Action! Oh Wait...Stop?!

You never know what to expect, living in LA. Today, a man from here came by our house, looking for a location to shoot a "family friendly" film. Turns out, this production company is controlled by these guys.

Now, if you want to feel like you have ingested too much medication, read this, a primer on Scientology theology.

So, what to do? Should we let these folks use our house for filming, and then take the money and give it to these guys? Do we tell them no thanks, we are Christian folk, and would prefer not to have Thetans in our home?

I am sorry, I am making fun. This really is all very sad, this Scientology thing. Very sad. What would you do?

For more information on Scientology, look here and here.

My favorite line, from the Rolling Stone article:

In his 1983 autobiography, Over My Shoulder: Reflections on a Science Fiction Era, the sci-fi writer Lloyd Eshbach describes meeting Hubbard in the late 1940s. "I'd like to start a religion," Eshbach recalls Hubbard saying. "That's where the money is."

A Sunny Day, A Quiet Afternoon, An Empty Chair

This is the view of our front porch just now. So normal. So American. It was a brilliantly sunny afternoon, after almost a week of rather typical Southern California spring coastal gloom. The sun is still streaming in the back porch french doors just now, as I write this.

It has been a quiet afternoon on our street. The jack-hammering of construction work at the neighbors house yesterday has been broken by the calm of this still semi-sacred day in a secular culture. Everything around here has begun to burst with spring green. It was a good day for lunch with a friend on a sunny patio, a walk with the dog, or even a brief nap.

But in our town, beneath the veneer of a calm spring Sunday afternoon, something very sudden, scary, and painfully dark has happened. Like the thud of a 1,000 pound weight, or the shock of a violent traffic accident that no one expects; leaving a hole in our emotions that words cannot describe or fill back up. Its like the black of night.

There will be an empty chair tomorrow at the Middle School in our town. An 8th grade girl, who was in the joyous chorus of the school play just last night, has suddenly died. As we broke this tragic news to our own 6th grader this afternoon, our kitchen was hushed with shock, then grief, of loss, and weeping. Tomorrow, there will be special counseling for kids at school.

And there will be an empty chair.

The details of how she died are not important really, but it was a sudden, unexpected seizure. I find that I always want to know what happened. Its a way to cope with my own mortality. Its also a form of selfishness. What is important is the deep, dark, piercing, almost bottomless grief the family of this girl will feel. As a parent, this must be a pain inexpressible, seemingly unquenchable, almost limitless. And it never really goes completely away. It is always there, like a shadow companion.

I have nothing to offer but my prayers for a family I do not know, but whom my wife has met on several occasions. Nothing to say that will alleviate the searing pain. Nothing here, on this earth, that will calm so many troubled hearts.

But, I am reminded of a similar story full of pain. From Rossini's "Stabat Mater":

Her grieving heart,

anguished and lamenting,

was pierced by a sword.

Oh how sad and afflicted

was that blessed mother

of an Only Son.

She mourned and grieved,

and trembled as she saw

the suffering of her glorious Son.

And if you will, particularly parents who read this, take a moment to offer prayers of peace and healing for this family.

A Bible on the Dashboard

Earlier this month, our family had the unique opportunity to spend time in New Orleans. We did a bit of helping, a lot of eating, and spent time with old friends.

The photo to the right is the sanctuary of Canal Street Presbyterian Church in New Orleans. This photo was taken this past Easter Sunday, which was only the second time that the sanctuary has been used (the first was Palm Sunday) in the seven months since Katrina. When Pastor Mike emailed me this photo, earlier this week, upon my return from Alaska, I could not help but smile, and give a brief prayer of thanks for this small act of restoration, and for the determination and persistence of this congregation.

I also had to take a minute to also smile and give thanks for my friend Pastor Mike. Mike is an amazing manifestation of pastoral care. Mike came to know Christ through the ministry of of a rather weird, old Cadillac driving fellow in Philadelphia, who loved kids for Jesus, and would not give up on relationships. Through him, Mike's life was changed forever. And now, in turn, many lives in New Orleans are given hope, humor and great love.

The pastor's I know lead sometimes quite cerebral lives. They think thoughts, they lead committees, they prepare sermons, and some write books. Several of them have rather pithy Blogs. They may even spend time with people. They have orderly offices in quiet settings. Classical music often plays in the background. Life is sedate and ordered. Many different bible translations dot the shelves of calm temperature controlled offices. People speak in hushed tones, the receptionists are very polite.

Pastor Mike does not have his office back yet. It is packed in boxes still. There is no receptionist. His office is his truck, where his battered bible is always on the dashboard. His ministry these days is a very unquiet and uncommon blur of constant movement, relentless caring, and a passion for bringing the care of Christ to a congregation still in transition. During our stay in one week, Mike was helping me empty water out of a still-flooded clothes washer as we gutted a home, visiting a sick church member in the hospital, meeting with other pastors, preparing a sermon, helping church members move, leading a small group with other men in the church, driving his kids (there are five of them - from ages 9 to 16)to and from school, and leading a Wednesday Lenten service. This is a man always moving from one place in town to another. His cell phone battery is typically dead by 2:00 PM everyday; talking to people all over town and all over the country about ways that they can help in New Orleans. In all he says and does, a joke and a laugh are not far away. Mike is one of the funniest guys I have ever met.

A bible on the dashboard, and a heart for the Kingdom. Never still. Always moving. I love my friend, Pastor Mike. I am thankful.

Would you pray for my friend, Pastor Mike?

Brother Dietrich and “Unidad En Comunidad"

Lets Go Bowling Together for Jesus
The gentleman to the left is Dietrich Bonhoeffer.

For Some Odd Reason, I have been asked to help lead a young married couples class at my church. The people who asked me to do this are dear friends, but I also think they may be nuts. Either way, the thoughts below are excerpted from our time together this morning.

We are going on a journey. Will you come along? A journey toward discovering how we can grow closer together in Christ, and perhaps build a genuine community of fellow Believers.

I would like to think that I am somewhat the exemplary Christian fellow. I would like to think that I model all that is best in a life spent following Jesus. I would like to think that I have the best of Christian friends, and that our relationships, our Christian community, show in myriad ways the love of Christ. I would like to think that other, non-believing folk in my life see these traits and are lead directly to wonder about what following Jesus is about, and that they might even considered visiting or becoming a part of my church. My church, because it is a place where all the best things of the Christian life are modeled.

I'd like to think this, but it is just not so. Not now at least. And yet, we serve a God of hope.

