Garland

It seemed a shame to me that every year, we decorate the inside of our church so beautifully -- especially the sanctuary -- but do nothing on the outside of the building. Were we reserving the joy of Christmas for ourselves only, keeping it locked away as if it were our little secret?

I suggested to someone that we should add some decoration, some garland perhaps, to the front exterior. A day or two later, a box of garland appeared in my office. A few days after that, some lovely bows were brought in to adorn the garland. I purchased some hooks, and spent some time figuring out how far apart they should be in order to fit perfectly. (6 feet 10 inches, in case you are wondering.)

Then I spent 3 hours going up and down a ladder, measuring the distances, putting the hooks in, and hanging the garland. I'm very happy with the result, and am glad that we are able to now share some of the Christmas joy with our community through these decorations that all can see.

Scarcity Vs. Abundance

Last week, I wrote about the Wednesday Night Dinners I started at my church. My reflections were influenced by a book I was reading:  The Abundant Community, by Peter Block and John McKnight.  Well, I've finished the book now, and it has led me to do some more reflecting on the dinner gatherings that I've come to find so meaningful.

At these dinners, the group that attends basically creates its own entertainment.  We're not paying someone else to provide us with their idea of a "good time," which is what happens when we go to a movie, a theme park, watch a DVD, or even eat at a restaurant (especially a chain restaurant where the meal you order in Long Beach is exactly the same as the meal that is being served to hundreds or thousands of other diners in restaurants all over the continent).

It's nice to pay someone else to entertain us once in awhile.  However, paying someone else to entertain us is an idea based on scarcity.  We can only experience as much entertainment as we can afford.  Also, when we pay someone else to entertain us, we are living out the belief that our own gifts aren't good enough to share.  Our own gifts aren't good enough, so we have to pay someone else who is "gifted" to entertain us.

Creating our own entertainment, on the other hand, is an idea based on abundance.  Every person has gifts, and is empowered to share them.  The amount of entertainment we can experience is limitless, as long as we are willing to share our gifts.

Christmas is approaching.  For some reason, we believe that the best gifts are ones that can be purchased from someone else, gifts created by someone we don't even know.  Thus, our generosity and gift-giving is limited by the money in our bank accounts.  Christmas shopping is an exercise in scarcity.  We can only give so much before we run out of money.

Why is it that we think that paying for a gift that was made, created, or cooked by someone else is preferable to - and more meaningful than - a gift that is made, created, or cooked specifically for us by someone we love?

You're Invited to Dinner

Six months ago, I announced that from now on, I would be cooking and eating dinner at church every Wednesday evening - and that anyone who wanted to join me was welcome.

A few people accepted my invitation.  Throughout the summer, there would be seven to ten people joining me for dinner on Wednesdays.  I put out a basket and invited those who had come more than once to put a few dollars in to help pay for the food.  The money received almost covered what I spent.

The meals were simple:  quesadillas, hamburgers, spaghetti.  Later on I would get creative, trying new recipes, like the time I made Turkey & Vegetable Chili Verde from scratch.  Delicious, fun to make, but still simple.  The only beverage I provided was ice water, although our church does have a vending machine with reasonably priced beverages.  We ate on paper plates with paper napkins.

At the end of summer, the number of dinner guests began to grow.  Soon we were 15, then 20.  One week we had 25.  Some of those who came said they wanted an opportunity to cook, so I got to enjoy some Wednesday dinners without having to plan, shop, and prepare the food, which was nice.  And the money in the basket soon began to surpass the amount that was spent.

As we begin our seventh month of Wednesday night dinners, I'm surprised to discover that each week is more enjoyable and satisfying to me than the previous week.  I'm surprised, because I've been trained to expect just the opposite from life.  Normally, satisfaction decreases over time.  The new clothes I bought six months ago don't bring me nearly the same level of satisfaction today that they brought me when they were new.  The DVD I bought over the summer now sits on a shelf collecting dust.  I can say the same for just about everything I've ever bought.  They quickly become old, tired, boring, or obsolete, and never bring me the long-lasting satisfaction that I crave.

