Its Saturday afternoon here in Huntsville, Alabama, and college football season is with us again. Its also half time at the Stanford / UCLA game, and the Bruins are up by 14-7....we need to bury the Cardinal. Take no prisoners, for, at the end of the season.....is coming another epic battle.
Forgive me for reliving the past, but this video is too good to not post:
Saturday, September 01, 2007
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Christ in the City
Recently, I began to share some of my observations from the recent PGF conference in Houston. Michael Frost had some thoughtful insight on what the church needs to become in order to more effectively reach a watching and waiting world.
Interestingly, all this talk about the missional church is not really so new. Some people were thinking about it a long time ago. One remarkable example that was birthed out of our church, can be found right here, from the archives of this blog.
And so, being missional is not really some new scary thing. It is tested by time. It is good. Kingdom stuff.
Interestingly, all this talk about the missional church is not really so new. Some people were thinking about it a long time ago. One remarkable example that was birthed out of our church, can be found right here, from the archives of this blog.
And so, being missional is not really some new scary thing. It is tested by time. It is good. Kingdom stuff.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Remembering Jude Gilliam
Our family is in Nashville, Tennessee for a brief vacation to visit good friends. Right now, my teenage girls are asleep in the next room. All is quiet.
This is Jude Gilliam. I never met him, but heard of his tragic struggle for life and recent death via a close friend.
I do not for a second understand this sort of thing.
After reading the order of worship at his memorial service, I felt moved to right this note in the journal at his web site.
"Silent now is the laughter, the noise, the commotion that must have been Jude. But bold and strong, without fail, sustaining through the ages, is the praise to the God of All Creation from His created. This sound will not and cannot be silenced.
I just read through the order of worship for Jude's service, and was touched by the balance of genuine grieving, praise, longing, and celebration. What a remarkable balance - no denial, acceptance, and through the pain a deep joy and rest that was, for me, almost palpable.
I wish you all, Jude's family, the full impact of those things we share in faith in Christ. Grace. Peace beyond understanding. Balm for your weary souls. Mercy. Love abounding. Joy.
Through the countless and abiding tears, there is hope in a World beyond time. We will all dance and play there together, someday. Amen."
This is Jude Gilliam. I never met him, but heard of his tragic struggle for life and recent death via a close friend.
I do not for a second understand this sort of thing.
After reading the order of worship at his memorial service, I felt moved to right this note in the journal at his web site.
"Silent now is the laughter, the noise, the commotion that must have been Jude. But bold and strong, without fail, sustaining through the ages, is the praise to the God of All Creation from His created. This sound will not and cannot be silenced.
I just read through the order of worship for Jude's service, and was touched by the balance of genuine grieving, praise, longing, and celebration. What a remarkable balance - no denial, acceptance, and through the pain a deep joy and rest that was, for me, almost palpable.
I wish you all, Jude's family, the full impact of those things we share in faith in Christ. Grace. Peace beyond understanding. Balm for your weary souls. Mercy. Love abounding. Joy.
Through the countless and abiding tears, there is hope in a World beyond time. We will all dance and play there together, someday. Amen."
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
A Memory
Today I received an email from Gregory Lang, who is working on his latest book, and has chosen to include one of my blog posts about being a Dad.
He asked me this:
"Thinking back on the night of the comet, what about it meant most to you? Why might Kelly think it was a special evening worthy of its place as an important daddy-daughter moment?
This was my response:
"What meant the most was the simple grace of climbing that hill, along side of my daughter, holding hands. She thought I was wonderful, and would do anything for her. She still thinks those things, but has evolved into a hip teenager, who would never utter such thoughts today. Maybe someday, after college she will be able to say them. Time will tell.
And so, it is the memory of a simple walk up a hill, to glimpse something "out of time" if you will, from "down here" on a planet, and a life so bound by time. To see something of the creativity of a God who gifts us with life, and friendships, and hills to climb up, and even comets to spy on. Who gifts us with family, friends, and in my case, a wonderful daughter.
In the end, so much is a mystery, but I am so thankful for the journey, it is hard to convey in words. I think I caught Kelly's current emotions/reflections well in my blog post:
"In the car on the way to the ballfield, I turned to Kelly and said, "Do you remember, a long time ago, when you and I climbed to up to the water tower, and waited for the comet to appear in the night sky?" Kelly did remember. We both smiled; Kelly, thinking of her impossibly dorky father, and me, giving quiet thanks for a small moments like these of shared memories, and for the simple grace of the memory itself."
I still see that fleeting smile on occasion now, or hear a slight giggle on the cell phone, which means we connect, we know each other so well, we are so much the same. Another gift of grace.....
Just thought I should share this.....its a big part of my heart.
He asked me this:
"Thinking back on the night of the comet, what about it meant most to you? Why might Kelly think it was a special evening worthy of its place as an important daddy-daughter moment?
This was my response:
"What meant the most was the simple grace of climbing that hill, along side of my daughter, holding hands. She thought I was wonderful, and would do anything for her. She still thinks those things, but has evolved into a hip teenager, who would never utter such thoughts today. Maybe someday, after college she will be able to say them. Time will tell.
And so, it is the memory of a simple walk up a hill, to glimpse something "out of time" if you will, from "down here" on a planet, and a life so bound by time. To see something of the creativity of a God who gifts us with life, and friendships, and hills to climb up, and even comets to spy on. Who gifts us with family, friends, and in my case, a wonderful daughter.
In the end, so much is a mystery, but I am so thankful for the journey, it is hard to convey in words. I think I caught Kelly's current emotions/reflections well in my blog post:
"In the car on the way to the ballfield, I turned to Kelly and said, "Do you remember, a long time ago, when you and I climbed to up to the water tower, and waited for the comet to appear in the night sky?" Kelly did remember. We both smiled; Kelly, thinking of her impossibly dorky father, and me, giving quiet thanks for a small moments like these of shared memories, and for the simple grace of the memory itself."
I still see that fleeting smile on occasion now, or hear a slight giggle on the cell phone, which means we connect, we know each other so well, we are so much the same. Another gift of grace.....
Just thought I should share this.....its a big part of my heart.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Three Latin Words
The Kingdom of God is not always warm and fuzzy, and just what we like. Toward the end of "The Lion, The Witch, And The Wardrobe", by CS Lewis, one of the children asks whether Aslan the lion is safe."Course he isn't safe," comes the reply. "But he's good."
And so, this is what our Kingdom work is going to look like. Not safe, but good. Very good, good of the utmost kind, eternal good.
This past week, I was here. I had the chance to hear the thoughts of Michael Frost, which revolutionary for American Christians to think about, if we take them seriously. I have outlined some of this below, for my own reference, and hopefully for your edification.
If we are following Christ in a way that is consistent with His own life, as He lived it here, we will see three things happening in our lives.
We will see God differently.
God is not far and distant. God is involved in the world to bring order. God is persistently seeking us; God is constantly in search of man. And so, we must constantly be in search of what God is doing in the world, and join him in this effort. This is what much-smarter-than-I theologians have coined as "Missio Dei", or the "sending of God". We will need to get ready to be sent.
We See The Church Differently
Church just won't be a place to go on Sunday any more. It will be an integral, essential part of the city, of the makeup of the community. The church will add great "value to the village".
Implicit in this is a completely new view of what communities of faith can become. We have to remember that the inside of our churches are largely a complete mystery to the majority of people in our communities. Can our churches be completely obliterated from where they stand today, and no one would notice? Oh, that the city might greatly grieve the loss of our churches! We then are to participate in what Christ is doing in the world (Participatio Christi) through the work of the church. We neither determine our own agenda, nor merely imitate His, but rather participate in His, according to His call and guidance. John 20:21, So Jesus said to them again, “Peace to you! As the Father has sent Me, I also send you.”
You Will See the World Differently
If we begin to view God as well as the church differently, we will begin to also understand the world differently, and our place in it. We will have new perspective on our common broken humanity. We will begin to understand more of the Imagio Dei, the image of God in those around us.
We just might need to rearrange our world view. He is not Safe, but He is Good.