Over the past several years, the life of our church has been quite painful, confusing, and disconnected. Relationships have splintered, accusations have been made, sides taken. We Christian people know how to pick a really good fight, and then, how to carry it out. To the end. Recently, Christian song writer Sara Groves offered this hauntingly ironic glimpse of the darker side of the church:

Taking Our Church to the Moon
To the Moonby Sara Groves

It was there in the bulletin
We're leaving soon
After the bake sale to raise funds for fuel
The rocket is ready and we're going to
Take our church to the moon

There'll be no one there to tell us we're odd
No one to change our opinions of God
Just lots of rocks and this dusty sod
Here at our church on the moon

We know our liberties we know our rights
We know how to fight a very good fight
Just get that last bag there and turn out the light
We're taking our church to the moon
We're taking our church to the moon
We'll be leaving soon

I would like to think that I, and my Christian friends, have it all together. But its not so. My life is, in many ways broken and disconnected. I struggle with finding time to meditate on God's Word. I am distracted by all kinds of "white noise" and static in my life; television, radio, satellite radio, the internet, emails, the busy-ness of work, family, and kid activities. I long to find God in more abundance in each day, but so many times, I fall short. Where is the Still, Small Voice, and where are my brothers and sisters in Christ. Oh, I forgot, they are busy too. I am modern man, information saturated, yet soul starved.

And so, this journey we begin is as much about all of us, as it is about my own longing.

The Disconnection
In a groundbreaking book, "Bowling Alone", based on vast new data, Robert Putnam of The Kennedy School at Harvard shows how we have become increasingly disconnected from family, friends, neighbors, and our democratic structures-- and how we may reconnect.

Putnam warns that our stock of social capital - the very fabric of our connections with each other, has plummeted, impoverishing our lives and communities. Putnam draws on evidence including nearly 500,000 interviews over the last quarter century to show that we sign fewer petitions, belong to fewer organizations that meet, know our neighbors less, meet with friends less frequently, and even socialize with our families less often. We're even bowling alone. More Americans are bowling than ever before, but they are not bowling in leagues. Putnam shows how changes in work, family structure, age, suburban life, television, computers, women's roles and other factors have contributed to this decline.

America has civicly reinvented itself before -- approximately 100 years ago at the turn of the last century. And America can civicly reinvent itself again - find out how and help make it happen at our companion site, BetterTogether.org, an initiative of the Saguaro Seminar on Civic Engagement at Harvard University's Kennedy School of Government.

Getting Reconnected
In a life span of 39 years, pastor and theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer, lead, taught, and modeled a new kind of Christian community - one that is still relevant 60 years amartyrdomartyredom in a Nazi death camp. His book Life Together is an exploration of what Christian community can be. Our couples class is going through this book together.

Our lives are disconnected. We need reconnection to what is really important. Thoughts from Bonhoeffer:

"It is not simply to be taken for granted that the Christian has the privilege of living among other Christians."
"It is by the grace of God that a congregation is permitted to gather visibly in this world to share God's Word and sacrament."

God cares about gathering his people together. We are not created to live in isolation. Zech 10:8-9 God is gathering together. And guess what? Jesus talked about gathering together in John 11:52. Matt 24:31 gathering in the end times.

Gotta have a Body - The Body of Christ
What the heck does the Body of Christ mean? Well, according to Brother Dietrich:

"Man was created a body, the Son of God appeared on earth in the body, he was raised in the body, in the sacrament the believer receives the Lord Christ in the body, and the resurrection of the dead will bring about the perfected fellowship of God's spiritual-physical creatures."

"The prisoner, the sick person, the Christian in exile see in the companionship of a fellow Christian a physical sign of the gracious presence of the triune God."

1 Corinthians 12:26-28 (New International Version)
26If one part suffers, every part suffers with it; if one part is honored, every part rejoices with it.
27Now you are the body of Christ, and each one of you is a part of it. 28And in the church God has appointed first of all apostles, second prophets, third teachers, then workers of miracles, also those having gifts of healing, those able to help others, those with gifts of administration, and those speaking in different kinds of tongues.

We are "a physical sign of the gracious presence" of God. In all we do. In the fellowship we keep.

Would not a life spent together, enjoying one another, coming beside each other in places of pain and celebration, learning together, seeking Christ, listening for his call; a Life Together perhaps not be something well worth considering?

In listening to the thoughts of this gentle German theologian of almost 70 years ago, we can find ways to begin to build a community graced by God's love, acceptance, and grace. A home. A place wherewe can begin, in the words of Christianity Today Editor, Andy Crouch, rebuild "the hilarious high calling that is the birthright of every Christian; to be an agent of improbable, impossible life in the midst of the world".

Finally, for a wonderful touch of what community in Christ can be, go read this, from my buddy KC.

Overwhelmed by Creation

I have returned from my adventure in Alaska. While the work reasons I was there are more mundane, some of the things I learned and sights I saw will not soon leave me.

To be brief, Alaska is a land that overwhelms you. The land mass of Alaska is larger than California, Texas, and Montana put together. When one visits Alaska, one is nearly always on the edge of civilization; on the very verge of being overwhelmed by Creation itself.

We think we are the masters of our fate, that we can control life, that we are smart, in command, confident. We live in well-ordered cities where most of life is regulated and controlled.

Not so in Alaska. Nature is very close, very present, and very, very large. Each year from November to March the night ski (almost 23 hours of it in December) is alight nearly each night with the Northern Lights. This is a place that naturally makes one feel small, insignificant, and very much NOT in control.

I liked this feeling, this feeling of being on the edge of something far greater than me, of being nearly out of control. I was reminded in a new way of Who is really in control, and of how little I acknowledge my lack of control in the daily, civilized pace of my life.

Go to Alaska some day. You will be confronted with your smallness.

North to Alaska

In an effort to revive my pathetic blog hit statitistics, I have decided to travel the world in order to bring you pithy and thoughtful observations. At least I think they're pithy, sorry if you do not. Remember, pithiness is a virtue.

Last week, New Orleans, Louisiana. Today stop, Fairbanks, Alaska. In a span of days we go from wrestling aligators to wrestling bears.

Now I ask you, what other blog can do all this? And its a stain remover and a breath freshener too!

The view from my hotel.....

Commercial: Positive Coaching Alliance

Just a moment for a commercial, before I continue on with a review of our New Orleans family trip.

Wednesday night was a tough one for me. I was the stand-in coach for my daughter Heather's 11-12 year old softball team. It was a pretty close game until the middle innings, when we extended our lead to 10-5 over our worthy opponents. Looking good. But, alas, we then had a bad inning, and ended up loosing 12-10. Tough loss. But the thing that made me so proud was the character that our girls displayed in a tough loss. Heads held high, and enthusiastically congratulating the other team on their win. This is what sports should be all about - building character, not kicking butt, or winning at all costs, or behaving like a jerk.

Then today, while doing nothing (as my daughter's constantly allege) at the office, I came upon two web sites that I love. The first is one that belong to the Thrive Foundation for Youth, which is run by a great family from the Bay Area that I know a bit about. I want my family to be like this family when we all grow up! I would love someday to be part of a Foundation like this.

Anyway, one of the organizations that Thrive Foundation supports is the Positive Coaching Alliance. This is what all youth, high school, and college coaching should be about. Shout it from the mountain, this is wonderful stuff.

