Seredipitous Evening of Memories

Friday night at 5 PM we got a call from friends who suddenly had happened upon 18 EXTRA tickets to see the Troubadour Reunion Tour of James Taylor & Carol King at the Hollywood Bowl.  Lived here all my life, and I still love living in LA, if for nothing else but stuff like this.

Nancy got on the phone, and rustled up 12 close friends, and off we went.  The concert time was 7:30, and we entered the Bowl (two rows from the very very top) right as the band took the stage. 

As we sat in the gathering dusk, eating cold chicken, crackers, and grapes, we listened to two of the icons of our generation.  It was beautiful.  Thanks to the wonders of YouTube, and illegal videos, below, please watch, for the few days before the lawyers shut it down, a moment from that evening.  This is the first encore. 

From the "If It Weren't So True" Department

This parody is another reason I feeling increasing sad about American Evangelical culture.


"Sunday's Coming" Movie Trailer from North Point Media on Vimeo.

Middle Life Reflections

Over the course of the past several years, I often find myself reflecting on this journey in life thus far. 

How did I get here, to this place, and where am I headed?  What will the road ahead look like?  And when the end comes, how will I feel about where I have been, and what little I might have accomplished?  These are the things that I think about, on occasion, when the softer and calm moments of life present themselves.

These times of introspection seem to come at the oddest turns, but usually in a more quiet place; alone in the car, walking the dog, or sitting on our back porch on a quiet Sunday afternoon reviewing the events of another busy week.

Last week, I was completely surprised by a moment such as this.  We took some friends to Disney Hall to see the LA Philharmonic, conducted by Gustavo Dudamel.  As an introductory piece, "The Promise of Living" by Aaron Copeland was played. 

Ever since I was just out of college I have loved the music of Copeland - which treats the history of our nation with such respect and tenderness.  For some reason, Copeland's music has always had a profound emotional impact upon me.  And so it was last Thursday, as I listened to the music of Copeland in a hushed Disney Hall.  It was if I had been lifted out of myself, for a few brief moments.  Transcendence.

As I sat in the dark, listening and reflecting on the events of the past several weeks, I was completely struck that my life is overwhelmed with blessing, and interwoven with remarkable people.  I also thought back to the events of the past several weeks. 

Time spent with friends, old and new, over coffee and lunches and dinners.  The blessing of brilliant team members at work, and, as part of that, being content in my soul with this recession and its impact on our work.  I reflected on the beauty and joy of my wife and daughters; how they daily amaze me. 

I thought of a good conversation with my daughter in the car - a chat about troubled people, and how we might respond to them in a caring way.  I remembered good friends, who are facing the lingering decline of a family member from an incurable disease, and the deep sadness that brings.  I recalled participating in a charity dinner for children with Down Syndrome, and then of our time at another fundraiser, supporting the amazing work of Young Life in our area. I was overwhelmed. 

For the past week, I have wanted to find a good video of the Copeland piece to share with you.  As it turns out, the best video I could find revealed to me that this music was, in fact, originally composed with words!  And the words.  Look below.  They fit perfectly.  For us all.

The promise of living

With hope and thanksgiving

Is born of our loving

Our friends and our labor.

The promise of growing

With faith and with knowing

Is born of our sharing

Our love with our neighbor.

The promise of loving

The promise of growing

Is born of our singing

In joy and thanksgiving.

For many a year I’ve know these fields

And know all the work that makes them yield.

Are you ready to lend a hand?

We’re ready to work, we’re ready to lend a hand.

By working together we’ll bring in the harvest,

the blessings of harvest.

We plow plant each row with seeds of grain,

And Providence sends us the sun and the rain.

By lending a arm

Bring out the blessings of harvest.

Give thanks there was sunshine,

Give thanks there was rain,

Give thanks we have hands

To deliver the grain.

O let us be joyful,

O let us be grateful to the Lord

For his blessing.

The promise of living

The promise of growing

The promise of ending

Is labor and sharing and loving.

(Erik Johns)

Technology Can Be Beautiful

This video of the effect of the volcano in Iceland on air traffic is amazing. Wait until the end, to see the effect of London coming back online. And remember, each of those little dots of light represents a hundred or more people flying through the air in a steel tube. I love it!

First Church of Pastor Moron

This pastor is a complete fool, pandering to the culture in the most shallow way possible.  So are the Shiny News Persons interviewing him.  I am disgusted.

