respect today. While bullying has always existed, the bullying that exists in schools today, according to my older friends, has reached new heights of abuse and humiliation.

I’m inclined to think that the school shooting issue is more complex than this, but they raise a good point, one that is worth mulling over: in what ways have we lost a basic sense of respect for our fellow human beings? Even those whom we dislike or disagree with? I have more to say on this, but perhaps that is a subject for another essay.