Jean Vanier, Powerful Jesus, Pathetic Me

Recently, during the same interview I mentioned the other day on American Public Radio, Jean Vanier spoke of power, of the handicapped giving our lives a sense of "equilibrium", about the importance of "being" rather than "doing", of the sacred nature of the body in the context of the handicapped. Jean, at 79 years old, said:

"I just want to become a friend of Jesus. Jesus was quiet...., he ate with people who were caught up in prostitution... there is something so simple about Jesus that he is disarming. Frequently we want a powerful Jesus; who will put everything straight, who will cure everybody, who will do everything we tell him to do. And its not like that."

Its not like that with Jesus, is it? And guess what? The American church, and much of the charismatic church around the world, those preaching a subtle gospel of health and wealth, they all want a powerful Jesus too. No meek and mild Lord, thank you very much. No paradoxes, no mystery, just power and response; like a new Corvette.

But wait, as I think of it, count me in too. I too want a Powerful Jesus. I want everything straight, I want everybody cured, and I want Jesus to do everything I tell him to do, because I am always right. What is wrong with Jesus?

Or rather, what is wrong with me?

Sacred and Secular - You Can Take This To Work

"The universe is God's sanctuary. Every work day is a day of the Lord, every supper a Lord's supper, every work the fulfillment of a divine task, every joy a joy in God. In all preliminary concerns, ultimate concern is present, consecrating them. Essentially the religious and the secular are not separated realms. Rather they are within each other."

Paul Tillich

"Theology of Culture"

p 41

Oxford University Press, London, 1964

Jean Vanier, Living in Reality, My Struggle

Jean Vanier is a most amazing man, who, indirectly has affected the lives of two of my close friends, as well as a far more expansive effort in the founding of the L'Arche Communities, world wide.

My friends Mark and Tod, had a lunch with priest and writer Henri Nouwen about 20 years ago in Toronto; and this was a lunch that changed both of their lives significantly. His support for the work of Jean Vanier was the reason Henri Nouwen was living in Toronto, serving in a L'Arche community.

Vanier said something recently in a radio interview that struck me with the force of an epiphany. He said,

"The big thing for me is to love reality, and not live in the imagination; not live in what could have been, or what should have been, or what can be, but to love reality, and then discover that God is present there."

My Church Problem
As I heard these words, I realized this was me Mr. Vanier was talking about. I have spent the last decade or so wanting something bigger, better, stronger, slicker, and not being content at all with reality. Always striving for something out of my reach.

I go to a church that was once "great", what ever that means. Perhaps it was the large traditional worship services, the cathedral sanctuary, the handsome, velvet-throated pastor, or the shiny TV ministry. Oh, we were once really great. Bigger, better, stronger, slicker. A force to be reckoned with.

But then the troubles and slow decline came. The times changed, and the church did not. The new pastor was an Emperor Without Clothes. Nothing really changed, christian community was eroded, we did not look as spiffy as we once did on TV. Accusations were leveled, arguments began, it got very ugly.

This was several years ago. Our church has recovered, and is slowly, carefully, on the mend. I care deeply about all this; I have been involved at this church for more than 20 years - I met my wife there, and both our daughters were dedicated there. But sometimes, I get discouraged.

I have never really been able to just be content in our "church reality". To be satisfied with the way things are - partially complete, wounded, yet healing. Jean Vanier's words struck me as very profound; to be simply content with the present state of affairs.

I wonder, can I love reality, and find God there?

Holiday Fun Review

About 12 days ago, we pulled the kids out of school and spent the day at Disneyland. Just the four of us, as a family.

It was very fun to be a kid again, if only for a day.

The last time we pulled the girls from school like this, one was in 5th grade, and the other in 2nd grade. My, my how time flies.

I'm not sure I will ever be able to express the wonder, joy, frustration, amazement, and mystery of raising these girls, and of joining my sweet wife on this journey we call life.

Between the Holidays

This is the twilight sky out our back door, looking west. It has been a full and happy Holiday Season for us. I would show more photos of our fun right now, but I am cheating off my neighbor's wireless (Apple) because my Apple wireless router cannot talk to my Windows PC correctly. I have been on the phone with HP in India (my laptop manufacturer) for about 1.5 hours in the past two days.

Tomorrow, I get to call Apple, as I have to do a hard-reset on my Extreme Airpoop Airport, and once I do that, I think I throw off the wireless thingamajiggie for everyone else in my house.

Gosh darn, I just love technology. It is so simple, freeing, and rudimentary.

The Bishop's Wife - Ending Sermon

I have just discovered a wonderful Christmas movie, and it only took me 49 years to find it.