Please, before you go, go view this. You will then understand why I was so proud of our girls, even in their loss this Wednesday.

Captain Jim, Jimmy Buffet, and Redemption

I have a secret to share. Sometimes, in the midst of my middle-aged life, I actually yearn to become completely irresponsible, to run away from the drudgery of everyday life, to sail off to some lightly populated tropical paradise island. I would burn my loafers in a fire on the beach whilst sipping a mai tai at sunset, and spend the rest of my days in flip flops. A castaway from society and civilization. Maybe this is why I like Hawaiian shirts, and I have an irreverent attraction (for a relatively well-behaved Christian fellow) to Jimmy Buffet.

One of my favorite Buffet tunes: From "Take Another Road"
Take another road to a hiding place
Disappear without a trace
Take another road in another time
Like a novel from the five and dime
Take another road in another time

Last Wednesday night, I met a real life Jimmy Buffet. His name was even Jim. Jim (pictured here piloting his house boat on Lake Ponchartrain) has had quite a life. He was born and raised in St. Louis, and left home to make his way in the maritime insurance business in New Orleans about forty years ago or so. He formed his own company, and even had a partner in London. Life was good, and so was business. Very good. Three kids, a wife, a house in a great neighborhood, and a nice bank account. After a time, he and his London partner had a parting in ways, and Jim left the insurance business. He then started a printing business in New Orleans, confident that he could start over with something new and challenging in mid-career. However, after a while, this new business was bleeding red ink, and draining Jim’s saving account.

His children had left home and started on lives of their own, and his relationship with his wife of 33 years ended; she left Jim, telling him it was time to move on. Jim was adrift. He soon met another woman, married, and thought life might repair itself, sort of like open wounds do, sometimes. But, after a short time, Wife Number Two told Jim she could not “stay in this married condition, I need to be on my own”. This is where the Jimmy Buffet part begins.

As a means of coping, Jim decided to sail away, literally. He took his sailboat (a residual from his better financial days, and about all he had left) and sailed around the Caribbean and up the East Coast of the US for more than a year. He had a stint as a pleasure boat captain in Florida. Another road, in another time.

We sat in Deenies Seafood (yum!) restaurant last Wednesday in New Orleans and listened to Jim’s story. I then asked Jim (the comfortable suburbanite that I am) “So do you regret at all this “Jimmy Buffet” phase of your life, this time of running away”. I thought I knew the answer. But Jim looked me square in the eye and said, “Not a bit! I needed that time to run away, my life was cratering all around me, and I needed to get away for my own mental health.” “So why did you ever come back home?” I asked. Jim’s reply still rings in my ears. “I came home here to New Orleans because I missed my friends, my children, my grandchildren, and my church”. His church?

It seems that over the years, Jesus has been doing a redemptive work in Jim’s life. His job now, in his late 60s, is as a staff member of a church in New Orleans. His job: to help transform the old model of committees in the church, in order to create a team environment that will effective care for people in the years to come. I love this.

From Jimmy Buffet to Almost Reverend Jim, all by the grace of Christ.

I will not sell my Hawaiian shirts, and my flip flops remain ready for summer. Redemption still occurs, often in unusual ways.

Broken People in A Broken City

Last Wednesday

There are many words that describe New Orleans today. The first word that comes to mind is broken. Seven months post Katrina this city seems to be operating on about 25% of its potential. Estimates are that about 50% of the populous has returned, seven most post hurricane. Red search logos still remain, everywhere. Natural gas service is spotty; Canal Street church still does not have gas service. Phone service is only slightly more reliable in many places; the church is scheduled to get its phones back up next week. Word is that New Orleans will become a thoroughly modern telecommunications city when the cleanup and repairs are completed. The jury is still out on this.

Other words to describe this city - reviving, crippled, struggling, coping, defiant, determined, hopeful, depressed, restoring, renewing. A mixture of feelings, conditions, and emotions. But again, the word broken comes to mind. Besieged.

Last Wednesday at noon, Canal Street church is offering a Lenten Communion Service. This past Wednesday our family and about 10 others attended. It seemed a fitting thing to do, in the midst of a week of presence in such a hurting community. I loved this small, humble service of just 15 folks, including pastors and participants. This was not your Saddleback Church service, no Claude Osteen meeting here. Not The First Church of What's Hip and Happening Now. No huge victories for Jesus, no shiny buildings full of happy people. No national telethon.

Just a small band of believers, sharing the peace of Christ, the bread and the cup. Broken people, in a broken city, remembering a broken Savior.

Cleaning and Dinner and Dancing

Tuesday was another day spent with further cleaning and polishing the sanctuary of Canal Street church. This was a special privilege, as this Sunday is Palm Sunday; marking Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem. Being able to have a small hand in the restoration of normalcy and hope to the faithful of Canal Street for this special Sunday was an honor.

Imagine, seven months of wondering, suffering, seven months of confusion, uncertainty, coping. Living with not really knowing what the future looks like. Trash persistently piled at the curb, the faint smell of mold everywhere. Those high water lines on the buildings, ever present signs of a public shame and a civic failure. Longing for just a few things in life to return to normal. And finally, Palm Sunday – back in the sanctuary, at last, maybe for some a place with a sense of home, celebration, remembering, and hope.

Tuesday night was a time for the adults to go out to dinner, while the kids stayed behind. Nancy and I joined our good friends John and Shelly Wierick for dinner with Pastor Mike and his wife Christina. By way of history, we originally made this trip to New Orleans because of our long term connection with Mike and Christina from their days at Fuller Seminary, some 16 or so years ago. It was a wonderful time of reconnection with dear friends.

That You Might Not Dance Alone
Mike spoke to us of his church, his hope for the future, and of the comedy and tragedy of coping through each day in New Orleans. He also spoke of some of the “unique” folks in his congregation. His stories were for me a wonderful metaphor of what the church can be. One story in particular stands out:

Canal Street Presbyterian had a rather unique worship service some months ago, before Katrina. The Praise Band was playing some rather “bouncy” music, when one of the worshippers decided it was time to get up in the isles and…. dance. Now, mind you, in some church circles, this dancing would be perfectly fine. But (gasp!) in a Presbyterian Church? Egads! Rather uncommon, this dancing! It seems the person who decided it was time to dance had a bit of a history of choosing to do interesting things during worships services, but all from a heart filled with gratitude for God’s grace. Again, perfectly fine behavior, given the proper setting, particular for us Presbyterians.

By Providence, sitting behind this lone dancer at this service was a retired pastor of perhaps 75 years. You would think that this man, as an exemplary Presbyterian, would know when to behave himself. But, when he noticed the dancing celebrant in front of him, he decided…… he would get up and dance too. Not that he felt lead to dance or even a particularly good liturgical dancer; as he later explained to Pastor Mike, “I just did not want our friend to have to dance alone.”

