This Old Church

Recently, several good friends asked me to write down my thoughts about our church.

They asked me this because, over the past 10 years, I have spent a good amount of time, reading, studying, and thinking about this topic, and how our old church fits into the fabric of Hollywood and Los Angeles. After 25 years (!) of membership I feel mixed emotions about this effort. Sadness and expectation. Thanksgiving and disappointment. And yet, in the midst of it all, hope. Great hope. I must confess that writing this post has been difficult; it's like trying to describe a complex relationship with a family member. There are parts you love so much, and other parts that make you crazy.

An Amazing Place
The First Presbyterian Church of Hollywood is a remarkable place, having been founded in 1906. The founders record in the minutes of one of the first church meetings that, "having viewed several locations in the area for possible church development, of these, Hollywood seemed the least promising". And so, in many ironic ways, this sentiment has reappeared many times over the past century. Hollywood - least promising. Has a certain sarcastic ring to it, no?

The "Golden Years" of Hollywood Pres occurred in the 1950's, as Sunday attendance often exceeded 4,000. Sunday services were broadcast on local radio. Henrietta Mears began a college-age ministry that became known around the country. Actually, church attendance peaked across the country in this time period, never to be eclipsed again. Since those years, church attendance has been on a slow decline, in keeping with many mainline denominations across the country.

But, in the midst of the changes over the years, genuine Christian community still existed. In spite of a decline in overall attendance, many facets of the church's life flourished. The core of the church was vital and active; still seeking after the call and ministry of Jesus. A national media ministry began and flourished for more than 10 years, featuring former pastor Lloyd Ogilvie. A new incarnational ministry, involving young people living in, and caring for the inner city of Hollywood was begun in the 1980s. An extensive feeding and care program for the homeless began, and has continued, feeding hundreds every week. In the 1990s two Actor's Equity theater companies began, in two separate theaters on the church campus; they continue to this day. The legacy of our church has been to proclaim the Gospel, and serve the city, for Christ's sake.

Not Like It Used To Be
The dawn of a new century reveals a church working to find its way in a city that is changing around it. Commercial infill development in Hollywood has increased significantly over the past several years. New residential towers now occupy the neighborhood surrounding the church, and the demographic of the area is gentrifying.

Once thought of as a secondary commercial center of Los Angeles, Hollywood is now becoming the location of choice for both businesses and upscale residents. At the same time, the city around the church continues to struggle with issues of crime and a significant immigrant population. Hollywood Presbyterian spent much of the period of 1970 to 2000 serving as a home base "commuter church" to the larger Los Angeles, area, drawing members from as far away as Orange County. Today, that trend is reversing, and those who call the church home come from closer in, both in Hollywood and the urban core of Los Angeles.

The conclusion that we must face together as our church looks to the future is this: The old ways of thinking about how to “do church better” simply will not work. A new paradigm is needed.

Building a Team
During the past 25 years, the pastoral leadership model at Hollywood Pres has changed and evolved. During the 1950s, 60s, and 70s, the model was one of a strong pastoral leader - with a subservient staff surrounding him, a Benevolent King, if you will. During the 1990's, the model of this kind of central, autocratic leadership proved painfully distressing for the church, and a painful split in the congregation took place. Something new is needed.

In the current post-modern context, the former models of leadership style also will no longer work. A new leadership model is needed for a new era. A completely new model of "doing church" must be shaped. What do we do when a church’s organization becomes cumbersome or is no longer effective? In the past the church has “reorganized” and formed more committees. Subtly, the church becomes good at church committee work, and slowly loses its ability to care for individual people; to love people for Christ. While we might find strength in our re-empowered governing and overseeing bodies, we must remember how to cultivate and nurture real and genuine personal relationships which love one another as Jesus demonstrated.

The church seeks a leader, and moreover, a leadership team that consists of "player/coaches" who participate in ministry at the grass roots levels, sharing responsibility with the congregation. This is our church together, we can no longer rely on the old model that assigned all ministry to paid staff. Each member of the church must seek out and participate in the areas of their own personal passion for service.

We believe the transforming love of Christ does, indeed, change lives, and can in turn, transform the city around us. Together, we seek to live out the abundant life of following Jesus on a daily basis. In offices and schools, living rooms and coffee shops, work and home, bringing joy, laughter, real love, and hope into the heart of this enigmatic city that surrounds us. We are here, in this city, for Christ's sake.

Could Have Left - But Stayed and Embraced the City
Our church is still here; we have not left the city, and we will not be going away anytime soon. We are tenacious, hopeful, faithful, persistent. We do not give up easily. We will stay involved in this remarkable city around us. We have not given up hope for the city.