The Bishop's Wife, produced in 1947, is the story of a suave angel who comes to earth to save a woman and her Episcopal priest husband from spiritual doubt, and a lack of love for life itself.

But this movie is more than that, and features a sermon at the end, that would preach well anywhere today, in a world so in need of the simple, non-commercial message of Christmas. And here, for the first time on the Internet (as I could not find the script in the public domain), is the closing sermon of The Bishops Wife:

Tonight I want to tell you the story of an empty stocking.

Once upon a midnight clear, there was a child's cry, a blazing star hung over a stable, and wise men came with birthday gifts. We haven't forgotten that night down the centuries. We celebrate it with stars on Christmas trees, with the sound of bells, and with gifts.

But especially with gifts. You give me a book, I give you a tie. Aunt Martha has always wanted an orange squeezer and Uncle Henry can do with a new pipe. For we forget nobody, adult or child. All the stockings are filled, all that is, except one. And we have even forgotten to hang it up. The stocking for the child born in a manger. Its his birthday we're celebrating. Don't let us ever forget that.

Let us ask ourselves what He would wish for most. And then, let each put in his share, loving kindness, warm hearts, and a stretched out hand of tolerance. All the shinning gifts that make peace on earth.

Short but sweet. Sixty years old, and not a day off center. Still relevant.

Merry Christmas to all.

For the latest version of the sermon on YouTube which has not been attacked by the attorneys:

Have Yourself a Tacky Little Christmas

We Americans are a completely nutty bunch, and I have found evidence of this at a lovely seasonal web site known as Tacky Christmas Yards. You can always count on my directing you to the most meaningful and uplifting of Holiday web sites. Go ahead, have a look, I promise you will laugh and be repulsed, all at once.

The photo at left is one of the featured homes at this site. You need to click on the photo to enlarge it, and get the fully confused meaning of American Christmas. When you click the image it gets quite big, so you examine in detail the cornucopia of Tackiness.

What are the psycho social and theological implications of this particular yard? Well, by count there are 3 Santas, 3 Choir Boys, 2 Polar Bears, 3 Reindeers, and, I think, 3 Reindeers, and zero Baby Jesus (Jesus-es?, Jesus's, Jesi?). Could be the entire family were eaten by the polar bears. Shown prominently on this house is also some odd sort of Sun God Ra or Sixties Hippie star burst thingie. I am not sure about the residents of this home. Most likely they are very post modern in their outlook.

My favorite is the upstairs bedroom on the right featuring Santa and the Leg Lamp, in a nice gesture to one of my favorite Christmas movies, A Christmas Story. I am impressed that Santa is showing some restraint and fidelity to Mrs. Claus, and is not looking directly AT the leg lamp. Good job, Santa.

St. Olaf's Choir and This Christmastide

And I was going to watch SportsCenter.......

But something else happened. I watched a choir. Now mind you, I am not a huge choir aficionado. I live in Southern California, mind you. Flip flops and Hawaiian shirts are the typical attire in our area. Sacred music in our world is often played by dudes who have forgotten modern shaving techniques, and who are also wearing Hawaiian shirts. Sacred music, schmakred music. Please.

Pictured above is the Choir of St. Olaf college, in Northfield, Minnesota. The other night, as the day ended, I flipped on the TV to see what might be on, and found on PBS the St. Olaf Christmas Festival. This is big time choral music, one of America's longest running musical celebrations of the Holiday Season, and has been named one of five significant global Holiday events by the New York Times. This is serious, major league, unbelievable music, performed on a scale that will nearly blow your shoes off. At one point in the program, I think there must have been more than 250 voices together. Whew! I want to go to this Festival once before I die.

Three words describe this concert and this choir. Oh. My. Goodness!

One song deeply touched me. Know alternately as This Christmastide, and also "Jessye's Carol" (as it was first performed by opera star Jessye Norman), composed by Donald Fraser. This is a choral piece that is, all at once, loud and resounding, praiseworthy, yet gentle, sweet, and thoughtful; referring to the gift of the Christ Child. The song develops in a perfect sine wave. I was a complete mess by the time it was over. Wonderful.

This Christmastide
Green and silver, red and gold and a story born of old,
Truth and love and hope abide, this Christmastide.

Holly, ivy, mistletoe and the gently falling snow,
Truth and love and hope abide, this Christmastide.

From a simple ox's stall came the greatest gift of all,
Truth and love and hope abide, this Christmastide.

Children sing of hope and joy at the birth of one small boy,
Truth and love and hope abide, this Christmastide.

Let the bells ring loud and clear, ring out now, for all to hear,
Truth and love and hope abide, this Christmastide.

