Missional Lives

Yesterday, I am basking in the glory of the Bruin win over USC, watching college football highlights on ESPN - when I am caught unawares by this wonderful commercial by the good folks at Liberty Mutual. What if all of our lives were lead daily in this way? Take a look, and think about it, a lot, all week:

Gloating Unlimited

"All the world is full of suffering. It is also full of overcoming. "
- Helen Keller

"Victory belongs to the most persevering. "
- Napoleon Bonaparte

"In war there is no substitute for victory. "
- Douglas MacArthur




"Accept the challenges so that you can feel the exhilaration of victory."
- George S. Patton




A note to "AllSeasons": Reveal thyself, or forever be scorned by this blog. Be ye a Bruin or nay, say so. Are ye a man, or a mouse?

UCLA 13 USC 9 Spoiler, Baby!!

Tiny Tim got new legs. The Swiss Army has more than a knife. The US Hockey team beat the Soviets. David kicked Goliath's butt, but this time with a football in one hand, and a sense of pride, determination, and courage in his heart.

Chalk one up for the little man. The kid with the limp, bad eye, and a funny high voice, was just admitted to Harvard. The plain girl who sits in the back of class and always looks at her shoes was named Prom Queen. The guy with the bad comb-over and belly paunch just made the cover of GQ.

From somewhere deep in their souls, the gutty little Bruins today accomplished what I thought was nearly impossible. Oh me, of little faith. Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. Bless me Father for I have sinned. I shall perform seven hail Coach Woodens, and an Our Bruin Father.

Today was a day that will live for many years in my catalog of great Bruin memories. For seven years, since 1998, the Sons of Westwood have wandered in the desert of Troy. Parched, helpless, lost. But today, we have seen the Promised Land.

Gloating? You bet! I have eight years to make up.

The Big Game and Snow in Hell

Its time for the Big Game.

But this year its not so big. And I am feeling morose. I would like to believe that the Bruins can overcome the steamroller that is SC, but I am also a pragmatist at heart. If the Bruins win, I suspect it will be a rather snowy day in Hell.

In this spirit, I give you excerpts from a classic column by the great sportswriter Jim Murray. This article was written in 1978, and I clipped it out, and hung it on the door of my dorm room. For months it was there, like an identity badge. People loved it. I still do:

"You all know the kind of school USC is. The girls are built like chorus girls. The boys are all Adonises. Their fathers are all rich. The all live in San Marino and the family works for Guaranty Trust and their biggest worry is the commodity market and where to park the Mercedes at the Opera. There families have always run things in this town and they all belong to fraternities where you have to prove you never drove a used car and you think Hoover was our greatest President. The get their first yacht at age 12."

"And they'll never have to lay pipe or pour cement or sweep floors or serve drinks or wear a hard hat and they'll go through life getting guys to open doors for them and take their hats. That's the public image of SC. Sons of riches. The First World. A very private university, a very private club. That's the image SC projects. Top hats, patrons of art, a Modigliana in the guest bathroom."

"UCLA on the other hand, suggest a whole bunch of people who are going to become, not judges, but storefront lawyers, or child psychologists or oboists in the Philharmonic, or delegates to the Democratic convention. If they go abroad, its with the Peace Corps, not the plutocrats and its Biafra, not Biarritz, If they ever get into the Cabinet, it would be in the Department of Health, Education, and Welfare. Undersecretary. They tolerate the football team because it brings in money for the Ban the Bomb rallies but they prefer volleyball and wish cardiologists got million-dollar contracts instead of guys who barely passed remedial english."

And so, we head to Saturday's game with a 13 point Vegas deficit to the Trojans. But in my mind, it might as well be 130 points. But I will take 21 points from Rob Asghar for a free lunch.

My two favorite teams? The Bruins, and whoever is playing against SC this week. And so, this Saturday is my college football planetary alignment. I so hope the Bruins win. But I also hope that world poverty would cease, that everyone in the Middle East would join hands and sing songs, that it would always be summer time, and that Pat Robertson would just shut up.

