The Hour of (Pot) Power

The other night I was at a dinner event, and a friend told me a true story that I thought I should relay here.

It turns out that a pastor of a church was, a number of years ago, called on the phone by the parents of a college-aged boy, who was attending college in the area. This boy's parents lived out of town, and they had become concerned, as their son, who had been raised in a Christian home, had reported that he was no longer attending church. The parents gave the pastor the phone number and address of their son.

They asked the pastor if he just might look in on their boy sometime, to see if he were doing alright. So, several weeks passed, and one Sunday, on the way home from church, the pastor decided to drop in at the college fraternity house of the boy.

As he ascended the steps to the porch of the fraternity house, he could see inside the living room, where he spotted four college guys, including the wayward son, all smoking rather generous quantities of cannabis, and huddled around the local afternoon broadcast of The Hour of Power. They watched in rapt attention, loudly agreeing together with the major points of the sermon. Hearty "amens", "oh, yah, mans!", and the occassional "dude!" could be heard through the window.

The pastor decided not to interrupt this time of interesting religious devotion, and reported later to the parents, "well, I stopped in on your son, and he was, in his own unique way, attending church".

Forgive me my sacrilege, but this story nearly made me wet my laundry.

The Right Reverand Rat

I have an old friend who is a pastor. His nickname is KC. But he is not your traditional pastor. The other day, this respected man of the cloth went to a local elementary school and donned a large literary rodent costume.

This is not a pastor who needs the respect of the local public. In fact, he wants to get a little disrespect, if it works for Kingdom purposes.

The other day I teased him about his rat costume, and his reply was rambling, but so good, I needed to quote him here. I have his permission:

"Not a professional (pastor) yet. No cheapening (of the gospel) here brother. Converts will come if I'm living my life like I'm forgiven in front of the world. A world where the church is "blowing chunks" (reference to the act of barfing) right now, and someone has to wear the dumb rat costume. My take? Go to where the people are. Next door. Meet them on the streets. Hang with them in their workplaces; Debbie's (his wife's public) school. Take them on long car rides to UCLA for kidney checkups, read to first and second graders and special ed. kids, so that the teachers get a 30 minute break in the midst of their hellish days. Work out with the people at the gym (24 Hour Fitness and Snap Fitness is an unreached mission field). Drink Starbucks with them. Be with them. Listen to them at Target, hear their struggles with the churches they attend. Go to barbecues, coach Little League with them. Christmas carol with them. Pray with them. Live like I'm forgiven and allow the Holy Spirit himself to do the intervening upon everyone I meet and greet, the souls in need of just a little bit of hope in the midst of a world that just isn't the greatest right now. Kingdom work even means wearing dumb rat costumes."

I wish I could hang more with my friend KC.

Dandelion - Antje Duvekot

My wife is away in Texas visiting friends. I am home with my two teenager daughters. We are having a fun time, just us three, as the family dynamic changes when Mom is away. We all miss Mom, but are enjoying a change of pace. The quality of the food has definately declined.

One of the best things about teenage girls is the new world they expose you to. Today, I learned about Antje Duvekot, a folk singer who moved to the US from Germany at 14. She is remarkable.

I am thankful beyond words for these girls that God has loaned us for a just a little bit longer, and for new little blessings and discoveries.

Come to think of it, these girls that live with us now, they are like dandelions, they will soon blow away. May I be able to watch it happen with bittersweet joy and sorrow, mixed together.

For the lyrics to this song, go here.

The Music of Freedom

I have been following with great interest the recent visit of the New York Philharmonic to North Korea. I have read a lot about this performance, both pro and con. I think my fascination in this stems from my own visits to Eastern Europe, prior to the fall of Communism, more than 20 years ago.


I remember those visits so starkly; the contrast of oppression and freedom, darkness and light. The bland expanses of centrally planned Eastern Block architecture, the attempts to immortalize communist leaders, and the looks of resignation on the faces of the people we saw, these are the memories I will never forget.

