No Safe Places
A constant refrain I hear from high students in Northbridge is, "There are no places to hang out. We get shoed away all the time." Kids are looking for come-as-you-are community, free of adults who fear them or try to police them. They crave safe places where they can be themselves, and where there are no built-in agendas. If you have money, or only a few friends, a nice house and permissible parents--you may be okay. But the students I know in Northbridge like traveling in clusters, meeting up with crowds, and enjoying free, hospitable space. They aren't finding it. That is why, at both concerts, dozens of kids came up to me and said, "Thanks so much for letting us do this. No one else would." Kids need space to build community, be themselves, celebrate (something other than drinking and getting laid), and showcase their gifts and talents. And they're craving it, but they don't know where to find it.
Few Adults who Care
A team of adults from my church joined me in serving the band members dinner and helping them unload their gear and set up. Others welcomed kids at the doors, learned their names and kick-started conversations. I had a team of women cook enough desserts to give away all night long and never run out. Some of the kids looked at me with suspicion, wondering what strings were attached. I saw one kid stare at the "Free Desserts" sign and then ask, "so, how much are they really?" While helping a drummer tear down his kit, he said to me, "We've never been treated like this before. It's nice to know somebody cares." Some youth culture watchers have called this the HURT generation because they have been systemically abandoned by an adult world too consumed with its own problems to truly care for and nurture the younger generations. Almost every day, one, two or ten kids (who do not attend my church, or any church for that matter) knock on my office door, hoping I'll be there to listen to them. Today's teenagers are desperate for an adult who cares. And every teen, no matter how jilted and jaded, will always go to the oldest person they can find who truly understands and respects them.
In Need of Catharsis
The HURT generation is in need of a catharsis--an emotional release that will help them make sense of their pain. That's what Punk music is. It's loud. It's emotional. It's angry. Most of the lyrics are screamed—sometimes with such raw intensity as to sound superficially demonic. It's not. It's just raw frustration and anger, bubbling up from a very real well of pain. The dancing that accompanies punk rock (moshing) is equally cathartic. Limbs kick and pump, like an anarchic boxing match with the air. Faces intensify and muscles brace. Rage has found an outlet.
Respect
Many of my concert helpers didn't quite know how to react to the "moshers" at first. "They're going to punch each other's lights out! We need to stop this!" But that never happened. Instead, respect permeated the mosh pit; body parts kept to themselves, and non-participating bystanders were protected. Because there is no stage in our fellowship hall, the bands played from the floor. At various times during both concerts, the crowd formed a "huddle" around the bands. Singers shared their mics with the crowds and nearly everyone sang--in lock step with each other. It was a picture of solidarity not unlike a candlelight vigil. Forced into the "world beneath" by a culture hostile to crowds of teens, these students became each other's family, each other's church, for those two nights.
Authenticity
Of the 14 bands that played the two concerts, only one was rejected by their peers. A group of kids from the
So that's what I learned. Listening to eight hours of punk rock was a small price to pay for the lessons I took home. For the sake of the HURT generation, I'll keep listening.
