OMGosh Bruins!

Its the season of nutty college football in Westwood. First we loose to just about the worst team in the country in Notre Dame, then we BEAT the #10 ranked team, in Cal.

Is this what it's like to live with bi-polar relatives?

Picture of Jesus

"Picture Of Jesus" - Ben Harper

It hangs above my altar
Like they hung him from a cross
I keep one in my wallet
For the times I feel lost
I feel lost

In a wooden frame with splinters
Where my family kneels to pray
And if you listen close
You'll hear the words he used to say
I've got a picture of Jesus
In his arms so many prayers rest

We've got a picture of Jesus
And with him we shall be forever blessed
Forever blessed Forever blessed

Now it has been spoken
He would come again
But would we recognize
This king among men
There was a man in our time
His words shine bright like the sun
He tried to lift the masses
And was crucified by gun

He was a picture of Jesus
With him so many prayers rest
He is a picture of Jesus
In his arms so many prayers
So many prayers
So many prayers rest
With him we shall be forever blessed
Forever blessed
Forever blessed

Some days have no beginning
And some days have no end
Some roads are straight and narrow
And some roads only bend

So let us say a prayer
For every living thing
Walking towards a light
From the cross of a king
We long to be a picture of Jesus
Of Jesus
In his arms
In his arms so many prayers rest

I long to be a picture of Jesus
With him we shall be forever blessed
With him we shall
With him we shall be forever blessed
Oh- Oh- I long
I've got a picture of Jesus

Fleeting Moments Each Filled with Grace

It has been a remarkable week. One week ago this evening, I sat by my father's bedside, listening with concern to his irregular Cheyne-Stokes breathing pattern; wondering how long he would be present in body with us. He was gone less than 13 hours later, passing quietly, without struggle or pain. Fleeting moments; one minute here, the next, gone. Calmly, almost silently, his breathing ended, no struggle, only peace and rest at last. An ending. Grace.

Dad wanted no service, no memorial, no gathering. It was rather fitting to the way that he and my mom chose to end their days, quietly withdrawn, choosing to separate from the bustle and energy of daily life. This was the pattern in which they had lived their lives for more than 10 years, almost entirely disconnected from civic life or involvement in the lives of others, save for a small handful of family. We were a small family, really just my immediate family and his sister, who is 79 now, and lives in Beverly Hills.

And so, my Dad is gone.

Saturday morning, I headed to the mountains, to this place, to spend a shortened bit of time with our church family. These are the people who spent the week thinking of and praying for our family as we faced our loss. And so, for me a loss, followed by not by isolation and withdrawal, but by engagement and embrace. So many who greeted me had kind words of sorrow, of sympathy, encouragement, or merely a long hug and tears. None of these people knew my Dad, but they know me. These are good people. Broken, messy, fallen, redeemed, awkward, loving, grace-giving people. The Body of Christ.

I always keep thinking that our church could do better. In so many ways. We are not big enough, not influential enough, not cool enough, not hip enough. Just not, well, enough. But you know what? This past week, and again over the weekend, for me, my church did just fine. Simply, graciously, fine. I need to be content with the simple gifts of this life.

And then, on Sunday morning, as our congregation gathered one more time, came a moment that nearly knocked me over. A fleeting moment. A moment full of joy and noise and singing, of music, and laughing and Grace. So much Grace.

Our oldest daughter has wanted to be a teacher of elementary kids for as long as we and she can remember. A junior in high school now, her life is full with school, studies, sports, and social life. And as is normal in young ladies her age, we parents do not necessarily get the best parts of her personality. We are often living with the sullen, grumpy, at-odds-with-the-world young lady who lives at our house. Not a lot of joy on some days, you know. Its hard to be 16, and we hear about it often. Much drama.