Today, North Korea, with its highly centralized system and tight controls on the daily lives of its people, remains firmly in the grip of its leader, Kim Jong-il. He and his father, Kim Il-sung, are the subjects of a personality cult that requires portraits in every home and their images on lapel pins on the jackets of every official. Huge statues of the older Kim dominate cities (shown above, click to enlarge). The state operates what human rights experts say is a vast gulag of labor camps, many filled with the ideologically suspect and their families.

Into this comes the New York Philharmonic, playing the music of Freedom. Dvorak's New World Symphony, and George Gershwin's "American in Paris." Dvorak's New World symphony has always been quite moving to me; I think it speaks of freedom. It was written by the composer while here in the US between 1892 and 1895. For more details see this.

Lorin Maazel, the Music Director of the New York Philharmonic wrote recently:

"It is a role of the highest possible order: bringing peoples and their cultures together on common ground, where the roots of peaceful interchange can imperceptibly but irrevocably take hold. If all goes well, the presence of the New York Philharmonic in Pyongyang might gently influence the perception of our country there. If we are gradually to improve U.S.-Korean relations, such events have the potential to nudge open a door that has been closed too long."

I have posted a clip of the actual PyongYang concert below - it is haunting to watch the elite of a totalitarian state listen to music composed in the Land of the Free.

The music of freedom. Millions still long to hear it in their hearts. My prayer is that someday, like the millions of Eastern Europe, freedom might ring throughout the Korean peninsula. Until then, listen for the music of freedom.

Of Professors and Regular Folks

The previous post below, and an experience the other night, have me thinking again about what it means to form meaningful Christian community in today's world.

One thing I do know. Following Jesus, and having lives that make Him attractive to others today, is in no way similar to the way people did it in 1950, 1970, or in 2000, for that matter. Change is persistent; it will not go away. I have been thinking about this for a long time now. And if you want to see a small peek of what change is looking like, look in the post below.

Professors' Thoughts
There is a little quote by a well respected theologian and professor that fits this idea well:

"…so much ministerial training has focused on caring for the flock of God and on maintaining the “shop”. So much of our traditional theological agenda has been shaped by a Christendom-context mentality and has been largely confined to an internal debate between various theological factions. A missional theology, on the other hand, focuses on dialogue with unbelievers and those of other religions."

Listening Well to Regular People
I am currently involved in the beginnings of a number of conversations in the life of our church, that will hopefully begin the process of leading us where God may be calling us to go in the future. And that will likely be a very new place, something very different from where we are now. As in completely different; not in the Christ we worship and serve, but in the way we do those things.

Over the past several weeks, we have been gathering groups across generational lines and typical groupings, to discover what God might be saying in our midst. Now listen to what these folks are saying:

"Most people don’t know their neighbors where they live and work. In terms of church, it seems that a certain type of person comes to this church. I don’t feel like the immediate neighborhood is interested in this church – we attract a certain maturity and educational level – there is not anything wrong with this – and we may not need to knock on the neighbor’s doors.

But what is an active role in the life of the church? What does that mean? Does it mean that everyone needs to take an active role in the life of the church? Is three hours a week on Sunday, and 1.5 hours in the middle of the week an “active role”? Different people have different levels of vesting their involvement in the church. Sometimes a church is like a hospital, where others are nourished and fed. Not everyone who comes here is happy and fulfilled – perhaps a "church" is a place that extends beyond the “life of the church”.

How is the life of the church defined? I find it alarming, that peoples’ only involvement in the life of the church is on Sunday. And there is a significant difference in the lifestyle of the younger and older generation. Older generation is committed marriages, long term relationships, but the younger generation is often disconnected, single parents, lack of ability to make commitments. There is a huge generational shift occurring, and how do we make this work. How do we make this equitable? How do we do mentorship; connecting generations?"

I find this all fascinating, that a seminary professor, writing several years ago in Pasadena, knew what might be in the mind of a lay person at a church in Hollywood several years in the future. Hmmm. Wonder if God is up to something here?