Last Sunday at the Canal Street worship service we sang a song:

Put on the garments of praise for the spirit of heaviness.
Let the oil of gladness flow down from Your throne.
Make these broken weary bones rise to dance again.

Our culture, our work, our very lives often demand that we dance alone. That is the American way you know – self determination and all that. “If you want a job done right, do it yourself”. Ben Franklin once said, “I am lord of myself, accountable to none.” Can we ever learn to buck this trend, and to be really different as Christ’s people? Can we come out of our comfy little boxes, and learn to dance, and to dance with others. To share the joy, to feel the music. To dance with even the unlovely or those who make us feel uncomfortable, so that they might not dance alone? With Christ as our model, I would hope we can learn a new dance.

And I know this; people will be watching.

Waxing Pews and Learning About Levees

Monday Afternoon

The condition of Canal Street Church, seven months after Katrina still leaves much to be desired, and yet, much has been accomplished. The church sanctuary took on about 6 inches of water for several weeks last September. New carpet has been installed, and the pews refinished. At the point of our arrival, the carpeting work was just completed, and our family was able to wax the pews and swab the wooden floors.

However, many of the other rooms in the first floor of the church remain in essentially shell condition, and it may be months before a number of Sunday school rooms, the kitchen area and other classrooms can be used. There remains a faint smell of mold. Walls on the first floor have been re-dry walled up to about the four foot level, as mold had been discovered in the walls. There is more work for others, for some time to come. Stay tuned on this topic.

Monday Night

For those of you who care, the UCLA Bruins were in the NCAA basketball final game last Monday. Alright, they lost. Next topic. Pastor Mike had arranged a viewing venue for the big game at the home of his good buddy Jon Khachaturian, who as it turns out is the founder of Versabar Inc. Jon is an engineer by training, an avid golfer, and has some definite opinions about the large scale engineering issues associated with the levee failures during Katrina, the role of the Corp of Engineers, and the acumen of New Orleans political leaders. Jon's company has removed a significant amount of heavy ships in the New Orleans area, and is involved in the heavy lifting required to rehab a number of off shore oils rigs in the Gulf Coast.

After the Bruins started to look rather hopeless, some of us retired to Jon’s home office (littered with golf clubs and a wonderful picture of Bobby Jones) to view a presentation he would be giving the next day to an engineering school about the general condition of things in New Orleans. In a word, what we learned was fascinating.

For more of a bit of local history from an ethics professor on the conditions in New Orleans see Boyd Blundell, a member of Canal Street Church.

Officer Oscar's Story

It has been a very busy week. Piling, cleaning, sawing, nailing, sweeping, vacuuming (sort of...using a defective vacuum), listening, exploring, eating, cheering (on Monday for the UCLA Bruins in their failed attempt at the NCAA basketball crown) laughing, and learning. Sorry for the lack of news, but I will try to catch up a bit today and tomorrow.

Monday Morning

This is the home of "Officer Oscar", as he became known to us on Monday of this week. Our job on Monday morning was to assist another work crew from the Philadelphia area in "gutting" Oscar's home in the Lakeview District of New Orleans. If you look closely, you might see the standing watermark on the house at about the 8 foot level. Pretty much everything Oscar's family of three (wife and 2 year old son) owned in the world was piled up on the curb, after only about three hours of our work cleaning out. Everything in the house was left essentially as it was on August 28, 2006, the day before Katrina hit. Childrens toys on the floor, a refrigerator full of very toxic food, a washing machine still full of brackish flood water. Mold to the ceiling. The smell of mold everywhere.

Then, imagine this. A crew of strangers you don't know shows up at your home SEVEN months after Katrina, and in a matter of hours, has piled everything you ever had on the curb, and is already busy tearing the walls down to the bear studs when you show up around lunch time.

After a couple of hours of our work, Oscar showed up and (pictured here in the yellow shirt, surrounded by our demo team) spent some time with us on the back porch. His story of the storm is amazing. The initial surge from the 17th Street canal breach topped the roof of his home. Soon after, the flood waters settled in at about the 8 foot level for three weeks, until water could be pumped out of the neighborhood. The frist time Oscar saw his home after the flood was several days afterward, with one of his fellow officers, in a boat.

Oscar has not been emotionally able to return to his home for very long, and is basically coping with life, living in a rented home outside of New Orleans. He is still on the police force, and is working 14 to 16 hour days in order to make as much overtime money as possible. Before Katrina, the New Orleans police force consisted of 1,600 officers. Today, its 1,200 officers, all stretched to the limit. I was impressed with the few minutes we had to spend with Oscar. He did not leave. He loves his work, and his family. He intends to stay and make a go of it here in New Orleans, in spite of the uncertain future of his home. His days consist of a foot beat in the downtown area of New Orleans, a beat that he enjoys, because, as he puts it, "I know who all the bad guys are in my patrol area".

My prayer is that Oscar might find Hope, purpose, and a reason to keep on.

More later, I am working off of a City of New Orleans wireless connection that is pretty spotty.

Peace

Joy Amidst Devastation

Greetings from the Crescent City. The Home of Jazz. New Orleans. (for enlargements of any photo, merely click on the photo)

A city of contrasts almost unimaginable. Devastation on a scale that confounds belief. Our first impression, in the downtown area, near the French Quarter, was that not much had happened. Then as you move north, you can see the water line marks on buildings rising slowly higher. Destruction and desolation, literally for miles.

And strangely, almost beyond comprehension, today we also found hope, singing, smiles, people laughing and crying, embracing and encouraging. Today, in the middle of hopeless and loss, suffering and very slow recovery, we found joy. It has been almost seven months to the day since the land fall of Katrina. Seven months. Remember this.

The Faithful
Today, we joined the faithful of Canal Street Presbyterian Church in New Orleans for morning worship. I have had only a handful of moment in my life where I new that I was standing in a very Holy place, where perhaps I might be seeing just a glimpse of something beyond my reach, a peek at what heaven just might be like. Today was one of those times. Signing, praying, confession, rejoicing, weeping, and laughing. Children, youth and their parents, and seniors, all in one room with one voice, one heart. Giving thanks, offering petitions, lifting praise, admitting sadness and frustration, and asking God that they might have humble spirits as they recover and assist others. What a wonderful swirl of feelings, emotions, and the gentle and mysterious Spirit of God, present in our midst.

The Devastation
This afternoon, after church, our friends (Pastor) Mike and Christina Hogg took us on an extended tour of New Orleans. We traveled north from the church first to the Lakeview District, an attractive upscale suburban neighborhood. This area is very close to a levee breech/failure that occurred during Katrina. Imagine a comfortable neighborhood stretching for blocks and blocks, with home after home after home vacant, abandoned, some gutted, some not. Every single door painted with the signal markings of search and rescue teams from the early days of last September. Most homes are standing, save for those in the one-half mile radius of the levee breech, many of which were moved from their foundations by the breaching water. The highest water mark we saw was about 12 feet deep. Nearly beyond understanding.