Next up, a story of Missio Dei, Participatio Christi, and Imagio Dei.....right in Hollywood.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
A Glimpse of the Kingdom
Ever wonder what the world would look like, if people really acted out what they believed? This might be a glimpse:
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Sugar Cube Missions, We Minister Here
In elementary school in California, everyone studies the Missions. I did it, and so have my daughters. When I was a kid, we built our Mission models our of sugar cubes, and you got sick making your Mission, because you ate more of the construction materials than you used. Now, you can build your Mission out of styrofoam; not very environmentally friendly. Even the mission of building Missions has changed. That's life, just about everything changes.
There is much buzz in church circles these days about what it really means to be "missional", and its not about sugar cubes versus styrofoam.
Last Sunday, my wife and I had the rare opportunity to just sit and talk for several hours after lunch with an old (ok, not really old) friend who is a pastor, and to swap ideas about the church, being a pastor, and what it might mean to embrace things missional. He has written a book about such things, even. The thoughts below are from Tod, my good friend. They help to illuminate this conversation.
Missional basically means...we, the church, see ourselves as an extension of God's mission in Christ to the world. Jesus said, "Just as the Father sent me, so I am sending you." To be missional is to see oneself as a "sent" person or community.
So, like the missions of California, we, a particular people in a particular place (in the case of my church, Hollywood) see ourselves as God's mission to a particular people (those surrounding our church) in a particular place. The difference between the "missions" of California and our "missional church" is that there is no "mother church" that sent us, but that we believe, like Paul himself, that we are "sent" by God through the Spirit's call in our setting to this particular place.
It pretty important to note that this is a shift historically and theologically backward toward the first century church from the model so many older mainline churches, including ours and other great 20th Century churches have had over the years. These once great, tall steeple churches, saw themselves not as "missions" but as "Mother Churches" who did the sending of "missionaries" to the "uttermost part of the world."
Its upside down from what our old church model was. Time to break out a new model.
So, we can frame up the discussion like this: Missional is: "We Minister Here". The three key questions to this discussion are then:
"Who is We?"
"What is Minister?"
"And, where is Here?"
So these are the kinds of questions, our church will need to embrace, struggle with, and work together to define in the weeks and months ahead.
I am excited for the journey, and for the conversation.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Seeking Help, Seeking Truth
Picture this. A “tall steeple” city church, founded at the turn of the 20th century in a fledgling suburb of Los Angeles. During the 1940s and 50s, the congregation grew substantially, and was nationally recognized as one of the larger protestant churches in the nation. It was also known for its rather remarkable influence in Christian circles, raising up pastoral and lay leaders that have literally affected the spiritual complexion of the nation, and to a lesser extent, the world.
Through the 1960s, 1970s and 80s this church continued as a center of “sending ministry”, and continued a program of raising up leaders, pastors, and missionaries.
During the 1990s, and into the early years of this century, this church began to struggle with vision and leadership. It held a somewhat uncomfortable place, in an increasingly gritty urban setting, yet largely populated by more affluent suburban congregants. After a number of years of a successful and emotionally healthy senior pastorate, problems developed in new pastoral leadership that lead to a painful and protracted church split and the resignation of a number of senior staff. During this time, many congregants left, either exhausted from infighting, or seeking other “choices” in a Christian subculture that mirrors the broader American culture of consumerism. The successes of prior years just did not seem to work anymore.
This is not a new story. This is one that is being told over and over, around the US in many mainline denominations. Once vital and healthy congregations grow smaller, older, and increasingly irrelevant to the communities surrounding them.
And what for the future of this grand church? Continued stasis, or a gradual decline? Will there be a new time, a new era for this church. Can this once proud, dignified, successful place of ministry turn the corner? What transitions are ahead; what are the once “sacred things” that will need to be sacrificed, and what new ideas, that often feel strange and new, should be embraced? Is transformation possible, is there a new future?
The way to new life, to restoration and healing in this church seems fraught with potential pitfalls. In the sometimes complex culture of churches, it is easy to form incorrect perceptions, and then to make leadership decisions that later prove to be disastrous. Wisdom is a commodity in leadership that is much spoken of and sought after, but one that is also in very short supply in the greater church today.
What is the way forward? For a church long recognized for faithful proclamation of the Word, the primary guiding light must be found within the mystery of the Scriptures. The same events, both ordinary and miraculous, of thousands of years ago will provide guidance for the road ahead, even in an age of global travel, urban blight, sexual confusion, and virtual relationships.
Our hope is simply found hidden within the Word. For us all, every last one, even today. A tired woman at a well, confronted by a Savior who strangely knew of her whole life. Friends sitting on a rooftop, lowering their sick friend in front of a Man they hoped could heal him. A prodigal son, long lost, welcomed home to a family party, without recrimination. Frightened men, huddled in a room, almost hiding, confronted by a risen Lord. In these stories and parables are found our future. Renewal, regeneration. Hope. Healing. Renewed vision for the future.
We are here, in Houston, in part to continue to find ways to illumine the search.
Monday, August 13, 2007
Heading Forth
On Wednesday morning, I am going with three of my church friends, to experience this.
My hope is simple; that through our participation and reflection, and mostly through the stories we tell as we return home and the relationships we continue to build, that our church might be built up, strengthened, and encouraged to try new ideas, solely for the sake of the Kingdom.
That's all I really want. More soon.
My hope is simple; that through our participation and reflection, and mostly through the stories we tell as we return home and the relationships we continue to build, that our church might be built up, strengthened, and encouraged to try new ideas, solely for the sake of the Kingdom.
That's all I really want. More soon.
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Monday, August 06, 2007
Stories to Tell
Several months ago, I had lunch with a man from half a world away. Blaise Beboua is a doctoral student at Fuller Seminary. I have never met a more gentle soul. His passion is for the urban church in Africa. Stories like his are the reason I love the work that is ongoing at Fuller.
There are lots of stories like that of Blaise........have a look.
Jesus told lots of stories. In the end, its the stories of redemption that matter.
Sunday, August 05, 2007
Stop This Train, Thankful for the Ride
This is a picture of me and my Dad, circa 1967; I was nine years old. This train of life, its moving fast.Mom is gone, and Dad is 87; he spends each day mostly sleeping. He really does not know much of what is going on around him; having dissolved into a world of dementia since my Mom's passing.
This has been an emotional weekend for me. My life is so full, and I rarely stop to recognize the weight of grace in my little world. And yet, I am not entirely satisfied. What in the world is wrong with me? Yesterday, I sat with my Dad, and listened to him attempt to piece together memories from 50 years ago.
And then today, we put our youngest girl on the bus to camp today. I held her in my arms as she walked out the door today, and said a short prayer. Something like, "Lord, thank you for Heather, go with her to camp, keep her safe, and show yourself to her in way she does not expect. Amen."
And so, one goes off to camp. One stays home, and was off to the beach today with friends; an emerging life of independence - the world ahead of her. My wife and I went to the park in town for a summer evening concert - a band called "The Grateful Dads"; a bunch of Dad's from town that can really rock the house, including the drummer Peter, who works with me at the office. My whole office staff showed up to watch Peter and his band play. I am surrounded by fun, amazing, and gifted people.
Across town, a friend lies in hospital after cancer surgery; a time to complete reassess all that is important in life. She has six children. We are hopeful for her recovery. This train, it just keeps moving.
Just the other day, I heard this song, playing on my daughter's IPOD. I dissolved into tears:
"Stop this train
I wanna get off
And go home again
I can't take the speed it's moving in
I know I can't
But honestly,
won't someone stop this train?
So scared of getting older
I'm only good at being young
So I play the numbers game
To find a way to say that life has just begun
Had a talk with my old man
Said "help me understand"
He said "turn sixty-eight
You renegotiate
Don't stop this train
Don't for a minute change the place you're in
And don't think I couldn't ever understand
I tried my hand John, honestly we'll never stop this train"
This is a song by John Mayer, a guy who is twenty years my junior, but who completely understands some of the mystery of this life.
I am thankful for this ride.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Jesus He Knows Me
After 16 years, Phil Colins satire is still right on track. This makes me feel quite sad about the TBN crowd.
Monday, July 30, 2007
My Simpsons Avatar
A good friend sent me this - my Simpsons Avatar. I love the t-shirt, and minimal hair. Thank goodness there is no significant spare tire.
