This Man in the Wheelchair

He was sitting in his wheelchair.

I sat down next to him, in the bright, sunlit room where he spends his days now. His head is bent forward now almost all the time, so he has a permanent view of the floor. He will be 88 years old in January. As I sat down, he barely noticed I was there, even though he was awake. He is not awake very much anymore. His name is Roland.

Over the past month he has been moved into the "Reminiscence Wing" of this assisted living facility. He was moved because he could no longer get along on his own. About three weeks ago, he just stopped walking, after several months of repeated falls. The professionals here say this decline is normal for a senior, after the death of a "long term spouse". His wife and he were married for 49 years, until she passed away about 15 months ago. He is very well attended here, with lots of attention, care, and love.

He grew up in Whitter, California. He attended Whittier High School, and then spent two years at USC. He did not finish college, as his country called, and he enlisted in the US Army Air Corp. He spent about half of the war training pilots stateside, and the rest piloting B-17 air-sea rescue missions in the South Pacific. He followed MacArthur north, at a distance, through southeast Asia, and was actually on board the USS Missouri for the signing of the peace treaty with the Japanese.

He returned home after the war to raise a young family, working as a manager in the oil field construction business in Southern California. A daughter and a son, born just following the war, and a young bride from Illinois. But this family was not to last intact; the marriage dissolved after several years, for reasons I did not know for almost 40 years after. The children's mother quickly married another man, and moved on in life.

This man, the one in the wheelchair, sitting in the sun, did not move on as quickly. Divorce was, for him, filled with shame. He chose to hold that shame, and over the years it often manifested itself as anger. But he was a faithful provider for his children, sending monthly child care payments for 18 years for each child. The cancelled checks he kept in a little lock box for more than 50 years in his home.

After almost 10 years of a single life, he met a lovely blond girl at a party that some friends had thrown in Mid-Wilshire. Her name was Elizabeth, named after her mother; Betty for short. It was love at first sight. She had a past as well, a failed marriage without children. She never did speak of that first marriage all her life afterward, although it lasted for about 8 years. Roland and Betty were married in 1957. A son, their only child, arrived just about 10 months afterward, in the late spring of 1958. They named him Steve.

In 1963, they bought a home in Arcadia, California, and settled in. Betty tended the home, while Roland rose in the ranks of the construction company he worked for. He spent his entire career at one company, retiring as a Senior Vice President. He traveled to Alaska in the 1970s on many occasions, working on projects related to the Trans-Alaska Pipeline. It was a very safe, comfortable, 1960s sort of life. Dad voted for Richard Nikon, hated Vietnam War protesters, and never really understood the civil rights movement.

They threw "dinner parties" in the back yard in summer, with Roland running the barbecue, and Betty wearing MuuMuus, and passing out h'orderves. In the winter the dinner parties continued, with their only son manning the bar for guests. Drinking was an important part of the culture, but typically not drinking to excess. All things in moderation mind you; Nixon would have been proud.

At the age of 65, the man in the wheelchair retired, and spent the next 10 years in quiet retirement, watching a lot of TV, repairing small things around the house, and on occasion, usually once a year, traveling with his wife of more than 30 years. England, France, Germany, Austria - all in big buses full of seniors. Australia. Several Caribbean cruises. And of course, several trips to their favorite place, Hawaii.

Several years ago, Betty had a fall while in the parking lot at the supermarket; she had broken her hip, and her recovery was never complete. Dad spent the rest of his days looking after his bride, caring for her daily, until finally, the burden was too much. One summer day he had a small stroke, and while still able to get around and take care of some things, it was time for a change in lifestyle. His son and daughter-in-law found a comfortable assisted living facility for them both, not far from their home.

And now, on this afternoon, he sits in the sunshine in his wheelchair. As I sit next to him, I wonder how much he really comprehends anymore, how much of him is really "here" anymore. We don't talk much, we mostly just sit together.

As I sit, I think of Ronald Reagan's letter to the American people, when he gently, and with great dignity, let the nation know that he was suffering from Alzheimer's disease. He mentioned in the letter that he was soon to head on "the journey that will lead me into the sunset of my life".

Although there is afternoon sun shining in the window of this comfortable place, it feels very close to sunset to me.

The man in the wheelchair is my Dad.

A Spot in the Middle

So, does it feel hot out? For some time now, I have been frustrated by the lack of rational thought concerning global warming.

Finally, it seems there is a rational thinker out there.

