This Weekend, Dickens, and Nicholas Nickleby

I come from a small family of three; I am an only child. Growing up, I remember our family life together often felt, well, rather small. And sheltered. And sort of isolated. Not a lot of connection with the wider outside world. Safe and insulated, that was our family. My parents liked it that way. Perhaps they were compensating for some pain in their own past.

By way of contrast, this Memorial Day weekend has been a busy one, full of get-togethers, parties, celebrations and friendship.

Thursday night there was a party for the girls JV Water Polo Team from South Pasadena High School; tons of girls and noise and laughter. Saturday night was a birthday party for our new friend, Megan, who is getting here Masters of Divinity from Fuller Seminary. New friends, new beginnings, and a celebration of a life redeemed.

Sunday afternoon was a lunch with two families we have known for years; our kids are growing up around us, heading off to college and becoming amazing people.

Yesterday was an old tradition, Memorial Day lunch and swim with old friends of more than 20 years. Being surrounded by those you love is a blessing beyond measure.

Charles Dickens knew this, and celebrated struggle, friendship, and family in his writing. One of my favorite Dickens stories is Nicholas Nickleby. This is a story of suffering, of loss, of loyalty, character, and above all, love and friendship. And this story has been made into one of my all time favorite films. At the end of the movie there is a speech made, that for me is wonderful and full of meaning. It does not quote Dickens directly, but it is good enough for me:

"In every life, no matter how full or empty one's purse, there is tragedy. It is the one promise life always fulfills. Thus, happiness is a gift, and the trick is not to expect it, but to delight in it when it comes, and to add to other people's store of it. What happens if, too early, we loose a parent? That party on whom rely for only....everything. What did these people do when their families shrank? They cried their tears. But then they did the vital thing, they built a new family, person by person. They came to see that family need not be defined merely as those with whom they share blood, but as those for whom they would give their blood. It is in that spirit that we offer this heartfelt toast, to the brides and grooms!"

This has been a weekend rich with sharing, laughter, and friendships, both new and old. I am deeply thankful.

Memorial Day 2008

Today I am remembering my Dad, Roland Steele Norris (1920-2007), who served this country in World War II, as a B-17 pilot trainer, and air-sea rescue captain. I am also remembering the more than 4,000 American families who have paid the ultimate price of sacrifice in the war in Iraq.

May there be Peace on Earth.

Zac's Big Adventure

This is Zac Sunderland. He is 16, and is planning on sailing around the world. Solo.

This morning I opened the LA Times to find this article about Zac's coming adventure. Zac has a web site here, where we all can follow his travels, and watch an introductory video.

Zac is also going to be writing a blog on his journey, which should be well worth the reading.

God speed, Zac.

Going to the Movies!

I know, some people love it, others are not so impressed. We are excited. Date tonight with my sweet wife!

Against us, For Us

Today I pondered this short conversation between Jesus and his followers.

Mark 9:38-40 (New International Version)

"Teacher," said John, "we saw a man driving out demons in your name and we told him to stop, because he was not one of us. "Do not stop him," Jesus said. "No one who does a miracle in my name can in the next moment say anything bad about me, for whoever is not against us is for us.

Jesus could have said, whoever is not for us, is against us, excluding all but his closest friends (like we silly Christian folk do). But he didn't. Fascinating, I think. I wonder what this says about the divisions amongst Christian folk even today, and Jesus attitudes about those divisions. What does this mean, and what does it mean for my neat and tidy "Christian" assumptions about the world?

Want to think about this more? Go here. Listen.

When We Left Earth

Discover Channel is running this in June. I am so excited.

Kelly, Joni, and I

Yesterday, I rode home from church with my older daughter, Kelly, who is now 17. College is a bit more than a year away, and the little girl days are many years behind her. I am slowly getting over that; it depends on the day.

As is typical, when we got in the car, she pulled out her IPod, and asked, "Dad, can we do my IPod?", which means plugging it into the car stereo and listening to her tunes. Her tunes, mind you, not mine.

And so, we did. And I was pleasantly surprised. Joni Mitchell, all the way home. I felt as if I was caught in a time machine! Here was one of my favorite artists from my college days, who I listened to for hours on my commutes around LA, being played almost 30 years later in my car, with my daughter. And get this, she knew almost all the words! Almost paranormal. What an amazing ride home!

And here, one of the songs we listened to, whizzing down the freeway, blazing through this life here, in, of course, California:

A Thin Place

Today, everyday, we stand in a "thin place". Let me explain.

Evelyn Underhill was a modern contemplative. She was the first woman given lecture-wide status at Oxford. She wrote 39 books on Christian spirituality and philosophy.

Once, when a friend of Evelyn Underhill had been to the Isle of Iona, a place deep with roots in Scots Christianity (pictured at left), her gardener said to her, “Iona is a very thin place.” And she asked, “What do you mean?” The gardener, a Scotsman, said, “Its a thin place, because there is not much between Iona and the Lord.”

We need to be sensitive to the closeness of the invisible world. We need a sense of wonder. “The beginning of the truth is to wonder at things,” said Plato. That’s not just Plato — it is good faith in Christ as well. It works for me.

