John Adams wrote to his wife, with a prediction, soon after the signing of the Declaration of Independence, in July of 1776:
"The Second Day of July, 1776, ought to be commemorated by succeeding generations as the day of deliverance. It ought to be celebrated by pomp and parade, with shows and games, sports, bells, bonfires, and illuminations, from one end of this continent to the other from this time forward forever more!
Now you think that I am getting carried away with enthusiasm. But I am not. I am well aware of the toil, the blood, and the treasure it will cost us to maintain this Declaration. Yet through all the gloom, I can see the rays of ravishing light and glory, I can see that the end is more than worth the means. Posterity will triumph in this days business, even though we may regret it.
I trust in God we shall not."
Have a wonderful 4th of July, and may we remember these words, deep in our souls.
A Summer Evening It was a warm summer evening last Sunday, and we spent it with good friends, enjoying, listening, and for me, remembering the past, and pondering the future.
Over the past decade or so, the music of one particular group has been one of the primary play lists in the background music to the life of this middle aged father and husband.
Sunday night Oldest Daughter and I joined good friends for an memorable evening of Bluegrass music - at the Largo in West Hollywood. On the bill - The Punch Brothers (photo above) and The Watkins Family (photo below). Some of these amazing musicians have a common genesis - from the group Nickle Creek.
For almost two hours we enjoyed the acoustic Bluegrass music of Chris Thile and The Punch Brothers. The was ridiculously good music. No amps and electricity for these guys. Just a banjo, guitar, acoustic bass, fiddle and mandolin. Beautiful.
After this, off to the bar for the "after show", featuring the Watkins Family. Another hour and a half of haunting melodies, beautiful lyrics, lots of laughs, and great music by amazingly talented people who surely enjoy each others company. It seemed we were all transported to a different place for a time, a place where only the music mattered.
If you ever want to head on down to the Largo and experience something special at the Watkins Family Hour, here is all you would ever need to know.
A Teacher Our family was introduced to Nickle Creek almost eight years ago, through the gift of a 5th grade teacher. A teacher with a warm smile, a terrific sense of humor, and a gift of love. And, a teacher with a guitar. This was no ordinary teacher, this was the woman who changed the course of my daughter's life. If you asked her, Kelly might tell you she wants to grow up and be, well, much like that teacher. She will be majoring in Elementary Education this fall at DePaul University - and we can trace it back to Miss Lang in the 5th grade. The year that changed history for Oldest Daughter.
Miss Lang would bring her guitar to class most every Friday, and play for the kids. And one of the songs she played is shown below. Miss Lang is an entirely unique and remarkable teacher, someone who takes her work seriously, expresses joy daily, loves kids well, and fills the room with her personality. She teaches her kids well, and loves them greatly. Its a rare commodity these days; someone who does their job with all they have, with all their heart. The Future As I sat in the dark soaking it all in, I would occasionally glance over at Oldest Daughter, enjoying her gaze, and her smile; feeling thankful for the young lady she is becoming. For a moment I smiled and thought to myself, "imagine this, we are together at a concert, enjoying the same music!".
I also remembered those days in 5th grade, and the gift of Miss Lang. I thought about the future, and the teacher this young lady next to me might become. I am amazed at this life.
When You Come Back Down You got to leave me now, you got to go alone You got to chase a dream,one that's all your own Before it slips away When you're flyin' high,take my heart along
I'll be the harmony to every lonely song That you learn to play When you're soarin' through the air I'll be your solid ground
Take every chance you dare I'll still be there When you come back down When you come back down I'll keep lookin' up awaitin' your return
My greatest fear will be that you will crash and burn And I won't feel your fire I'll be the other hand that always holds the line Connectin' in between your sweet heart and mine
I'm strung out on that wire And I'll be on the other end To hear you when you callAngel, you were born to fly And if you get too high I'll catch you when you fall Catch you when you fall Your memory is the sunshine every new day brings I know the sky is callingAngel, let me help you with your wings When you're soarin' through the air I'll be your solid ground
Take every chance you dare I'll still be there When you come back down Take every chance you dare I'll still be there When you come back down When you come back down
Last weekend was graduation time for the Older Daughter.
These June endings, they always surprise me, and leave me with a rainbow of emotions. Melancholy, hope, sadness, joy, wonder, bewilderment. What is happening to the days of childhood in our home? But in the midst of these transitions that hasten life forward, slipping from our hands, there are glimpses of joy, and mercy, and grace.
This past weekend was deeply meaningful for me, as it marked the graduation of my oldest daughter from high school. That's her (click to enlarge), pointing at us silly yelling family people (in the stands at the football stadium) in the photo above.
