Coachella Arrival

Coachella 2009 people. On stage now - Airborne Toxic Event. Yes, its a band.
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Good Friday

Today is Good Friday.

A day of remembering an event which often feels so immense that it seems the world can scarcely bear it. I know I hardly can. It is too hard, and painful, and deep and wide. It seems too much.

Tonight our family attended a Good Friday service of worship that is taken from an early Christian service called "Tenebrae". The name Tenebrae is the Latin word for "darkness" or "shadows." Through this service we experienced only a small portion of Christ’s pain and suffering the day of His crucifixion.

One of the most conspicuous features of the service is the gradual extinguishing of candles until only a single candle, considered a symbol of our Lord, remains. As it gets darker and darker we reflect on the great emotional and physical pain that was very real for Jesus that evening. Toward the end of the service, the Christ candle is removed from the sanctuary, typifying the apparent victory of the forces of evil over good. And at the end, we file out quietly into the night.

Tonight, right in the middle of this service, I was reduced to tears by something I completely did not expect. "Gabriel's Oboe" from Ennio Morricone, the composer of the film "The Mission" stole my heart, and lead me on several moments reflections of the impact of the one solitary life of Christ. A life that has changed the face of the planet, and a life that has changed my life. Forever. I sat and listened to this haunting piece, and reflected on all centuries of followers of Jesus, who for both good and bad intentions, have changed the face of this planet.

How could one life so permanently affect so much of humanity? How could this be so? How could one man, who died as an obscure radical - reach into history, and continue to touch and transform lives today? How could this be?

Take a few moments, and listen, and wonder. From Ennio Morricone's performance at the UN in 2007:

Coach

This video of John Wooden is about eight years old, but really, it is timeless.

Missile, Schmissile

And they say North Korea wants to launch a missile. I have something for your missile, Dear Leader!

Twittering the Gospel

Rob Bell was asked how he could present the gospel on Twitter. Although not 140 characters, this was his answer:

“I would say that history is headed somewhere. The thousands of little ways in which you are tempted to believe that hope might actually be a legitimate response to the insanity of the world actually can be trusted. And the Christian story is that a tomb is empty, and a movement has actually begun that has been present in a sense all along in creation. And all those times when your cynicism was at odds with an impulse within you that said that this little thing might be about something bigger – those tiny slivers may in fact be connected to something really, really big."

Also, this:

“And there is this group of people who say that whoever that being is came up among us and took on flesh and blood – Andrew Sullivan talks about this immense occasion the world could not bear. So a church would be this odd blend of swagger – and open tomb, come on – and humility and mystery. The Resurrection accounts are jumbled and don’t really line up with each other – I really relate to that. Yet something momentous has burst forth in the middle of history. You just have to have faith, and you get caught up in something.

I like to say that I practice militant mysticism. I’m really absolutely sure of some things that I don’t quite know.”

Very good. And honest. Me too.

Evacuation Theology

Recently Rob Bell was interviewed in CT – and shared a theology to which I wholly subscribe, although I am not a theologian. One comment in the article is that Mr. Bell is reframing the gospel in North America for the last couple of hundred years, with many of his comments contained within his new book Jesus Wants to Save Christians. I might just have to buy this book.

“The story (of the Scripture) is about God’s intentions to bring about a new heaven and a new earth, and the story begins here with shalom – shalom between each other and with our Maker and with the earth. The story line is that God intends to bring about a new creation, this place, this new heaven and earth here. And that Jesus’ resurrection is the beginning, essentially, of the future; this great Resurrection has rushed into the present.

The evacuation theology that says, “figure out the ticket, say the right prayer, get the right formula, and then we’ll go somewhere else” is lethal to Jesus, who endlessly speaks of the renewal of all things.”

Evacuation! I like this A LOT.