C.S. Lewis once said "We may ignore, but we can nowhere evade, the presence of God. Every bush is a burning bush. The world is crowded with Him. He walks everywhere incognito. And the incognito is not always easy to penetrate. The real labor is to remember to attend. In fact to come awake.

I have come to the realization that all of life, properly looked at, is a "thin place". I need to remember this, today.

Our Distorted View of the World

I found this to be very interesting. Perhaps you will too.

Well Meaning New Ideas

There are these two brothers. They grew up in a loving home, with wonderful parents. And, as fate would have it, their Dad was a pastor. And in spite of this, both boys have grown up to be functional members of society, avoiding both prison time, and some nutty period of rebellion living in animal skins in a commune in upstate New York. Amazing.

Anyway.

The boys' father was too humble and giving to create a giant multi-million dollar tele-evangelist empire. And so these boys will miss the chance to battle over leadership, and become embittered religious leaders themselves. These two brothers still believe in Jesus, each in his own unique way. They are very different, in wonderful ways; one is a bearded wacky youth minister, and the other is a clean-shaven college professor.

And now, in the attempt to share thoughts and ideas, the two brothers have a blog, which I very heartily recommend to all five of my readers (including the crazy Norwegian hacker who hits on my site repeatedly at 4 AM. Hi there, Kjel.).

Most recently, the brothers have offered two posts about the church which are very thoughtful, and indeed, made even me (with my pronounced and large forehead) think as well.

Take a look. Here and here.

Pray

In the last 10 days Myanmar and China have seen more suffering than all the world should have to endure in a year, or maybe a lifetime. Events like this make me feel like we really are living in the suffering of the "end times", even if the end does not come for a long time yet.

For those who sit, or squat, or lie, and wait, and wait, and wait in the delta region of Myanmar, may hope dawn. May the insane rulers of that beautiful country give up trying to control at all costs, and merely care. Let the aid and workers in!

And may the hundreds, if not thousands of parents in China who have lost their only children to the earthquake, be in some way comforted. And going forward, may this tragedy serve to change forever the shoddy way in which construction takes place in that country.

May it be so.

Coachella Reprive - Excellence & Humility

Last week I had lunch with my good friend John, at one of South Pasadena's cultural icons (newly renovated - now featuring cloth table napkins!).

John has had a remarkable life, and I count him as one of my favorite human beings. At one point in life, he was even a member of The New Christy Minstrels, a long standing American folk group of the funky variety. But enough about John.

Our lunch conversation covered lots of stuff, including their kids, our kids, his parents, my in-laws, friends, silly church things, his work, my work, our lovely spouses, and the general meaning of life. Good friends are a blessing beyond measure or description. John was curious about my trip to Coachella, as he has been interested in music and the arts his whole life. Strangely it seems I have become a bit of a mini (read: very very tiny) local sudo-legend in my age grouping, for actually having the nerve to go to Coachella. Some folks can't believe I went, but I can't imagine not going, just to have the opportunity to visit the other side of the generation gap.

I told him about my three highlights, all posted below. During our chat, I mentioned to John that something had dawned upon me, after reflecting on my day and night in the desert. What I found was that the individual acts and groups that I was most drawn to and impressed by all shared two primary and defining characteristics. First humility, and second excellence.

Excellence
One of the scriptural guidelines I try to remember in my work is from Colossians 3, where Paul is (again) advising a messed up church. His admonishment is very helpful for all I am trying to become, as I grow up:

"And sing, sing your hearts out to God! Let every detail in your lives—words, actions, whatever—be done in the name of the Master, Jesus, thanking God the Father every step of the way."

Sing out your hearts. Do it in the name of the Master. Wonderful. The best acts I observed at Coachella got this very well. They were good. Very good. They had rehearsed a lot, worked to get it right - and when they stepped on stage, you could tell. Now, mind you, most groups very likely did not have a squeaky clean Christian brand, but they were very good at music. You could tell. Great stuff!

Humility
Perhaps the more profound message I received from Coachella was an abiding sense of humility from certain artists. Look below for my favorite acts. In each instance, there was a direct and profound sense of thankfulness from each artist for merely being asked to play on stage. Really. I heard this over and over. Comments like, "We are just so glad to be here", and "Thank you so much for coming out here tonight to listen to us", were commonplace. How heart warming.

What? I thought this was the culture of rock stars, instant fame, and bling. I was wrong, and pleasantly surprised!

Humbleness. This is the way I want to go through life. I try each day, to defer praise to other people, to step out of the way. And then, I remember this:

Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better than yourselves.

I want to learn about humility. In certain places, Coachella, of all places was a good lesson.

Coachell Musings - Tres - Too Much Competition

Last Saturday night, in the desert, under the stars, with 40,000 young people, and a handful of us old dudes. Lots of funny cigarette smoke too. Ok, so its like 10:45 PM, and its way past my middle-aged bedtime. But there is more to come, and I have to rally.

What a day. And then, at the end of this long day, the Perfect Mellow. Jack Johnson.