We can choose to just just let these milestones pass us by as they happen, without reflection. Or, we can pause, step back for a few moments, take some time, and reflect. What is the deeper meaning of this time of moving forward, looking back, and changing places? And where in all this may Grace, and Joy, and Hope be found?
Thirteen years of school. After pre-school at Calvary Church here in town, we were off to Marengo Elementary School in September 1996; holding a little hand on the first day of Kindergarten.Filing into the classroom in October, on Back to School Night in 2nd grade. Book fairs, school plays, parent days.And then, seemingly without warning, the first day of Middle School; the Semi-Big Leagues of public education. And then, a blur of Middle School plays, sports events, open houses, and homework. Oh, the homework!
And then, again, suddenly, the first day of high school, sports, boys, basketball games, girls water polo at the pool in January (brrr!).
It was a warm afternoon at the high school football field, the setting for graduation each year. For a very long time our town has gathered here each June to mark endings and beginnings. Speeches were made, music was played, names were announced. In less than 75 minutes we were done; over 300 seniors had left the past behind, and were facing a summer of wondering and hoping, before moving on to college, and life beyond, in the Fall. As all the students left the field, I followed our Kelly with my telephoto lens, taking pictures of these fleeting moments.
And at the end of it all, our otherwise self confident, seemingly omniscient, and often even mature daughter did something I did not expect at all. Something altogether childlike and joyous; filled with glee, and youth, and promise for tomorrow.
After hugging everyone in sight, for just a bit, she skipped across the field toward the exit. Ten yards on the football field. First down. In just those couple of moments, that skipping, for me, illustrated so much of what makes up this remarkable young lady. My eyes filled with tears, a smile broke out on my face, and my heart brimmed with hope. Hope for a whole new generation.
Skipping forward, not looking back. That is how our Kelly will face the future. She is going to DePaul this fall to major in Elementary Education.
How fitting. The future teacher that skips into the future. I am so filled with admiration, and joy, and thankfulness, I could just skip.
And know what? The other day, when no one was looking, I skipped too. For Joy, and Mercy, and Grace.
"Therefore I will trust Him. Whatever, where ever I am. I can never be thrown away. If I am in sickness, my sickness may serve Him. In perplexity, my perplexity may serve Him. If in sorrow, my sorrow may serve Him. He does nothing in vain. He knows what He is about."
My experience in thus far in this life; the holding of my own newborn girls in my arms, and sitting at the bedside of my dying parents, as illustrated by this Scripture, leads me to say "Yes!" to the words of Cardinal Newman.
I recently attended the moving memorial service for a man who spent much of his adult life standing guard for the rest of us. A simple job, and yet filled with almost a royal sense of dignity. I will never forget my friend Ron Cherry. Now, each time I pull up to the front of our church, I remember, and miss our friend.
Because he watched out, countless people felt safe, and more importantly, welcome. It was said several times during his memorial that Ron was "the face of Hollywood Presbyterian Church". I agree completely, and we are, all of us, greatly honored by that memory.
He did so much for so many, and yet, I am convicted that I did not get to know him better, or appreciate him more while he was here. I am a much richer man for having witnessed the graceful, joyous, and genuine way in which he cared for others.
Ron spent 23 years of his life as a Security Guard at our church. And because he was there day in, day out, night in, night out, doing his job in such an excellent way, hundreds of people will never be the same for having known him; there were more than 150 people from our church at his memorial service. It is completely safe to say that Ron affected the lives of thousands in his time at Hollywood Presbyterian. My friend Mark Roberts has eulogized Ron recently here.
I have a bit more to add.
Ron Cherry was born in a small town in rural Louisiana. As a young man, he grew tired of small town life, and longed for adventure in the Big City, so he moved to Hollywood, in search of his own dream. Over his early years in town, Ron worked various jobs, as a hotel limo driver (often for inebriated celebrity guests who will remain nameless here), cab driver, movie extra, and finally, and most importantly, as the senior security guard at our church. Ron did everything with grace, humor, and joy. He was especially loved by the children at our church Preschool. Following his sudden and unexpected death at just 63, a chapel memorial service for Ron was organized by the Preschool, in order for the children to express their feelings, and remember their friend Ron. My friend Tom is the unofficial chaplain of the preschool, and here are some quotes from the kids about their memories of Ron:
"We played tag" "He made me feel safe" "He always said hi" "He was so nice, and very fun""We played soccer with a pine cone" "He always had candy for us!".