We will stay here, in the midst of a noisy, confusing, sometimes stark and uncaring city. We will not leave, we will continue to dream, create and live out ways to care for this city, our home. We believe we are on this street corner for a purpose that is beyond and above us all. We will continue to be here for years to come.

We seek to serve this city for Christ's sake.

Glory Bound - Wailin' Jennys

When I hear that trumpet sound
I will lay my burdens down
I will lay them deep into the ground
Then I'll know that I am glory bound

I'll be travelling far from home
But I won't be looking for to roam
I'll be crossing o'er the great divide
In a better home soon I will reside

Hallelujah

When I'm in my resting place
I'll look on my mother's face
Never more will I have to know
All the loneliness that plagues me so

So I'm waiting for that train to come
And I know where she's coming from
Listen can you hear her on the track
When I board I won't be looking back

Hallelujah

Bread, Wine, and Ashes

And so it is Lent again. A time of waiting, and preparation, and, if we allow time - for introspection.

This past Wednesday was the first day of Lent, and we took a family friend visiting from Toronto to the Lenten Evening service at our church. We meet in the chapel; it is a simple setting, with singing from the children's choir, and a homily reflection on the meaning of Lent.

At the end of the service all are invited forward to receive the imposition of ashes and communion. As preparation was made for this, two women of our congregation stood and moved forward. They had been given the task of placing the sign of the cross in ash on our foreheads, as we each came forward in the chapel, before we received communion.

And suddenly it hit me. This was the perfect choice. I have known both of these women for a while, and as their friend, I also know their stories. They are both remarkable. Their lives contrast mine. They have struggled, I have had it easy; they have found God in remarkable ways, my way to God has been much more simple, and well, boring.

Tough Choices, Courageous Woman
One of these women is a single mom. We will call her Mary. When she was younger, like lots of us, she made some bad decisions in life, and has spent a number of years recovering. Some days don't feel like recovery. She has raised a daughter on her own, a girl who is now 17 or so, and is doing alright. There are still tough times, and everything has not always worked out perfectly. It has been a challenge every step of the way.

Several years ago, in near mid-life, Mary sensed that God might be calling her to a completely unusual challenge - service as a military chaplain. She is now working part time in this role, attending seminary, and plans on entering this professional full time in the near future.

Mary's journey is the story of a life redeemed.

Pastor's Daughter, Becoming a Pastor
The other woman we will call Susan. She is the daughter of a pastor. When she was 16 years old, out of a sense of emptiness and with a troubled heart, she told her father that she no longer believed in Jesus. Religion was a farce.

Since she was a great student, she did fine in high school, and went to an Ivy League college. After graduation she became involved in community organizing and politics. Very important politics. At the same time, she also developed an addiction to drugs. She dabbled in Eastern religions, and attempted rehab. It was not working well, and one night, she decided to ditch the intake rehab program she was attending. So, she called a cab to take her away.

As it turns out, an angel was driving that cab. He was a Christ follower, listened to Susan's story, and told her God wanted her to return to that rehab program right away, and get her butt back in therapy.

To make a long story shorter, other people were praying for Susan during her struggles. She found her way home to God. Today, she also is in seminary, preparing for a life of ministry to others.

Hers is the story of a life rescued.

Bread, Wine, Ashes
Some think that God is dead, and lives of faith are merely manifestations of insecurity. But, last Wednesday, as we all stood in a line, waiting for a mark on our foreheads, and a little bit of bread dipped in wine, I thought differently.

I saw, standing before me, two lives, transformed.

Genesis 3:19:

...for dust you are
and to dust you will return.

Deus Semper Minor; The Small Way

Recently, and for the first time, I heard a friend speak the Latin words Deus semper minor. The literal translation of this is "God always smaller". I have been thinking about this. A lot.

Big American God
This little phrase seems to me to be disconnected with what we Americans like to hear. I mean, after all, we are Americans, dammit. We won the West, built the Transcontinental Railroad, conquered polio, won World War II, and put a man on the moon. Our God is not smaller, He is Bigger, and don't you forget it!

And today, we have lots of attractive televangelists telling us things like "It's Your Time" and "Become a Better You" and "Your Best Life Now". That God is not small. He is powerful. And Big. And friendly, and has good hair, no doubt. He even wants us to get rich, and He thinks poverty is for loosers.

A small God? We think not! We like him Big, and Tough, and Vindictive for our side.

Little Real God
But just look around at real life. Seems that quite often, God is actually, well, small.

Small in His seeming inability to stop poverty, unless we help Him. Small in His ability to heal all the sick, unless we fight like hell for years to find the cure. What about My Best Life Now, where is Big American God? What about that baby born with the genetic defect that will take his life before he is even three months old? Is this a little God? What about broken relationships, where is Big God in this?