Jack was a professional surfer until an accident at the Pipeline in which his front teeth were knocked out and he received more than 150 stitches. Ouch, man! Although that is when most people believe he changed from a surfer to an artist, in a recent Rolling Stone cover story (March 6, 2008) he stated that it actually happened a week before in the finals of the trials of the Pipeline Masters on Oahu. At the age of 17 he became the youngest competitor to ever reach the finals. Jack was eventually disqualified after failing to catch three waves. Jack realized that the competitiveness was too much for him, "guys were ready to kill each other to catch the next wave," Johnson remembers. The accident allowed time for Jack to start on his new passions, the guitar and making music. He stated about the accident, "I like to joke that I hit my head so hard that that's why I'm so mellow, but I think it did mellow me out." While he was recovering in bed, he spent his time writing songs and playing guitar.

Guys killing each other to catch the next wave. Sounds familiar, doesn't it? Like life in the real world, the world of commerce that I live in. Ruthless competition. But strangely, I try to march to the beat of a different drummer, a cadence that is harder to hear, but easier on the soul. I think Jack gets that too.

Jack has it right, in his song "Better Together", he figures out one of the best blessings of life, relationships.

And so, this song goes out to all the dear people in our lives. For Pastor Jill. To Pastor Mark and Linda. To Tod and Beth. The Kamms. Jeff and Sparky, Jamie and Polly. To Julie in Cincinnati. To the Reverend KC and family in the desert. To John and Shelley. If you aren't mentioned here, you know its only cause my old head is foggy right now. To all those good, dear, long time friends. We love you more than words, or this song can convey.

It really is always Better When We're Together.

Love is the answer
At least for most of the questions in my heart ,
Like why are we here? And where do we go?
And how come it's so hard?
It's not always easy,
And sometimes life can be deceiving,
I'll tell you one thing, its always
better when we're together

[Chorus:]
MMM, it's always better when we're together
Yeah, we'll look at the stars when we're together
Well, it's always better when we're together

Coachella Musings - Section B

Last Friday, I spent an amazing day in the desert, at the Coachella music festival, with my daughter and friends. I am so glad I went, I start smiling whenever I think about it.

The day we went, there were about 40,000 people in attendance, and as I commented, a whole lot of people far younger than myself. I will not shut myself off from the future - I want to embrace it.

Several days ago, the Gallop organization released a poll about the happiness of Americans. The results are mixed; it seems 49% of Americans are "thriving", while 47% are "struggling". As a point of comparison to more than 130 countries around the world, the percentage of citizens thriving ranges from 2% in Cambodia to 83% in Denmark. While the percentage of citizens suffering ranges from less than 1% in Denmark to 47% in Zimbabwe.

So, based on my observations, the Coachella crowd was not necessarily similar to the American public as a whole. Younger, more energetic, more idealistic. They actually believe we can change the world, cool the planet, and bring about world peace. Good for them, maybe we can!

In any case, perhaps it actually is fair to say that on any given day half of us are "thriving" and the other half are "struggling". And there we all were, sitting on the lawn in the bright, hot sun, standing to hear bands we loved, dancing under the misters to ward off the heat, relaxing in shade tents to good sounds. And one half of us are doing ok in life, and the other half are having a tough go of things.

What does it all mean? Where are we going, and who are we following on the way there? What is the point of it all?

Another Coachella moment of transcendence - the music of Swell Season, who we listened to under the stars. It was a magical experience. Their song, "Falling Slowly" won an Academy Award:

Take this sinking boat and point it home
We've still got time
Raise your hopeful voice you had a choice
You've made it now
Falling slowly sing your melody
I'll sing along

All those people gathered in the desert. Some thriving, some struggling. We've all still got time, and great hope.

Coachella Musings - Installment 1

Coachella 2008. What an amazing experience!

Polo grounds in the middle of the desert. 97 degrees, hot hot sunshine. 40,000+ people. Music (loud!), art, food, water (lots), more music, and a festive, clean, absolutely fun environment.

Only problem; I felt 25 years too old. And I was. By my estimation, and that of the friends and kids we were with, the averate age of attendance at Coachella 2008 was about 23, with a median age of just a bit older. That would, by a long shot, make me one of the oldest of Old Farts in attendance. But really, who cares? I had a blast!

Now, some folks of my faith persuasion might say that this whole three day music festival is an exercise in futility. God-forsaken music, meaningless art, and a bunch of poorly bathed and tattooed young people. Godless. Lost. Forsaken. But not me.

About 2,000 years ago, the Apostle Paul was confronted with a similar situation, as he visited Athens (Acts 17):

22-23So Paul took his stand in the open space at the Areopagus and laid it out for them. "It is plain to see that you Athenians take your religion seriously. When I arrived here the other day, I was fascinated with all the shrines I came across. And then I found one inscribed, to the god nobody knows. I'm here to introduce you to this God so you can worship intelligently, know who you're dealing with.

24-29"The God who made the world and everything in it, this Master of sky and land, doesn't live in custom-made shrines or need the human race to run errands for him, as if he couldn't take care of himself. He makes the creatures; the creatures don't make him. Starting from scratch, he made the entire human race and made the earth hospitable, with plenty of time and space for living so we could seek after God, and not just grope around in the dark but actually find him. He doesn't play hide-and-seek with us. He's not remote; he's near. We live and move in him, can't get away from him! One of your poets said it well: 'We're the God-created.' Well, if we are the God-created, it doesn't make a lot of sense to think we could hire a sculptor to chisel a god out of stone for us, does it?