I am so touched......
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Becoming Agnostic
Doubt can be an overpowering force. It can also be attention getting. In my prior post I discussed my initial reactions to the article of William Lobdell of the LA Times.
As it turns out, Mr. Lobdell is getting lots of media attention, and feedback from readers. Today he was interviewed on NPR's Day to Day. Have a listen.
The LA Times had an interactive chat on his article here. Noted below are excerpts from the chat containing comments by Mr. Lobdell.
It turns our that Mr. Lobdell is a "long-time fan" of Christopher Hitchins. My friend Mark Roberts has much to say about Christopher Hitchins, having debated him on radio recently.
Mr. Lobdell has, what seems to be to be understandable indignation about the Catholic church. He states, "One of the biggest disappointments for me was the incredibly few number of priests and bishops who reported child molesters they knew were in their midst without first being contacted by attorneys, the media or authorities. It's the exact opposite of what the Gospel -- and our secular laws -- say to do." Amen to that.
As it turns out, Mr. Lobdell is getting lots of media attention, and feedback from readers. Today he was interviewed on NPR's Day to Day. Have a listen.
The LA Times had an interactive chat on his article here. Noted below are excerpts from the chat containing comments by Mr. Lobdell.
It turns our that Mr. Lobdell is a "long-time fan" of Christopher Hitchins. My friend Mark Roberts has much to say about Christopher Hitchins, having debated him on radio recently.
Mr. Lobdell has, what seems to be to be understandable indignation about the Catholic church. He states, "One of the biggest disappointments for me was the incredibly few number of priests and bishops who reported child molesters they knew were in their midst without first being contacted by attorneys, the media or authorities. It's the exact opposite of what the Gospel -- and our secular laws -- say to do." Amen to that.
When asked about his feelings about loosing his faith, Mr. Lobdell replies, "A) Sad B) Angry C) Liberated D) Confused E) Uneasy". This to me is fascinating. I would love to learn more about these feelings.
When asked about home churches, which the LA Times also recently covered, Mr. Lobdell offers, "The younger generation really insists on a real faith and not something contained in buildings. Though it has some drawbacks, I think it would eliminate some of the problems inherent in an unchecked power structure." I agree; this is Missional Church at its best!
Another observation worthy of merit: "Very generally, the churches that seemed to work the best -- that, at least in my opinion -- carried out the Gospel the best were small, poor churches, both Catholic and Protestant." Again, a thoughtful response.
And finally, this: "I've covered a lot of non-religious stories, but I traditionally never got more vicious hate mail than from people of the faith -- probably because they believe so much is at stake. This is a phenomenon attested to by religion writers across the country. But for whatever reason, this story provoked a different response. It was almost entirely loving and caring and gentle, whether from Christians, Jews, Muslims, agnostics or atheists."
This comment about mean spirited people of faith made me think about another recent event in my own life.
I think that if Bill Lobdell lived across the fence from me, we might spent a lot of time hanging out together. I so appreciate his honesty, his willingness to be truthful. He has not shut the door to things of faith, but he has admitted his struggles. I would not want to make him my project, or make him think like me. I would like to be his friend, no strings attached.
Bill Lobdell, I wish you well on your journey. May it find you, someday, again following Christ, but in a way that for you feels real, and honest, and redemptive.
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Doubt, Fear, and Faith
There was a remarkable article in the Los Angeles Times today about matters of faith. It does not end happily, and that is ok.But it is a completely honest assessment of things of faith, and a stirring indictment of the failure of both certain Catholics and Protestant Evangelicals to deliver on the real message of the Christ they purport to follow.
William Lobdell is a writer for the Times who found faith in Christ in 1989, and began a journey, first of mission to right the wrongs of the mainstream media in covering the errors of the church, and later a painful season spent reporting on both the sins of evangelicals and Catholics. Mr. Lobdell spent much of the early parts of this decade reporting on the ongoing sexual abuse scandal of the Catholic church, and witnessed up close the pain of the victims, along with the complicity of the leadership of the Catholic church. He also reported on the inner workings of the Trinity Broadcasting network, including the work of Benny Hinn, a televangelist faith healer.
Over time, the emotional weight of his reporting created a crisis of faith for Mr. Lobdell, as he describes in the article:
I have been thinking about this article all day. Wondering about William Lobdell, about the church he was a part of, but then decided to stop attending. Did anyone call him when he missed a few Sundays? I thought about his family, and how they are doing. I wondered if he was a part of any form of genuine Christian community, a place where he could ask hard questions, and be loved in the midst of his struggle and doubt. And not be judged for his doubt. This might have helped, but also might not have made the difference in his abandonment of faith. Not much is for sure.
And then I thought about the primary moving force in all the dysfunction that Mr. Lobdell witness in Christendom. Fear. Catholic leaderships' fear of exposure, of humiliation, of shame, and admitting that much of the leadership structure of the church suffers from severe problems. I pray that through the unbearable pain, that God is somehow at work in this, cleansing His church. I thought of the fear of the leadership at TBN, and Benny Hinn, again, fear of exposure, fear of failure, fear that not everyone will get healed. Or maybe fear that the whole "healing and miracles" thing will be exposed for the sham that it just might be.
And I have been thinking about Mr. Lobdell's comments about faith. The gift of faith. This is something that has been discussed and debated for centuries, and still, no one really has the final answer. Its a mystery, but one I have chosen, and still choose daily, to participate in. I still believe in Jesus, and try to follow him.
Its the church that makes me nuts, and that I still love so much. Just like a drunk uncle, or father, for that matter.
My guess is this. Its the church that messed up Mr. Lobdell's faith, not Jesus. From the very beginning of his faith journey, he may have been sold a Divine Bill of Goods, if you will excuse me. I hope to say more about this soon, if life does not get in the way.
The article by William Lobdell can be found here.
"My soul, for lack of a better term, had lost faith long ago - probably around the time I stopped going to church. My brain, which had been in denial, had finally caught up. Clearly, I saw now that belief in God, no matter how grounded, requires at some point a leap of faith. Either you have the gift of faith or you don't. Its not a choice. It can't be willed into existence. And there's no faking it if you're honest about the state of your soul."As it turns out, all the reporting and interaction with the ugly underbelly of the church resulted in Mr. Lobdell's abandonment of his faith.
I have been thinking about this article all day. Wondering about William Lobdell, about the church he was a part of, but then decided to stop attending. Did anyone call him when he missed a few Sundays? I thought about his family, and how they are doing. I wondered if he was a part of any form of genuine Christian community, a place where he could ask hard questions, and be loved in the midst of his struggle and doubt. And not be judged for his doubt. This might have helped, but also might not have made the difference in his abandonment of faith. Not much is for sure.
And then I thought about the primary moving force in all the dysfunction that Mr. Lobdell witness in Christendom. Fear. Catholic leaderships' fear of exposure, of humiliation, of shame, and admitting that much of the leadership structure of the church suffers from severe problems. I pray that through the unbearable pain, that God is somehow at work in this, cleansing His church. I thought of the fear of the leadership at TBN, and Benny Hinn, again, fear of exposure, fear of failure, fear that not everyone will get healed. Or maybe fear that the whole "healing and miracles" thing will be exposed for the sham that it just might be.
And I have been thinking about Mr. Lobdell's comments about faith. The gift of faith. This is something that has been discussed and debated for centuries, and still, no one really has the final answer. Its a mystery, but one I have chosen, and still choose daily, to participate in. I still believe in Jesus, and try to follow him.
Its the church that makes me nuts, and that I still love so much. Just like a drunk uncle, or father, for that matter.
My guess is this. Its the church that messed up Mr. Lobdell's faith, not Jesus. From the very beginning of his faith journey, he may have been sold a Divine Bill of Goods, if you will excuse me. I hope to say more about this soon, if life does not get in the way.
The article by William Lobdell can be found here.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Friday, July 13, 2007
Chosen, Blessed, Broken, Food for the World
From Henri Nouwen:
"When Jesus took bread, blessed it, broke it, and gave it to his disciples, he summarized in these gestures his own life. Jesus is chosen from all eternity, blessed at his baptism in the Jordan River, broken on the cross, and given as bread to the world. Being chosen, blessed, broken, and given is the sacred journey of the Son of God, Jesus the Christ.