But Wednesday night dinners remain fresh, exciting, and deeply satisfying.  I figure this is true for several reasons:

1. It's REAL.  So often we seek to amuse ourselves with things that are VIRTUAL:  TV, internet, tabloid magazines.  But the people we encounter there aren't real.  They're not there with us.  We can't interact with TV and movie personalities, and we can only interact in a limited way with people via the internet.  This leaves us dissatisfied.
2. It's ORGANIC.  By that I mean it's something we create ourselves.  We're not dependent on someone else (TV producers, fashion designers, or corporate advertisers, for example) to mass-produce entertainment for us.  This is something we've created.  It's unique, and it's ours.
3. It's DYNAMIC.  The shirt I bought six months ago, it's still the same.  The DVD I bought: the story never changes.  But an experience that is real and organic will always be changing, different every time.  It's dynamic, not static.  New people show up, and the old people have new stories to tell.  The menu changes from week to week, and so does the location where we eat: outside on the patio when it's warm, inside when it's not.  In conversation around the dinner table, we listen and respond to what's going on in our lives and in our families:  births, deaths, lost jobs, new jobs, new relationships, and the joys and challenges of raising children or caring for parents.

This is community at its best.  This is LIFE at its best.  It's much more satisfying than anything I could buy.  And it just keeps getting better.

So:  Who wants to join me for dinner? 

(For those seriously interested in coming, yes, the invitation is real.  Weekly updates are posted at www.facebook.com/bixbyknollschurch.  If I'm organized enough, I'll even post the menu there.  Everyone is welcome.)

You're Not Alone

Note:  I posted this last Thursday, but for some reason it disappeared from the blog, so I'm reposting it again today.

Last week, a strange thing happened here at FieldOfDandelions.com. 

First, I published a post on Monday.  Usually, new posts only appear here on Tuesdays and Thursdays.  However, the fact that I published on a Monday is not the strangest thing to have occured.

Second, I mentioned my post on facebook and twitter, letting people know that I had posted my reaction to the killing of Osama bin Laden.  This, also, is not particulary strange.  It wasn't the first time I had promoted my blog this way.

Third, more people viewed that particular post than anything else that has ever appeared here.  As blogs go, this one is a tiny drop in a vast sea of blogs, but still, it was exciting (and a little scary) to discover that so many people were motivated to read what I had written.

However, even that was not the strangest thing to occur here last week.

The strangest thing was the comments I received in response to that post.  I received some comments here on the blog, and quite a few more on the link to the blog that I posted via facebook.  Comments also came via telephone from relatives who read the blog, and they came through face-to-face conversations with people in my church and community who saw what I had written.  Every person who shared their thoughts with me said that they were grateful for what I'd written.  They were grateful, because they had those same thoughts themselves, but thought that they were the only ones.

Imagine that:  a whole crowd of people, all thinking alike, but each member of the crowd believing that he or she was the only one.

Last Friday I visited my neighborhood public library and checked out a book by Tina Rosenberg called Join the Club: How Peer Pressure Can Transform the World.  I'm currently about halfway through, but so far I've read about how much better black and Latino students do at Calculus when they study in a group and realize that they're not the only ones who want to excel in math.  I've read about how a sign at Petrified Forest National Park asking visitors to not take fossils only encouraged people to do so, because it showed an image of a group of people taking fossils - apparently no one wanted to be the "only one" who didn't go home with a souvenir - and when the sign was changed to only show one person taking a fossil, the thefts declined dramatically.  I've read about how social pressure causes teenagers to smoke and how it increases the spread of AIDS, and how social pressure can (and has been) used to reduce teen smoking and the spread of AIDS.

Apparently, it's human nature to want to be part of the group and to do what the group is doing or at least what the group approves of.  When we think we're the only one, we either hide, or change our behavior so that we more easily fit in.

So, to all those who believe that the words "killed" and "celebrate" do not belong together, I tell you:  you're not alone.  To those who believe that God's love extends even to our worst enemies, I say:  you're not alone.  To those who long for a more peaceful, compassionate Christianity, I say:  you're not alone.  To those who believe there is a greater deptgh to our faith than the soundbites that appear in the media, I say:  you're not alone.

Churches like mine are small, perhaps because we think that we are alone in wanting a deeper, more peaceful and compassionate spirituality than what we see in the world.... and because we feel that we are alone, we keep quiet.  However, there are many others who long for that same genuine faith.