We are the "God-created" indeed! All of us. All of us there last Friday in Coachella, basking in the sun, enjoying the sounds and sights. We are all, in our own way, searching for meaning. Even in the desert at a music festival, that is what is happening. We are looking, searching, trying to find those magic moments that bring meaning to our lives.

As Exhibit I from Coachella, I present you with John Butler, of the John Butler Trio. What a wonderful example of something God-created.

Thoroughly Modern Millie

When our girls were little, almost every time family and friends gathered at our house (usually with extra kids joining the bunch) their would be, eventually, a "show" by the kids. All the adults had to sit in one room, while the Norris girls would co-direct and act in some form of short impromptu comedy or drama. Much laughter and applause was always a part of the mix.

And then, the little girls grow, and the house, ever so gradually becomes a bit more quiet. The plays have moved on to the setting of school. Part of me is glad, and part of me is sad about this. Life moves on.

This weekend marked a relatively important milestone in our family - the final play for our daughters at Middle School. This weekend follows weeks and weeks of practice, preparation, and involvement by so many in town.

For the past five years we have enjoyed these remarkable productions. Both of our girls have each been in two plays their 7th and 8th grade years. Hello Dolly, How to Succeed in Business, Grease, Guys and Dolls, and this year - Thoroughly Modern Millie.

What a joy to see our community rally around these wonderful shows, and what a gift in the leadership and direction of Ms. Tompkins (note: Bruin grad), the long-time director!

Its just a school play, you might say. But it is so much more than that, its a celebration of kids, of community, and of life itself.

What an outstanding show, and how blessed we are!

Coachella Music Festival

A year ago, my then 16 year old daughter was dying to go to the Coachella Music Festival. Remembering what concerts were like when I was a kid, I thought it might be better to wait a year, and have a parent go along. And so, it is a year later, and we are fired up to go!

Its me, my daughter, four of her friends, my buddy Dave (invited so, as my daughter put it, I would not be a "complete loner / looser") and I - a full van, baby! We are leaving Friday morning, and come back on Saturday afternoon. I am very excited. What a great opportunity for this balding, middle aged guy to spend some time in the world of the next generation. Woooo Hooo!

PS: I apologize in advance if I come home smelling of funny cigarettes. I will not inhale, I promise.

For the Beauty of The Earth

Its Earth Day.

I have always been very moved by John Rutter's hymns, and in particular, the one noted below.

For the beauty of the earth
For the glory of the skies,
For the love which from our birth Over
and around us lies.

Lord of all, to Thee we raise,
This our hymn of grateful praise.

Here is hoping that as I grow older, I might be a better steward of the planet God has placed me on.

Get Ready Friends, Its Booked!

Alright friends, we have booked the date. June 20th, at IFlyHollywood.

The World is Just Awesome

Ok, so tonight I have a cold, and I am sitting around the house feeling mostly poopy. However, there is something redemptive in this, catching up on the new season of Deadliest Catch. What a show!

And then, in the midst of flipping over commercials with the DVR, I happen upon the commercial below. I just love this.

Go ahead and watch it, twice:

Sign Me Up for This!

Professor Hawking, and a Ride in the Car

This is my youngest daughter. This photo is now about 12 years old. Often, children teach us so much about ourselves and life, if we are but willing to listen. Jesus knew this too, and spoke of it.

Perhaps 6 or 7 years ago, my youngest girl and I were driving someplace, to accomplish some long forgotten chore or trip to the store. We had a conversation on that drive that I will never forget, and often remember. I will take this memory with me to the very last day I am here on this planet. But first, something about Dr. Hawking.

Dr. Hawking
Just the other day, I watched a video of Dr. Stephen Hawking speaking at the TED conference earlier this year in Monterey. Dr. Hawking, crippled by ALS, is, to me, a remarkable reflection of the sometimes elusive economy of God. I do not, for a moment understand why this great thinker, with such an amazing mind (and whimsical sense of humor), is confined to a wheelchair and only can communicate in an unbelievably arduous way. I am fascinated by this man.

At the TED conference, Dr. Hawking addressed the issue of whether we are alone in the Universe. Dr. Hawking estimates that there are no other alien life forms within a range of a few hundred million light years of earth. Remember, a light year is the distance it takes for light to travel in a year, and light travels at a speed of approximately 186,282 miles per second, in a vacuum, which is about 5,874,589,152,000 miles. Frankly, this is beyond the limits of my tiny brain.

The Ride
And so, the ride in the car with my daughter. It was just us two, on the way someplace in the family van. We had been discussing how long it takes to travel by plane to Grammie and Grandad's house in Toronto, Canada.

"Dad, how long does it take to fly to Grammie and Grandad's house?"

"Oh, about 4 hours, usually"

"And how long does it take to fly to New York City?"

"A little longer, maybe 5 hours"

"So what is the longest flight you can take in an airplane?"

"Well, that would probably be to Australia. It takes about 18 hours, I think."

"So, if you got on a plane, how long would it take to fly to Heaven?"

I was speechless. And for some reason, my eyes suddenly filled with tears, perhaps in the knowledge that I was experiencing, for just a moment, the impossible task of explaining the unexplainable. Maybe then, in that moment, I was faced with the task of defining the undefinable. I was overwhelmed.

