The Legacy of The 60's Generation

My Lake Street

If I were the pastor and delivered the sermon,
it might go something like this.

June 1, 1997

Cal Thomas wrote several years ago in his book "ThingsThat Matter Most" that the 60's generation, of which I am a member, "removed religion as a moral influence in our society and never bothered to replace it with anything."

This accusation rings true for me more than ever today. I can't help but think when I turn on the evening news and hear about the murder, the cruelty, the savaging of our citizens on our streets, sometimes even before the sun goes down, just how much we need moral direction today in our lives. And you don't have to be any kind of historian at all to recognize that personal belief in God and paying attention to the daily basics of right and wrong have the best track record for moral direction. The Congress can't do it - the President can't do it (certainly not our current office holder). Each of us needs to get back to the basics, back to our religion.

Like many of my generation, I left my church when I moved from my home town of Elmira, New York. And perhaps, like some who may have done the same thing upon leaving home as a young adult, I have come to realize its cost - not just in my own life. In multiplying my drift by the millions of others who've also strayed away from their religious past, I realize now how we've spread a horrific cost across the American landscape. We see it in the headlines, in the way we govern, in the way we rear our children and in the breakup of the traditional family values -- in all walks of American life.

My mother lives alone now (my father died nearly 20 years ago) and occasional visits to see her over the years have usually included a Sunday at my old church - Lake Street Presbyterian. In particular, on Mother's Day, my wife and I will accompany her, and we will sit with her among her friends, many who I remember from my boyhood days as my Sunday school teachers when I was growing up there.

This year's Mother's Day included one of those visits to Lake Street. As we stood up and sat down and stood up and sat down some more, and sang the Doxology, and listened to the sermon and sang some more, I looked around this big old room they call the sanctuary that holds so many memories for me of years gone by. I saw the cracked ceiling, the faded stained-glass windows, the dwindling numbers of parishoners seated around me.

It occurred to me that almost every person in the congregation that day was a part of my childhood, and that no new generations were present to replace them. The church had experienced an interruption in its life blood. My generation, and those that followed mine had abandoned Lake Street. Like me, so many had moved away. I could only guess at what might happen to this church in a few more years.

Today I live hundreds of miles from Lake Street Presbyterian and there are churches and synagogues just like it all around me.

When I grew up, America was a good place to raise a kid. Everybody went to bed at night feeling good about themselves and about others. We were a proud society with a consensus about things in general. There was a good naturedness and a strong idea of future and a commitment to each other and to country. We were all of different backgrounds and ethnic groups but it was a melting pot -- remember the melting pot? I believe I got a lot of my feeling good about things from my parents. But much of it came from my religion and from the folks at Lake Street Pres. My religion spoke to my good side and fostered my growth.

I have discovered, perhaps like many from my generation, that kids who don't have this kind of environment during childhood are at a disadvantage throughout adult life. And our civilized society is the ultimate victim. I was fortunate - I had the memories and the teachings of my parents and Lake Street to guide me through much of my young adult life. And for this I am thankful. So many of our children and young adults today don't have that to fall back on.

So, what's on my agenda here? Well, I have some high hopes...

Those of you who have a Lake Street in your past - I hope that you go back and visit it. I hope you'll sit in the pew where you sat with your family - feel what you felt and see what you've missed all these years as a result of your having closed the door to your past and to your religion.

For those of you who don't have a Lake Street in your past - I hope that you find one today - there's probably one within a few blocks of you right now. I hope you'll go there and meet the folks who attend regularly. I hope you'll learn what they know, and how they live.

And once you've found your own Lake Street, I hope you'll join it and become a part of it and let it become a part of you. I hope you'll bring your children and the rest of your family, and bring some of your friends. And I hope you'll let them see your Lake Street and see how it will work for them.

If enough of us do that, maybe we can get the stained-glass windows and cracked ceilings fixed before it's too late.