When we take bread, bless it, break it, and give it with the words "This is the Body of Christ," we express our commitment to make our lives conform to the life of Christ. We too want to live as people chosen, blessed, and broken, and thus become food for the world."
"When Jesus took bread, blessed it, broke it, and gave it to his disciples, he summarized in these gestures his own life. Jesus is chosen from all eternity, blessed at his baptism in the Jordan River, broken on the cross, and given as bread to the world. Being chosen, blessed, broken, and given is the sacred journey of the Son of God, Jesus the Christ.
When we take bread, bless it, break it, and give it with the words "This is the Body of Christ," we express our commitment to make our lives conform to the life of Christ. We too want to live as people chosen, blessed, and broken, and thus become food for the world."
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
The Simple Way, The Fire, and Hope
On June 20th, my birthday, while we ate cake and celebrated my 49th year on this planet in Southern California, a tragic event occured in one of the poorest neighborhoods of Philadelphia, the City of Alleged Brotherly Love.
A devastating fire occurred in the neighborhood of The Simple Way, a community of Christian folk, who have chosen to live out their faith by following Jesus as found in John 1. I think these idealistic folk may have a lot of very good ideas about building communities of faith, even though they style their hair slightly differently than I do (like if I had any hair to be styling!).
To support the effort to rebuild this community of hope, go here. To find our more about the Simple Way and its ideas, go listen to this. You will need an hour, but it is worth it. Watch the video of the fire and aftermath below. Your heart will be happy you did.
A devastating fire occurred in the neighborhood of The Simple Way, a community of Christian folk, who have chosen to live out their faith by following Jesus as found in John 1. I think these idealistic folk may have a lot of very good ideas about building communities of faith, even though they style their hair slightly differently than I do (like if I had any hair to be styling!).
To support the effort to rebuild this community of hope, go here. To find our more about the Simple Way and its ideas, go listen to this. You will need an hour, but it is worth it. Watch the video of the fire and aftermath below. Your heart will be happy you did.
Sunday, July 08, 2007
787 Dreamliner Debute
I have always loved to fly. Perhaps its because I grew up hearing storied of flight from my Dad, who was a B17 pilot in World War II.
Today was the debute of the Boeing 787 Dreamliner. Its looks completely unique, from the curved wingspan, to the open cabin, to the cutoff engine cowlings. I am psyched!
And check out this about the interior:
And oh my gosh, check out the flight deck:
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
A Day of Celebration, A Miracle, and a Responsibility
Day off work. A parade through the center of town. Red, white, and blue bunting. A barbecue. Fireworks.But so much more. Its the 4th of July. Two hundred and 31 years ago, the Declaration of Independence finished with this paragraph:
"We, therefore, the Representatives of the united States of America, in General Congress, Assembled, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions, do, in the Name, and by Authority of the good People of these Colonies, solemnly publish and declare, That these united Colonies are, and of Right ought to be Free and Independent States, that they are Absolved from all Allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political connection between them and the State of Great Britain, is and ought to be totally dissolved; and that as Free and Independent States, they have full Power to levy War, conclude Peace contract Alliances, establish Commerce, and to do all other Acts and Things which Independent States may of right do. — And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor."
To me, the formation and sustaining of this nation for all these years is at once a miracle and a responsibility. May I do my part to maintain the responsibility.
Sunday, July 01, 2007
Pastor KC, A Journey Filled With Hope
When I wonder if God really can change people's lives, I have one direction I can point to with great confidence. Northwest. That is the point on the compass from my house to where Pastor KC Wahe lives.Some 20 years ago, I met KC, who at that time, was one of the high school kids at my church. I did not meet his family, in fact, I never did. That is because his family was struggling with many issues, including alcohol and drugs. KC told me recently that he was recently overwhelmed when one of his boys, after an otherwise ordinary trip to the supermarket, told him that the family refrigerator was too full to hold any more food. KC then related how he, as a boy of his son's age, mostly remembered opening his own fridge as a child, and finding only an old jar of mustard, and lots of beer.
And now, he is a Princeton Seminary grad, and is pastoring a wonderful church in Little Rock, near Palmdale, amidst the rocks and cactus of the southern California high desert. This is not an American journey from rags to riches, but it is a journey from hopelessness to a place and time filled with hope. This is not a mega church in terms of numbers, but it is mega in terms of love, grace, mercy, and Christian community. I have been there, and I like those people!
What made the difference for KC? Why not more beer, a little apartment in Hollywood, and a downward spiral of life, just like others in his family? I think I might know why; I watched it happen. Relationships. Love. Involvement. People being there for KC. Christian community. Matter of fact, just like what God might be building in Little Rock.
I am thankful for my old friend KC today.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
IPhone Day, Spoiled Kids, and a Yawn
Yesterday shall forever go down in history as IPhone roll out day. Although I am somewhat of a techno-geek, please pardon me while I don't wet my pants in hysteric anticipation.My office is in Old Town Pasadena, and some 15 year old kid from La Canada has been waiting in line to get his phone for two days now. Fifteen? Where did he get the $500 from? Oh, wait, Mom is in line with him. Can you spell "indulged child"? But then again, perhaps this child will avoid therapy later life because his Mom shared his interests in life with him when he was young.
However, I am encouraged that Jesus still outranks the IPhone, over the long haul. Click the image to enlarge.
This video sums up all the hysteria.....with great humor. HT to Julie
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Teens, Text Messages, Connecting
I have a confession. I get bored in church meetings. And waiting for planes. Standing in line at Starbucks.
Another confession. I love my wife and daughters more than I ever thought possible. And so, when I get bored in church meetings, or when I am waiting at a stop light, or when I am waiting for a flight at the airport, I text message my girls.
My friend Julie has some interesting insight into this phenomenon that I think bears a look see.
My take is that anything that keeps me connected to my family, that keeps some form of communication open between us, is worthy of consideration. I shall continue texting....and keep the lines of communication open.
Another confession. I love my wife and daughters more than I ever thought possible. And so, when I get bored in church meetings, or when I am waiting at a stop light, or when I am waiting for a flight at the airport, I text message my girls.
My friend Julie has some interesting insight into this phenomenon that I think bears a look see.
My take is that anything that keeps me connected to my family, that keeps some form of communication open between us, is worthy of consideration. I shall continue texting....and keep the lines of communication open.
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Transpac and the Morning Light Project
<< Click to enlarge.
July 9th is the annual start again of the Transpacific Yacht Race, and this year Roy Disney will be creating a motion picture of the experiences of one crew. This is reality film-making as it was meant to be.
From Los Angeles to Honolulu, 2,225 miles. The open Pacific. Annoyingly calm waters, and 20 foot downwind swells.
The Transpac race has a bit of place in my life, as two of my cousins crewed on boats in the race during the 1970's. I will be watching this film project, and the race with great interest.
For more, go to The Morning Light Project, click on "The Transpac Race", and then click on "Movie Clip".
July 9th is the annual start again of the Transpacific Yacht Race, and this year Roy Disney will be creating a motion picture of the experiences of one crew. This is reality film-making as it was meant to be.
From Los Angeles to Honolulu, 2,225 miles. The open Pacific. Annoyingly calm waters, and 20 foot downwind swells.
The Transpac race has a bit of place in my life, as two of my cousins crewed on boats in the race during the 1970's. I will be watching this film project, and the race with great interest.
For more, go to The Morning Light Project, click on "The Transpac Race", and then click on "Movie Clip".
The Transpac. Now that is life abundant!
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Can I Be Young At Heart, When I Grow Up?
Today is my 49th birthday....