I forget what I said in response. I still feel overwhelmed, a lot. Being a parent is like that. This is not business for the faint of heart, or of spirit.

In "Orthodoxy", GK Chesterton make the assertion that we should live our lives as if astonished by the world, each day. This resonates deeply with me.

I remain astonished by this world, and by the gifts he has given me in my children. They help me to see God, and how far it might be to travel to Heaven. Maybe not as far as I think.

Leisure, The Subway, and Music

Joshua Bell is one of the world's most accomplished violinists. He plays a violin made 1713 by Antonio Stradivari during the Italian master's "golden period," toward the end of his career, when he had access to the finest spruce, maple and willow, and when his technique had been refined to perfection. It is estimated Mr. Bell paid $3.5 million for it.

Gene Weingarten of the Washington Post just won a Pulitzer prize for a wonderful story he wrote about an experiment. Joshua Bell was asked to play his violin in the DC Metro - to see what would happen. The video is below.

This poem is quoted in the article, and sums up well the life most of us lead:

W. H. Davies
Leisure

What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare?—

No time to stand beneath the boughs,
And stare as long as sheep and cows:

No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass:

No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night:

No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance:

No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began?

A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

Sad Day After

Three things.

First, congratulations to the amazing Memphis Tigers. They played with heart, determination, and blinding speed. They should be in the NBA.

Second, thank you Bruin basketball team for a great season, and thanks Ben Howland for exuding class in all you do.

Third. Kevin Love, be true to your school. Wouldn't it be nice.....if you were.

Singing Nazis - Am I in That Chorus?

Take a look at this photo. Click on it to enlarge. This is a long post, but stay with me.

Sunday School Epiphany
Last Sunday, this man, who teaches a Sunday school class I often attend, was teaching on Revelation 3, and in particular, he pointed out this verse as one of several that may have lent possible credence to the Nazis claim of superiority over the Jews, and contributed to the Holocaust.

And then, our teacher Dale showed us several photographs, including the one above. Nazi officers, in the midst of some of the worst genocide in the history of the planet, singing a song on a hillside, accompanied by an accordion. Amazing. Unbelievable.

For some reason, deep in my soul, I became immediately troubled. I was troubled in a very connected way, and it was not at all what I would have expected of myself. Years ago I visited some of the Death Camps, and I will never forget the feelings I had while there.

When seeing images like this, of Nazis singing in the midst of hell-on-earth, is, we might think to ourselves, "Oh, those bad, evil, dark people, how could they be like that."  Those people.  Over there.  And perhaps subtly, we then think, in the back of our minds, "Glad that is over with, I don't know if I could never be that evil".  Not me.

But not so this time, at least for me, in that Sunday school class. My thoughts were in an entirely different place. But first, a little background on the photos we were shown.


Karl Hoecker's Album
The following description is from The New Yorker, with a link posted below.

In June of 1945, an American Army officer discovered a photograph album in an abandoned apartment, in Frankfurt. The album had a hundred and sixteen photos, nearly all of them portraying Auschwitz officers enjoying recreational activities. In 2006, the officer offered the album to the Holocaust Memorial Museum, in Washington, D.C. There is only one other album, the Lili Jacob album, known to portray life at Auschwitz. When the officer’s album arrived at the museum, in January, 2007, Rebecca Erbelding, a museum archivist, quickly confirmed that the subject of several photos in the album was Richard Baer, the commandant of Auschwitz from May, 1944, to January, 1945. Soon, Erbelding and Ron Coleman, a reference librarian, identified another prominent officer in one of the photos—Josef Mengele, the doctor who’d conducted experiments on prisoners.
If the album consisted only of photographs of people who hadn’t been seen at Auschwitz, and of areas of Auschwitz that hadn’t been portrayed, or if it merely expanded the photographic record of Auschwitz, it would be valuable historically…but it has an enhanced value….In the fifty-four days between May 15 and July 8, 1944, a period partly covered in the Hoecker album, and called the Hungarian Deportation, four hundred and thirty-four thousand people were put aboard trains to Auschwitz—so many people that the crematoriums, which could dispose of a hundred and thirty-two thousand bodies a month, were overrun.”


What I Thought - My Epiphany
Now, back to the thought that rushed into my head, upon seeing these photos of singing Nazis. Singing, while only yards away, thousands were being gassed to death. Joyous and completely oblivious, uncaring. How was that possible? What was wrong with those people? Could they not feel anything? Where was their compassion? Were they devoid of souls?
And then, it hit me. In some way, I might be like those Nazis!

Perhaps I am not far from those men in the picture at all. My heart is often just as black. I am not superior. I am not better than they were. Not a bit.

Maybe I too, am singing while all hell is breaking loose. Darfur, Burma, inner city killing and crime, struggling teenagers in my own city.

What parts of my own life are like a singing Nazi? Where are the places where I could not give a crap about the suffering of others?