Ron made such a lasting impression on us all from often only passing interactions on Sunday mornings, or often midweek chats about sports, and politics, and the latest news. For us, Ron was a part of the billions of threads of God's infinite tapestry.From the peculiar distance of these passing conversations, so many of us felt a sudden sense of loss. Ron had the gift of simple Southern kindness, and he abided well in his place on guard, watching out for what he called "the Hollywood knuckleheads".
In retrospect, Ron taught me about joy, abiding in one place and being content, and finally, about the simple beauty and dignity of serving others.
Theologians are pretty much silent on the concept of what Heaven will be like. But, Jesus told us he goes to prepare a place for us, and that there is plenty of room There.
Based on what I know of Ron, when we get there, he will be waiting, watching, and smiling.
Two events happened recently.One was 350 miles above Earth.
The other was very much on the ground, in the middle of America. One was grand and amazing. The other, almost unbearably sad.
And, for some reason, I keep thinking about the strange juxtaposition of these events, and I cannot loose them from my mind.
Looking Up The world watched as the Shuttle astronauts spent the better part of a week servicing the Hubble Space Telescope; an event covered by the worldwide press. Repair of Hubble offers opportunities for new discoveries unparalleled, and a sense of almost unbridled expectation, hope, and excitement for the future. Repairs to the Hubble will allow man to see to the edge of Creation, nearly 14 billion years ago.
Sixteen years ago, I was at the Kennedy Space Center with JPL friends to watch the first Hubble Servicing Mission. I will never forget the thrill of watching the Hubble float over us, 70 miles above Florida, in the middle of the night, or the grandeur of witnessing a night launch; the moment, with liftoff that the night became the day.
And now, all these years later, two men, floating in the silent void of space, loosening bolts and replacing parts. Counting the turns of specially designed wrenches; every move coordinated for months in advance. Connecting wires, waiting for "aliveness tests", all while suspended in a vacuum where sound cannot be heard. There is no air up there. This is a "thin place", this space.
Down Here on Earth The other event was known by only a few, and was strangely and deeply sad, quiet, solemn, and at the moment it occurred, almost silent.
A baby stopped breathing and passed away, a victim of Trisomy 18, after only a few weeks of life. A close friend of ours was the Pastor at his memorial service. His family loved him well, in those brief days of his life. He was surrounded by constant care, and his brief life here, among us, was not lived in a vacuum. His brief encounter on Earth was filled with meaning, although that meaning may still may be shrouded, and, for the present, hard to fathom.
Astronauts floating hundreds of miles overhead in a void of silence, gloved hands reaching out in the dark of space. And below, a small breath, growing weaker, fading.
The void of Space, and the void of Sadness. I cannot begin to understand this.
Maybe this is how it works, this life. Mystery, profound sorrow, hope, discovery.
This Memorial Day, I am remembering my Dad, Roland Norris, who proudly served his country during World War II, as a B-17 training pilot, and later, air/sea rescue pilot in the South Pacific.
After the war, he came home rebuilt his life, and was my Dad. He went to work faithfully for 40 years, providing a home for me and my Mom, and paying for my education.
I have never had to lift a finger in service of my country. I am very thankful for those who continue to serve.
I have always struggled to convey my faith to other people. After all these years, I am no better at it than when I started. I am not sure why.
The lyrics below, written and put to song by a very talented young woman from the Midwest, express in large part what I have wanted to tell my friends.
I will let these words speak for me. Often, when I shut up, things work out for the best.
Dress down your pretty faith. Give me something real. Leave out the thees and thous and speak to me now. Speak to my fear and confusion. Speak through my pain and my pride. Speak to the part of me that knows I'm something deep down inside.
I know that I am not perfect, but compare me to most, In a world of hurt and a world of anger I think I'm holding my own. And I know that you said there is more to life. And I know I am not satisfied. But there are mornings I wake up just thankful to be alive.
I've known now, for quite a while, that I am not whole. I've remembered the body and the mind, But I dissected my soul. Now something inside is awakening, Like a dream I once had and forgot. And it's something I'm scared of And something I don't want to stop.
So I woke up this morning and realized that Jesus is not a portrait. Or stained glass windows or hymns or the tradition that surrounds us. And I thought it would be hard to believe in But it's not hard at all. To believe I've sinned and fallen short of the glory of God Oh the glory of God....
And He's not asking me to change in my joy for martyrdom He's asking to take my place. To stand in the gap that I have formed With His real amazing grace. And it's not just a sign or a sacrament. It's not just a metaphor for love. His blood is real and it's not just a symbol of all of our faith.
So leave out the thees and thous... and speak now.