I ditched work early, came home, and hung out by the pool. This song came on the radio; I remember hearing it as a kid.....it's true:
Frank Sinatra - Young At Heart Lyrics
(G.Leigh, J. Richards)
[Recorded April 29, 1963, Los Angeles]
Fairy tales can come true, it can happen to you
If you're young at heart
For it's hard, you will find, to be narrow of mind
If you're young at heart
You can go to extremes with impossible schemes
You can laugh when your dreams fall apart at the seams
And life gets more exciting with each passing day
And love is either in your heart or on its way
Don't you know that its worth every treasure on earth
To be young at heart
For as rich as you are its much better by far
To be young at heart
And if you should survive to 105
Look at all you'll derive out of being alive
Then here is the best part
You have a head start
If you are among the very young at heart
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Father's Day and Speaking in Portuguese
Sunday was Father's Day. We barbecued, and my oldest girl made the most amazing onion rings on the planet, I swear.
Being a father ranges the entire spectrum of emotions; from near vessel-bursting anger to teary-eyed sentimentality. Pain and joy, all rolled together. In my case, it seems like I experience both of these emotions on an almost daily basis.
Recently, I have been learning new things about my role as a Dad that I did not understand before. I was having a great conversation with a wise friend about parenting recently. I was musing about how sometimes I feel like I cannot have a decent conversation with my daughters, and how sometimes, it feels we are not connecting at all. They are 13 and 16, mind you, so this is tough work.
As most Dad of teenagers know, my name became a two-syllable word when my girls turned about 11 years old....from Dad - to Da - aad! Oh, that, and my IQ dropped about 100 points. I am now Frankenstein.
So, I learned something. I speak English, and much of the time it feels as if my daughters are speaking, well, Portuguese. When I was a kid, they called it "The Generation Gap". But I think it is not a phrase, or a phase, or a problem. I think it is a disconnect. And one that is largely of my doing.
Being a father ranges the entire spectrum of emotions; from near vessel-bursting anger to teary-eyed sentimentality. Pain and joy, all rolled together. In my case, it seems like I experience both of these emotions on an almost daily basis.
Recently, I have been learning new things about my role as a Dad that I did not understand before. I was having a great conversation with a wise friend about parenting recently. I was musing about how sometimes I feel like I cannot have a decent conversation with my daughters, and how sometimes, it feels we are not connecting at all. They are 13 and 16, mind you, so this is tough work.
As most Dad of teenagers know, my name became a two-syllable word when my girls turned about 11 years old....from Dad - to Da - aad! Oh, that, and my IQ dropped about 100 points. I am now Frankenstein.
So, I learned something. I speak English, and much of the time it feels as if my daughters are speaking, well, Portuguese. When I was a kid, they called it "The Generation Gap". But I think it is not a phrase, or a phase, or a problem. I think it is a disconnect. And one that is largely of my doing.
More soon.....
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Ruth Bell Graham 1920-2007
Ruth Graham passed away today. I feel a sense of loss.
My first thought was that Ruth spent much of her life alone. Alone raising babies as Billy traveled the world. Alone with teenagers, while Billy met with dignitaries. Alone. With five kids, alone with her thoughts. And then, after the kids were raised, again, alone. Billy kept on travelling. Alone. And yet, with Jesus there.
And now, Jesus is with her in a way she could only imagine before.
Ruth Graham lived an abundant life, indeed.
My first thought was that Ruth spent much of her life alone. Alone raising babies as Billy traveled the world. Alone with teenagers, while Billy met with dignitaries. Alone. With five kids, alone with her thoughts. And then, after the kids were raised, again, alone. Billy kept on travelling. Alone. And yet, with Jesus there.
And now, Jesus is with her in a way she could only imagine before.
Ruth Graham lived an abundant life, indeed.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Model Homes, Difficult People, and Staying Put
I like to tour model homes. I have been recently reflecting on why this is so.
Last week, while in Phoenix, I needed to look at some model homes, as a part of my real estate consulting work. I spent the better part of two hours touring model tract homes, in part to understand things like product placement, new home absorption, and market behavior. This is some of the stuff I do at work.
As I went through my day, I found myself thinking that I really like to do this model home touring thing. Maybe I am partly voyeuristic, in an odd way. Partly I am amused by how perfect everything is presented to be. In model homes there are never any scuff marks on the baseboards or walls, no magazine fashion pictures taped to bedroom doors, like at my house of teenage girls. All the appliances are shiny and clean. No stains in the kitchen sink, or crumpled tortilla chips on the floor, fresh from the last kid attack of the snack cabinet. The perfect collection of farm tshatshke or modern Spanish decor to match the tiles and flooring. Nothing is out of place.
And then there are the upstairs. The bedrooms and bathrooms. The ideal collection of seaside trinkets happily arranged around the bathrooms. Kids toothbrushes all neatly aligned. A whimsical nautical theme. In the master bedroom, lovely photos on the bedside tables of the well tanned bleach blonde Handsome Family, taken last summer at "the shore" somewhere. Another mystical carefree vacation; not the kind we real world people have, where the teenage kids yell at each other and sulk for hours on end. These Model Home people are so handsome, so happy, so, well, serene and well adjusted.
Its all really made up though, isn't it? None of these homes are inhabited by real people. Well, if they are real people they suffer from a pretty mean case of obsessive compulsive clean-up disorder. Way too neat for reality.
After touring these homes I found myself thinking about the make-believe people whose pictures are scattered about the models. They appear, or look like, or represent the way our funny American evangelical church culture sometimes makes us think we are supposed to be.
There are the Buffingtons, for example, who live in the model aptly named "Nantucket Harbor". Three kids, all skilled at snow skiing; one in college, and the two younger siblings in honors classes at Marlborough Academy for the Privileged. Phil Buffington is an investment banker, and his wife Jill is a neurosurgeon. And then, next door, residing in the model "Seaside Slumber" are the Farnsworthys - Jack, Susan, and the kids, Audrey and Trey. This family loves to vacation in Newport Cove, where they spend their summer hours sailing on the grandparents sailboat. No one in their family ever got cancer or had a divorce. The kids are in nothing but honors classes.
Oh, and if we listen to some parts of our church culture, we would believe that the model home people are also Perfect Christians, too. They never fight in their model homes. The parents have read all the Victorious Parenting books, and their children are so well behaved. Lovely, isn't it? Why can't we be like them?
And then, there are the rest of us. Ordinary people. Messy lives, unfulfilled dreams, unfinished business. Unkempt hair, cavities. Oh, and our churches look like that too! Messy, unkempt, unlovely.
As I drove back to the Phoenix airport, I reflected on my non-model home life. I thought about the disordered, confusing, sometimes unpleasant ways things happen in my world. I thought about church committees I have been on, sometimes with people that make me nutty, talking for hours about things that don't really seem to be that important. I remembered the difficult people.
And then, as I swerved to avoid a speeding tow truck on the freeway, took a deep breath, and gave silent thanks to God for my life, I thought again. I like my life, and I am thankful for my sometimes disheveled, bewildering, non-model home faith. And church.
I am not moving to the model homes. I am staying put.
Last week, while in Phoenix, I needed to look at some model homes, as a part of my real estate consulting work. I spent the better part of two hours touring model tract homes, in part to understand things like product placement, new home absorption, and market behavior. This is some of the stuff I do at work.
As I went through my day, I found myself thinking that I really like to do this model home touring thing. Maybe I am partly voyeuristic, in an odd way. Partly I am amused by how perfect everything is presented to be. In model homes there are never any scuff marks on the baseboards or walls, no magazine fashion pictures taped to bedroom doors, like at my house of teenage girls. All the appliances are shiny and clean. No stains in the kitchen sink, or crumpled tortilla chips on the floor, fresh from the last kid attack of the snack cabinet. The perfect collection of farm tshatshke or modern Spanish decor to match the tiles and flooring. Nothing is out of place.
And then there are the upstairs. The bedrooms and bathrooms. The ideal collection of seaside trinkets happily arranged around the bathrooms. Kids toothbrushes all neatly aligned. A whimsical nautical theme. In the master bedroom, lovely photos on the bedside tables of the well tanned bleach blonde Handsome Family, taken last summer at "the shore" somewhere. Another mystical carefree vacation; not the kind we real world people have, where the teenage kids yell at each other and sulk for hours on end. These Model Home people are so handsome, so happy, so, well, serene and well adjusted.
Its all really made up though, isn't it? None of these homes are inhabited by real people. Well, if they are real people they suffer from a pretty mean case of obsessive compulsive clean-up disorder. Way too neat for reality.