Students Today

Alright. Stop. Watch this video. Twice. Maybe more times.

This, my friends, is the future. Deal with it.

Officer Down, Randy Simmons

He was only a year older than me.

He was a hero.

He loved Jesus with all his heart, and his life displayed it, consistently.

And now, he is gone. The entire City of Angels is something less because of this loss.

I will be praying for grace, peace and mercy for his dear family.

Mr. Lincoln

Today is Abraham Lincoln's birthday.

This piece came on KUSC this morning, as Nancy and I awoke. What an appropriate way to start this day.

This piece was composed by the legendary (and one of my favorite) American composer, Aaron Copeland, and was performed by the Los Angeles Philharmonic Orchestra, under the direction of Zubin Mehta. The narrator is actor Gregory Peck.

This man Lincoln, and this moving piece, are two more reasons I am proud to be an American.

Majesty Above 10,000 Feet

Posted below is the reason why I love to fly......it is just amazing to me. Perhaps its in my genetics, as my Dad was a B-17 pilot. It is beyond me how anyone can book a flight and not ask for a window seat.

My Town, Samaria, Jesus, and Me

When theory and reality intersect, sometimes not much happens. At least that is my experience. I think about this a lot.

I have been a follower of Christ for the past 28 years. I have lived in the same town for the past 27 years. And I can count on one hand the times that where I live and what I believe have intersected.

I am wondering if anyone else has experienced this. Our church is 13 miles (and anywhere from 20 minutes to 45 minutes, depending on the lovely LA traffic) from our home. And, it seems, never the twain shall meet.

My church life is entirely divorced from my life in my local community. Why is this? Perhaps its because for the past almost 20 years of our married life together, our family has attended what used to be a mega-commuter church in Hollywood. This has been a church that over the years morphed from a church that drew its congregants from both near and far into a city church that now largely draws its folks from far, typically beyond 5 miles away, and often as far away as 25 miles.

Perhaps another significant factor is the way our culture works. Church life and civic life seem greatly disconnected. I long for a life that feels more integrated, where who I am on the inside is more connected to where I live, and how I interact with people.

Maybe its because life here in a larger city is just that way. Disconnected. Disjointed pieces never moving in a coherent pattern. I have my work life, my family life, and my church life; but they never really connect in a way that makes sense, or seems a unified whole. There is no meshing of home, work, and church.

I dislike this greatly, and it often makes me feel as if my faith is somehow, well, fake. I feel like this person who reads lots of books, thinks lots of thoughts, does the "church thing" but never really has a chance to live out the concepts and ideas in a lifestyle that gives real and deep meaning and purpose to the basic core of the faith.

My thoughts in this regard are not fully formed. But I know something is not altogether right, and I want to work toward a way (and a life) that is different than status quo now.

The sharing of these thoughts was instigated by my reading of Tim Stafford's most recent article in Christianity Today; a thoughtful comment upon the life of Christ following folk in current times. Take a look, it might shed more light than my ramblings.

Am I making any sense here? Does anyone else experience this?

St. Olaf Choir - Remarkable Music

They are 68 strong, they hail from a small northern Mid-Western college, and they are (save for two members) all very white.

But they can sing like you are standing at the Gates of Heaven. I swear it.

I first heard of the St.Olaf College Choir in December, when I saw their Christmas concert on PBS. And then, later that month, Nancy spotted a small add in a local newspaper that they would be on tour and stopping right next door in Pasadena.

And so, last Tuesday night, in the company of dear 20+ year friends Jeff & Sparky and Jamie & Polly, off we went to hear the Mid-Western white kids sing.

And sing, they did! The concert, in a word: amazing.

Powerful, subtle, moving, engaging, wonderful. Choral music is by no means a dead art. I promise you. At one point I was moved to tears by a choral treatment of Robert Frost's, The Pasture:

I’m going out to clean the pasture spring;
I’ll only stop to rake the leaves away
(And wait to watch the water clear, I may):
I sha’n’t be gone long.—You come too.