John 17 Reflections

Recently, this fellow asked me my thoughts about this passage from the book of John.  And so, this is what I replied, in an email today:

I have nothing smart to say or ask.  I am dumbfounded.  This prayer has always confounded me. 

I feel inadequate to receive it, just reading it.  Its as if I am listening to Stephen Hawking describe the nature of Dark Matter, or Einstein on theories of time.  Its like, for a moment, we are given a glimpse, in this out-loud prayer, of the essence of the forming of the cosmos - in terms of the relationship between Jesus and his Father.  It is too great to take in.

In short, I only understand vaguely what is going on.  The content and context here is too boundless.  These are the final farewell moments before Christ must face the Ultimate Question of death we all will face someday.  How does he spend these moments?  Praying out loud about his relationship with his Father, what he wants of his disciples, and words for us all to follow.  This prayer is very intimate stuff.  May we all be driven to a place like this.  More often.

Something very mysterious is happening in this prayer.  Jesus is not praying for himself to hear the words come out of his mouth, but for others to hear who are there.  What might the moments of this prayer felt like for those watching?  I can only imagine that it might be the most profound mixture of emotions we humans can feel in all of life.  The feeling of joy and tears at the birth of a child; those rare moments of epiphany in the voices of a choir performing sacred works, the brilliance of an unexpected sunset, the pain of a broken friendship, and the foreshadowing dread of facing the impending death of someone we love so dearly.  All these things, all together, at one time, rolled together as we sit closely and watch Jesus pray. 

We try to open our mouths to respond, but nothing comes out.  This must be a moment for silence - in the way that nature affects us most profoundly when we stand in the alpine forest and absorb the calm.  There is deep meaning in our quiet reflection of the words of Christ.

Maybe part of understanding is to read this prayer over enough that it has a chance to sink into our souls, and affect the way we move forth into the word, and in turn, love others for Christ.  Can we take the time?  Can we really let it sink in?  Can we, will we?

I still feel inadequate.

Of History, Colleges, and Hope for the Future

Somewhere, high over the Nebraska corn fields, the ride home got rough.

And when it did, a teenage girl hand next to me tightly wrapped itself around my wrist. “I just hate turbulence, I just hate it”, said Younger Daughter, as we encountered bumps in the air.

Soon, that hand will loosen its grip, loose its fear of turbulence, and generally not be there as much any more. Life is like that. I know those emotional bumps will be more painful for me than these clear air ones, at 38,000 feet and Mach 0.75

This past week was spent in Boston, looking at colleges with high school sophomore daughter. What a great city Boston is....the deep history of the Freedom Trail, North End, Boston Common. And then the colleges, Tufts, Boston University, Northeastern, and Boston College. Even a trip to Harvard Yard. Oh my. I want to be 18 again! Wait, I take that back. No I don't.

I left the East Coast feeling greatly encouraged and enthusiastic about the state of higher education, certainly at least in Massachusetts. Enthusiasm, joy for learning, and minds ready to challenge the future, all very encouraging to this middle-aged fellow.

And so, that grip on my arm is gradually less.

If anything happens as a result of this college trip, and the someday soon ensuing college education, it will be that this same hand, the one that gripped my arm at 38,000 feet, will, after graduation, reach out in service, in creativity, in real friendship, and in compassion to a world that needs a hand to hold.

That is my hope.

Remembering a Paper Route, Forgetting Human Dignity

When I was 11 years old, I had a paper route. It started near my house, and continued down Baldwin Avenue in Arcadia, right across the street from what was then the practice track for Santa Anita racetrack. The first paper I delivered was the day Robert Kennedy was shot - June 5, 1968. I will never forget that.

I will also never forget what my Dad, a World War II Pacific Theater veteran, used to tell me as we drove past Santa Anita when I was a kid. "That was where they used to keep the Japs penned up during the War", he would say as we drove past the stable, just off Baldwin Avenue. I remember the feeling of being glad we "penned them up", during the War. They were scary savages, according to Dad, and he never really had much good to say about any "minority" as I grew up. I feel like I have spent the rest of my life overcoming my Father's biases.

For several years I would peddle my bike past the past the practice track, and sometimes think about all those Japanese people, locked up there, some 25 years earlier. What did that feel like for them?

Here is a glimpse of what it felt like.....

Why Not a Shameless Promotion

When you get things for free, for years, why not promote the latest thing they offer you.

I must admit, I love Blogger after this latest change!