First, Mr. Bell is echoing N.T. Wright in many of his recent books in terms of “the Kingdom being at hand”. Second, I have to confess that I have been a subtle victim of this “evacuation theology” that has turned the church into a sometimes strange fortress against, rather than for, and involved with the world.

And finally, I am touched by Mr. Bell’s use of the present tense to describe Jesus’ words – note above that it is “endlessly speaks” that is used, rather than something like “spoke”. Imagine that, a resurrected Christ, one who still speaks.

Amen.

Looking Across The City, And Into the Abyss

I hardly ever talk about my work here on the blog. But today, something fascinating happened. I was allowed on a private tour (along with other real estate professionals), to the very top of Freedom Tower 7 - at the World Trade Center.

Above is the view from from the top floor of Freedom Tower 7 in New York. The first phase of the rebuild of the World Trade Center.

More soon....

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Racing Forward, Struggling Home, Disquieting Times

I had just come out of a late afternoon meeting.

Racing Forward
My mind had been engrossed in my work for the past several hours, and the earth had not waited for me, turning on its axis without my permission. Time rushing forward.

I walked into the parking lot next to a rush-hour street, above me hung a sublime golden twilight sky - the few wisps of white clouds looked like the perfect brush strokes of a master, painted with ease and perfection. Creation shouting, if I would but listen. The cars continued to rush by, and I was aware of a sense of timelessness, even in the midst of this busy commuter evening.

I got in my car, backed out of the parking space, and began the trip home. It was not two blocks away, when stopped at a busy intersection, I was presented with a visual, living reminder of the fleeting, struggling nature of this life we all lead.

Struggling Home
To my left, out of the car window, was an elderly man, towing behind him a small shopping cart. He was not on the sidewalk, but moving diagonally through the gas station on the corner. He was not moving easily, not at all. Not really walking, more like shuffling, very very slowly. It was as if he was existing in a time warp that was 1/5th that of everything around him. Going 15, in a world of 75 miles per hour.

The most striking feature, and the image that is burned in my memory now, was his posture. Or perhaps the complete lack of it. In fact, his body was almost completely bent over to the point where he did not look forward as he shuffled; rather, due to age, or time, or pain, or maybe disappointment, he looked down, directly at his feet. He moved so slowly, never looking up, towing his little cart of groceries.

Hurry up, little old man. Get out of that gas station parking lot, before someone honks at you, and scares the daylights out of you.

Time seemed to stand still just then. My mind filled with all sorts of thoughts, sitting at the traffic light, under that early evening sky:

Who was this old man?
Where was he going, and would he get home safely?
How much farther did he have to shuffle to be safe at home?
Did he have family? Did they know if he was ok?
Where had he been in life?
And what physical ailments, or emotional burdens had reduced him to this slow plodding shuffle?

And then, the light changed.

I eased forward, heading home. The old man continued his slow plod, in the opposite direction as me, receding in my side-view mirror.

I hope he did not have far to go. To get home. And as I moved on, the sky above this little scene glowed a brilliant orange and red that brought tears to my eyes.

Fitting It Together
The writer and philosopher Laurens van der Post, in his memoir of his friendship with Carl Jung, said, "We live not only our own lives but, whether we know it or not, also the life of our time." We are actors in a moment of history, taking part in it, moving it this way or that as we move forward or back. The moment we are living now is a strange one, a disquieting one, a time that seems full of endings."

I agree. Over the past several months, we have witnessed the sadness and loss of the death of two very dear friends. Two really wonderful men; one, Jim, passing far too early in life, from cancer. In his early 60's with way too much life left to live. Another friend, Frank, in his 80's, after a battle with Lou Gehrig's Disease that left him comatose for months, but still alive.

How might can I fit together these deaths, that struggling gas station man, and that stunning sunset together?

I am not sure how it all fits, other than to say that there is a form of great and tragic, wonderful and ominous orchestration going on around me, every day, if I would but take the time to see it all.

And, if I am a part of this symphony of life, may I play a joyous, hopeful, and comforting part.