Perhaps our message to the world should be:  "You're not alone."

Just Like Camping

When our next-door neighbors moved away and left behind their fire bowl, we decided to put it to good use.  This past weekend alone, with warm spring weather, we enjoyed two evening weenie roasts, one with some neighborhood kids, and another with some high school youth from church. 

On Friday night, when this picture was taken, the sky was clear, and a rising almost-full moon was startling in its beauty.  On Sunday night, the celestial lights were hidden behind the fog that had come in from the Pacific Ocean. 

Several of the kids said with smiles on their faces:  "this is just like camping!"  They laughed and talked with one another.  It didn't even seem to bother them that they had to put down their portable electronic games in order to roast their hot dogs.

Quality of Life

Over the years, when faced with a decision about how I want to live or how I want to raise my family, I have learned to ask myself a question.  The question I ask myself gives me clarity and helps me choose which option is the best. 

The question is:  "Will this choice add to my/our quality of life?"

This was a question I asked when my family first moved to the Long Beach area three years ago.  When we began looking for a place to live, it was important to me that it be within walking distance of where I worked.

In southern California, the conventional wisdom is that you work where the work is, and you live where you can get the best deal on a home.  (The "best deal" is defined as the most property, square-footage, and amenities that your money can buy.)  If you have to commute an hour a day between work and home, so be it.  That's the price one pays.

Well, it's not a price I was willing to pay.  It didn't seem worth it to me to have the nicest home and the best job possible if that meant spending an hour a day (245 hours per year) in traffic.  A commute like that costs $1,500 in gas per year at four dollars per gallon, which is the current cost for gas here and, coincidentally, the cost when I moved here three years ago.  That cost does not include the cost of insurance and maintenance, both of which would be substantially higher given the extra driving miles, not to mention the aggravation of dealing with traffic every day.  It also does not include the cost that we all pay by having more auto exhaust and pollution in our skies and in our lungs

For me, quality of life is also improved when I work and live in the same community.  It makes it easier to get to know one's neighbors.  Also, with two kids in school, it's so nice to be just a few blocks away from them during the day.  I can't imagine how much more complicated it would be to, say, pick up a sick kid from school or arrange for a parent/teacher conference if I wasn't so close.

We are a one-car family.  There are days when having a second car would be helpful, especially now that my wife is enrolled in a master's degree program at a school that is not walking distance, taking evening classes.  However, the cost of the car, not to mention the extra insurance, registratin, maintenance, and four dollar gas, isn't worth it to me.  It is also not worth it to me that our country sends servicemen and servicewomen into harm's way just so I can have a steady supply of cheap gasoline.  The obscene amount of resources our nation spends on the military comes at the expense of other programs and services.  Our military is increasingly being used to protect our economy but not necessarily our security.  This also does not add to my quality of life.

With only one car, we find ourselves walking and riding our bikes more.  Although my kids complain when I pick them up from school without a car, our walks home provide the best conversation of our day.  Often they are our only real conversations of the day.  How much quality of life would I be sacrificing if I drove them home, only to see them disappear into their video games (after finishing their homework, of course)?

Speaking of video games:  I guess no one is perfect.  A little over a year ago, against my better judgment, we got a Wii.  With proper limits, video games are fine, but have you ever tried setting limits for a thirteen year-old?  An endless refrain of "That's not fair!" reverberates off the walls and out into the streets.  And yet, when this same thirteen year-old plays outside, sits on the floor with his Legos, or reads a good book, he is just as happy - and often happier - then he is playing video games that are almost always designed in such a way that winning is nearly impossible.  This only adds to a teenager's sense of frustration and low self-esteem.

What big decisions are you facing right now?  A major purchase, a decision about where to live/work, or a choice about how to use your time?  Are you able to toss conventional wisdom aside, and see which choice will bring lasting happiness?  Can you determine which choice will add to - rather than subtract from - your quality of life?

Lenten Mindfulness

With Ash Wednesday yesterday and the beginning of Lent, it seemed to me I should write about mindfulness.  Mindfulness has been on my mind lately, and the topic has found its way into this week's church newsletter article as well as next Sunday's sermon.  Before writing, however, I looked back to see when I had last written about mindfulness on this blog, and it turns out that it was during Advent.