But maybe the problem with God's apparent size is not really about size at all. We have distorted our expectations of both God's size, but also of what He is choosing to do in our world, and what He might want to do within, well, ......us.

Perhaps God's way is small. Small in the love we offer a friend, who is lonely, or sick, or hurting. Small, in sitting still and quietly listening to a friend share their hurt and frustration at how life does not seem fair. Small, in the form of money spent to feed others, rather than make ourselves feel comforted. Small, as we love those around us who seem to be poor in spirit. Small in the form of a hand held at a bedside in the final moments of life.

Maybe, after all, Deus Semper Minor. What do you think?

Lord Save Me From Myself

Turn this up....the sound is not so good, but the song is amazing:



My mind is dull and jaded
From these years of buy and sell
My eyes have seen the glory
Of this hollow post-modern shell

And sex is a grand production
But I'm bored with that as well
Ah, Lord save me from myself

Electric sun keep shining
Ripen daughters of the chrome
This world is where I breathe
Let it never be called home

The vultures make the money
Is where our bodies fell
Ah, Lord save me from myself.

The vultures make the money
I'm bored with that as well

Wow. Amen.

2010 Grammy Awards - No Idea What I'm Talking About

Tonight, we are pausing life at our house to watch, via slight DVR delay, the Grammy Awards. And so, in the interest of bringing my 8 readers (yes, I know, I exaggerate) the most informed coverage of the music universe, I Steve Norris, shall be your personal reviewer of the festivities.

After thorough research, it has been determined that there are only about 14 other people on the planet with less musical knowledge than myself. So, who better qualified to bring you the most pithy and astute observations of the hip and cool Grammy scene. Buckle your musical seat belts, people. Off we go.....

Opening Number - Lady Gaga. Those shoes look dangerous. Nice Orwelian backdrop. Now its Elton and Lady. They both look like they did some serious chimney sweeping. That is one serious earring that Elton is wearing. Nice "hands" on the pianos; they paid some pathetic set designer serious coin for that; I want THAT dudes job. Clearly, Elton definately cannot see out of those glasses. He needs Stevie Wonder's escort off stage.

Beyonce wins song of the year. Seems like a song about men needing to make commitments in relationships. This is good.

Green Day - 21 guns. Eh. Seems big hair (and black) is important here.

Best Country Album. I can feel the Mid west starting to pay attention, and come in from making Rice Krispy Treats in the kitchen. Taylor Swift wins. My daughter is happy. Taylor is shocked she won; Ringo is sitting next to Taylor's Mom. Wow. I like Taylor's apparent humility.

Beyonce appears with black Star Wars dudes. This girl has got it going on. Star Wars guys left early in the number. They have nothing to contribute musically, it seems. There is an arrow guitar dude that has chains connecting his legs together. Bad fashion, very 70's.

Pink! I want to be referred to by a color; I choose Mauve. I would have hurled in the trapeze device. Ok...so she somehow got wet. Thats interesting. Next. Carlos Santana liked it.

Best New Artist. Zac Brown Band. They wear bad hats and beanies; and they all taulk funnahy. Never hear of them. I have heard of the Ting Tings.....I love them and will be filing a personal protest.

Its Da Black Eyed Peas, Peeps! Now this is fun music! What is with the Silver Robot Dudes? I love it. Welcome to da Futcha!

Lady Antebellum. Now this is good music. Something to clean your guns by, or perhaps oil your fly fishing reels. They reference being drunk in their music. I like these guys. Big guitar solos.

Record of the Year! Get ready......Kings of Leon. Eh. I always make my daughter change the station when they are on the radio. They said they were drunk, but they wear suits. Bad clothing. Meh. These guys will not uplift the moral complexion of our nation.

Jamie Fox. Boring. T-Pain is my man. He wears his pants way to low. Saw him on the MTV Awards last year and thought he was gonna have a pants malfunction.

Ke$ha. Needs to eat a good meal, and loose the eye makeup. I have to listen to her tunes on the way to school in the morning with my daughter. No thank you very much. From now on, call me $teve.

Taylor Swift. This is good stuff. Very American. Stevie Nicks! I all verkelmpt now. Rihanna was huge in high school for me. Taylor is getting major air time here. I want one of those short banjos.

3D glasses on, people! Its Michael Jackson tribute time. We did not go to Target, we are loosers. Pretty creepy with Michael singing from beyond the grave. Weird having the kids Prince and Paris up there. I am sorry for these kids. Forever. They need to permanently stay OUT of the public eye. Very sad.

Bon Jovi. Eh. Next.

Jay-Z got some rap award. Eh. I am too white to appreciate this.

Andrea Bocelli; singing for the people of Haiti?! What happened? Mary J. Blige. "I will ease your mind...." Wow. Worth sitting through the whole thing for this!