After touring these homes I found myself thinking about the make-believe people whose pictures are scattered about the models. They appear, or look like, or represent the way our funny American evangelical church culture sometimes makes us think we are supposed to be.
There are the Buffingtons, for example, who live in the model aptly named "Nantucket Harbor". Three kids, all skilled at snow skiing; one in college, and the two younger siblings in honors classes at Marlborough Academy for the Privileged. Phil Buffington is an investment banker, and his wife Jill is a neurosurgeon. And then, next door, residing in the model "Seaside Slumber" are the Farnsworthys - Jack, Susan, and the kids, Audrey and Trey. This family loves to vacation in Newport Cove, where they spend their summer hours sailing on the grandparents sailboat. No one in their family ever got cancer or had a divorce. The kids are in nothing but honors classes.
Oh, and if we listen to some parts of our church culture, we would believe that the model home people are also Perfect Christians, too. They never fight in their model homes. The parents have read all the Victorious Parenting books, and their children are so well behaved. Lovely, isn't it? Why can't we be like them?
And then, there are the rest of us. Ordinary people. Messy lives, unfulfilled dreams, unfinished business. Unkempt hair, cavities. Oh, and our churches look like that too! Messy, unkempt, unlovely.
As I drove back to the Phoenix airport, I reflected on my non-model home life. I thought about the disordered, confusing, sometimes unpleasant ways things happen in my world. I thought about church committees I have been on, sometimes with people that make me nutty, talking for hours about things that don't really seem to be that important. I remembered the difficult people.
And then, as I swerved to avoid a speeding tow truck on the freeway, took a deep breath, and gave silent thanks to God for my life, I thought again. I like my life, and I am thankful for my sometimes disheveled, bewildering, non-model home faith. And church.
I am not moving to the model homes. I am staying put.
Monday, June 11, 2007
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Still Looking
I Haven't Found What I Am Looking For
We Christian folk often like to boast that, through our clean and shiny faith, we have found the final answers to all of lifes stress and problems.
We have happy, smiling lives, free from pain, free from struggle. We are victorious. We even make more money than most, because we subtly belive that God is blessing us. And if we do have "challenges", they are short lived and have a happy ending.
To this I say, baloney.
If my almost 49 years have taught me much of anything, it is that the struggle, the striving, the searching, in many ways, never stops. Its unavoidable. Its life. And guess what else? Following Jesus often makes the journey harder in some ways. A friend of mine wisely says that the Christian life is "living life on purpose, not just letting it happen to you". She is right. We have a dear friend who lost her battle with cancer several years ago. Her death was brutal, unpleasant, and not like a happy ending to a movie. She knew Jesus better than just about anyone I know, and she did not go peacefully. It was very messy.
We likely won't even find the perfect setting in which our faith can grow and be nurtured, with all the dials adjusted perfectly to our own wants and needs. In this regard, I often feel like a Presbyterian Catholic Baptist Emergent Post Evangelical Nondenominational Episcopalian, or something similar. I often feel confused, like I am a couple blocks from home in a dream, and can't quite make that last turn around the corner that gets me back.
And so, I have not yet found the perfect church setting. I am attracted to many things across the Christian spectrum, from the ancient liturgy of the Catholics, to the focus on the Eucharist of the Episcopalians, to the get-you-all-wet-because-you-really-mean-it dunking of the Baptists. I often find myself repelled by the Committee-centric mindset of my own dear Presbyterians, and yet I love the open way that people from my own tradition love others, regardless of where they have come from.
I am tired sometimes of the only "getting you saved" mentality of many evangelicals, but many of my best friends and most admired role models come from there. It seems to me that Jesus had much more in mind for his Kingdom than "getting people in". He wanted to come and live with them, everyday. How intrusive!
And so, you see, I still haven't found what I am looking for. Its ok, though. I am on the way there. I just wanted to take a minute and be honest. My life is no less messy than yours. Just providing full disclosure.
We Christian folk often like to boast that, through our clean and shiny faith, we have found the final answers to all of lifes stress and problems.
We have happy, smiling lives, free from pain, free from struggle. We are victorious. We even make more money than most, because we subtly belive that God is blessing us. And if we do have "challenges", they are short lived and have a happy ending.
To this I say, baloney.
If my almost 49 years have taught me much of anything, it is that the struggle, the striving, the searching, in many ways, never stops. Its unavoidable. Its life. And guess what else? Following Jesus often makes the journey harder in some ways. A friend of mine wisely says that the Christian life is "living life on purpose, not just letting it happen to you". She is right. We have a dear friend who lost her battle with cancer several years ago. Her death was brutal, unpleasant, and not like a happy ending to a movie. She knew Jesus better than just about anyone I know, and she did not go peacefully. It was very messy.
We likely won't even find the perfect setting in which our faith can grow and be nurtured, with all the dials adjusted perfectly to our own wants and needs. In this regard, I often feel like a Presbyterian Catholic Baptist Emergent Post Evangelical Nondenominational Episcopalian, or something similar. I often feel confused, like I am a couple blocks from home in a dream, and can't quite make that last turn around the corner that gets me back.
And so, I have not yet found the perfect church setting. I am attracted to many things across the Christian spectrum, from the ancient liturgy of the Catholics, to the focus on the Eucharist of the Episcopalians, to the get-you-all-wet-because-you-really-mean-it dunking of the Baptists. I often find myself repelled by the Committee-centric mindset of my own dear Presbyterians, and yet I love the open way that people from my own tradition love others, regardless of where they have come from.
I am tired sometimes of the only "getting you saved" mentality of many evangelicals, but many of my best friends and most admired role models come from there. It seems to me that Jesus had much more in mind for his Kingdom than "getting people in". He wanted to come and live with them, everyday. How intrusive!
And so, you see, I still haven't found what I am looking for. Its ok, though. I am on the way there. I just wanted to take a minute and be honest. My life is no less messy than yours. Just providing full disclosure.
Next, why I am staying where I have been put, and why need to love the messy people God has placed me with....
Sunday, June 03, 2007
Still Haven't Found What We're Looking For
U2 wrote a song:
I believe in the Kingdom Come
Then all the colours will bleed into one
Bleed into one.
But yes, I'm still running.
You broke the bonds
And you loosed the chains
Carried the cross of my shame
Oh my shame, you know I believe it.
But I still haven't found
What I'm looking for.
Then all the colours will bleed into one
Bleed into one.
But yes, I'm still running.
You broke the bonds
And you loosed the chains
Carried the cross of my shame
Oh my shame, you know I believe it.
But I still haven't found
What I'm looking for.
Here is what I am thinking these days.
These words are both antithetical to just about everything that I have become and am becoming, and at the same time, describes me quite well. If you like your life neatly defined, do not read on. I have found life to be very messy, so get ready to have me define some of my mess for you, and for myself.
I HAVE found What I Am Looking For
These words are both antithetical to just about everything that I have become and am becoming, and at the same time, describes me quite well. If you like your life neatly defined, do not read on. I have found life to be very messy, so get ready to have me define some of my mess for you, and for myself.
I HAVE found What I Am Looking For
In my senior year at UCLA, my life seemed without reason. For 21 years, there had been a voice in my head which wondered what the heck was the point of life? Why was I here? What was my purpose on this planet? What was I to become? Why did relationships with women never work out? What was my carer to be? What would life after college look like?
In the midst of this wondering, and over the course of a year or so, in a story that is a bit long to repeat here, the words and life of Jesus became real to me in a way that was tangible, healing, transforming, and filled to overflowing with meaning. My journey in this Way has changed in many ways over years, but my focus on the beauty, meaning, and mystery of who Christ is has grown deeper in ways I would not have expected. In this way, I have found what I am looking for.
In the midst of this wondering, and over the course of a year or so, in a story that is a bit long to repeat here, the words and life of Jesus became real to me in a way that was tangible, healing, transforming, and filled to overflowing with meaning. My journey in this Way has changed in many ways over years, but my focus on the beauty, meaning, and mystery of who Christ is has grown deeper in ways I would not have expected. In this way, I have found what I am looking for.
Soon, "I Have NOT Found What I Am Looking For"......