Advent and Lent: the two seasons of the church calendar that focus on preparing/waiting/(re)turning.  The two "purple" seasons.  Clearly this is no coincidence.

As my parishioners will hear me say on Sunday, I think that the reason Jesus went out into the wilderness for 40 days is that he needed to practice mindfulness, and what better place to do that than in the wilderness, alone? 

A lot of people give something up for Lent.  Here in Long Beach, one resident is recruiting others in the city to join him in giving up different types of food and to engage in healthier practices.  It's kind of like New Year's Resolutions, but in March.

Making resolutions, engaging in practices of self-improvement, are good.  However, I don't think that's the point of Jesus' time in the wilderness, and I don't think it's the point of why people have traditionally fasted during Lent. 

Some people believe they should fast (give something up) during Lent as a reminder of what Jesus gave up; namely, his life.  Our "suffering" by abstaining from certain foods or practices is to remind us of the suffering of Jesus.

Again, I commend such practices.  However, I also don't think that is the primary reason we fast during Lent.

The primary reason to fast during Lent, I think, is to allow us to be mindful.  I discovered, back when I was a vegetarian, how much more mindful I was of what I was eating as a result.  Being a vegetarian made me think about what I was eating, and made me more thankful for the food I had.  This is in contrast to shoveling down food without even thinking about it, without even tasting it, as is common in this busy world.

Jesus went into the wilderness.  He got away from the distractions of the world, even the distraction of food.  This, I'm sure, made him very mindful.

Have you decided to give something up for Lent?  I pray that it may make you more mindful, more aware, of your place in the world and of your connection to God.

If you want to hear more, come to worship this Sunday, or read my sermon online - it will be posted Sunday afternoon.  You can find it by following the link at the top of the right-hand column.

Work Crew

I am both the parent of a boy scout and the pastor of the church that is this particular troop's sponsoring organization.  The troop is becoming quite well known in the community for its service projects, which have brought quite a bit of landscaping to the streets of our neighborhood.  Last weekend, another one of the scouts organized a project to fulfill one of the requirements for Eagle Scout.

Beach Cleanup

Litter from all over L.A. County washes down gutters, into storm drains, down the L.A. River, and ends up on the beaches of Long Beach.  On Saturday, Tristan and I donned plastic gloves and joined over 100 other people to pick up trash (and admire the ladybugs) near the Belmont Pier. 

Angry Yelling in the Parking Lot

I was at Target yesterday, and as I walked out of the store (with my loaf of bread, peanut butter, goldfish crackers and a poster board for Ethan's school project), I heard some intense yelling.  A woman in a car with the window rolled down was yelling at the driver of another car:  "You're going the wrong way!" except that her language and volume I dare not replicate here.  I mean, it was a brutal verbal lashing.

The yelling echoed in my mind as I walked home.

Just a few hours earlier, I had finished reading (for the second time) Father Greg Boyle's book.  In the last chapter, he refers to the line in the song "O Holy Night" that goes, "Long lay the world in sin and error pining, 'til he appeared and the soul felt its worth."  It seemed to me that the soul of the driver who was yelled at was probably not feeling its worth at that moment.  In fact, my own soul was struggling to feel its worth at that moment, and I wasn't even the one to whom all that vitriol was directed.

Yes, the driver was going the wrong way in the parking lot.  I don't know why.  Maybe he could not or did not see the faded painted arrows on the asphalt.  Maybe the way he should have gone was blocked by a car backing out of a parking spot.  Or, maybe he was just in a hurry.  I don't know.  But I do know that being yelled at like that kills the soul a little bit every time it happens.

The woman who did the yelling: she was in the right, technically.  She was going the right way.  No doubt this made her feel self-righteous. And so she felt justified in berating this man, pointing out to this man the error of his ways.

As I continued walking home from Target, I wondered what caused that woman to get so angry.  Her anger seemed so disproportionate to the situation.  I wondered if she just carried around her anger, anger from any number of past grievances, anger that she couldn't let go of, anger that had become internalized and which could be set off by any little thing.  Oh, what a burden to bear! 