We have caught up to live TV. I am done. Good night peeps.

Frozen Man

What would it be like to come back to life, hundreds of years following your own death?

James Taylor was inspired to write a fictional account of this, after seeing an issue of National Geographic magazine with a portrait photograph of a man who had be uncovered after being frozen in ice for a hundred years. The man had died while on expedition in the 1860's searching for a Northwest passage to the Pacific.

What would this feel like for us?

Jonathan Winters

When I was a kid, Jonathan Winters used to make me laugh so hard, I would cry. He still does.

Really now, how much can you do with just a stick?

Too Long In The Country Club

I Used to Dream...About Who I Would Become

When I was younger, I used to dream about what my life would be like someday.

Someday. When I grew up and married, and had a family. When I lived in a big house in the suburbs. My lovely wife would be busy in another room, cooking perhaps, while I watched the Masters golf tournament in my wood-paneled den. And then maybe, after it was over, I would head out to the country club to hit a bucket of balls. I used to dream about this when I was a boy.

It would be nice there, at that country club. Everyone would know my name, and treat me with deference; perhaps a form of vague reverence, as I would be so well respected in the community, such a successful, well-groomed, nice person. That club would feel so safe, and warm, and homey, and comfortable. It would make all the trouble, pain, and confusion of the outside world seem, well, so far away. Outside those metal gates that opened only to the select; those who knew the right secret combination on the keypad.

My only worry would be my back-swing, my slice, and my handicap. The hurt of reality outside those ivied gates would be muted by the thick carpeting, the hardwood walls, the hush of the lounge, and the security fencing around the perimeter of the course. No trouble here in the clubhouse locker room. And, next to the sinks, all those men's toiletries lined up so neatly - looking like no one ever used them. Order, tradition, respectability, good grooming. So safe, so insular, never changing. Comforting.

What I Have Become Instead
I never joined a country club. Too expensive, and a waste of money, if I just want to feel comfortable and insulated.

But recently, I have been wondering if, subtly and over a very long time, like slow growing vines, I have not become a part of something similar to the country club. Entrenched and insulated, apart from the world. Warm and cozy. Safe, non-threatening. A refuge from reality. An escape.

That something is my church. And really its not the church itself, but more, its me, and the way I approach what my faith means to me. And, as I think of it, that thought is sad. Very sad.

How do we get like this, we "church people"? How do we, in middle age, turn into those things we most disliked about the older generation when we were in our twenties? What has happened?

Maybe its just too much time inside. Inside the country club, with the warm wood tones, and people who make us feel good, valued, important. We form our little committees, and move on with our little agendas. There will be a potluck. Cookies will be served. There is that painting of a smiling Jesus on the wall over there. He always smiles.

But outside those warm church walls, outside the carpeted committee rooms and Sunday school classrooms there is a real world. Its noisy, and in a hurry. It is hurting, and there is seems to be no soothing that pain. It doesn't really care much at all what we church people do. Because much of the time, what we church folk do is irrelevant to that real world. Men sleep on cold and rainy streets, children are born without families that will really love them, couples fight and separate and never come back to each other. Lives are fractured. Sometimes it feels hard to take in a deep breath, out there in that real world. Your chest hurts too much, you can't really take it all in.

And so, we church folk, turn around and head back inside. Inside the Country Club.

'Ring Out, Wild Bells'

By Alfred Tennyson - circa 1850

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light:
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
For those that here we see no more;
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.

Ring out a slowly dying cause,
And ancient forms of party strife;
Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.

Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes,
But ring the fuller minstrel in.

Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease;
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Ring in the valiant man and free,
The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.

One Solitary Life

When I was a boy, my parents had a record album of a Christmas concert / dinner party that they played every year. The original event was some sort of Christmas charity event in Beverly Hills, recorded during the late 1940s or 1950s. There was some sort of relationship with this event to my extended family, as my Aunt was one of the party organizers. Beyond this, I can't tell you anything about that record.

I was short sighted enough to let it go as part of the estate sale of my parents home, several years ago. Alas, I wish I had that record back now.....

Along with the requisite Christmas Carols and songs, there was a short speech entitled "One Solitary Life", that I used to enjoy listening to. As I sat on the living room couch, 40-plus years ago, I think God used that little piece to begin a conversation with me about who He really was.

To this day, I find this one of the most convincing apologetic pieces I have ever run across. I found a great version of this on YouTube, recited by Bing Crosby. Sorry for the odd roller coaster burst at the beginning of this.....

Happy Boxing Day!

All is Well

Christmas is in just four short days. What happened to the time?!

Today, for the first time, I heard this Christmas Carol. Its perfect for the need in our troubled world.

