Even at 95, my Dad remained an active member of the South Hill Lions Club in Spokane, Washington. Whenever I visited, I was unavoidably invited to Lions’ lunches by my Dad. They crowded into the very plain Fellowship Hall of a Methodist church—these glorious, aged Lions—men of high spirits, low-cholesterol diets, and skin like elephant leather. They wear their oversized, theme-emblazoned name buttons like war medals, and a few have those compact military/scout-type caps resembling inverted canoes. 

They come to order with a big, unison ROAR! (Okay, they don’t, but how cool would that be?) They stand and say the pledge of allegiance with their hands over their hearts. There is an opening prayer in Jesus’ name. They rib each other about how old they are and take dollar bills over little rules they all keep forgetting. 

We eat breaded chicken cutlets with mashed potatoes and green beans. The dessert is a block of cherry jello with walnuts on a lettuce leaf slathered with sour cream. Then it’s down to serious Lions’ business.  

Talk immediately turns to the problem of getting some young people into the group. “We need younger blood in here! We’re just a bunch of old fogies [not sic].” The leader asks for ideas, and the place goes sadly silent. The token female in her 30s makes a suggestion about one of their parks projects, but there is no spark, just some half-hearted nods. 

Presbyterians and the Lions may have a lot in common. Both have been around a long time and happily host old-timers who love being with each other. Both face the problem of “trying to draw in some younger people.”

America’s Lions’ Clubs are the product of the heroes of the Great Generation. They built them as fellowships for public service. They worked hard to infuse them with energy, faith, teamwork, and patriotic fervor. But unfortunately, those qualities are more part of the members themselves than the institution they would like to advance. Those qualities are not transferrable by the institution to the members. Even if the Lions brought in two dozen young men and women and could generate new enthusiasm for Lions, it would be unlikely to work because the core qualities did not originate with the new members. A new generation has to recreate its groups, clubs, and churches. 

Old Lions lament the loss of a great dream—or at least a dream that was great in its time—and we should respect that sense of loss for their sake. Even so, if my father wants me to join the Lions—as much as I love him—it’s going to be a tough sell. Public service has other incarnations better suited to me and my generation.

I felt sad to watch these outstanding old Americans grieve their loss of momentum and anticipate the sunset of their organization. They deserve better—by God, they earned it—and, sadly, a new generation has no appreciation for their unique vision as Lions.

When Presbyterians bemoan their former glories, we sympathize. The denomination has done remarkable things with God’s help. But unless we let a new generation take the reins and re-vivify things according to their own gifting (under the Holy Spirit’s inspiration), then we are doomed to fade away like the diminishing echoes of the old Lions’ roars.  

Good news: God will renew the Church in his own way in his own time, and though the badges, club names, and music may change, it is the same Spirit that supplies the goods and values in every generation for the upbuilding of the Church. Our mission, vision, and values are sound and transferable precisely because they come not from us but from the God we serve. .†