Fleeting moments. On Sunday morning, all of the kids of the church gathered in the front of Hormel Hall to sing to the adults. This is a tradition that has lasted as long as we can remember. There were almost 50 kids in all, crowding the front of the room. And there were two high school girls leading the singing, on their knees in the front, conducting like mad. One of those girls was Kelly, our oldest.

This was a moment I could not miss; I snuck to the front of the room to watch.

As she conducted these little kids, the smile on her face was as bright and broad as I have seen in months. The somewhat sullen high schooler was transformed by the smiles, and signing, and joy of a stage full of pre-schoolers and elementary kids. As I knelt on one knee and saw the beaming face of my girl, as my eyes filled with tears, the entire week, if not my life to this point, was illuminated.

In some strange way, the pieces of my life rearranged, and fit together in a more coherent picture. A picture of Grace.

I Saw What I Saw

Sara Groves is one of my two (that is all I like) favorite Christian artists. A while back, she went to Rwanda, to the Killing Fields. This song is about what she saw. That I might have eyes to see.....

Grace In The Midst of Facing Death

This morning, at 8:53 AM, my Dad left this earth, bound for Someplace Far Better.

The feelings, emotions, and words are still hard to form in my mind. But there is this one word, this one feeling. It has been growing from a distant whisper into a bold headline over the life of our family in these recent days.

The word, feeling, and experience is Grace.

Theological types will tell you that the definition of grace is essentially unmerited favor. Perhaps they will remind you that grace is God's free action for the benefit of His people. Justice is getting what we deserve. Mercy is not getting what we deserve. Grace is getting what we do not deserve. In grace we get eternal life, something that, quite obviously, because we are goof-ups by nature, we do not deserve. But because of God's love and kindness manifested in Jesus, we receive the great blessing of redemption.

I have been overwhelmed by grace this past week. Its hard to get into words just yet, but I will. I have to. I must tell this story, as I have experienced it.

Amazing Grace.

Good News, Bad News

First the Bad News. UCLA was defeated by just about the worst team in college football yesterday; the semi-fighting (more like a pillow fight) Irish of Notre Dame. I was an eyewitness of this pathetic charade of a college football game. My wife/football buddy summed it up well in the third quarter...."Honey, I think the Goodyear Blimp is more entertaining than this game." The FA-18 fly-over during the national athem gave me goose bumps and tears; the Bruin football play gave me gas, and a rash.

I am not one to fly off the handle, but honestly, Karl Dorrell, the fellow who has been "coaching" (and I use the term loosely) the Bruins for just more than 4 years now, should have his photo next to the definition of "average" in the dictionary. He is 29-22 thus far in his coaching career in Westwood. My quick sports analysis: time for a change!

And now, the good news. Stanford 24, USC 23. The biggest cheer of the Bruin game Saturday night was the announcement of the final score of the USC game! It was a bittersweet Saturday night.

And for my friend Rob, who must be suffering greatly, a theological observation on these events. I find the SC loss somewhat of a substitutionary atonement for the Bruins sad season. Rob, please pass my thanks along to Pete and the Overconfident Crew. Fight on, heh.

They Care, and So, They Run

I have often had a frustration with some pastors I have known. Often, they don't get really involved in the street-level lives of their congregants, they avoid getting their hands dirty. They are happy to preach, to tell, not necessarily to "do".

I also have a problem, with marathoners, or those who participate in triathlons. Some can be complete narcissists, absorbed in their own world of training, diet, and performance.

My friend Tod is a guy who "does", and he is not self absorbed. He is willing to run out of breach, to face "the wall", to sweat, to keep on going. Tomorrow he will run with a team from his church in the Chicago Marathon; and will raise over $25,000 for children impacted by HIV and AIDS.

Lets support a pastor who makes it real. I am in. Are you?

Run, Tod, Run!

Soul Searching - The Documentary

Over the past year or so, I have made a new friend. His name is Michael Eaton. He is a husband, father (of perhaps the world's cutest baby girl, according to him), and film maker.