All is well all is well
Angels and men rejoice
For tonight darkness fell
Into the dawn of love's light

Sing A-le
Sing Alleluia
All is well all is well
Let there be peace on earth
Christ is come go and tell
That He is in the manger

Sing A-le
Sing Alleluia

All is well all is well
Lift up your voices and sing
Born is now Emmanuel
Born is our Lord and Savior
Sing Alleluia
Sing Alleluia
All is well

But, as I listened, I wondered to myself - in the midst of a world brimming with hunger and suffering, war and loneliness, pain and suffering - does it really feel like "All is Well"?

Does it, now really?

And yet, more than 2000 years ago, into a similarly troubled world, a tiny defenseless little baby came. He seemed so much like every other baby. And what about those baffled parent to whom he was born. And those mysterious people who came to visit him soon after his birth.

It's a mystery to me, that birth. And, strangely, it's a mystery to me how, in the midst of all the struggle and pain the world, we might be comforted by the ideas behind this song, and still believe there is hope for our world.

And yet, for countless ages, we have been comforted.

All is Well. Merry Christmas!

Goodbye to Cindy

This one will be a bit long, so be patient with me.

The Lag in Writing
I have not been writing here for over a month. I am not really sure why, but now, between Thanksgiving and Christmas, in the midst of Advent, I have a reason to write, and perhaps the muse to share things here will return. Also, sometimes, its just good to take a break from my relationship with my laptop.

Older Daughter is now home for the Holidays, (this actually started before Thanksgiving) after a quite successful first quarter away at college. She returned Saturday from a road trip to Santa Barbara to pick up high school buds from college (in heavy rain), and is home safe. We are thankful for these graces.

Thanksgiving this year at our home was simple and warm, with a crowd of only seven; good friends and family together. Again, thankfulness is offered for these things. Today, Younger Daughter is in the midst of heavy studying; sophomore year first finals are next week.

Goodbye to a Dear Friend
I just lit the fireplace before I sat down to write, and the warmth of the fire is slowly filling the room. But now, something is quite different in our home. For the past 12 years, we have shared our everyday life with a wonderful, mellow, and very loving friend. Someone who never got mad at any of us; a chocolate Labrador, named Cinderella. Cindy for short.

And tonight, its different here. There is no one laying against the couch by my side, in her usual spot. I miss that rhythmic breathing, often snoring, and Cindy's interest in anyone new who came in the room; that tapping of her tail on the floor.......this is hard.

Cindy came to live with us in 1997, when Kelly was 7, and her sister was just 4. She was just weened as a puppy, and a big responsibility for our family. She spent lots of time in a crate on our old back porch, before we remodeled, keeping the washer and dryer company. The rest of her time she spent in our back yard, before we had a pool. She was one rowdy puppy, and had the skill to somehow completely destroy (with her puppy and adolescent dog teeth) a 4' high Bird of Paradise plant, and a 10' high climbing rose.

What I have just learned is that we take the little things in life so for granted. And Cindy, with her constant love and affection, was a gift to us. Each day, a dog who just loved us all, that thought that we did no wrong.

She was the source of much joy and laughter. When the girls were younger, and our back yard was just grass, each summer she would join us in the car, for a 15 minute ride to my parents home, for a long game of Frisbee-catch in their swimming pool. As a Lab, she just loved the water - it really was her second home. And then, when our pool was finished five years ago, it became her real second home during warmer months.

I recall that very soon after we finished the pool, I noticed that something was acting up with the pool filter - the pressure was way above normal, a sign that the filter was somehow beginning to clog up. I thought we had a defective filter, I mean, the darned thing was brand new! I even called the manufacturer on their 800 number - and asked lots of questions. Half way through the phone conversation, I thought I should disclose the twice daily swimming habits of our dog. The fellow on the other end of the phone burst out laughing, and said something to the effect of "there's your problem with your pool filter bud - DOG FUR!"

I confessed to a good friend the other day that I felt terrible, as I was more saddened by the loss of this dog than I had been by the loss of my parents in the recent past. This good friend, who has known me for 20+ years, surprisingly disagreed (maybe its because he loves dogs), and pointed out that Cindy was such an intimate part of our lives for 12 years. Nancy and I were still in our 30s. I mean, really now, that sweet old dog literally grew up with us. In our home. Every day. She watched us love each other, fight with each other, struggle with life, fight back and let loose with tears, laugh loudly together, and she was such a fixture of each day. She helped us stay ordered, with her twice daily feeding, the walks through the neighborhood. Taking the time to stop and pet her, and tell her what a lovely girl she was.

As the years progressed, the bouncy young dog became quite regal, as she slowed .