Saturday, June 02, 2007
WWFD - What Would Fred Do?
My daughters both loved Mr. Rogers. During their younger years, I often found myself late for work in the morning, because I wanted to linger just a moment or two on the couch and watch Mr. Rogers with my little girls. It was calming, heartwarming, and the most emotionally healthy stuff on TV.
The other night I had the time to watch the DVD of "Fred Rogers: America's Favorite Neighbor". It had been recommended to me by a friend. This is one of the more memorable films I have seen in some time. This is a film that stays with you. It sticks. In your soul.
I will tell you why. Watching Fred Rogers makes me feel just a bit uneasy. Maybe it was because he wasn't assertive or macho enough for our world. But really, I think it is because he was such a completely genuine and kind man, with very little guile. He really did not seem to understand or tolerate sarcasm, the way all of us "modern" people do. Rather, he really believed in everyone he met, and felt that they were each a special miracle, never to be repeated.
He seemed to be emotionally way ahead of his time. He thought about and cared for children in a way that, even today, is quite remarkable. He was altogether kind, gentle, perceptive, and loving.
As I watched more of the program, I started to figure out both why I felt slightly uneasy, and also so very fascinated by this man. There was something else motivating him. Rogers attended both the Pittsburgh Theological Seminary and the University of Pittsburgh's Graduate School of Child Development. He graduated from the Seminary and was ordained as a Presbyterian minister in 1963 with a charge to continue his work with children and families through the mass media. He was ordained to care. To sit on the floor and listen to little kids; to respond and communicate to them love and understanding, sometimes with puppets.
I felt strangely moved because Fred Rogers was motivated by the Gospel, but in a different way that our culture is used to. He did not shout, or color his hair, or write a book about six magic ways to success, or start a big shiny church with his name on the marquee. He did not parade his faith about town, carrying a bullhorn. As I listened to him speak, and the words of the many songs he had written for his television show, I sensed that virtually everything he did and said was motivated by genuine care. A care that is not anything like what our culture is used to. Fred was very counter-cultural. Emergent and missional, if you will.
I would have loved to have known Fred Rogers. I think it would have been a bit like knowing Jesus. Slightly troubling and wonderful, together at the same time.
For the past couple of days, as I recall this great biography I watched, I have been thinking to myself, "I wonder what Fred would do?"
The other night I had the time to watch the DVD of "Fred Rogers: America's Favorite Neighbor". It had been recommended to me by a friend. This is one of the more memorable films I have seen in some time. This is a film that stays with you. It sticks. In your soul.
I will tell you why. Watching Fred Rogers makes me feel just a bit uneasy. Maybe it was because he wasn't assertive or macho enough for our world. But really, I think it is because he was such a completely genuine and kind man, with very little guile. He really did not seem to understand or tolerate sarcasm, the way all of us "modern" people do. Rather, he really believed in everyone he met, and felt that they were each a special miracle, never to be repeated.
He seemed to be emotionally way ahead of his time. He thought about and cared for children in a way that, even today, is quite remarkable. He was altogether kind, gentle, perceptive, and loving.
As I watched more of the program, I started to figure out both why I felt slightly uneasy, and also so very fascinated by this man. There was something else motivating him. Rogers attended both the Pittsburgh Theological Seminary and the University of Pittsburgh's Graduate School of Child Development. He graduated from the Seminary and was ordained as a Presbyterian minister in 1963 with a charge to continue his work with children and families through the mass media. He was ordained to care. To sit on the floor and listen to little kids; to respond and communicate to them love and understanding, sometimes with puppets.
I felt strangely moved because Fred Rogers was motivated by the Gospel, but in a different way that our culture is used to. He did not shout, or color his hair, or write a book about six magic ways to success, or start a big shiny church with his name on the marquee. He did not parade his faith about town, carrying a bullhorn. As I listened to him speak, and the words of the many songs he had written for his television show, I sensed that virtually everything he did and said was motivated by genuine care. A care that is not anything like what our culture is used to. Fred was very counter-cultural. Emergent and missional, if you will.
I would have loved to have known Fred Rogers. I think it would have been a bit like knowing Jesus. Slightly troubling and wonderful, together at the same time.
For the past couple of days, as I recall this great biography I watched, I have been thinking to myself, "I wonder what Fred would do?"
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Underwater Fun
May I offer a thought?
I learned several years ago that schools for Down children are starting to take children with other syndromes since Down is becoming so rare. Now that tests can tell so early in pregnancy that a baby has Down, fewer people are choosing to have them.
My heart breaks when I think about what our lives would be like without our friend Molly.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Coming to the Aid of a Friend
Within the past hour, I have been asked to come to the aid of my college chum Julie. There is a serious crisis affecting her home, a trauma so severe it borders on the cataclysmic. The future peace and harmony of the Bogart family is in jeopardy.
And so, my considerable experience as an amateur family therapist has, once again, been summoned to the rescue of this fine Midwestern family. I also have experience as an amateur sushi chef, but more on that another time.
However, in this instance, my gut tells me that the drama in the Bogart family is far more serious than just family therapy.
Julie and Jon, I am quite concerned what you may have in your home is a demonic possession of Jacob's saxophone, and, more likely, his entire high school band. Pictured above is another unfortunate manifestation of this type of poltergeist. This is not the USC band, but is, in fact, the Smithfield Elementary School of Ottumwa, Iowa in 1997, shortly before the band was exercised of their demonic possession by a trained professional clergy person at the local shopping mall. This event has now become known as "The Iowa Redemption".
There is only way to solve this situation. Tough love, holy water, and heavy construction equipment. May I recommend the Hubbard Construction company for the necessary equipment. Pictured at left is the result of the "band instrument exorcism process".
Julie, I know this may be painful, but there is no other way. Bill Bright would agree. God help you.
And so, my considerable experience as an amateur family therapist has, once again, been summoned to the rescue of this fine Midwestern family. I also have experience as an amateur sushi chef, but more on that another time.
However, in this instance, my gut tells me that the drama in the Bogart family is far more serious than just family therapy.
Julie and Jon, I am quite concerned what you may have in your home is a demonic possession of Jacob's saxophone, and, more likely, his entire high school band. Pictured above is another unfortunate manifestation of this type of poltergeist. This is not the USC band, but is, in fact, the Smithfield Elementary School of Ottumwa, Iowa in 1997, shortly before the band was exercised of their demonic possession by a trained professional clergy person at the local shopping mall. This event has now become known as "The Iowa Redemption".
There is only way to solve this situation. Tough love, holy water, and heavy construction equipment. May I recommend the Hubbard Construction company for the necessary equipment. Pictured at left is the result of the "band instrument exorcism process".
Julie, I know this may be painful, but there is no other way. Bill Bright would agree. God help you.
Saturday, May 26, 2007
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Arggg...Bible Fight!
Remember those felt board Bible stories in Kindergarten? Several summers ago, my wife and I taught Sunday School together. It was a blast, we had great group of kids.
Every Sunday, without fail, we would unload the plastic bag full of felt board Bible characters, and reenact Biblical history, right there in the classroom. Animals of all sorts, villagers, wise men, the Prophets - all floppying and felt covered. I wanted to add some realism, like bringing in the wet fire control standpipe hose into the classroom, and turn it on to relive the Great Flood. No luck. Fire code and safety violation. Darn rules, darn LAFD!
I have now found, through the unsolicited assistance of a pastor friend, who will remain nameless, a great new teaching tool for kiddos.
Bible Fight, baby. Check it out. It rocks. Now all your favorite Bible characters can duke it out. Ever wonder if Moses could kick Satan's booty? Try this game and find out.
Every Sunday, without fail, we would unload the plastic bag full of felt board Bible characters, and reenact Biblical history, right there in the classroom. Animals of all sorts, villagers, wise men, the Prophets - all floppying and felt covered. I wanted to add some realism, like bringing in the wet fire control standpipe hose into the classroom, and turn it on to relive the Great Flood. No luck. Fire code and safety violation. Darn rules, darn LAFD!
I have now found, through the unsolicited assistance of a pastor friend, who will remain nameless, a great new teaching tool for kiddos.