Perhaps she herself had been the recipient of much anger, the recipient of insults, name-calling and bullying.  Perhaps a lack of love and compassion toward her had made it very hard for her to show love and compassion to others, and very hard for her to forgive others for their shortcomings.

I wondered (as I wandered, so to speak) about her relationships in life.  Did she always have to insist that she was right?  I've heard that those who insist on taking the right stand are not as close to God as those who stand in the right place, and I think there's some truth to that.  Certainly, it must be hard for people who always insist on being right to seek reconciliation and offer forgiveness.

Is it strange that my mind dwells on such things?  People's emotions can be fragile, and it's possible that one little encounter in a parking lot consisting of nothing more than an exchange of words could ruin someone's entire day.  On the other hand, I find small gestures of kindness or joy to dramatically lift me up by making my soul feel its worth, like the guy at the gas station who practically sang with joy a few weeks ago as he gave me my change, or the subway conductor who always added to his announcements: "Have a wonderful, beautiful, joyous day! Joy does come in the morning..."

Whether it's strange or not, what I witnessed in the parking lot is with me still.  It's found its way here, to my blog, and I'm pretty sure it will find its way into a sermon in another week or two.  (If you are in worship that day, just pretend it's the first time you heard the story, OK?)

Have you ever had an incident like this affect you?

Be Nice

I watched the evening news the other night.  This is not something I normally do, but it's election season, and I wanted to see what everyone has been talking about.  that included the ads, which I had been mostly spared from.

Well.  The news had the usual election coverage.  One story in particular focused on negative ads, and highlighted California's governor and senate races.  The story played clips of some of the ads, but since I happen to live in California, I got to see the same ads in their entirety when the news broke for commercials.

My, what a bunch of name-calling!  Defaming your opponents character seems to be the primary qualification to run for office these days.

The news program returned, and described a scufle among supporters that took place outside a building where two candidates were debating.  One supporter -- a member of one of the candidate's campaign team, I believe -- actually stomped on the head of one of the other candidate's supporters.

Another commercial break.  More name-calling, put-downs, and downright nastiness.

Back to the news program, for the final story of the broadcast.  It described the findings of a new study which showed that a surprisingly high number of our nation's youth have bullied others or have been the victims of bullying.

Gee, I wonder where they learned how to behave like that....

---

Be nice.  It sounds so trite, so hackneyes, to say that.  English teachers tell their students to avoid using the word "nice."  They say that it's so overused and non-specific that it doesn't mean anything.

OK.  Here are some alternative ways to say it:  Be curteous.  Be friendly.  Be civil.  Be respectful.

Those of us in the church might even say:  Be loving.  Be a good neighbor.

Why?  Because our bullying and rudeness are killing people.  Teen suicides in the news have been described as the result of bullying.  (Many of these suicides were committed by youth who were gay or perceived to be gay.)  And weren't many of those who have carried out school shootings, like the one at Columbine High School, picked on and made to feel as outcasts?

I say it again:  be nice.

A Day in the Community

One thing I am learning about ministry in Bixby Knolls:  it's good to be involved in the community.  Unfortunately, making connections with the community isn't something I learned in seminary.  I'm not even sure it's something that can be learned in seminary, which means it's "learn as you go."

My day yesterday began early at It's a Grind, a coffee shop "born and raised in Long Beach" (as it says on the door).  I placed my reusable mug on the counter and ordered a green tea.  They like it when I bring my own mug, although they're not always sure what size it should be rung up as.  Today I lucked out:  I was charged for a small.

I settled into a chair and began reading a book by Diana Butler Bass, which I bought after hearing her speak last week in San Diego.  I also re-read parts of a book on Tithing by Douglas LeBlanc that I thought might be useful for an upcoming sermon.  Thanks to my Kindle, I can carry many books at once with ease.

At one point, I heard a voice say "Good morning."  I looked up, saw Blair Cohn (who runs the Bixby Knolls Business Improvement Association), and returned the greeting.  My church's boy scout troop has worked with Blair and the BKBIA on several occasions when scouts have organized Eagle service projects that involved landscaping public space in the community.