And so, last Friday afternoon it was 55 outside and gray and raining, when we said goodbye to our dear brown friend. Appropriate weather. At left is a photo taken moments before Cindy left us....she gave me lots of kisses before she left. What a sweet way to say goodbye. It still feels a little gray in my heart.

Cindy taught us lots of stuff. Live simply. Love generously. Care deeply. Be very sad when everyone excludes you, and makes you sit outside. When loved ones come home, always run to greet them. Never pass up the opportunity, and delight in the simple joy of a walk, or a run. Allow the experience of fresh air and the wind in your face to be pure ecstasy.

Take naps. Play daily. Don't ever take yourself too seriously. Let people touch you. When you're happy, dance around and wag your entire body. Eat with gusto and enthusiasm. Be loyal. Protect your family. Never pretend to be something you're not. When someone is having a bad day, be silent, just sit or lie close by.

But for all the sadness, its worth it; for all the piles of love that sweet dog gave us. Sweet Cindy, you will be dearly missed. There will never be another dog quite like you.

Norris Family Christmas Letter 2009

For more years than I can count, Nancy always asks me to write the family Christmas Letter. And every year comes the same feeling; how can I say it in just a page? Where are just the right words to express the journey of our family over the past year? Perhaps to start with the youngest, and work up from there….

If you can believe it, Heather is now a sophomore at Flintridge Sacred Heart Academy. Recently, as we were going somewhere in the car (tip: best place to connect with teenage daughters) I asked Heather if she had any regrets about her school choice. “Not for a second”, was the answer. We are thankful. Heather just loves life, it’s as simple as that! This year brings new challenges. The Youth and Government program will enable her to travel to Sacramento in February to participate in a mock legislative session. Watch out Arnold! Since August, Heather has had a Learner’s Permit to drive. Watch out other drivers! She is talking about traveling overseas this coming summer for a mission trip with our church. Heather brings great joy to all who know her!

Kelly is home for the Holidays now, after her first quarter at DePaul University in Chicago. It is so good to have her home! When Heather and I visited her for Parents Weekend in October, I asked her to rate her college experience on a scale of 1-10. “Nine!” was the emphatic answer, and we are giving daily thanks for this. DePaul is an amazing place. Kelly has made remarkable new friendships, and already seems more mature and thoughtful. Although we miss her, we highly recommend sending your kids away to college! What a young woman; only 3.6 more years to go!

Nancy continues a life devoted to serving others. She is now into her second year (!) of the search that will hopefully soon bring a new senior pastor for our church. Continue to pray for Nancy and her seven friends on this committee, will you? This past July, Nancy spent a week just loving teenage moms, for Christ, at a Young Lives camp near the Grand Canyon. And earlier this year, Nancy joined the Board of Directors of Club21, a community service organization in Pasadena that works to support families with kids who have Down Syndrome. For these things, I am immensely proud. What a woman! We recently, and thankfully, celebrated 21 years of marriage by toasting one-another and tasting wine, while being amazed at the beauty of the Central California Coast.

This summer, our family traveled to Toronto for two weeks of simple relaxation, where we also ventured north to a cottage on Georgian Bay for time with family. At twilight, the deep blue of day fades to the light orange of evening, time for conversation and laughter with family around the dinner table. But, don’t miss it, outside in the dark, there are stars. Billions. This is a place, away from city lights, where the Milky Way stretches from south to north, spanning the entire sky. The Artist of this night sky filled His brush with stardust paint, wound up, and let loose with a massive and limitless spray of dots across the Heavens. Lying on the dock, looking up, near midnight is a time for silence; the cosmos hang above you like the ceiling of a limitless cathedral.

As for Steve, as I lay on the dock at midnight, I just wonder about all this. What happened? Just yesterday it seems, these girls were little, and hugging my knees. Today, they stand eye to eye, and mock my clothing choices and lack of hair, but tolerate me just the same. One girl off at college, the other one heading that way faster than we want to admit. My sweet wife is just as gorgeous as the day we married, and still is patient with me. Even in a tough economic year, I still have a company and job I love. We are all waist deep in blessing. Daily.

How do you measure a year? How can we tell you how we are all really doing, without sounding pretentious, or self absorbed, or heaven forbid, boring. As I write this, I picture each of you, our many dear friends and family, maybe standing in your kitchen, looking through the mail at the end of the day, and finding this letter. My hope is that you are in good health, and somehow wondering about the same kind of things I do. How did we get here in life, and where are we going? Perhaps God is involved in this all, perhaps it’s His Blessings we reap each day. You, our friends, are our greatest blessings!

And so, to continue a tradition we started last year, we will be giving a gift in your name that might hopefully bless others far away, living in a places much more challenging than we will likely ever know. A real, live, flock of sheep will be given to a community in the third world, so that they might become self sufficient.