His name is Bjorn Lomborg, the free-thinking Dane who, in "The Skeptical Environmentalist" (2001), challenged the belief that the environment is going to pieces. Mr. Lomborg is now back with "Cool It," a book brimming with useful facts and common sense. Yay for the guy in the middle!

I have been trying to figure this whole global warming hysteria thing out for some time, and frankly, I am annoyed by Al Gore and his Oscar and his heated mansion pool house, making hay by fear mongering about a flooded New York and too many hurricanes. All hell breaking loose. Help, Chicken Little!

Lomborg believes that global warming is happening, that man has caused it, and that national governments need to act. Yet he also believes that Al Gore is bordering on hysteria, that some global-warming science has been distorted and hyped, and that the Kyoto Protocol and other carbon-reduction schemes are a terrible waste of money. The world needs to think more rationally, he says, about how to tackle this challenge.

Mr. Lomborg starts by doing what he does best: presenting a calm analysis of what today's best science tells us about global warming and its risks. Relying primarily on official statistics, he ticks through the many supposed calamities that will result from a hotter planet -- extreme hurricanes, flooding rivers, malaria, heat deaths, starvation, water shortages. It turns out that, when these problems are looked at from all sides and stripped of the spin, they aren't as worrisome as global-warming alarmists would suggest. In some cases, they even have an upside.

Let me be clear; we need to be very careful stewards of this fragile earth. We also need to be rational, clear headed, and not absorb the latest CNN soundbites as if they are well researched truth.

September 11th Wordless Reflection

They Were Hanging a Flag

On my way to work today, I spotted two workers, climbing a ladder, to place an American flag on the exterior of a building.

It was a large flag, and it was new.

And then, I remembered.

And yet, there is hope.

Walking On Water

Found out about this movie by reading Relevant Magazine today. I am going to see it!

One of Us, After All

I am encouraged by something that some might find as discouraging.

This is an image of arguably one of the most recognizable spiritual models in the past century. A Nobel Peace prize winner, she has been adored as a model of depth of faith.

But it turns out, not all as it seems. A new book, under the interesting title of "Mother Teresa, Come Be My Light", reveals a lonely and troubled soul inside of this saintly woman.

She is quoted, in her own hand, as feeling "darkness and coldness and emptiness so great that nothing touches my soul", and "Heaven means nothing to me".

However, as noted by Kenneth L. Woodward in the Wall Street Journal this weekend, a number of commentators have concluded from the letters that Mother Teresa lost her faith. They seem unaware that Vatican judges cited the letters as proof of her exceptional faith. That figures: What the church looks for in a saint is not just good works -- for that there are Nobel Prizes -- but solid evidence that the candidate for canonization was transformed, inwardly and utterly, by God's grace.

Woodward goes on to observe that Mother Teresa was a special breed of saint: a genuine mystic; men and women who seek to experience union with God in this life. Wanting this experience doesn't mean that God will gratify that desire. In any case, the experience is often short-lived. Mother Teresa tells us in her letters that she once felt God's powerful presence and heard Jesus speak to her. Then God withdrew and Jesus was silent. What Mother Teresa experienced thereafter was faith devoid of any emotional consolation.

I find this presence and then long absence fascinating. This seeming abandonment by God of one of the most famous of saints would not go well in many congregations here in the US, where God seems to be constantly, almost relentless, chattering to the elect about nearly everything from what He wants you to do with your money, to where the good parking spaces are.

It seems there is something else that is crucial in the life of a mystic: They need the council of others, usually those less spiritually advanced, for direction. No one becomes a saint all by herself, though we Americans like to think anyone can find God unaided. In the case of Mother Teresa it was a theologian, Father Joseph Neuner, who showed her how her sense of abandonment mirrored the experience of the crucified Christ himself, who felt the Father had forsaken him. Afterwards, she wrote, "I came to love the darkness."

Imagine that. Loving darkness. In the end, Mother Teresa had to rely on faith, hope and charity. These are the virtues expected of all Christians, not just the spiritual elite.

Notes Woodward of the Journal - "She was one of us after all."

A Bunch of "P" Words

St Stephen's Cathedral - Vienna

I am still digesting all the information and feelings I took in recently in my trip to the PGF Conference in Houston. In particular, I have been thinking about the ideas of Michael Frost, and the implications they would have for my life - when I take them seriously.

They are a bunch of words that begin with the letter "P".

Proximity
I once had someone ask me, "Name the five sermons that changed your life the most.....and now name the five people that changed your life the most." Of course, I could barely thing of one sermon, let alone five. But the people were far easier to name, to remember, and to smile about. Remarkable people, who I am thankful for, to this day.