Oh great, you think, another film maker living in LA. Just what we need. Badly.

But Michael's films are different. Very. He makes films that really matter. These are films that contain beautiful and breathtaking cinematography, and are filled with heart touching purpose.

I am proud Michael is my friend.

At present, he is releasing "Soul Searching", a documentary companion to the nationally recognized book of the same name.

Michael has not yet put the trailer up on YouTube, but you can view it here. This film is a must see for anyone who cares about kids.

For another beautiful example of what Michael can do with a simple message, go here.

Normal Christians? Heh....

My college chum Julie has made some very fair observations of Christian culture that I feel need a bit of comment.

The post is based on a book that I have no thoughts about yet, and do not plan to read, to no offense to the authors. It seems to me that I have heard many of the issues raised in this book a number of times, and so, the reading for me would feel like an exercise in deja vu.

First, the comment is made that many evangelicals need a "workshop... that would train them to smile and say hello to newcomers". On its face, this is both pathetic and true. I know I am being judgemental and critical, but if the shoe fits.....

Next, we have Julie's most clear thought of her post...."If evangelical Christianity is about spiritual growth which ought to result in deeper human connections, why do they struggle so much to relate to regular people? Why do they need "special trainings" for ordinary human behaviors?" And this is from a friend who has had much experience in things Christian, a former missionary, church worker, and a chick with a Masters in Theology, mind you. This is not someone shouting from outside the gates of the palace; this girl has the keys, and has cleaned many of the bathrooms.

Ok, now I can't stop, there is so much good stuff in this post, such as "Therefore the real issue for the church has to do with the convincing appearance of being good, right, kind, true, and superior, rather than actually being those things or at minimum, real, honest, and human." Yay, Julie! This is so very true, I winced when I read it. God help us church folk, everyone.

Why can't we church people admit our shallow and fearful lives? Why can't we admit we have the feet of clay of the rest of the world? That our lives are often messed up, confusing, and just as fearful as many who do not embrace the faith that we do. What is going on here, anyway?

What if we could say something like songwriter Sara Groves:

We've had every conversation in the world
about what is right and what has all gone bad
but have I mentioned to you that this is all I am,
this is all that I have.
I'm not trying to judge you. That's not my job.
I am just a seeker too, in search of God.
Somewhere somehow this subject became taboo.
I have no other way to communicate to you.
This is all that I am. This is all that I have.

I long for the day when we church people can admit our weaknesses, just to be honest.

SkyVenture, Baby!

Ok, word is out they are building one of these babies in Universal City right now. I think I wanna go for my 50th Birthday Party!

PC Upgrade?

I am considering purchasing a new PC for the office. One problem; said purchase will require I install 1,500 tons of air conditioning on the roof, potentially collapsing said roof.

Shown here is my IT consultant, installing the memory module that will tell me where I put my car keys.

Painting the Bedroom - Prof. Randy Pausch

I have loved the Wall Street Journal from the very first days I picked up, after leaving the Economics program at UCLA. Last week, there was an article and accompanying video, that proved my love again. Below is a the original video, about the final lecture of Professor Randy

I Want to Go to this Retreat!

If you can't have a sense of humor, you should not be in this men's group...

This Man in the Wheelchair

He was sitting in his wheelchair.

I sat down next to him, in the bright, sunlit room where he spends his days now. His head is bent forward now almost all the time, so he has a permanent view of the floor. He will be 88 years old in January. As I sat down, he barely noticed I was there, even though he was awake. He is not awake very much anymore. His name is Roland.

Over the past month he has been moved into the "Reminiscence Wing" of this assisted living facility. He was moved because he could no longer get along on his own. About three weeks ago, he just stopped walking, after several months of repeated falls. The professionals here say this decline is normal for a senior, after the death of a "long term spouse". His wife and he were married for 49 years, until she passed away about 15 months ago. He is very well attended here, with lots of attention, care, and love.