Maybe it’s not just coincidence that so long ago, simple sheppards were given Great News that changed the world forever.

Merry Christmas, and Great Peace!

Veterans Day

Just Another Rainstorm?

Do you ever wonder why you were put on this earth?


Do you ever find yourself pondering deeply profound questions of life while driving in the car to someplace mundane; and then mentally drop the subject, because you have to get to the meeting, or grocery store, or whatever by six, and you don't have time to ponder such heavy stuff? Besides, the traffic is just ridiculous.

I was given this book by my wife for our anniversary. As it turns out, I think I might be a lot like Donald Miller.

Miller writes:

Back when I got out of high school....I used to suddenly realize I was alive and human. Back then I wondered why nobody else realized what a crazy experience we were all having. Back then I'd be lying in bed or walking down a hallway at college, and the realization I was alive would startle me, as thought it had come up from behind and slammed two books together. We get robbed of the glory of life we aren't capable of remembering how we got here. When you are born, you wake slowly to everything. Your brain doesn't stop growing until you turn twenty-six, so from birth to twenty-six, God is slowly turning the lights on, and you're groggy and pointing at things saying circle and blue and car and then sex and job and health care. The experience is so slow you could easily come to believe life isn't that big of a deal, that life isn't staggering. What I'm saying is I think life is staggering and we are just used to it. We all are like spoiled children no longer impressed with the gifts we're given - it's just another sunset, just another rainstorm moving in over the mountain, just another child being born, just another funeral.

It's not just another sunset, not just another funeral. It's life, and I do think its staggering, and stupefying, and amazing and gorgeous and ugly all together. Sometimes I think if we understood the weight of the beauty, or comedy, or tragedy of it all, right in the moment, we might spend much of our days either in tears from the immense depth of it all, or bent over in hilarious laughter that we get to be part of this Creation that God is not done with yet.

Just something to think about, as you get stuck in traffic again tomorrow.

History Repeats Inself

This is my Dad, circa 1942.

















This is his grand daughter, circa Halloween 2009. She is wearing his flight suit in which he piloted B-17s in World War II. Really.

A Gaelic Blessing

Holding Up the Word, Depaul Community Mass

Recently, while visiting Older Daughter at DePaul University, I had the opportunity to attend Mass at St. Vincent Depaul Parish, on the campus of DePaul University. This experience might also be known as "Protestant Neophyte Visits The Other Side of the Reformation".

I arrived about 15 minutes early, and already found the sanctuary of St. Vincent to be nearly full. It turned out to be a standing room only Mass. The church holds, by my rough estimate, about 2,000 souls. In attendance were students, parents, and alumni. This was a wonderful experience, full of the sacred rights of the church, and for me, full of much thanksgiving for a daughter well off at college in Chicago at DePaul.

The primary feeling I still have of my morning hour spent in the Parish of St. Vincent is that of the profound mystery of the church. The mystery of trying to understand this life I lead. The mystery of how God is involved in the life of my daughter - this girl I love more than I can speak of. For some reason, my attendance at this Mass was very emotional. For me, not unlike laying on the deck of the dock in Northern Canada this summer, gazing up at the Milky Way above. All, a mystery.

Holding Up
At the beginning of the mass, various elements important in the service are processed into the church. A large golden cross, carried high, by a DePaul coed student, the elements of communion, carried by priests. Candles and incense. A long train of laypersons, altar boys, and priests. Like the procession of Followers, down through the ages.

They line up, and process inside the sanctuary. During this procession, a gathering song is sung; soft drums, and the University choir, something faintly African sounding, it stirs the heart deep within. In the very front of this procession is a book. A large red leather book, held at arm's length, high overhead. Its a heavy book, the kind you find only in a really old and seldom visited library. It looks like something that does not get opened much. Thick and cumbersome, weighted with the burden of time.

But there it is, high in the air, at the front of this line of faith. It takes me half a minute to get it. What book is tha....wait. Oh! The Scripture. They have it at the front of the line! They are holding it up.

That Bible, held high. I have not been able to wrest that image from my mind ever since. And when I think on it more than a minute, it sort of catches my breath. That book, those people, this world.

All of us, in a way, standing in a line. Its been that way for centuries. And at the front of that line, even though we don't pay it much mind in the mess of everyday, there is a book. And if you look carefully, over the heads of those in front of you, its still being held high.

High over our pain, high over our joy, high over history. That book.

The community gathered together. The Book held high. Once again, the mystery of the Church gathered together is made manifest.

DePaul Family Weekend 2009

Younger sister and I have just returned from Chicago for DePaul Family Weekend 2009, otherwise known as Visiting The Gigantic Educational Expenditure.

