by Rev. Mia Levetan
I have the honor of serving as Chaplain within the third-largest nonprofit continuing care retirement community (CCRC) in the United States. In this role, I host Bible studies, lead devotions and hymn sings, and organize and preach Sunday worship services across two levels of care, and collaborate with interdisciplinary teams to care for our residents. Yet, much of my work can best be described as being a Professional Neighbor; I am simply present, available to offer a metaphorical “cup of sugar” whenever it’s needed.
Our residents currently range in age from 66 to 100. In fact, if someone twice my age moved in, they would be considered one of the younger residents. Being immersed in a demographic so much older than myself has offered me a wealth of perspective. The “grandmas and grandpas,” as my children call them, were raised by parents who lived through the Great Depression. They were the teenagers who swooned over Elvis and the Beatles. They were the young men drafted into the Korean and Vietnam Wars. This group is known as the “Silent Generation,” those born between 1928 and 1945, a name given to them by Time magazine in 1951 to describe a generation that was often seen but not heard.
In 1965, The Who released “My Generation,” a song that became an anthem for youth culture in the 1960s. Written by Pete Townshend (born 1945), it captured a growing tension between young people and the established previous generation. Townshend later explained that the song was meant to challenge conformity and complacency, encouraging a kind of enduring youthfulness. This spirit is captured in the now-iconic line, “I hope I die before I get old.”
More than thirty years later, in 1997, the Spice Girls released “Move Over,” widely recognized for its chant of “Generation X.” Generation X, those born between 1965 and 1980, found in this song a message, even amid its commercial ties, about breaking free and defining themselves. Geri Halliwell, better known as Ginger Spice (born 1972), described the song’s heart as “being about the next generation claiming its voice.”
Then, in 2000, Limp Bizkit released “My Generation.” The song title deliberately echoes The Who, but the tone is sharper, more aggressive, even defiant. Its aggression verges on spite while addressing an unknown audience who is apparently devaluing the Generation Xers, of which lead singer Fred Durst (born 1970) is a member.
While these songs differ greatly in style and era, they share striking thematic similarities. Each wrestles with identity, seeking to define itself while simultaneously distinguishing itself from the generations before. Each song expresses a refusal to be reshaped or silenced. Beneath that, there is a common thread of frustration and a deep desire to be seen and understood.
The Who’s “My Generation” speaks in the language of “us,” inviting peers into a shared identity. In contrast, the Spice Girls and Limp Bizkit speak outward, issuing commands, “move over,” “go ahead and talk”, directed at those they resist. Yet all three songs carry the same energy: they engage their listeners directly and call them into something larger than themselves. Each, in its own way, becomes an invitation to be seen and accepted.
At their core, these songs are doing the same thing: giving voice to a generation while pushing back against others who attempt to define or limit it.
While these three songs explicitly state their generational identity, these are by no means the only songs that address such a theme. A short list of more recent, similarly themed songs includes:
- “The Anthem” by Good Charlotte (Released in 2003)
- “Waiting on the World to Change” by John Mayer (Released in 2006)
- “We Are Young” by FUN (Released in 2011)
- “Royals” by Lorde (Released in 2013)
- “Alright” by Kendrick Lamar (Released in 2015)
- “Stressed Out” by 21 Pilots (Released in 2015)
- “Youngblood” by 5 Seconds of Summer (Released in 2018)
What I have come to see in my role as a chaplain is that generations are not as different as we believe. Each one is handed the narrative that it has inherited a broken world from those who came before. Billy Joel (born 1949) and later Fall Out Boy (lead singer, Patrick Vaughn Stump, born 1984) captured this sentiment in “We Didn’t Start the Fire,” portraying people who find themselves in the middle of a history they did not create, and yet feel compelled to make sense of it.
We often construct identities rooted in comparison, the belief that we have had it harder than those before us, and perhaps harder still than those who will come after us. It’s the familiar refrain of “walking to school uphill both ways in the snow.” But beneath these stories, something far more unifying exists.
In truth, every generation longs for the same thing: love.
We all seek a love that recognizes where we have come from and where we are. A love that sees us fully in our uniqueness and meets us there, without condition.
Songwriters of every coming-of-age generation have given voice to this longing. Freddie Mercury (born 1946) cried out in “Somebody to Love:” “Can anybody find me somebody to love?” Decades later, Bono (born 1960) of U2 “still hadn’t found what he was looking for.” Across genres and generations, the refrain of desired love to be found in our uniqueness remains the same.
And this is where my work as a Professional Neighbor takes on its deepest meaning.
Because while generations may introduce themselves with defiance, “my generation,” “move over,” “go ahead and talk,” they reveal themselves in vulnerability. Beneath the noise, beneath the posture, there is always a quieter question: Am I special? Am I seen? Am I loved?
In a community where nine decades of life are represented, I am reminded daily that these questions do not fade with age. If anything, they become clearer, more honest, and more urgent. The stories may differ, the music may change, but the human heart remains remarkably consistent.
And so, my calling is not to bridge generational divides with brilliant sermons or cultural fluency, but to be present, to listen, to honor, and to love without condition. To offer that “cup of sugar” in whatever form it is needed: a prayer, a hymn, a quiet conversation, or simply the assurance that someone is not alone.
Because in the end, what every generation is searching for is not so different. It is not merely to be heard over and against another, but to be known, and in being known, to be loved.
The Rev. Mia Levetan currently serves as a Chaplain for Acts at Park Pointe Village in Rock Hill, South Carolina. In this role, she cares for residents, families, and Team Members, providing spiritual and emotional support. Mia is a graduate of Columbia Theological Seminary with a Master of Divinity and a Master of Arts in Practical Theology with a focus in Pastoral Care and Pastoral Theology. Mia attended the University of Utah, where she attained a B.S. in Psychology.
