Just Hatched or the End of the Road?

My morning yesterday unexpectedly focused on turkeys.

Before getting in the car for a trip to Roanoke, I glanced at Facebook.  One of the posts that appeared was from a friend in the western part of the country.  It showed a newly hatched turkey poult surrounded by few additional eggs, some showing hairline cracks.  The caption my friend included was, “Thanksgiving dinner has arrived!”  

On I-64 just west of Charlottesville, I came up behind a truckload of turkeys on their way to processing.  As I drove through a tunnel of white feathers, I looked up to the top right of the truck.  In the highest cage was a turkey, neck straight up, head moving as if it was taking in all the beautiful mountain scenery as it traveled, unaware of the fate soon to be encountered.  Then, my eye immediately caught sight of a turkey on the opposite side of the truck.  It was obvious that its neck was already broken, its head dandling upside down on the outside of the “bars” holding it and the others hostage.  

It struck me that within just a little more than an hour, I had witnessed the entire life cycle of a turkey.

I shared the morning with representatives from 6 local United Methodist Churches and staff from the Hermitage in Roanoke in a Learning Circle. The Learning Circle is a model from Action Pact, Inc. (www.culturechangenow.com) to develop common ground and mutual respect through facilitated discussion around a particular topic.  We’ve been using the model to learn more about the role of the church in ministry with older adults in our congregations and communities and how we can support each other in our efforts.  The question for yesterday had to do with our perceptions of the biggest unmet needs for older adults in our communities. The main take-away from the conversation was that we as a church could do a lot more to help people “learn to grow old” – to age with purpose.  As one participant said, to prove the great worthiness of every person until death. That same individual made an observation that hurt my soul – hurt because of its truth and because I had to confess it myself.  The unmet needs of older adults in our congregations and communities stem from our negligence…the sin of failing to value the wisdom and experience of those traveling the road ahead of us, the sin of not being present with our older adults, the sin of ageism in our churches, the sin of letting someone feel forgotten.

So, whether we’ve just hatched, are watching the world go by with wide-eyed optimism, or traveling toward the end of the road, we are called to age faithfully and to support one another on the journey.  

“…But even if our bodies are breaking down on the outside, the person that we are on the inside is being renewed every day.”

2 Corinthians 4:16 (CEB)

Wondering Again...

As I'm processing a day of training on offering support for caregivers, I find myself wondering again about how I got to this point in my faith journey and walk of life. I found myself today in a room of experts on aging - from a program manager with the Alzheimer's Association who could rattle off every statistic about dementia-related diagnoses to retired and current state employees in the field of aging. And here I am...still trying to learn as much as I can about senior living and issues of aging so I can be a better resource for Older Adult Ministries with our Virginia United Methodist churches. And I feel so inadequate among this group.  But here I am, called to this place at this moment to attempt to make a difference.

It's at times like this that God usually puts someone or some situation before me to let me see where I have been and add a little light to the darkness.  Today, that came from twin sisters, probably 10 - 12 years my senior, who were also in the training.  They cheered when I mentioned in my introduction that I was originally from the Martinsville area. During a break, I shared with one of them that I was really from Fieldale.  At which point, the question became "Where in Fieldale?"

I could see her eyes grow wider as I described our house just around the big curve up from Carver Road.  "That holler is where our father grew up. So you must have gone to school at..." I finished her sentence before she could with "Carver." Her eyes grew even wider. Now, their father - and the two sisters had they not lived in the city - would have gone to G.W. Carver High School when it was segregated.  They would have been living in the holler with the segregated community swimming pool.  The road that divided their side of the holler from our's created a line that wasn't crossed until I was in the second grade.

There we were: two opposite ends of the Boomer Generation having lived totally different experiences in the same little town. Now we find ourselves trying to become experts in caring for those who fought for justice and equality.  And I wonder how I got here?  I wonder if those fighting similar battles today will recognize how much we have in common instead of how different the concerns may seem?  Forty-seven years have now come and gone since Carver High School first educated students of all colors, yet our talk today focused on a road that divided two areas of a tiny village. 

My prayer is that the church will begin to lead in transformative conversations rather than continue to stoke the divisive fires - whether about race or human sexuality or politics or whatever else. There are too many roads that still divide.  Too many eyes that still widen when controversial topics and history that we'd like to keep hidden are raised.  All while a radical Jesus keeps calling us to live by the greatest commandment: love God with all our heart, soul, and mind, and love our neighbors - without any conditions...or roads to cross.