From there, we traveled to the storied 9th Ward. This are was clearly one of the most economically impacted and neglected areas of New Orleans prior to Katrina. Today, the 9th Ward is utterly devastated. From the little I know of real estate issues, I can only guess that the area of near complete devastation is at least 3 or 4 square miles. No utilities, no residents, homes knocked off their foundations and literally flattened by the power of a breached levee (hit by a loose barge during the hurricane). The challenges here are enormous, nearly beyond the ability to comprehend. When I have more time, I will link to sites that explain more of this, for those who are interested.

Joy
Christina told us today that about one-half of the faithful present today at Canal Street church have lost everything. Everything. Their homes, their possessions, maybe even their future. Gone.

But wait. Ask the people of Canal Street, have they lost it all? Is it really ALL gone? Today, Pastor Mike read a portion of the morning Scripture:

Isaiah 58:
11The LORD will guide you always;
he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land
and will strengthen your frame.
You will be like a well-watered garden,
like a spring whose waters never fail.

12 Your people will rebuild the ancient ruins
and will raise up the age-old foundations;
you will be called Repairer of Broken Walls,
Restorer of Streets with Dwellings.

Today, this ancient scripture became real to me. Today, we saw devastation. But today, we saw hope. Today, we saw joy.

A Different Kind of Spring Break

Its Spring Break week next week for the kids.

About a month ago, my wife and I began a discussion with our girls, now 12 and 15, about what our Spring Break together would look like. We typically have gone someplace for a couple of days, enjoyed being together, laughed, played in a pool. Just family time.

So, this year, we asked the kids what they wanted to do. Heather, our 12 year old immediately offered this suggestion. She wants to learn to snowboard, after loving our ski vacation last spring. Kelly, the 15 year old (after much sighing and eye-rolling about the completely dumb idea of her sister) liked my suggestion for a trip here. This idea was met with howls of protest from Heather, and a look of mild frustration from my dear wife (who, at the end of the day, knows better about most things in life, except pro golf and the finer points of PC operation).

And so, there you have it - an impasse. Typical team work by our family. Unity, joy, happiness. Complete agreement on all things. No conflict. Shiny happy people holding hands. Suburban bliss.

So, what to do? How should we indulge ourselves this year?

And then, a moment of clarity. Something completely different. No ski slopes, no shopping on Fifth Avenue. A contrast might be good, for us all, and even maybe, for our souls. We are going to spend our Spring Break -- in New Orleans.

My old friend, Pastor Mike, who I have mentioned here several times before, leads a church in New Orleans. They need our hands, our feet, and maybe our smiles, words of encouragement, and our love, however brief and fleeting. And come to think of it, we need them - the people of Canal Street church, the body of Christ. I think I need them more than they need me. To learn from them, to experience their world, to look in their eyes, to see what they deal with each day. I hope, I pray, it makes us better people, and more importantly, that our visit might be a cup of cool water to those in need.

Off we go, on Saturday. More soon.

Not Easy Answers

The whole situation in Iraq is painfully difficult, beyond my ability to fully comprehend. However, I would like all six of you who faithfully peek in on my musings to take a good look at this article from The American Enterprise Institute (whose offices I drove past in Washington, while I was there for business just last week).

It should be understood that the author is not a hack for the White House. Most interesting line in this article to me:

"Telling the Iraqis to "sink or swim" soon, therefore, is tantamount to telling them to drown."

I provide this as food for thought for my good friend Rob Asghar.

Note: The photo above was nominated for a Pulitzer Prize. The caption reads:

"Fallujah - U.S. Marines pray over a fellow Marine killed while fighting insurgent strongholds. (Photo by Murad Sezer, April 8, 2004.)"

To me, the tragedy, heartache, and nobility of this image are beyond words.

Tonight, Its Good to be a Bruin!

Its not over until the Fat Lady sings.

Sometimes, life surprises you. Tonight, my favorite team in college basketball pulled a shocker of a win in the final seconds - in a game in which they had trailed by as much as 17 points. The Gutty Little Bruins did not fold, did not fade, but behaved like the Little Engine That Could, and won. Persistence paid off.

On to the Elite Eight in the NCAA Tournament. March Madness Baby!

After years and years of college football obscurity, its nice to have a basketball team that is performing well. May the Lord find some form of mercy and favor on my gloating heart.

To my pal Rob Asghar, thanks for the magnanimous good wishes today at lunch, they paid off! You may be "post evangelical", but I still love you, and likely that Jesus does too. But I am not his sole spokesperson.

And to my friend Steve Bock, who sometimes questions my character, I am sorry that your team did play very well this year.

History Speaks

Today, on the way to work, I heard this, the story of this.

Based on my recent musings about this life, I find the words of Henry O. Gusley sobering and meaningful:

Today, though a date of no particular note in history, is one of importance to ourself, being no less than the anniversary of our birth. That event is recorded in the Family Bible at home as having occurred on the 26th day of November, A.D. 1837--making us, therefore, today exactly 25 years of age. It is natural for one to look back and review his past life on days like this. He is forcibly reminded that he is progressing onward in years, and though long and tedious have seemed the days and months as they were passing by, yet when we bethink ourselves of the occurrences [since] our last natal anniversary, and even the one prior to that, we are struck by the swiftness with which years are accumulating upon us. Two years ago we spent this day in the pursuits of peace at home and the number of our years was unheeded. The next found our beloved country torn by treason and divided by civil war, and ourself in the ranks of the defenders of the constitution and the laws. Today we are helping to represent that constitution and to uphold it in one of the traitor-States. Where the next shall find us we know not. But we dismiss the subject, leaving hopes for the future unexpressed, and accepting our fate as a soldier and a bachelor with all the grace in our power.

How interesting, the persistence of human nature. A voice from history speaks to me, to us all, even today.

Update! Possible Pastoral Candidate Located

I am contacting those responsible for the new pastor search at my church. I may have located a potential candidate. I mean talk about emergent, post-modern, relevant, and hip. And he knows the words to "Tiny Bubbles"!

I think we are done searching.

Overcoming Unbelievable Odds

Something remarkable happened today.

In the frigid cold of Nome, Alaska, Rachel Scdoris, who is legally blind and just 20 years old, just finished the 1,100 Iditarod Dog Sled Race. This is her second attempt, after having to scratch last year.

This is just plain amazing. The power of the human spirit is remarkable. I love stories like this.

Time, Drudgery, Bocelli, Lent, and Mercy

I am 47 years old. For some reason, I find myself preoccupied often with the concept of time. If there only was a way in which one could freeze time, that would be wonderful. Oh, how I wish, rather nostalgically, that I could have frozen time when our daughters were little, say, at 3 and 6 years old, perhaps. What a precious time that was (although I did not have a clue how precious then).

