The Limestone City Blues Fest was on this weekend and my wife, Lily, and I decided to take it in. I like the “blues” so I was looking forward to hearing some music that sounded like Stevie Ray Vaughan, Albert King or Colin James.

There was an open-air concert right on Princess Street and when we got within a few blocks, we could hear the guitar man wailing away. We didn’t really need to pay the admission fee; we could hear the music fine from the other side of the barricade. But it’s only up close that you get to feel the music, so we paid.

As we entered onto the blocked off street, we ran into one of our son’s friends. He was eating on the patio of a restaurant in the “hub”. We had a short chat and then moved on to get close to the music.

As we left Gibby, that was the last time I saw someone under 25 for the rest of the night. Actually, it was the last time I saw someone under 65!  We passed into a time warp and everyone you looked at was old, and from a bygone era.

I don’t mean just middle aged – we were the young people in the crowd! I gazed over everyone sitting in their lawn chairs in front of the stage, and it was a sea of white hair. I couldn’t believe it.  Where were all the younger blues fans?

The band leader was just givin’ it on his guitar and these people were soaking it up. I think they probably had their hearing aides turned down and all they really heard was a muffled sound.

Hey, some of them probably turned off their pacemakers because the kick drum was so heavy you felt it inside you, like it was replacing your heartbeat.

It was funny to see all those old folks (some with canes), all happy like they just got out of a nursing home for the night. I checked, but there wasn’t any one of the seniors from my church at the event. And I couldn’t imagine any of them being there, or at least staying for more than two minutes.

The band we saw was called “Papa Chubby” and it was a very descriptive name for the leader of the group. He sat and played his guitar for most of the set, but it wasn’t like his show lacked energy!

The old folks were into it, too; they were moving. One guy reminded me of the bobble head figurines, only he was a whole body bobble head, standing there jiggling.

People were tapping their canes and even formed something of a weak resemblance to a mosh pit at the front of the stage.

We checked out just before it ended. We left the concert area to go grab some gelato on Front Street. And there we were, transported back to present-day Kingston!

Here’s the thing: Just like the “Blues” isn’t music for just an older generation, God is not the God of a past generation. And like anyone can enjoy listening to the Blues, Christ came to reconcile all generations to God. You are never too old or young to believe in God.

That’s Life!

Paul

Question: What have you stereotyped as being for another generation? Leave your comment below.