Golden Oldies

Here's another Midlife Concern: when a 20-yr-old song is played in church, and you feel warm fuzzies, does that define you as middle-aged?

This is not me.
But yes, I had a mullet.

We enjoyed a great church service yesterday, partly because - to my pleasant surprise - we sang an old Vineyard song we used often when I led music as a Bible College student. Honestly, the last time I sang that song, the mullet was still popular! But our worship team played it well, and I found myself surprisingly drawn in to worship by the tune.

And this is unusual for me, because I'd be happy to sing a new set of songs every week, and I'd love to sing a few OLD songs - the kind that are printed in those books that are now usually just used to lift and level the video projector! (The majority of church-goers I've interacted with over the past 10 years have probably never opened a hymnal in their life!)  But I'm not typically fond of sort-of old songs.

Until now.

And that concerns me. Because when I first served as a music minister, in my mid-20's, the 40-something choir members I led liked some "old" songs. They didn't seem to mind singing songs like "Seek Ye First" (Karen Lafferty, c.1972). To me, 40-somethings seemed old, and it didn't surprise me that old people liked old songs. After all, old people are sentimental, right? Right, and now I'm there.

Oh my, can this really be happening?

Scripture encourages us to sing new songs. Several times the Psalms say, "Sing a new song", and Isaiah 42:10 affirms that, saying, "Sing a new song to the Lord! Sing his praises from the ends of the earth!"  I've always loved U2's 80's concert closer, "40", from Psalm 40, with the lyric, "I will sing, sing a new song." (Which in itself is remarkable, that a 3000-yr-old lyric becomes a new song with a new tune!)

I think what made the old tune work for me yesterday is that is reminded me of a meaningful spiritual time in my life (okay, some sentimentality), and it had been dormant long enough to feel fresh again. Yet most importantly, the text of the song rang simple and true, a Biblical testimony. It was - and is - a good song. And I was able to sing it with new desire and purpose. The song is old, but God's work in me through it can be new, always new.

So I'm going to choose not to "feel old" because I relished a 20-yr-old song. And no, I don't want to sing it frequently. I still prefer the new over the old. But I'm thankful for those Golden Oldies that can make an old message fresh again.

(For those who wish to comment here or on Facebook, what are the "old" songs that mean something to you and why?)

Living in the Tension

One of the realities of this life-stage we call mid-life, is the tension between the desire, perhaps the need, for stability, versus the importance of preserving one's values.

When we were young, we pursued what was important to us, without a great deal of concern for stability or security. What we studied, what we drove, how we dressed or the music to which we listened were ways we expressed not only our preferences, but our values, what was fundamentally important to us, even in small ways. For example, at 20 I accompanied my brother to a boutique shoe store in downtown Vancouver, and bought an expensive pair of  Doc Martin shoes, specifically because I knew of NO ONE ELSE who wore those shoes. My college peers mocked me, but my shoes proclaimed - "I am unique" - and while it was money I couldn't afford to spend, I was glad I did.

Even in our early years of marriage and parenting, stability was a non-issue. Adventure, education and experience were precious, and worth the price we paid. My oldest son celebrated his first five birthdays in five different settings, because of the risks we were willing to take in relocating for schooling and employment. Our values of education and church experience trumped stability.

I'm willing to admit that my status as a last-born child and a sanguine personality (you can ask me why that matters) has delayed my desire for stability, but at this mid-stage in my development, I can admit that security is a concern for me.

The question is this: will I compromise my values for stability?

When I think of the Biblical examples I love - Nehemiah, the Apostle Paul, and of course, Jesus - stability was not their first priority. As Jesus said of himself, "Foxes have dens to live in, and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has no place even to lay his head" (Luke 9:58).

But they didn't have kids. Or the pressure to take out a mortgage. They didn't need a reliable vehicle, or a secure garage for that vehicle, and there were no 401K contributions. They didn't have to steer their kids through the right high school classes to get into the correct college. You get the point.

So it seems inevitable - we embrace security, and do our best to live out our priorities from a stable home base and perhaps vicariously through the lives of our kids. Some of the idealism of youth collides with the midlife reality of bills and backaches.

But there's another word we might substitute for stability, a word that causes my stomach to churn, just a little. That word is comfort. It could be that what I call stability is really about being comfortable.

This past weekend my pastor announced my resignation from my current occupation of associate pastor at Mountain View Church in Fresno, California. My resignation decision was the result of a year of wrestling through my desire to make better use of the gifts and abilities I've been given, versus the desire to preserve stability for me and the church, by continuing in the role I took on a few years ago.

Finally, I had to admit "stability" was partly the "comfortability" of staying in a role that might be better suited to someone else. I don't yet know what I'll be doing in a few months, but I (together with my family) am taking the step of faith in trusting God that he'll put me in a setting where he can use me. Doing what honors our values must supercede doing what is comfortable, easy or stable.

I know this tension is different for each person. After all, stability is its own value, and I'm thankful for the stability of people who stay and serve consistently in one setting, be it a mechanic, doctor, pastor, or teacher. I certainly don't advocate everyone leave jobs and neighborhoods for the sake of adventure.

Values and stability don't need to be the opposite ends of a continuum, a sort of sliding scale of compromise. And yes, there are times in life when we have the freedom to pursue one more than the other.

Yet I know I don't want to sacrifice what is right for what is safe. Even at this time in life, what is valueable must always overrule what is comfortable.