He grew up in Whitter, California. He attended Whittier High School, and then spent two years at USC. He did not finish college, as his country called, and he enlisted in the US Army Air Corp. He spent about half of the war training pilots stateside, and the rest piloting B-17 air-sea rescue missions in the South Pacific. He followed MacArthur north, at a distance, through southeast Asia, and was actually on board the USS Missouri for the signing of the peace treaty with the Japanese.

He returned home after the war to raise a young family, working as a manager in the oil field construction business in Southern California. A daughter and a son, born just following the war, and a young bride from Illinois. But this family was not to last intact; the marriage dissolved after several years, for reasons I did not know for almost 40 years after. The children's mother quickly married another man, and moved on in life.

This man, the one in the wheelchair, sitting in the sun, did not move on as quickly. Divorce was, for him, filled with shame. He chose to hold that shame, and over the years it often manifested itself as anger. But he was a faithful provider for his children, sending monthly child care payments for 18 years for each child. The cancelled checks he kept in a little lock box for more than 50 years in his home.

After almost 10 years of a single life, he met a lovely blond girl at a party that some friends had thrown in Mid-Wilshire. Her name was Elizabeth, named after her mother; Betty for short. It was love at first sight. She had a past as well, a failed marriage without children. She never did speak of that first marriage all her life afterward, although it lasted for about 8 years. Roland and Betty were married in 1957. A son, their only child, arrived just about 10 months afterward, in the late spring of 1958. They named him Steve.

In 1963, they bought a home in Arcadia, California, and settled in. Betty tended the home, while Roland rose in the ranks of the construction company he worked for. He spent his entire career at one company, retiring as a Senior Vice President. He traveled to Alaska in the 1970s on many occasions, working on projects related to the Trans-Alaska Pipeline. It was a very safe, comfortable, 1960s sort of life. Dad voted for Richard Nikon, hated Vietnam War protesters, and never really understood the civil rights movement.

They threw "dinner parties" in the back yard in summer, with Roland running the barbecue, and Betty wearing MuuMuus, and passing out h'orderves. In the winter the dinner parties continued, with their only son manning the bar for guests. Drinking was an important part of the culture, but typically not drinking to excess. All things in moderation mind you; Nixon would have been proud.

At the age of 65, the man in the wheelchair retired, and spent the next 10 years in quiet retirement, watching a lot of TV, repairing small things around the house, and on occasion, usually once a year, traveling with his wife of more than 30 years. England, France, Germany, Austria - all in big buses full of seniors. Australia. Several Caribbean cruises. And of course, several trips to their favorite place, Hawaii.

Several years ago, Betty had a fall while in the parking lot at the supermarket; she had broken her hip, and her recovery was never complete. Dad spent the rest of his days looking after his bride, caring for her daily, until finally, the burden was too much. One summer day he had a small stroke, and while still able to get around and take care of some things, it was time for a change in lifestyle. His son and daughter-in-law found a comfortable assisted living facility for them both, not far from their home.

And now, on this afternoon, he sits in the sunshine in his wheelchair. As I sit next to him, I wonder how much he really comprehends anymore, how much of him is really "here" anymore. We don't talk much, we mostly just sit together.

As I sit, I think of Ronald Reagan's letter to the American people, when he gently, and with great dignity, let the nation know that he was suffering from Alzheimer's disease. He mentioned in the letter that he was soon to head on "the journey that will lead me into the sunset of my life".

Although there is afternoon sun shining in the window of this comfortable place, it feels very close to sunset to me.

The man in the wheelchair is my Dad.

A Spot in the Middle

So, does it feel hot out? For some time now, I have been frustrated by the lack of rational thought concerning global warming.

Finally, it seems there is a rational thinker out there.

His name is Bjorn Lomborg, the free-thinking Dane who, in "The Skeptical Environmentalist" (2001), challenged the belief that the environment is going to pieces. Mr. Lomborg is now back with "Cool It," a book brimming with useful facts and common sense. Yay for the guy in the middle!

