Compassion, maturity mellowed class reunion

I wrote recently about my trip home to upstate New York for my 30th high school reunion. I revisit that topic here - I'd like to think I returned to Ohio richer for the experience. I hope some of the treasures gleaned from observations and discussions among my former classmates might benefit or, at least, amuse you.

There's an evolution of the human spirit reflected in class reunions. I'd like to think the changes have to do with maturing values.

At the 10th anniversary, we strove to impress each other with our feats of career and family: who had the biggest income, the most exciting career, the most attractive spouse.

The 20th seemed more focused on maintaining youth and health. Who was keeping command of that slim waistline, smooth complexion, unreceding hairline?

The 30th, by contrast, seemed almost like a rebirth for some of my old classmates. Devon, for example, who at age 47 has a new wife and infant son. Thirty years ago, Devon was a mute, scowling longhair with shabby clothes and nonexistent social life.

Clean-shaven now and in command of an easy, unforced grin, Devon let on that he had worked two jobs, plus farm chores, during our senior year; he wasn't misanthropic as much as he was sleepwalking!

Another classmate, Bruce, told me quietly about his battle with alcohol addiction. His longtime girlfriend, Andrea, filled in the details. "I never thought of him as an alcoholic," she said. "A drink or two always cheered him up, made him sociable. He was an ogre without it - especially when he decided to quit." The reform was tough on both of them, but he's been clean and sober going on five years now. He's proud of the achievement. He should be.

I think Kendra put it best. Kendra was the knockout, proudly fit and attractive. She walks head-high proud, my wife observed. Now an attractive, fit grandmother, Kendra talks freely about her divorce and deliverance from an abusive husband. "You don't know what private hell people go through," she said. "We get really good at hiding our hurts."

As a group of peers, we've come to terms with the consequences of foolish, youthful behavior. Bruce wasn't the only reformed alcoholic in our bunch, and I wasn't the only overweight diabetic. It became clear to me that none of us is completely unique: Nobody's going it alone. We all have the scars to prove it.

And with the scars comes a measure of compassion.

- - -

I shared a point of faith that's been rolling around my brain for a while. My classmates and I are approaching our 49th birthdays. Forty nine is seven sevens. The Old Testament book of Leviticus establishes rules for something called sabbaticals. Every seventh year is a sabbatical - set aside for rest, rejuvenation and redirection. School teachers used to take sabbaticals. A year off for research and travel made them better teachers. Farmers let fields go fallow for the same reason. Sabbaticals preserve precious soil and increase overall productivity.

But there's another rule, I said, and here's where it gets interesting for 48-year-olds about to turn 49.

The seventh span of seven years, according to Leviticus, is followed by a special year - called a jubilee. During a jubilee, debts are canceled, lost property and loved ones return, and people are set free from all things that keep them in bondage. That's God's deepest promise - his covenant with his children. It's a promise I'd like to think I can count on.

"But why 49?" Bruce asked. "It doesn't happen 'til we're 50, right?"

No. a birthday marks the end of a year, not the beginning. You turn 1 a year after you're born. Your first birthday starts your second year - and our 49th birthdays mark the start of our jubilees. If you wait until you're 50, you'll miss your jubilee.

Is this too good to be true? I don't know. It's at least as reliable as today's horoscope. And when our second jubilee rolls around, we'll all be 99. I don't want to wait that long to find out.

Besides, I suspect our 80th reunion won't be as well attended as our 30th.