I’m going out to fetch the little calf
That’s standing by the mother. It’s so young,
It totters when she licks it with her tongue.
I sha’n’t be gone long.—You come too.

You come too, indeed. Words of a simple rural life, so long gone from where I live today, busily hurrying through my urban life. Flying here and there, things to accomplish. Sometimes, I think I would rather clean the pasture spring.

Just a peek more at the St. Olaf's choir is found below, in a treatment of Mark Jennings "O Crux" (O Cross). I could not find the english translation from the Latin, but watch this, I think you will be blessed.

George

His name was George. He never missed a church committee meeting, or a potluck dinner, his weekly Sunday school class, or anything at church, for that matter. Nothing. He was there for everything. Part of the landscape. A fixture. It had been that way for years.

But to me, George was much more than just a fixture. He was a pain in my rear end.

You see, by fate, or Divine Providence, George and I seemed to end up involved in the same activities at church all the time. Constantly. I could not avoid him. Have you ever met someone who has an opinion about everything, whether you want to hear it or not? Someone who seems to act as if they might be the only person alive? A man who is easily hurt, constantly annoyed, and permanently angry. Joyless. Ever met someone like that?

I've heard others say he sould be medicated. Immature and annoying some might say. Unbalanced, say others. Completely annoying, many say. George would easily tell you about all the faults, shortcomings, and inabilities of others; but never imagine that he might have some faults of his own. His picture should have been next to "tedious" in the dictionary.

But a man like George does not merely evolve out of nothing. There was something distinctive about George. It was his past. His life had been one of nearly constant struggle and enough emotional pain for several people. Broken marriages, disconnected family. When you took a bit of time to hear his story, if only in outline form, all the crankiness, all the negativity, all the medling behavior makes much more sense. It was as if the sum total of all the pain, loss, and long suffering in his life had etched itself upon George's soul, and was constantly clawing to get out. Pain always there, without hope for removal, save for Heaven.

Given his past, it was a wonder that George even showed up, at of all places, our church. And yet, there he was every week, in the same pew, holding fast to a faith in Jesus that was muted through a cranky and painful exterior. Figuring out his Belief, right there next to the rest of us. Together.

A while back, I was placed on a committee with George for a very long time. We met often enough that George worked his way into my skin. His neediness, his complaining, his sour outlook on life wore me nearly completely down. There were nights when I would get in my car after our meetings and wonder what in the world I was doing on this stupid committee. I could have been home, for heaven's sake! Some nights, I would get to my car, hit the freeway ramp home, and scream as loud as I could, just to release the energy of frustration I was feeling from having to deal with ...... George.

And then, one particularly late committee meeting night, as I drove home feeling frustrated yet again, I was struck by something. Call it a thought from God, maybe. I'm still not sure.

I thought to myself of exactly where both George and I would be heading home to that night; and the contrast of the two. I was heading home to a house with two lovely little daughters, a wonderful wife, a chocolate labrador, and a cat. All sleeping when I came in the door, close to midnight. A home. Full of people and love and blessing, laughter and life; but quiet now, in the dark. The happy ending of the movie.

George, on the other hand, would pack himself up in his ancient import car, and ride home to a small apartment in a not-so-great part of town where he lived, alone. With his thoughts, his loneliness, and a 15 year old color TV. Not much else. Alone.

And then, as I sped down the freeway, another thought occurred to me. I remember somewhere in the Bible it said something about "bearing others burdens". Becoming Christ for others.

What might that look like, if I did that? If I became more familiar with the life of another that did not look like or turn out like mine has, at least so far? Spending time with a person who would be last on my list of people to hang with. What if I gave of myself, rather than enjoying my warm and comfy place of annoyance at the behavior of others? What might it be like if I became more like Jesus? For George.

I wondered.

George grew ill, and stopped coming to church. I never got to find out about my questions of getting to know George better.

I still feel the shame.