My life sometimes feels rather rote. Same thing, each day; get up, pick up the paper, feed the dog, read the headlines (after finding my glasses), shower, shave, dress, drive kids to school, Starbucks stop, 10 minutes to the office, sit down, answer emails, blah, blah, blah.

Does the Creator inhabit the ordinary? Is His Mercy found in each moment? Can the drudgery of each day, in fact become something of Divinity being slowly revealed?

But then, there are these moments. Little epiphanies if you will. Last week, I stole (ok, come and get me, FBI) a CD from a friend's collection. I am not sure why I took it. It might be a quest, deep in my soul for something sacred, a longing for even a peek at eternity. Maybe to understand....time.

The CD you ask? No, not The Carpenter's Greatest Hits.

Andrea Bocelli - Sacred Arias.

Andrea was born among the vineyards of Tuscany, still an infant when he developed glaucoma, and rendered blind by a brain hemorrhage at the age of 12. Music filtering into his room soothed the unsettled child, and his passion for music brought light back into his life. He grew up and went to law school, but always longed to sing. Turns out, Andrea and I were born 92 days apart in 1958.

Music filtering into my car and my office this week has soothed this somewhat unsettled middle-aged guy. In particular arias that remind me of the fragility of life, the condition of our humanity, and the mysteriously great love of God:

Ingemisco - Giuseppe Verdi, Messa de Requiem

I groan, like the sinner that I am;

guilt redeems my face.

O God, spare the supplicant.

You who pardoned Mary and heeded the thief

have given me hope as well

My prayers are unworthy, but you who are good,

in pity let me not burn in the eternal fire.

Give me a place among the sheep and separate me from the goats;

let me stand at your right hand.

I still don't understand much. I don't get time, feeling like life is going through the motions, raising girls that are turning into young ladies far too fast.

But I know a few things. I know where I am headed. I know that this is not my home. I know that each day offers opportunities to care, to serve, and to reflect a life transformed by God. To build the Kingdom here. To aleve suffering, bring healing.

I know I have been given hope. I want a place among the sheep.

Its a Matter of Perspective

So, last week I am having one of my rare quiet lunches. Just me and several back issues of the Wall Street Journal (the world's most excellent newspaper). No clients, no office staff. Just me and the paper. Ahhh, bliss for the sometime introvert that I am. And in the "offbeat" center column of the front page, I come across this article, which definitely has my interest.

I find a link to this web site in the article. I visit the web site, and get nearly giddy with some of the ideas, concepts, and direction of what these folks are up to. Jesus, for the rest of us! To see who is behind this novel idea, look here.

So now, since, as my friend Rob points out, I have a less-than-adequate education, I need some of my more theologically minded friends to pitch in, and post their thoughts on the Off-The-Map folks.

Do We Give Jesus All of our Politics?

I know this remarkable fellow. Rob Asghar. He has lead a most interesting life. Perhaps one of the most interesting parts of this life is his convertion to a Christ-follower, after growing up Muslim. Rob has been a friend for about 10 years, and has never ceased to make me think, question my world view, and consider new ideas. Rob just doesn't fit into a neat Christian Box, darn it. But the older I get, the less it seems (I think) that even Jesus does not fit into that box I made for him, darn him.

I am thankful for Rob.

Recently Rob has been taking aim at a man I have met and admire; Hugh Hewitt. But the issues Rob raises are really less about Hugh, and are far more about the way some of us Christian folk think. Sometimes I wonder, is it American Christian, or Christian American?

Stuff That Bugs and Confuses Me
A couple of things that bother me. First, the "we have it all together" mentality of the Christian Right. While there is much on the left side of the political spectrum that I find inconsistent with the message of the Gospel, I do not in any way remain convinced that Conservatives have the corner on the sum total of all truth.

While I support the current military action in Iraq, Rob Asghar well points out that "national defense as an extension of Biblical theology" is something to be suspect of. For more on that concept, please see this. I do not have all the answers, but I do know a pacifist take to the events of WWII would have had disastrous consequences for world history. And I do think deposing Saddam was a good thing, but I am saddened by the ongoing brokenness of Iraq. However, if we, as a country are offended by the concept of brutal dictators, then why, please tell me, do we simply watch from the sidelines what is happening in Dahfur? And what of the band of loonies current semi-starving the people of North Korea? Do we simply invade at will? What would Jesus do....please tell me?

How about the social contracts we make in our own nation? While I bristle at an "entitled class", and the lock-step behavior of many unions, we Christian folk best keep in our mind the Biblical mandate of care for the poor and forgotten. Unsettling ideas that Jesus fellow had.

What about that City?
Christ described our role as followers to be that city on a hill. But how can we do that if we all look the same, act the same, and have the same politics. I am not sure. But I do know this, if I really, really want to follow Jesus, it means that I need to give Him all of myself, including, even maybe, my politics. The church universal has amazing things to offer, in all its colors and forms. I love Eugene Peterson's take on this:

We are......"here to be light, bringing out the God-colors in the world. God is not a secret to be kept. We're going public with this, as public as a city on a hill"

And so, what does our public form look like? Is it an army perfectly lined up behind James Dobson, Pat Robertson, and their type. On the other hand, do we blindly follow Jim Wallis, Hilary, and Al Franken? Do we all join the National Council of Churches, hold hands, sing inclusive songs, and equally recognize the wonderfulness of the Divinity of the Month?

I hope its neither. I also pray that whatever form we take, it is something mysteriously beautiful. That is my hope.

Jesus, Lord of All?

To begin with, if the image at left does not give you some form of the willies, then you might want to move right along, perhaps to another planet.

My friend Rob Asghar, born and raised a Muslim, and now a follower of Jesus, has some thoughtful things to say about the whole issue of conservative thought. Go, read, and then, please....think! What Would Jesus Do...indeed?!

I want to spend some more time on this soon, but life is tugging me in many directions. This is part of having two girls, age 12 and 15, and something else to do with the fact that the in-laws are visiting from out of town for the next 10 days!

The Lent I Almost Missed

A week ago tomorrow was the beginning of Lent. A time of reflection, repentance, submission, and above all, a six week season of remembering the most profound event in all of human history, the crucifixion and resurrection of Christ.

It began without me. I am not sure why, but by the end of Wednesday, my workaday life has rushed past, and I was not able to find the time to make it to a wonderful tradition of a Lenten service at my church. Early in the day last Wednesday, I even drove by the door of our local Catholic Church, and wondered if I should go inside, risking my Protestant coolness, and receive the imposition of ashes. A sign of my repentance and helplessness before God. Nope, I thought, I am not gonna do that. Wouldn't be prudent. Stay the course. I drove on, too distracted by my own life, and selfconscious of my own weakness to take a small risk, and step forward to receive a mark upon my forehead.