In the interest of borrowing from Jim Murray, and in deference to his amazing writing talent, I encourage you to go buy any books by him at Amazon.

Go Bruins!

Crusader Me

In an earlier life, I used to sing. Guess which one I am.

You may not guess the female.

Just Another Song, Just Another Old Church?

This morning a handful of kids stood in front of our aging urban church - in a sanctuary that shows its age, in a church torn by internal struggle over the past two years; now making its way toward an uncertain future. People trickled in, a bit late on the Sunday of a long holiday weekend. Young and old, rich and poor, needy and comfortable.

The singing began, a song from Alison Kraus, a theme on an old traditional:

As I went down in the river to pray
Studying about that good old way
And who shall wear the starry crown Good Lord, show me the way!

Was it was just another Sunday, just another bunch of kids, just another song?

I looked around at those gathered around me:

- The elderly woman in declining health, for whom even coming to church is a great effort. Slow but purposeful steps toward an uncertain ending.

- The deaf woman with the wonderful smile and quiet servant heart, who comes each week and gladly serves the homeless lunch after church. From silence springs a heart willing to care.

- The otherwise "put together" young professional couple struggling to raise teenagers, who wonder if these strange stages of life have any purpose or meaning.

- The single office worker in her middle years, trying to understand where God is in the midst of her singleness, loneliness, and wondering. No words to heal this pain.

- The homeless man who has recovered his life as a result of a choosing a life of community and accountability, who now serves others from a place of understanding and compassion. A man redeemed.

- The tired and weary choir members, who have suffered emotionally from the painful and confusing church split, who might even wonder why they get up and come each Sunday. Is there grace in the midst of weary souls?

- The couple in their 80s, slightly bent over in their seats, who have faithfully served the church for more than 50 years, and are here again, to worship and serve, on this otherwise ordinary Sunday. Steadfast, giving, determined.

- and those sitting near the back of church, or maybe in the darkened corners, who come struggling with their sexuality, trying to figure out if God really loves them or not. Wanting to know.

O sinners let's go down,
Let's go down, come on down,
O sinners let's go down,
Down in the river to pray.

As I went down in the river to pray
Studying about that good old way
And who shall wear the robe and crown Good Lord, show me the way !

Just another song? Maybe.

But I think this. Not just a song. Rather, a connection between the ancient past and the modern present. An echo of someplace else, something greater. A taste of home for us all that seems far away, but yet is so much closer than we think. A moment of calm in the midst of the storms of life. A sacred place. A home.

Who Needs the Bling? Bruin Women Volleyball!

Today, my family took a trip to Westwood to one of the finest universities in the land. I, on the other hand took a trip down memory lane.

It has been 26 years since I trod the hills of Westwood. Down Bruin walk at 7 AM for a calculus class, back up in the afternoon to eat at the dorm (Hedrick Hall), and then back down in the evening to study till I could barely stay awake, then back up to the dorm to crash into my bed (or party a couple of hours!).

Those were great times. So long ago.

Fast forward 26 years. Marriage, kids, life. Today, we traveled to UCLA today to watch the Bruin lady volleyball team take on Oregon in their last regular season game of the year. The lady Bruins won again, in a three game sweep, their 19th of the year. On to the NCAA Tourney! Pictured at left is our younger daughter Heather , who has just started playing middle school volleyball, with UCLA Senior Nana Meriweather, after the game.

It is a joy to watch these girls play! This is college sports at its best, untainted by the lure of professional play, unmarked by prima-dona overgrown boys in tattoos attempting to impress pro scouts. No threat of professional ball here, just pretty much true sport. What a nice change. These young ladies will go on to lead largely normal lives, without all the money, fame, bling, and moral failure of many male college athletes. These women will become the future coaches, business women, lawyers, mothers, and other professionals our world needs. Largely unnoticed, but greatly valued. This is a good thing.

Go get 'em Bruin Volleyball Women. Hail to the Hills!

This Fair Land

If we are careful, we can listen and hear something important, abiding, and profoud from the past. As we rush to get the turkey in the oven, greet the guests from near and far, and settle in around the table, we need to take a minute to remember.