Am I just as clueless, and am I singing my life away, while others are suffering, and might I be able to make a difference?Pastor and author John Stott, in his most recent book, discusses the kinds of issues that should concern us, in caring for the suffering:

"According to UN statistics, the number of destitute people (who survive on less than 1 US dollar a day) is about a billion, while the average number who die every day of hunger and hunger-related causes, is said to be about 24,000. How can we live with these statistics?  Many of the poor are our brothers and sisters. The Holy Spirit gives his people a tender social conscience.  So those of us who live in affluent circumstances must simplify our economic situation - not because we imagine this will solve the world's macroeconomic problems but out of solidarity with the poor.

So then a living church is a caring church. Generosity has always been a characteristic of the people of God. Our God is a generous God; his church must be generous too."

I will be thinking about those photos of the Nazis for some time. A very long time.  This will stick with me.  Maybe I am mistaken, what do you think?


You can see selections of the Hoecker Album at The New Yorker magazine, here.

Say What You Need to Say

We are off to the desert for a couple days, the four of us. There might not be many more trips like this, before our oldest heads off to college next year.

I am so thankful for my family, and for this ride called life. I thought I should share this John Mayer song, set to clips of one of my favorite movies "The Bucket List". Its about having an abundant life....

Humility & Passion - Gustavo Dudamel

Last night we had the honor to attend Disney Hall, and experience the conducting of Gustavo Dudamel, the new (September 2009) conductor of the Los Angeles Philharmonic. The music was wonderful, the conducting passionate. I think I witnessed a visual representation of Joy.

What impressed me most was Mr. Dudamel's sense (at 27 years old) of his place on stage. Mr. Dudamel is a young phenom, and it would be easy for him to assume the roll of classical music conductor / rock star. But this is not what we saw at all.

Mr. Dudamel chose to conduct the final piece, Berlioz's "Symphonie fantastique", without sheet music. I was concerned he was trying to grand stand, and show the audience how much he knew. Not so at all. This was a young man who had, it seemed, literally crawled inside of a 50 minute piece, and let it become part of his soul.

The best part for me occurred after the music was over. What impressed me most was not the music, or the conducting, or the leadership of this young man. What left a mark on me was his great sense of humility, of his place in the orchestra. When the concert was over, and Mr. Dudamel came back on stage to take an encore bow, instead of standing alone in front of the orchestra, he moved several rows back into the orchestra, becoming a part of the greater whole. And then he turned around and motioned for many individuals, who had played beautiful parts during the concert, to stand, and receive their due. It was moving and wonderful - the probable classical conducting rock star standing aside, and giving way to the "little people" of the orchestra. It was beautiful. The best part occurred during the applause.

I am a Gustavo Dudamel fan. Count me in. This young man has the potential, if he can keep his sense of humility, to going far, and in doing so, blessing the world of classical music in Los Angeles for years to come. We are fortunate to have him. Welcome to LA, Gustavo.

For a wonderful peak into the character of this man, please, take a few minutes and watch the interview below. All my pastor friends need to watch this.....I think you will get it very easily, without any explanation needed. Not a bit.

Elite 8

After a rough second half against a never-say-die Western Kentucky, the Bruins have advanced to the Elite Eight. Next up, Xavier.

Gotta Love those Bruins. Pun intended






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"Who is it you are looking for?"

Easter Week. An empty tomb.

"They have taken my Lord away," she said, "and I don't know where they have put him." At this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not realize that it was Jesus. "Woman," he said, "Why are you crying? Who is it you are looking for?" Thinking he was the gardener, she said, "Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have put him, and I will get him." Jesus said to her, "Mary." She turned toward him and cried out in Aramaic, "Rabboni!" (which means Teacher). From John 20:14-16

Twenty centuries later, I ask myself. Who is it, or what is it that I am looking for?

For approval? Meaning? Importance? Recognition? Busy-ness? Wealth? Longevity? Comfort? Safety?

I wonder.

Ave Verum Corpus

The day between Good Friday and Easter. Darkness and death surrounding. Everywhere.

Surely our lives have felt this way. For many, it occurs too often.

Mozart wrote a setting of the death of Christ in June of 1791, less than six months before his own death.

Ave Verum Corpus - W.A. Mozart

Jesus, word of God incarnate.
Of the Virgin Mary born.
On the cross Thy sacred body
For us men with nails was torn.

Cleanse us by the blood and water
Streaming from Thy pierced side.
Feed us with Thy body broken.
Now, and in death's agony.

Not a Very Good Friday

Good Friday. What a name.

In the Holy Land, Good Friday is known as "Great Friday." In German it is "Karfreitag", an Old German word meaning "Friday of lamentation", although this meaning is not obvious to speakers of modern German. In Armenia it is called "High Friday (Ավագ Ուրբաթ)". In Russia it is called "Passion Friday" (Страстной Пяток / Страстная Пятница). In Ethiopia it is called Friday of the Crucifixion (arib siqilat).

I am going with the Germans and the Ethiopians. But really now. Its not so Good. Its tragic. Dark. The Ultimate Sadness.

But history, and the Bible tell me that something is coming.

On Sunday.

Just Too Cool; Flight Level 390

I just have to share with you one of my favorite blog stops. This is a blog written by a pilot (who remains anonymous) who, I assume, flys for Alaska airlines.

Forgive me my geekiness, but his posts are just about the coolest thing imaginable.