At 9:15 I left It's a Grind, hopped on my bike and rode down to Staples to purchase some church supplies.  then I headed back to Bixby Towers to visit a church member.  Following that, I rode around the corner to the boy scout council office, to talk with one of the district executives, Marc Bonner, about placing an ad in the program book for the South Coast Interfaith Council benefit concert and unity dinner.  The council wants more boys to become scouts, and also wants to promote itself as an interfaith organization, while SCIC promotes peace and understanding among different faiths; as an SCIC board member as well as a registered scouter, connecting the two organizations seemed natural.

Leaving the council office, I rode one block to Bella Cosa, one of my favorite stores in town, to see if they would like to donate an item to the silent auction that will take place at the SCIC Unity Dinner.  Unfortunately they had to decline, but I did get to meet and have a nice conversation with Christy, the owner, which I enjoyed.

Walking out of Bella Cosa, my stomach told me it was time for lunch, so I stopped at Georgie's Place for a gyro before heading to church.

On Friday, I'll be back on Atlantic Avenue, this time at Averyboo Arts.  Natalie, the owner, has again invited Troop 29 to sell popcorn outside during First Fridays.  This time, in addition to selling popcorn, I'm going to show some slides highlighting the various service projects Troop 29 has done in Bixby Knolls.

Being the introvert that I am, I don't know how I ever managed to begin making these types of connections; and I say "begin" because I expect that these connections will grow stronger and more numerous in the future.  I'm not a social person, and am surprised at how much I am enjoying making these connections.

I don't know how I've made these connections, but I do know why.  As a pastor of a church taht identifies itself as "a movement for wholeness in a fragmented world," I recognize that the world begins in one's own community, and strong connections and relationships help bring wholeness to that community.  As an introverted person in an introverted church, it would be very easy to remain isolated from those around me.  But without connections and relationships, none of us are whole.

Cooking Over the Fire

Last weekend, we had an outdoor cookout at our house, celebrating the end of summer as well as Ethan's birthday (which was actually a month earlier, but we were too busy then).  Several friends were invited, including the two (red & blue shirts) in the picture above.  The boy in the red shirt, who lives down the street, had never cooked outside before.  His excitement over cooking hot dogs was nothing compared to how happy he was when we brought out the marshmallows a little later.

#$*! Religion

It was a beautiful day at the weekly farmers' market.  I sat at a table under the shade of a colorful beach umbrella, handing out flyers and inviting passersby to the summer events taking place at church:  movie nights, concerts, and vacation Bible school.

I was enjoying this, which, being severely introverted, was surprising to me.  Yet even an introvert like me likes to make connections with the community once in awhile.  It was with genuine cheer that I smiled and greeted folks with a friendly "good afternoon." 

I was hitting my stride.  I was in the zone.  Until a person walked by with a t-shirt that read "Fuck Religion."  The shirt was obviously meant to shock and offend, and for a moment, it worked.  For a moment, I was silent, unsure of whether I should greet him or not.  Then the moment passed; he disappeared from view, and I carried on.

I kept silent because, as an introvert, it often takes a moment or two to formulate a thought, then transfer that thought into speech.  (Or, as I like to put it, introverts -- unlike extroverts -- think before they speak!)  That's why almost everything I say when leading worship is written down in advance.  Years of experience have taught me how to "think on my feet" or ad lib when necessary.  But it takes an effort.

And so it wasn't until after the man with the t-shirt was gone that I realized that I wasn't nearly as offended by what the shirt said as one might think.  After all, in my sermons lately I've been saying that the way of Jesus is actually bigger than any religion, and that much of the New Testament was, in fact, an effort to expand the Jesus movement beyond the religion within which it had its origins.  The writings of the apostle Paul, in particular, have as a major theme the idea that one did not have to be a Jew in order to be a follower of Jesus.  The way of Jesus is bigger than that.

Nevertheless, the way of Jesus did develop into its own religion -- Christianity -- which developed a set doctrine.  Then the religion of Christianity tried to live out that doctrine in ways that weren't always Christ-like.  Over the centuries, Christianity became known as the religion of the Crusades, the Inquisition, witch hunts, persecution of non-believers, excommunication and imprisonment of scientific seekers of truth.  More recently, Christianity has aligned itself with those who believe in preemptive war, economic policies that favor the rich, pro-life advocacy that does not concern itself with those who are already born, and judgment and persecution of homosexuals and others.

The more I thought about it, the more I was tempted to see if I could acquire one of those t-shirts for myself.