I have been trying to figure this whole global warming hysteria thing out for some time, and frankly, I am annoyed by Al Gore and his Oscar and his heated mansion pool house, making hay by fear mongering about a flooded New York and too many hurricanes. All hell breaking loose. Help, Chicken Little!

Lomborg believes that global warming is happening, that man has caused it, and that national governments need to act. Yet he also believes that Al Gore is bordering on hysteria, that some global-warming science has been distorted and hyped, and that the Kyoto Protocol and other carbon-reduction schemes are a terrible waste of money. The world needs to think more rationally, he says, about how to tackle this challenge.

Mr. Lomborg starts by doing what he does best: presenting a calm analysis of what today's best science tells us about global warming and its risks. Relying primarily on official statistics, he ticks through the many supposed calamities that will result from a hotter planet -- extreme hurricanes, flooding rivers, malaria, heat deaths, starvation, water shortages. It turns out that, when these problems are looked at from all sides and stripped of the spin, they aren't as worrisome as global-warming alarmists would suggest. In some cases, they even have an upside.

Let me be clear; we need to be very careful stewards of this fragile earth. We also need to be rational, clear headed, and not absorb the latest CNN soundbites as if they are well researched truth.

September 11th Wordless Reflection

They Were Hanging a Flag

On my way to work today, I spotted two workers, climbing a ladder, to place an American flag on the exterior of a building.

It was a large flag, and it was new.

And then, I remembered.

And yet, there is hope.

Walking On Water

Found out about this movie by reading Relevant Magazine today. I am going to see it!

One of Us, After All

I am encouraged by something that some might find as discouraging.

This is an image of arguably one of the most recognizable spiritual models in the past century. A Nobel Peace prize winner, she has been adored as a model of depth of faith.

But it turns out, not all as it seems. A new book, under the interesting title of "Mother Teresa, Come Be My Light", reveals a lonely and troubled soul inside of this saintly woman.

She is quoted, in her own hand, as feeling "darkness and coldness and emptiness so great that nothing touches my soul", and "Heaven means nothing to me".

However, as noted by Kenneth L. Woodward in the Wall Street Journal this weekend, a number of commentators have concluded from the letters that Mother Teresa lost her faith. They seem unaware that Vatican judges cited the letters as proof of her exceptional faith. That figures: What the church looks for in a saint is not just good works -- for that there are Nobel Prizes -- but solid evidence that the candidate for canonization was transformed, inwardly and utterly, by God's grace.

Woodward goes on to observe that Mother Teresa was a special breed of saint: a genuine mystic; men and women who seek to experience union with God in this life. Wanting this experience doesn't mean that God will gratify that desire. In any case, the experience is often short-lived. Mother Teresa tells us in her letters that she once felt God's powerful presence and heard Jesus speak to her. Then God withdrew and Jesus was silent. What Mother Teresa experienced thereafter was faith devoid of any emotional consolation.

I find this presence and then long absence fascinating. This seeming abandonment by God of one of the most famous of saints would not go well in many congregations here in the US, where God seems to be constantly, almost relentless, chattering to the elect about nearly everything from what He wants you to do with your money, to where the good parking spaces are.

It seems there is something else that is crucial in the life of a mystic: They need the council of others, usually those less spiritually advanced, for direction. No one becomes a saint all by herself, though we Americans like to think anyone can find God unaided. In the case of Mother Teresa it was a theologian, Father Joseph Neuner, who showed her how her sense of abandonment mirrored the experience of the crucified Christ himself, who felt the Father had forsaken him. Afterwards, she wrote, "I came to love the darkness."

Imagine that. Loving darkness. In the end, Mother Teresa had to rely on faith, hope and charity. These are the virtues expected of all Christians, not just the spiritual elite.

Notes Woodward of the Journal - "She was one of us after all."