Somewhat ironically, the word "Lent" comes from a Middle Eastern word for spring. Ash Wednesday is a Christian holiday (holy day) that is not a biblical requirement (rather like Christmas). Nevertheless, it has been honored by Christians for well over ten centuries at the beginning of Lent. In the earliest centuries, Christians who had fallen into persistent sin had ashes sprinkled on their bodies as a sign of repentance, even as Job repented "in dust and ashes" (Job 42:6). Around the tenth century, all believers began to signify their need for repentance by having ashes placed on their foreheads in the shape of a cross. Even this sign of sinfulness hinted at the good news yet to come through its shape.

A mark. Upon my forehead. A little cross. What would our lives be like, our culture be like, if the cross would not wash off. Permanent. Now that would make life different. Would I behave differently? One of the reasons I don't have a Christian fish on the back of my car is that I am not convinced that my "vehicular Christian witness" would not be perhaps suitable to witness for Jesus at all times.

And so, I hope to take the time over the next five weeks to pause, to think, to reflect on Jesus, on myself, and on my sinfulness, my feet of clay. And to remember the last weeks of Jesus' life, the difficult road he followed, the pain he felt, the loneliness, the confusion. To reflect on his final words, asking God why he had been forsakened.

We are not forsaken, we are found. We are loved. I will not miss the rest of this Lent.

A Serendipitous Sunday

Today, my wife and I took a quick getaway trip to San Diego (work thing for me). We had planned to visit this church, where our friend is an associate pastor.

We showed up, walked in the door, and found out that Bob Bennett was the guest artist in the worship service. I have loved Bob's music now for more than 20 years (although he is not the typical hip and cool Christian recording artist), and find his music, for me, at least, speaks to the heart of the gospel mystery.

Alright now, I have very few things happen in my life that are sort of a "Holy Spirit Whacked Me On The Head" type of thing. But this was one, definitely.

This Sunday I experienced one of the most gentle, wonderful, grace-filled church services in a very long time. A drink of cool, fresh water, after a season of rough sailing at our church home. What did I learn? There is hope, great hope!

I am thankful for the Body of Christ, as expressed in the faithful at Solana Beach Presbyterian Church.

Who Needs Church?`

Just go read this. It says it all.

Building Community, One Dinner At a Time

This has been a typically busy week, which explains in part my lack of dispatches from South Pasadena. However, the past 24 hours have been filled with the blessings of a life full, with kids, people, and marked by a neat sense of community; belonging, if you will.

Tonight our house was filled with conversation and laughter, as we hosted the couples class from our church for dinner. We had the following wonderful folks, as mentioned by their occupations, in no particular order. Fireman, mothers (3), child care workers (2), optician, Christian education director at our church, aspiring musician and child care worker, special education teacher, web designer and aspiring film/tv writer, and business valuation consultant. This is part of our fellowship that is just starting and this a small part of the Kingdom. I am greatly thankful for these relationships, for their variety, their beauty, and the trust each person places to share their lives with us. May our love for each other grow, and may we grow to know the Savior in a way that brings grace to others.

Last night brought a sense of belonging in another way. It was Father's Follies night at South Pasadena Middle School. For the second year in a row, I was recruited by my wife (like I would volunteer!?) to take part in the "Dad's Who Dance" chorus line. Imagine 20-some middle aged dads performing chorus line kicks, turns, and other risky moves in a middle school auditorium complete with dropping balloons in the big finale. Its a night to raise money for the Middle School PTA; you have the basic concept. There are (thank God) no images of the actual dancing event, but we do have this image of Heather (age 12) and I after the show. It was a rousing success, and featured a variety of, shall we say, "unique" acts. It was a blast dancing with the other Dads, laughing, and making fun of our middle-agedness together.

Last year, during rehearsal, the principal commented to me that her motivation for this event was not about more raising money and having fun. In the town where she grew up, the Father's Follies had been a tradition for something like 30 years. Huge crowds came every year. She then added, "This is not all about raising money, its about building community". She was right, and we did - build community that is. It was great. May Father's Follies grow, and may our sense of community deepen.

In this fractured world, we need to be connected. We need a true sense of community.

Little Is Most...In The Kingdom

For the past couple of days...I have not had much to say here. But I have been thinking about some wonderful people who serve the youth at our church. You can go learn about them here. These are amazing folks, serving Christ by serving kids. Spending time.

My thoughts are not of much worth, but the thoughts of Henri Nouwen seem to fit very well in relation to these youth leaders, who give so much of themselves for others:

"Jesus is God-with-us, Emmanuel. The great mystery of God becoming human is God's desire to be loved by us. By becoming a vulnerable child, completely dependent on human care, God wants to take away all distance between the human and the divine. Who can be afraid of a little child that needs to be fed, to be cared for, to be taught, to be guided? We usually talk about God as the all-powerful, almighty God on whom we depend completely. But God wanted to become the all-powerless, all-vulnerable God who completely depends on us. How can we be afraid of a God who wants to be "God-with-us" and needs us to become "Us-with-God"?

There is much emphasis on notoriety and fame in our society. Our newspapers and television keep giving us the message: What counts is to be known, praised, and admired, whether you are a writer, an actor, a musician, or a politician.Still, real greatness is often hidden, humble, simple, and unobtrusive. It is not easy to trust ourselves and our actions without public affirmation. We must have strong self-confidence combined with deep humility. Some of the greatest works of art and the most important works of peace were created by people who had no need for the limelight. They knew that what they were doing was their call, and they did it with great patience, perseverance, and love."

Thanks, youth leaders at Hollywood Pres.

Not All Americans are Jerks

I am married to a Canadian. My wife Nancy was born and raised in Canada, and received her US citizenship several years ago. After the events of the past two weeks at the Olympics, I wonder if she might not want to turn in her passport.

Chad Hedrick. Shani Davis. And then, Bode Miller.

Americans all. Brash, loud, self-concerned. Disappointing.

Someone needs to show these people this word. I doubt any of them have ever considered its meaning.

But then, there are little glimmers of hope. Take Chip Knight, (go, read!, sign up might be required, but worth it) for instance. And then there is always my personal favorite, Kelly Clark.

We Americans have a ton of work to do on our humility factor. Perhaps people like Kelly and Chip, can show us the way.

Just A Speck, But Loved

I have this friend who is a rocket scientist. Really. He works at JPL, and he supervises the development of little things like this. His name is Dave, and he is a remarkable guy; one of the funniest people I know. I was thinking about Dave today, while heading back to the office on the freeway.

I was also thinking about Dark Matter. I heard a piece on NPR a couple of weeks ago while in the shower (we have a shower radio) that almost made me want to fall to the tiled floor in amazement. Or crumple up in a ball and hide in the corner. Or maybe run outside and look up at the sky and weep.

How is it that I am here? At this time. On this planet. Surrounded by family that loves me. But there are others on this planet that face such pain and poverty that they don't know if they will make it another day. How is all this? I thought some of these same questions 26 years ago, as I was beginning my senior year at UCLA. I stood of the verge of the rest of my life, having nearly completed my degree, and wondering what I was going to do after college. What would my life look like? Who would I marry, would I even marry in the first place? Would there be children? Would I make enough money to be independent? Would I be happy? What is happiness, really, anyway?