Remember where we came from.

For the past 45 years, the same two editorials have appeared each year on the Opinion Page of the Wall Street Journal.

The Desolate Wilderness, And The Fair Land

I have found, after some brief research, that, at least on one side of my family, I am an 11th generation American, tracing my family directly to the Carolinas in the period of the Revolutionary war. And so, these words, perhaps mean a bit more to me:

Being now passed the vast ocean, and a sea of troubles before them in expectations, they had now no friends to welcome them,
no inns to entertain or refresh them, no houses, or much less towns, to repair unto to seek for succour; and for the season it was winter, and they that know the winters of the country know them to be sharp and violent, subject to cruel and fierce storms, dangerous to travel to known places, much more to search unknown coasts.

Besides, what could they see but a hideous and desolate wilderness, full of wilde beasts and wilde men? and what multitudes of them there were, they then knew not: for which way soever they turned their eyes (save upward to Heaven) they could have but little solace or content in respect of any outward object; for summer being ended, all things stand in appearance with a weatherbeaten face, and the whole country, full of woods and thickets, represented a wild and savage hew.

I find it helpful to remember from whence I have come.

Today, might we remember that for some Providential reason beyond our understanding, we have been placed in This Fair Land. All is not perfect in this land, all is not fair, justice is not universal.

Woody and Billy (Not a Country Band)

My friend Rob Asghar recommended this.....quite amusing. Oh, the good old days, when even agnostics were tolerant and funny.

Miscellaneous Items; Fundamentalists and Failures

For some time, I have wanted to find helpful material for me to process my own thinking/struggling with the Muslim world and the mess our country finds itself in these days.

I have found help from someone I trust. My friend Julie has a post on an important voice in Islam who brings a form of clarity that is greatly needed. I think we should keep our eye on this. And, brace ourselves. I think we have not seen the worst of the radical Islamic movement yet.

Separately, but related are two bits on the whole Ted Haggard mess that really should be looked at carefully. My friend Mark Roberts has done a series on Ted Haggard and the burdens that pastors face.

And again, Julie, that energetic Bruin that she is, has written perhaps the very best thoughts on the set up for failure that the church creates in this piece "No Christian Cure....". Outstanding!

One more thing. James Dobson often makes me nuts. And here is another reason why. I would hope that should I commit a major moral failure (God forbid please!), that my friends would have the time to commit to standing beside me, and holding me up as I seek healing; no matter how ugly. Seems to me, I remember reading something about this once. Maybe, just maybe, Dr. Dobson might need to examine his busy calendar and see what priorities most embody the character of Christ. For me, standing beside a fallen friend is near the top of the list. But I am not as important, or influential, or busy, or famous....so perhaps I should just shut up.

There. I will.

Thanksgiving Prayer a Bit Early

This afternoon, our family had the privilege of serving at The Lord's Lighthouse, a home-grown community service of our church.

About 300 people; some homeless, some down on their luck, some chronically mentally ill, all from the streets of Hollywood, were served today. This happens every Sunday, all year long.

The memory I take away from this afternoon, and everytime I serve, is of the hands. Countless hands, reaching up. Dirty hands, dirty fingernails, weathered skin, holding up Styrofoam cups into which I pour cup after cup after cup of fruit punch and coffee. Hands worn rough by life, by loss, by frustration, by mental demons, by being lost or forgotten, or downtrodden. All those hands.

As we gathered to pray before lunch, a Thanksgiving Prayer by Ralph Waldo Emerson was read:

For each new morning with its light,
For rest and shelter of the night,
For health and food,
For love and friends,
For everything Thy goodness sends.

I looked at my hands when I got home to my comfortable suburban home. They seemed clean. But, you know what? My hands are dirty too.

Thankfulness is relative. May I be truly thankful, and may I live a life of thanks that is overflowing and spills over to others.

Big Game Coming

There is a big college football game tomorrow. Let's just pretend this little doll is named Tommy Trojan.

I confess, that when it comes to anything Troy, I have a heart of darkness. Mea Culpa.