Bible Fight, baby. Check it out. It rocks. Now all your favorite Bible characters can duke it out. Ever wonder if Moses could kick Satan's booty? Try this game and find out.
Before your eyes, I have just revolutionized elementary Sunday School everywhere. My modesty is only exceeded by my humility. That is all for now..
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Loosing the Bonds of Earth
Several weeks ago, British astrophysicist Stephen Hawking experienced a long sought-after freedom. Freedom from the wheelchair that has bound him for so many years. Freedom from the complete inability to move. Floating, free.
Mr. Hawking had long waited for the chance to float free with Zero G -a commercial weightless flight company. The cost of a normal flight is $3,500, but this flight actually raised $144,000 for charity.
Mr. Hawking, who is arguably one of the greatest scientific minds of the century, is constricted by ALS to a wheelchair, and is unable to communicate without the use of a computer.
After the flight, Mr. Hawking said, through his computer translator, "The zero G part was wonderful, and the high-G part was no problem. I could have gone on and on. Space, here I come!"
I am not sure why this event seems so wonderful and poetic to me. I feel joy and frustration mixed together. Joy of watching a man, so long confined, finally able, if only for a moment, to loose the binds of earth and float free, unfettered. Frustration, in knowing that it will only last for a moment, and soon, Mr. Hawking must return to his still life in a wheelchair. And, I remember my friend Frank.
Why is life like this for this great man? Why is this man, with this amazing mind that has studied and helped to define the cosmos, so held back, so restricted here on earth? I have no idea.
But watching him loose the bonds of gravity is wonderful.
Mr. Hawking had long waited for the chance to float free with Zero G -a commercial weightless flight company. The cost of a normal flight is $3,500, but this flight actually raised $144,000 for charity.
Mr. Hawking, who is arguably one of the greatest scientific minds of the century, is constricted by ALS to a wheelchair, and is unable to communicate without the use of a computer.
After the flight, Mr. Hawking said, through his computer translator, "The zero G part was wonderful, and the high-G part was no problem. I could have gone on and on. Space, here I come!"
I am not sure why this event seems so wonderful and poetic to me. I feel joy and frustration mixed together. Joy of watching a man, so long confined, finally able, if only for a moment, to loose the binds of earth and float free, unfettered. Frustration, in knowing that it will only last for a moment, and soon, Mr. Hawking must return to his still life in a wheelchair. And, I remember my friend Frank.
Why is life like this for this great man? Why is this man, with this amazing mind that has studied and helped to define the cosmos, so held back, so restricted here on earth? I have no idea.
But watching him loose the bonds of gravity is wonderful.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Vodka, Hookers, and Grace
Julie Riggs is one of the people in this photo. I have no idea which one, and it really does not make any difference.
What does make a difference is what this college senior is choosing to do when she is not preparing to graduate from the University of Georgia.
Read about it here. Oh, and read about the Vodka, at the end.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Beautiful and Obscene
A couple of weeks ago, we went to the birthday party of a dear friend, who is turning a significant age marker, which will remain classified. Ok, its 50. A good man, indeed, someone I have known and loved for many years.
The party was held at the home of friends in Corona Del Mar, close to the beach, a lovely setting indeed.
But across the street was this. The Portabello Estate, on the bluffs. For Sale. Yours for only $75 million dollars. Eight bedrooms, 10.5 baths. Bowling alley. Private theater. Pool complete with tube slide. 2,000 square foot master suite. In total, 20,000 square feet.
We walked down to the tide pools with the kids right beside this house. After viewing the web site of this amazing home, I feel two things:
First, attraction. I mean, what a totally cool pad. Imagine the barbecue parties we could throw at this place. Imagine the youth group meetings. Think of all the people we could house at this place. The perfect entertainment house. Beautiful. Stunning. Not a bad pad, man.
The next feeling is one of repulsion. This is American excess at its apex. Too much, too many, too flashy, too expensive. And in a way, this house is obscene. Vulgar. Excessive. Greedy. Self absorbed.
Beauty and obscenity, all in one place.
The party was held at the home of friends in Corona Del Mar, close to the beach, a lovely setting indeed.
But across the street was this. The Portabello Estate, on the bluffs. For Sale. Yours for only $75 million dollars. Eight bedrooms, 10.5 baths. Bowling alley. Private theater. Pool complete with tube slide. 2,000 square foot master suite. In total, 20,000 square feet.
We walked down to the tide pools with the kids right beside this house. After viewing the web site of this amazing home, I feel two things:
First, attraction. I mean, what a totally cool pad. Imagine the barbecue parties we could throw at this place. Imagine the youth group meetings. Think of all the people we could house at this place. The perfect entertainment house. Beautiful. Stunning. Not a bad pad, man.
The next feeling is one of repulsion. This is American excess at its apex. Too much, too many, too flashy, too expensive. And in a way, this house is obscene. Vulgar. Excessive. Greedy. Self absorbed.
Beauty and obscenity, all in one place.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Bruins Make History
First National Championship - 1950
May 13, 2007 - UCLA Women's Water Polo won the 100th UCLA National Championship. Thirty of those championships were by women.
The most accomplished athletic program in the history of the NCAA. Bar non.
Jackie Robinson, John Wooden, Rafer Johnson, Dwight Stones, Evelyn Ashford, Florence Griffith Joyner, Bill Walton, Kareem, Anne Meyers, Karrie Strug, Lisa Fernandez....the list goes on, and on, and on.
Go Bruins!
May 13, 2007 - UCLA Women's Water Polo won the 100th UCLA National Championship. Thirty of those championships were by women.
The most accomplished athletic program in the history of the NCAA. Bar non.
Jackie Robinson, John Wooden, Rafer Johnson, Dwight Stones, Evelyn Ashford, Florence Griffith Joyner, Bill Walton, Kareem, Anne Meyers, Karrie Strug, Lisa Fernandez....the list goes on, and on, and on.
Go Bruins!
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Late Night Reflection
One night last week I awoke at 3:00 AM sharp. I have no idea why. I usually sleep through the night with little interruption; a Divine gift to my simple and naive soul, perhaps.
Our family had enjoyed Mexican food the evening before, and lying there in the dark, I realized I was thirsty. After thinking about getting up and heading downstairs for a drink for maybe five minutes, I got up and headed to the fridge, quiet and night all around me.
I am not sure why, but I sat down with my glass of water in the living room by the front window. The house was darkened, it was completely still outside. Only the street lights illuminating the street on this moonless night. All the hurry and rush and static of everyday life was gone. It was if time had frozen, as if this hurried life I lead had, for a moment, been put on hold. Still green trees out the window, soft street lights, and only the sound of my own breathing.
And then, there was another sound. Breathing, but not my own. The soft, rhythmic breathing of Heather, our 13 year old, in the bedroom close to the living room. Deep in REM sleep, lost in a dream place likely far from this quiet night time living room. And then, another soft sound. The soft rolling-over-rustling of her sister, Kelly, now 16, in the bedroom down the hall.
Albert Einstein once said, "A human being is a part of a whole, called by us 'universe', a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings as something separated from the rest... a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty.
May I love well those nearest to me, and create a life that widens its circle of compassion.
Our family had enjoyed Mexican food the evening before, and lying there in the dark, I realized I was thirsty. After thinking about getting up and heading downstairs for a drink for maybe five minutes, I got up and headed to the fridge, quiet and night all around me.
I am not sure why, but I sat down with my glass of water in the living room by the front window. The house was darkened, it was completely still outside. Only the street lights illuminating the street on this moonless night. All the hurry and rush and static of everyday life was gone. It was if time had frozen, as if this hurried life I lead had, for a moment, been put on hold. Still green trees out the window, soft street lights, and only the sound of my own breathing.
And then, there was another sound. Breathing, but not my own. The soft, rhythmic breathing of Heather, our 13 year old, in the bedroom close to the living room. Deep in REM sleep, lost in a dream place likely far from this quiet night time living room. And then, another soft sound. The soft rolling-over-rustling of her sister, Kelly, now 16, in the bedroom down the hall.
Albert Einstein once said, "A human being is a part of a whole, called by us 'universe', a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings as something separated from the rest... a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty.
May I love well those nearest to me, and create a life that widens its circle of compassion.
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