And these questions, along with some remarkable relationships with some good Christian people, lead me to church. There, for the first time in my life, I heard about this man. Jesus. And my life has never been the same since.

My friend Dave knows more about the Hubble Space Telescope, Infared Astronomy, and Dark Matter than almost all of the rest of us do. He can make a Delta rocket lift very heavy things into space to study things most of us earth people can barely get our minds around. And interestingly enough, my friend Dave has had an encounter with Jesus also.

This leads me to my drive home from my Mom & Dads home the other evening. I had gone over at the end of the day to check on some clean-up work we are doing before we rent the house out. It always feels sort of strange to wander around that now dark and cold home, with all the items from my childhood memories laid out - in anticipation of a coming estate sale. How did I get from that house in Arcadia to our house in South Pasadena, about 7.5 miles, over the course of the past 25 years or so. Who lead me? Who was I following, and what was I following? And why?

As I drove home the sky was quite remarkable. A brilliant sunset after a couple of days of rain. It was cold, brisk, weather that sort of wakes you up. And then, a song by Sara Groves come on the CD player in the car:

I've been feeling kind of restless. I've been feeling out of place. I can hear a distant singing, a song that I can't write, but it echoes in what I'm always trying to say. There's a feeling I can't capture. It's always just a prayer away. I want to know the ending, things hoped for but not seen, but I guess that's the point in hoping anyway. . Chorus: Going home, I'll meet you at the table. Going home, I'll meet you in the air. You are never too young to think about it. Oh, I cannot wait to be home . I'm confined by my senses to really know what you are like. You are more than I can fathom, more than I can guess, and more than I can see with human sight. . But I have felt you with my spirit. I have felt you fill this room. This is just an invitation, a sample of the whole, and I cannot wait to be going home. . Chorus . Face to face how can it be? Face to face how can it be? Face to face how can it be?

The sunset was stunning. My eyes filled with tears. I don't feel ready to go home yet. I love it here, with all its joy, and struggle, and pain, and wonder. But someday, I will finally be home, where I really belong.

Dave. Dark Matter. This life here, for a brief while. Jesus - God with us.

Amazing. All of it.

Geeked Out!

Oh my gosh...oh my gosh....oh my gosh!! I am soooo excited!! Forget the Olympics!

They have finally invented the most outstandingly cool and excellent computer game ever. I can barely contain myself......have to go out now and buy it!

A New Olympic Hero

Talk about character. My new Olympic hero, did not finish gold, silver, or bronze. Kelly Clark finished fourth, out of the medals.

But not out of the Kingdom. From Sports Illustrated:

After Clark, 22, won the Olympics at the Salt Lake Games she struggled with the expectations to consistently perform at the highest level. When reporters asked her at the X Games three years ago what went wrong with her second-place run, she began to sour on the sport. A knee injury the following season kept her off the snow for eight months. During that time, Clark attended a church near her Mammoth Lakes, Calif., condo.

Though she was unable to capitalize on another Olympic medal, Clark takes comfort in her new identity as a Christian. While close friends Teter and Bleiler were stepping up to the medal podium at the bottom of the Bardonecchia halfpipe, Clark stood nearby wiping away tears.

"I love Jesus," says Clark, who has the name written on her board. "[Being a Christian] is more joyful than all this snowboarding stuff."

Amen, Kelly

Big Questions

Here are two questions to ponder:

What issues in our world today do you think God really cares about? What are you doing about them?

Of Character, Dude with Attitude, and Girl with Cow

If you are listening, the Olympics offer many lessons on the human condition. Take for instance, two athletes, Bode Miller and Lindsay Kildow.

From the 60 Minutes interview with Bode Miller, we have this tidbit:

Does he think his partying has ever interfered with his performance? "Definitely. There's been times when I have been in really tough shape at the top of the course," says Miller. "Talk about a hard challenge right there. I mean, if you ever tried to ski when you're wasted, it's not easy. Try and ski a slalom when the gates are," Miller says, making a hand motion. "You hit a gate less than every one a second, so it's risky, you know. You're putting your life at risk there. It's like driving drunk only there's no rules about it in ski racing." Is he saying he'll never do it again? "No. I'm not saying that," Miller says.

I once watched a 14 year old get a broken leg at the bottom of the ski slopes after being whacked hard from behind from one of Bode's stoned compatriots, and it was not a pretty thing. Get fired up, America. We have another less than upstanding role model for kids on our Olympic team. And then, in giant Slalom, where does our role model place? Fourth. Poetic justice in my mind. He is already a millionaire, so my heart is not broken.

And then we have Linsey Kildow, who suffered a remarkable crash in early action this week, and after two days in the hospital, came back to ski to a fifth place finish in women's slalom. This, to me, is character, fighting through the pain, and coming back.

To top it off, Lindsay does not necessarily find money appealing all the time:

On Dec. 17, 2005, Kildow won the downhill in Val d'Isere, France, and with it came her choice of either the standard prize money, or slightly less money and a cow. She chose the cow package and named her new pet Olympe. "I'll miss her for a while, but oh well," said Kildow about her time apart from the animal. "We're not going to be together, but hopefully she'll be thinking about me." The animal is currently still in Val d'Isere, but Kildow has made arrangements to have it moved in October to Austria, where the women's team has apartments.

Which person would you choose to have your kids hang around with? I pick girl with cow over dude with attitude.

Downhill, Baby!

Alright people. Stop reading blogs, and watch the Olympics....

Preacher Sonny, Do It Yourself Church, and Me

The imagery and concept of submission has been something that has always resonated in my soul. I am not sure why. Perhaps it is because I feel that I need it so much, and yet practice it so little. I am self sufficient, Type-A, a "doer", if you will. One of my favorite books is "Undaunted Courage" - the story of Lewis & Clark's exploration of the west. Now there were two take-charge guys!

If left to my own devices, I would do most everything alone, on my own. I am an only child. Who needs other people, let alone a bunch of other people focused around, of all things, a religious organization! Church? Oh please. My friend Tod is talking about this some more, and I really like where he is headed.

And yet, I stay. In church. In a big old church, one that some camps have labeled as too liberal, and others find too conservative (perhaps a good place to be, come to think of it). And I have chosen to stay in a church going through crisis. Definitely not cool. Very uncool. And then to make matters even more odd, I signed on to serve some more in this church.

I wish, when we installed and ordained our leaders, we might take a cue from the Catholics. On our faces, pointed toward the cross. And then, rise slowly to our knees, knowing that we must live our lives as real people, transparent people, and remember that the cold, dark ground is very close, and will someday enclose us all as we leave this planet. Wounded Healers. Servant Leaders. Oh, that it might be more so.