Add to that, I just found out last night that my younger lovely daughter will be attending school next year with another girl whose Dad lived three doors up the block from me when I was a little kid, now lives across the street from where we grew up, is the son of this guy and......wait for it.....is a pilot for American Airlines! Yes! Hello! That makes for some fun Father/Daughter dances for me.

Is there a TSA rule against a regular dude, who is friends with the pilot, riding jump seat in the cockpit on a flight?

I hope not, 'cause I am asking, pretty soon.

Anyway, Flight Level 390. Completely beyond awesome. Check it out.

In The Interest of Candor

Some people have blogs that make their lives look like they are simply full of happy days and hearts and flowers.

I think that is fake.

Today, I had a nice day at the office. Then, I came home.

I have been spending years trying to learn how be a calm, rational, non-explosive, affirming, lovely parent. I have read books, attended seminars, and yes (gasp!) even been in therapy. Lots.

I did not behave well with with my family tonight. Afterward, I needed to go for a long walk, to try to sort out both my feelings, and my failings. I came home after a while, and apologized. At nearly 50 years old, I am still working out what it means to be a good husband and father.

Its not easy. I need more work.

Just wanted to be honest here.

March Madness, Go Bruins!

After several close calls over USC, Cal, and Stanford, the Bruins are heading into the NCAA Tournament with one of four number one seeds.

Best of luck to the boys of Westwood!

The video below gives me chills; its for my friend Julie in Ohio. Remember the good ole' days, Jules?

This Ball Field, Moon and Sixpence, Home

This is Orange Grove Field in South Pasadena; the softball field where my two daugthers have played for the past 10 or so years. I love this place, and I have been thinking about why that is.

We came here after a couple of years of T-ball in another park, with little girls picking dandelions in right field and wondering what base to run to after they hit if off the tee. The biggest event of the game for the girls was, of course, the snack. I loved those years, perhaps more now than I did back then.

The Moon and Sixpence (1919) is a short novel by William Somerset Maugham based on the life of the painter Paul Gauguin. The story is told in episodic form by the first-person narrator as a series of glimpses into the mind and soul of the central character, Charles Strickland, a middle aged English stock broker who abandons his wife and children abruptly in order to pursue his desire to become an artist.

What does "The Moon and Sixpence", from 1919, have to do with playing softball on the clay infield and green grass of Orange Grove park in 2008? Listen to this quote from the book, and maybe you might understand a bit more.

"I have an idea that some men are born out of their due place. Accident has cast them amid certain surroundings, but they have always a nostalgia for a home they know not. They are strangers in their birthplace, and the leafy lanes they have known from childhood... remain but a place of passage. They may spend their whole lives aliens among their kindred and remain aloof among the only scenes they have ever known. Perhaps it is this sense of strangeness that sends men far and wide in the search for something permanent, to which they may attach themselves... Sometimes a man hits upon a place to which he mysteriously feels that he belongs. Here is the home he sought, and he will settle amid scenes that he has never seen before, among men he has never known, as though they were familiar to him from his birth. Here at last he finds rest."

That's it. All of life seems to be about the search for, the often and silent ache to know the way, and the journey toward... home. Strangely, when I hit the grass of Orange Grove, helping to coach girls softball, if feel as if I may have settled upon a place to which I mysteriously feel I belong. Perhaps this green grass, this subtle pink and blue sunset above me, is just a peek, a glimpse of Something More, and a place I will someday call Home. A final place to settle.

Someday, I will know that place. I will be Home, at last. At rest.

Until then, I cannot think of a better place to be on a fresh, cool, spring night than at this field, with these girls.

What Happens At Death's Door?

Jill Bolte Taylor is a brain researcher. A number of years ago, while still a young woman, she had a massive stroke. She very nearly died, but she experienced amazing things.

Here is her story, you need 19 minutes to watch it, but I think you will be glad you did. While her "energy" language is a bit new-agey for me, just substitute in Holy Spirit (which Jill does not acknowledge, but I suspect), and you will be good to go. Hers is a remarkable story.

Honesty and Worship

This just simply speaks for itself.

A New School

This weekend we learned that our younger daughter, Heather, will be attending Flintridge Sacred Heart Academy next fall.

About a year ago, Heather let us know that she would like to apply for private Catholic girls school. Frankly, she was feeling exhausted by the environment of public school, and needed a change. As her parents, we would have never predicted this from one of our kids; we have always believed that being a part of the local community; being invested, was what we wanted and really, who we were as a family. This will be a change for us, too.

And so, over the last year, we have all been on a journey - to see where God might be leading us all, together. Tutors, extra studying, entrance exams, and test preparation. Interviews. Test taking. More interviews. Applications. And then, waiting, and praying.

Nancy and I could not be more delighted about Heather's choice. She actually had a choice of two different private schools to attend, and we feel she has worked very hard toward a great goal, and has made a wonderful decision.

For those of you who might be worried, Heather will not be worshipping Mary daily. Everything we have learned about Sacred Heart has left us with a terrifically positive feeling; the spirit and grace of Christ was present in all our experiences.

It is so fun to watch our girls spread their wings. What an amazing ride.

The Hour of (Pot) Power

The other night I was at a dinner event, and a friend told me a true story that I thought I should relay here.

