Outside the Sacred Circle; An Unexpected Encounter with Hope

There is a pinball arcade on a busy street in a busy city. The low flat roof hints at being an industrial add-on to the taller, more ornate buildings nearby. If you aren’t looking for it, you’ll miss it. Inside the walls are dressed in matte black. The lighting is off, like someone has chosen the wrong bulb temperature. Entry to the back room, our venue for the evening, is via a short, narrow hallway. We stop to grab our paper bracelets. Our two underage people are inked with large “M’s”, one for each hand. I’m wondering if maybe we should have come without them.

In the bathroom, the black walls are adorned with outdated concert posters and handwritten messages in splashy colors. The content conjures images of young people who’ve had one too many. If I’d had my own bright pen, I would have added “Jesus loves you!” As if these three words might remind someone, someday, that risky choices don’t automatically disqualify them for that gift. I felt like a mom being invited into a typically inaccessible space. I wanted to fill the gap for other moms. Moms who have either voluntarily withdrawn from acknowledging the dark places our children dance, or moms who have no idea. I’d want that for my own two, for someone to fill the gap – to remind them, if I couldn’t.

Maybe you’re wondering if someone dragged me to this venue. No way. I had seen the artist twice before, opening for bigger acts. I had been waiting for an opportunity to catch him again. He is a storyteller, with strong vocals. He engages the crowd with both confidence in his talent and with humility highlighted by echos of gratitude. The venue however, was darker than I had expected, and the crowd younger. Not like some of the crowd was younger, but all of the crowd. It’s highly probable I was the oldest in the room (or at least in the top four…you’re getting the picture). A handful of X’s in a room full of Z’s.

I know about Gen Z’s. I’ve created family with two of them. I like them. I’m intrigued by them. I’m used to them. In my middle-aged mom, I’m going to write “Jesus loves you” on the bathroom wall confidence, I carried my plastic cup of pinot grigio (because “pinot” in a pinball arcade venue means the white kind and not the red) to a spot away from the center and waited for the concert. What I observed led me to the conclusion – maybe I don’t know very much about Gen Z’s.

Within the boundaries of those black matte walls, a group of young people created a warm circle of music, laughter, and community. Honest and vulnerable, it felt more like a gathering of friends than a musician with an audience. It felt safe, beautiful, and at times, holy. In a world loud with marketing, messaging, mongering, and misinformation, here were young people creating a safe space in a dark place. They sang, they danced, they acknowledged that life isn’t what is being sold to them, that answers aren’t always answers, that authenticity is the foundation of true community. The demonstrated both a willingness and a knowledge of how to mourn – with sadness, with humor, and even with joy. Somehow, without the three words scribbled on the bathroom wall by a well-meaning mom, I think the message was shared. Better yet, I think the message was received.

His life on earth was book-ended by the darkness of an earthen cradle and an earthen grave. Why would Jesus not show up in a dark room full of young people longing for something true? Bigger question, why was I so surprised when He did? Why is it that I’m always limiting Him to move how I would move, seeing only what I see? Standing outside that beautiful, sacred circle, I was presented with two gifts, one of humility and one of hope.

Nostalgia is a force, a remembrance of what was, and a failure to remember what really was. Nostalgia may be nothing more than fear wrapped in a soft, fuzzy package. Hope is a force, creating beautiful spaces in dark places, even in the entire truth of what is now. Nostalgia is prideful and blind. Hope is humble and searching. I may have entered the pinball arcade with nostalgia, but I walked out with hope. And as I observed standing outside that sacred circle built by those young people, hope is the better companion.