My friend Min lived to be 111. I didn’t meet her until she was 94. By then, she had been widowed a second time and had made her home in a continuous care retirement village. She was blind and had care companions who came to her apartment and accompanied her on trips to the doctor or to attend a women’s basketball game at the college. Although she had been a member of the church I served for more than 70 years, she wasn’t able to attend worship often because she used a wheelchair for mobility. The local service that provided a wheelchair-accessible taxi didn't run on Sundays. For 17 years, I visited her regularly as her pastor and heard many wonderful stories about her life. She told me that her first husband, who owned the local newspaper, would not allow a television in their home when their daughters were young because he saw the television as competition for the newspaper. She told me about the night they barely made it out of Dark Canyon before a flood washed out the bridge and destroyed their house during the 1972 Rapid City Flood. She told me of years spent serving as a Gray Lady, providing companionship to patients in the hospital.

Min taught me a lesson in humility. She was always interested in what was going on at the church, and she grew excited when we undertook a project to refurbish and expand our pipe organ. I don’t remember exactly which year it was, but when the organ was completed, we arranged for her to attend worship near her 104th or 105th birthday. The people who ran the wheelchair taxi were delighted to give her a ride on their day off so she could attend services. She came to church dressed to the nines, but she was always neatly dressed whenever I visited her. A couple of weeks after the service, I visited her in her room at the care center, and I asked her about her visit to the church. Her hearing wasn't good, so I had to raise my voice so she could understand my question. She replied, “The organ sounded good.” I asked her what she thought of the rest of the service. She said, “I didn’t understand a word you said, but the music was great.” So much for my special prayer and sermon prepared to celebrate her presence in the community. It reminded me that I was not the center of the church. It also made me wonder how much of the prayers I offered at each visit she had actually heard and understood.

I have learned many lessons from my elders over the years. One of the great teachers in my life was half a century older than I. He was my age or a bit older when I met him, and he was still actively teaching full-time. He taught me to reflect on experiences to realize the meanings they held. He taught me a particular way of making photographs that captured meanings as well as images. One of the classes he taught was titled “Spirit in the Aging Years.” I assumed he would be talking about his own experience, but when he addressed aging, he often told stories about his mother, who lived into her nineties. At the time, the nation was experiencing an energy crisis, and Jimmy Carter was the president. Carter addressed the nation and urged people to turn off unnecessary lights and turn down thermostats. My teacher visited his mother at that time, and her apartment seemed cold to him. He mentioned it to her, and she told him to put on a sweater. She had heard the president ask citizens to turn down the temperature, and she was keeping her thermostat set as he recommended. “Mother,” my teacher said, “The president said it is OK for senior citizens to keep their apartments warm.” She replied, “If you think I’m any less patriotic just because I’m old, you’ve got another think coming!” I think of Ross and the stories he told about his mother now that I am approaching the age he was when we met.

There have been many others. Of course, I have learned important lessons from people of all ages. Before we had children, I knew quite a bit about child development, youth culture, and education. When I became a father, our children taught me how little I really knew. It is possible that I learned my practice of getting up in the middle of the night and working for an hour or so before returning to bed from our daughter when she was an infant. She woke up ready to play nearly every night for the first few years of her life.

As a youth minister, I quickly learned that the youth of the church have a lot to teach those of us who are older about the nature of faith and the process of forming Christian community. My friend Skyler, who is a freshman in college this year, taught me a great deal about loss, grief, and resiliency when his uncle died suddenly.

Now that I am retired and considered an elder in the church, I continue to learn a lot from those who are older than I am. Last night, my teacher was Judy Collins. She entertained a packed house at the Massey Theatre with a 90-minute concert with no intermission. She is 86 years old, and if she hadn’t mentioned her age, the audience might have thought she was much younger. She has continued to work through a lot this year. Last December, her husband, Louis Nelson, an industrial designer whom she had known for more than 50 years, died of cancer. She has been working through her grief and continues to tour internationally. She is no stranger to illness, having suffered polio as a child and tuberculosis in her twenties. Last night, on stage, her spirit shone through from her opening song, “Both Sides Now,” to her “Amazing Grace” encore.

Listening to her sing, I was reminded that my life and work aren’t over just because I have retired. There is still much for me to do. She showed me how the spirit can shine through, regardless of how many decades one has lived.