Simply stated, faith is often best developed largely in community, in connected relationships with other people. Proximity. But this means that our disconnected, self-absorbed lives will need to change. We will need to become people who are invested in the lives of others, where our needs often come second. Turn off the Dish Network, go out for coffee, spend time with a troubled friend. Get involved.

Presence
Our lives will need to become marinated in the gospel story, and we will need to discover ways make our stories, and our lives, reflections of this gospel. We will need to become a presence in the midst of where we live, not just another institution. Michael Frost, who is himself an Aussie, once met with a group of Australian Christian surfers. He asked them, "who is the greatest surfer that ever lived?" The answer was easy, and delivered with massive enthusiam; Kelly Slater. The surfer dudes could go on for long stretches about all the amazing and awesome skills and characteristics of this, the world's greatest surfer.

Then, Michael asked them about the characteristics they admired about Jesus. The same room full of surfers who could go on at length about Kelly Slater were at a comparative loss to come up with superlatives concerning the person of Christ. Lots of mouth breathing, instead. Interesting. Am I like this, as well? Are we, North American Christian People. Do we have more to say about Miss South Carolina, than the person we aim to follow daily? Am I too...well, institutional?

Powerlessness
No control, no power, weak. Small. Perhaps we need to demonstrate the powerlessness of the church. The church in the third world is growing by leaps and bounds in many ways because there, the church has adopted none of the temporal symbols of power that we consider so dear. Buildings, political influence, prestige. None of that.

When the Cultural Revolution resulted in the suppression of the church in China, in 1966, there were about 20 million Christians in China. Today, after years of persecution and hiding, the Chinese church is estimated at 100 million. What happened? Over 25 years of powerlessness for the church.

Imagine the Catholic and Protestant churches in America going broke, simply paying back the people they have hurt; and God knows there has been a lot of hurt on both sides of the Christian isle. Might this not be the best thing that ever happened to the American church? Owning up to our faults, and taking responsibility. Being powerless.

Proclamation
We will need to proclaim with our lives the Good News. Michael Frost tell a story of meeting with a prominent Australian who was involved in business and innovation. He remarked of the Christian church, as he knew it...."you have, in Jesus, a bloody good product, but your current delivery system is screwed". I could not agree more. Our delivery system is screwed.

How can we improve it? By being close to those around us - proximity, presence. By being upside down people that are willing to be powerless. And by being willing to proclaim, in new ways the Good News.

In The Shadow of the Moon!

I was 11 years old. We had dinner on TV trays in our den, and watched Neil Armstrong set foot on the moon. It was the buzz of our neighborhood for weeks; we had neighbors who worked in the aerospace industry.

Nearly 30 years later, as a part of my work, I walked through the buildings in Downey, California, where Apollo was assembled. Even walking through those long empty buildings, I got chills.

Just two days ago, I had the privilege of visiting here, a place filled with the history of space travel. I met with people in Huntsville, Alabama, who actually knew of Wernher von Braun and his team of rocket men.

Truly remarkble stuff....make that "The Right Stuff".

And then, this afternoon, while taking a break at the end of our vacation, I spotted and article about this movie, due out in September. To my friend John Wierick, who reads this blog on occasion -- buddy, we are going to the movies soon!

This is real adventure, real courage! Watching this trailer gives me chills again...

Disconnected and Connecting

Lots of things have been rattling around in my brain of recent. In order to clear space for Bruin Football scores, its time to dump at least one thought out.

Disconnected
While flying to Nashville for our vacation week, I listened to this podcast, which reminded me, yet again, of how often disconnected my own life, and our lives together in our modern culture, have become. Disconnected from one another. We prefer to spend time with our Tivos, Ipods, laptops and email, rather than with real flesh and blood people. And when relationships between friends becomes strained, (and this is particularly acute in the church) we often choose not to work to heal, but rather to disconnect, to distance ourselves. I will admit, I sometimes am tempted to behave like this.

The podcast was with Dr. Edward Hallowell, who wrote a book entitled Connect back in 2001 that urges readers to “make time for connectedness,” which he alternately defines as having person-to-person interaction or being involved with something greater than oneself. He identifies “Twelve Points of Connection” (i.e., marriage, family, friends, work, beauty, the past, nature, pets, ideas and information, institutions, religious concerns, and self-knowledge) that can supply this grounding.

As I heard this, looking out the window of American Airlines flight 1974, at majestic thunderheads floating past, I thought "Yes! I need this! I need to connect!"