It turns out that a pastor of a church was, a number of years ago, called on the phone by the parents of a college-aged boy, who was attending college in the area. This boy's parents lived out of town, and they had become concerned, as their son, who had been raised in a Christian home, had reported that he was no longer attending church. The parents gave the pastor the phone number and address of their son.

They asked the pastor if he just might look in on their boy sometime, to see if he were doing alright. So, several weeks passed, and one Sunday, on the way home from church, the pastor decided to drop in at the college fraternity house of the boy.

As he ascended the steps to the porch of the fraternity house, he could see inside the living room, where he spotted four college guys, including the wayward son, all smoking rather generous quantities of cannabis, and huddled around the local afternoon broadcast of The Hour of Power. They watched in rapt attention, loudly agreeing together with the major points of the sermon. Hearty "amens", "oh, yah, mans!", and the occassional "dude!" could be heard through the window.

The pastor decided not to interrupt this time of interesting religious devotion, and reported later to the parents, "well, I stopped in on your son, and he was, in his own unique way, attending church".

Forgive me my sacrilege, but this story nearly made me wet my laundry.

The Right Reverand Rat

I have an old friend who is a pastor. His nickname is KC. But he is not your traditional pastor. The other day, this respected man of the cloth went to a local elementary school and donned a large literary rodent costume.

This is not a pastor who needs the respect of the local public. In fact, he wants to get a little disrespect, if it works for Kingdom purposes.

The other day I teased him about his rat costume, and his reply was rambling, but so good, I needed to quote him here. I have his permission:

"Not a professional (pastor) yet. No cheapening (of the gospel) here brother. Converts will come if I'm living my life like I'm forgiven in front of the world. A world where the church is "blowing chunks" (reference to the act of barfing) right now, and someone has to wear the dumb rat costume. My take? Go to where the people are. Next door. Meet them on the streets. Hang with them in their workplaces; Debbie's (his wife's public) school. Take them on long car rides to UCLA for kidney checkups, read to first and second graders and special ed. kids, so that the teachers get a 30 minute break in the midst of their hellish days. Work out with the people at the gym (24 Hour Fitness and Snap Fitness is an unreached mission field). Drink Starbucks with them. Be with them. Listen to them at Target, hear their struggles with the churches they attend. Go to barbecues, coach Little League with them. Christmas carol with them. Pray with them. Live like I'm forgiven and allow the Holy Spirit himself to do the intervening upon everyone I meet and greet, the souls in need of just a little bit of hope in the midst of a world that just isn't the greatest right now. Kingdom work even means wearing dumb rat costumes."

I wish I could hang more with my friend KC.

Dandelion - Antje Duvekot

My wife is away in Texas visiting friends. I am home with my two teenager daughters. We are having a fun time, just us three, as the family dynamic changes when Mom is away. We all miss Mom, but are enjoying a change of pace. The quality of the food has definately declined.

One of the best things about teenage girls is the new world they expose you to. Today, I learned about Antje Duvekot, a folk singer who moved to the US from Germany at 14. She is remarkable.

I am thankful beyond words for these girls that God has loaned us for a just a little bit longer, and for new little blessings and discoveries.

Come to think of it, these girls that live with us now, they are like dandelions, they will soon blow away. May I be able to watch it happen with bittersweet joy and sorrow, mixed together.

For the lyrics to this song, go here.

The Music of Freedom

I have been following with great interest the recent visit of the New York Philharmonic to North Korea. I have read a lot about this performance, both pro and con. I think my fascination in this stems from my own visits to Eastern Europe, prior to the fall of Communism, more than 20 years ago.


I remember those visits so starkly; the contrast of oppression and freedom, darkness and light. The bland expanses of centrally planned Eastern Block architecture, the attempts to immortalize communist leaders, and the looks of resignation on the faces of the people we saw, these are the memories I will never forget.

Today, North Korea, with its highly centralized system and tight controls on the daily lives of its people, remains firmly in the grip of its leader, Kim Jong-il. He and his father, Kim Il-sung, are the subjects of a personality cult that requires portraits in every home and their images on lapel pins on the jackets of every official. Huge statues of the older Kim dominate cities (shown above, click to enlarge). The state operates what human rights experts say is a vast gulag of labor camps, many filled with the ideologically suspect and their families.

Into this comes the New York Philharmonic, playing the music of Freedom. Dvorak's New World Symphony, and George Gershwin's "American in Paris." Dvorak's New World symphony has always been quite moving to me; I think it speaks of freedom. It was written by the composer while here in the US between 1892 and 1895. For more details see this.

Lorin Maazel, the Music Director of the New York Philharmonic wrote recently:

"It is a role of the highest possible order: bringing peoples and their cultures together on common ground, where the roots of peaceful interchange can imperceptibly but irrevocably take hold. If all goes well, the presence of the New York Philharmonic in Pyongyang might gently influence the perception of our country there. If we are gradually to improve U.S.-Korean relations, such events have the potential to nudge open a door that has been closed too long."

I have posted a clip of the actual PyongYang concert below - it is haunting to watch the elite of a totalitarian state listen to music composed in the Land of the Free.

The music of freedom. Millions still long to hear it in their hearts. My prayer is that someday, like the millions of Eastern Europe, freedom might ring throughout the Korean peninsula. Until then, listen for the music of freedom.