Trumpets sound and voices raise
in an endless stream of praise,
Truth and love and hope abide, this Christmastide.

Green and silver, red and gold and a story born of old,
Peace and love and hope abide, this Christmastide.

We need these things. In a world that is wandering - Truth. For lives that feel empty - Love. For us all, facing loss, struggle, confusion - Hope.

This Christmastide.

Thank you, St. Olaf College Choir. Every last one of you. I have been blessed beyond words. You have expressed in song, things that reside deep within my soul.

You may be in a place where this is being rebroadcast. If you can watch it, drop everything, and do so. Forget SportsCenter, just for one night.

The video of the PBS broadcast is not yet on the web. To give you a taste of the musical ability of this choir, check this out:

Pathetic Pastor vs Macho Lay Person

Please note my Buzz Lightyear score to the left. Then go here, and note the pathetically wimpy score of a fellow who has attended Princeton Seminary.

Now I ask you, if stuck in a tense intergalactic battle, where the future of the Universe is on the line, who you gonna call?

Thank you.

And yes, that is my eldest daughter, and yes, that look of bewilderment on her face may, in fact be genetic.

For Unto Us A Child is Born

The caption for this video at Youtube reads:

"Excerpt from "Carols from Prague": Performed by the Choir of Christ Church Cathedral, Oxford at St. Jacob's Church in Prague on December 23, 1990. This is the first time in forty years that Christmas could be openly celebrated in Prague."




This has great meaning to me, as nearly 25 years ago, I spent time in Eastern Europe,delivering Bibles to persecuted and secreted Believers. I will never forget this experience, nor will I forget the miracle of political change in Eastern Europe.

Unto us a Child is Born. All of us, imprisoned and free, hopeless and hopeful, those who feel surrounded by darkness, and those who revel in the light. For everyone, a Child is Born.

My Bike!

I just needed to share this. I had a bike exactly like this when I was 11 years old. Complete with stick-shift and shock absorber. Now, I drive an Acura, and I think liked my bike better. Smaller carbon footprint.

Family Christmas Traditions

We purchased the Christmas tree yesterday, and had brief moments of happy family togetherness. Shown here are Nancy and I mimicking the photo pose of all local teenagers. If I am flashing a gang sign, it would be for a gang of slightly pudgy middle age white balding guys; The Caucasian Homeys. Although it looks it, I have not been shocked by a 5,000 volt cattle prod. This is, instead, comedy in its purest form. You have to admire my wife, caring for the mentally impaired the way she does.

In years past, we used to drive to approximately 17 different tree lots; a journey of nearly 8 hours and several hundred miles, as my lovely wife searched for the the elusive Christmas Tree of Perfection. The little girls loved this, coming home covered in pine tar and needles, hungry and cranky. After a period of years, Nancy learned that such a tree, was, in fact, not in existence. We have settled on the local YMCA tree lot; filled with good people, making money for local youth and sports programs. Good cause, good trees, two blocks from home, with minimal chance for the hugely embarrassing "tree falls off van" experience on the way home.

Following this, the tree is brought home, where is is carefully placed in the Heavy Tree Stand of Lead (the stand alone weighs several jillion kilotons). The placement of the tree in said stand involves trimming of the bottom of the tree with rusted clippers that barely cut, a rusty saw, and the removal of enough foliage to supply the Boy Scouts with enough material for about 37 additional wreaths. Our carbon footprint is huge.

After the tree is lowered in the Heavy Tree Stand of Lead, I typically spend about 45 minutes lying prone on the floor, advising family members to lean the tree 2 or 3 lineal millimeters one way or the other, in order to have the tree point in a near perfectly vertical position. I use a GPS device and a surveyor's transit, calculating the exact distance between our tree the North Pole. The finished coordinates are supplied to Santa directly. Perfection here is imperative. Sometimes, my assistant people randomly leave the room, and the faithful Labrador is my only friend, sitting next to me, in fear that The Guy Who Buys The Food may be dead.

Following the successful tree positioning maneuvers, my work here is done. The girls are in charge of decorating the tree.

I am in charge of movie watching, with the movie of choice always being the 1954 Christmas classic, "White Christmas". Ok, call me a sap, but I just love this movie. It reminds me of my father's generation, which, even though it elected Richard Nixon, sported double breasted suits, and smoked a heck of a lot, still had a lot of good characteristics, including decency, respect, love of country, and great dance numbers. I think General Waverly is a wonderful guy.

Strangely, my girls actually like to watch this movie. Must be the Irving Berlin compositions, and that boffo ending.



And that is a small slice of Christmas at our house.