Our family has spent the last four days in Huntsville, Alabama, population 160,000. This was a town that had a population of 15,000 in 1950. But then, in the middle 1950s, NASA developed the Marshall Space Flight Center here, populated by Dr. Wernher von Braun and his band of German rocket scientists, and nothing has ever been the same.

And yet. It is so very different here from our home in Southern California. First impression: where are all the people? The streets here seem nearly deserted, compared with the clogged, congested, traffic snarled streets of Los Angeles.

And the people. Oh, the people. They have time. Time to talk, time to listen. And at least with the good Christian folk we spent time with, they have time to grow community, to love, to laugh. There is much we can learn from these folks. They seem to understand what it means to be connected to one another. I envy their connection.

What can I do, in the metropolis of Los Angeles, to become better connected? I wonder.

Rev. Jill Leslie Williams

This is the Rev. Jill Leslie Williams. Over the past four years, she has become very dear to the hearts of our family.

Yesterday, she was ordained a pastor of Word and Sacrament. Below is the prayer I offered during the laying on of hands, at Covenant Presbyterian Church in Huntsville, Alabama.

"Lord, today we come to you with hearts that are very full. Full of praise and thanksgiving, full of hope and joy, hearts warmed by our friendship with this, your servant, Jill. Many of us here have known what it is to be loved by her, and our lives are so much richer for it. God, we give you thanks for the great gift of our dear friend Jill; hers is a life truly marked by the joy of the Lord.

And now, on this afternoon, we join together in a mystery. With countless legions of the faithful, crossing every generation, hand to shoulder in an unbroken line, You have lead us, and You lead Jill to this ordination moment. We humbly count ourselves among this procession of Believers, eager to lay our hands on upon our friend, and ask your blessing and commission. It is You, Lord that has called Jill to this place…..and we would,….. all of us, seek to know and find the face of Jesus in our time.

Father, we pray your blessing now, on Jill. Your blessing……... We use these words like we might understand what they mean, and yet we often struggle to work out our own understanding of You and your Kingdom. But these things we do know. We know you are infinitely Good, and so, we pray your goodness might shower down on Jill, in the days, months, and years ahead. We know You bring us into Christian community, and so, we pray for deep, meaningful, genuine community to surround her as she begins her journey as a pastor. Lord, we need you. We know you provide deep peace and rest for our souls. And so, in the midst of busy days, and the middle of time spent ministering to the needs of others, we pray that You might afford Jill with deep peace in the form of your presence and peace. Daily. Abiding. Ever present. Be always beside our dear friend Jill, oh Lord.

We know you are a God of mercy. We pray you would continue to expand and deepen Jill’s great gifts for compassion and mercy. Jesus, show yourself through the caring and love of Jill’s pastoral and personal life, so that all those who meet her might sense something truly remarkable, as so many of us have. Something deep and rich. Something of the Risen Christ.

Lord, you are a God of joy. Your Creation shouts at us of your joy, if we will but listen! You have created Jill’s soul with an unmistakable imprint of your Joy. Abundant. Overflowing. We know that to laugh with Jill is to really laugh! And so, oh God, would you now, and each day of her life……. continue to fill Jill with a great, immense, immeasurable joy.

Oh Christ, you are our Hope. You are our Salvation. You are all we have to offer an often dark, and wandering, and wondering world. You are light, You are home, You are hope! Lord Jesus, will you please shower upon Jill, your servant, great light to see the way, abundant hope to serve others, and fill her with a depth of grace that might know that You, Oh God, are our ultimate place called…… Home.

And so, now with great joy, we send Jill forth, with hearts full, and eyes set upon Christ. And will You send each of us,… into Your world,… to proclaim Your Kingdom come, now!

And with this, ALL of God’s people said together…………Amen!"

Bruin Football is BACK, Baby!

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:

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.

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."

I have!

I think I may have

I think I may have figured out how to blog from my Treo!

gotta love these ladies!

As A Child

I remember Jesus saying something about little children.....



ht to kc

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.

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.

For KC Wahe - 10 Things

My friend KC - asked for this. Scratch the part about George Bush.

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:

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.

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.

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 Wordless Reflection

Lets Stop Waiting

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.

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.

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.

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......

I Can Hardly Wait!

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.

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.

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:

"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.

I'm With Mika!

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."

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.

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:

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.

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.

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

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.

Chaperone

I have two daugthers. I am going to get me one of these babies.

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".

The Transpac. Now that is life abundant!

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

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.

More soon.....

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.

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.