This is the one weekend each fall that family members (read: those actually paying the massive bills to operate this university) can come, visit their kids, dress badly, quietly revel in the middle-aged admission that they are definitely no longer of college age, wait awkwardly in dorm lobbies, and get free t shirts.

I must admit, DePaul does a pretty good job of client care for parents; I think the administration knows very well where the money comes from. And you get tshirts!

Here are my random observations on DePaul, my daughter's new life, and culture in Chicago:

• Fall is a real season! Its cold here. And its only October. The weather was 40-45 degrees with rain showers the whole time we were there. Ahhh! And it will only be getting colder. Much. And folks wonder why there are 37 million humans living in California.
• The Fall colors here are wonderful. What a beautiful introduction to Winter. I am beginning to understand why my wife, who is from Toronto, misses Fall so very much. Its just gorgeous, this daily reminder of the Seasons of life. I like that our girl wanted to go to a college that feels, well, classically collegiate.
  
• There do not seem to be many classes at school on Friday. I don't really remember this from my college days this being the case. Yet another reason to become an academic, its seems; four day work weeks, and summers off. As for the students, three day weekends work fine, just ask them.
• Chicago is an amazing city. Over the past two days we have spent a lot of time walking the downtown loop area, Michigan Avenue, and riding "The El". All freshmen at DePaul are required to take a "Discover Chicago" class, that plunges them into the city, to begin the process of becoming life-long learners and helping them to understand better the city they are going to school in. I think this is a capital idea!
• Did I mention the free t-shirts. Let me tell you, these are the most expensive free t shirts I have ever owned. I picked up lots of them, but still they cost me multiple thousands of dollars per shirt. Need a t-shirt?
• Why does DePaul have a mascot that is a guy in a Devil suit? Catholic school, Satan as the Mascot. Very strange.
  
  

At the end of these busy days, the only thing that really matters is how our oldest girl really feels about her time thus far at college. Did she make the right choice? Does she feel confident, enjoy her classes, feel good about her decision? Is she making good friends, and are they kids with character?

So Saturday, at lunch, I asked the key question. "So tell me, so far, on a scale of 1 to 10, how would you rate your college experience?" The answer. "A nine". Interestingly, I received the same answer when I separately asked several of her best friends. Outstanding. Lets hope those numbers hold up.

When I return home, I will stop on my way down the hall - for a moment in Kelly's now too-quiet bedroom. I will stand in the darkness of a Southern California Fall, thinking of my daughter, some 1,700 miles away at school.

As I stand there, I will give thanks for a happy and confident young woman, now off at college. The Journey continues.....

"Sully" Sullenberger Has Something to Teach Us

"It wasn't his life goal to be known as a hero, but it has been his life goal to have a close, loving relationship with his daughters, and of course with me. I think that is what he would like his legacy to be".

Sully is a hero because of this legacy. Plain and simple. I choose, each day, to believe Sully's kind of legacy is something noble .

A Loving Father Must Surely Dwell

We received a last minute invite Saturday night to the Hollywood Bowl. Boy, are we glad we said yes, and never have I been more surprised and touched by a performance than I was by the LA Philharmonic's powerful delivery of Beethoven's 9th symphony.

My primary exposure to classical music is rather shallow, as I a am near complete musical moron. However, classical music is still a near constant background during my work day - I stream it on my PC at the office, and it plays as the hold music on our office phone system. To me, its part (not all) of the music of heaven; and we can glimpse it while still here on Earth.

I must admit, while parts of the 9th are familiar to me, I have never heard the entire symphony all the way through. I did last night, and I will never forget it. Ever.

The reason for the concert, was the welcoming of the new Music Director of the LA Phil, Gustavo Dudamel. Suffice it to say, Gustavo is amazing; I have written about him before here. But I was equally struck by the music itself, and the deep content of the lyrics; a concert piece written by a musical genius when he was completely deaf.

While enjoying greatly the early part of this piece, I was stunned and gladdened by the final choral refrain - performed by the LA Master Choral. This refrain is of the 9th Symphony is taken from a poem by German poet, playwright and historian Friedrich Schiller:

Let me embrace you, O millions!
This kiss is for the whole world!
Brothers, above the starry firmament
A loving Father must surely dwell.
Do you fall down, O millions?
Are you aware of your Creator, world?
Seek Him above the starry firmament!
For above the stars He must dwell.

Across almost 200 years, from its premiere in 1824 in Berlin, the music of Beethoven and the poetry of Schiller filled a moonlit Hollywood Bowl last night.

How is it that we live in these times? A planet filled with so much joy, and so much pain. So much beauty, and yet overwhelming sadness?

And yet, a loving Father must surely dwell.....are we aware?

First, a link to excerpts from the 9th, just for the joy of the music:




And then a link, complete with shaky camera to the actual finale of the event at the Bowl. What a night!