I once heard or read about some Christians who set up a confession booth at a public place.  I don't remember exactly where they placed their booth.  Maybe it was a farmers' market.  They invited people into their booth, but instead of asking those people to confess their sins, they confessed to the passersby the sins of Christianity over the years.  And then they asked for forgiveness.

Perhaps that's something I should do the next time I set up my table at the farmers' market.  Most likely, though, I won't.  I'm not usually one to engage in such theatrics.

But I do hope I see the guy with the t-shirt again.  I'd like to ask him about the religion that he obviously hates so much.  I'd like to listen to him describe it.  I have a feeling that I would end up telling him that I also want no part of that religion.

As I continue pondering this issue, I think I might turn these thoughts into an upcoming sermon.  Anyone want to suggest a sermon title?  Besides the obvious, that is?

Home

Yesterday morning I was sitting in a coffee shop, which is where I work from every Wednesday morning for ninety minutes or even two hours before heading to church.  I'm not a coffee drinker, but they have green tea, which I do drink.  I am, however, a coffee smeller, and I have no idea what coffees I am smelling when I'm there, but I can think of few things that smell better than the inside of a coffee shop.

I always take with me a book or two, some pieces of paper, and a pencil.  I do not take my laptop - on this one morning of the week, I am free from the burden of email and other social networks, free to read and meditate and perhaps develop some ideas for future sermons without the interruption of electronic communication. 

So, yesterday, as I sat there reading Putting Away Childish Things by Marcus Borg, rereading parts of An Altar in the World by Barbara Brown Taylor, and then composing a prayer for next Sunday's worship, it suddenly occurred to me to check the day's date.  When I did, I realized that it was on the same day two years earlier that I began my ministry at Bixby Knolls Christian Church.

Experience has taught me that the first year at a new church in a new city is mostly about learning how to get around:  how to get to the store, the bank, the post office; how to get around a new sea of faces, learning people's names, getting to know them; how to travel through the seasons and holidays.  The first time through the calendar, everything is new.  It's a time of discovering what traditions and rituals give shape to a congregation's liturgical year.

In the second year, things are more familiar, and "familiar," in this case, is nice in a comforting sort of way.  I don't remember when it was exactly, but at some point during the past year, when my family was driving home after a road trip of several days, I found myself looking forward to "getting back home" to where the scenery, routines, and faces are all familiar.

Suddenly I was startled to realize that, for the first time, "getting back home" meant Long Beach and Bixby Knolls.  What was once new, exciting, unfamiliar and even anxiety-inducing in its newsness had become a place of comfort and familiarity, a place where I belonged.  And now, as I write these words, I wonder if I ever reached this stage in my last place of ministry, the last place I called "home" ... which makes me realize all the more just how good it is to be here.

Crosses

What the Media Didn't Report About Last Week's Protests

Last weekend, members of Fred Phelps' Westboro Baptist Church picketed at several locations in Long Beach, displaying their signs of hate and bigotry. As reported in the local media, they stationed themselves outside Wilson High School, Temple Israel, among other places. However, their message was all but drowned out by counter-protestors, who proclaimed messages of peace, equality, and (in some cases) frivolity.

All this the media reported. But still, as one editorial mentioned, this didn't keep the Phelps' clan from giving local Christian churches "a black eye."

Well, I wish the media, both locally and nationally, would give more attention to the great many churches that demonstrate God's love and acceptance. I saw no mention in any of our local media of the interfaith unity service that took place Saturday morning at Temple Israel, despite the fact that many leaders from various religious traditions were present, some as participants, speaking to a crowd of people so large that many had to watch from a separate room via a live video feed.

Together, we celebrated God's love for all people. We sang songs and prayed prayers, sometimes in languages we didn't understand. We demonstrated support to those who are subjected to the hate-filled bigotry of a few. We affirmed the beautiful diversity we have been blessed with here in Long Beach, diversity of religions, cultures, races, and sexual orientations.

Instead of a black eye, there was healing and wholeness present that day.

Nerf Gun War

The great nerf gun war continues to rage just outside my living room window. The combatants in this war include most of those who gathered just a few weeks ago in my dining room to decorate cookies. Plastic guns that shoot nerf darts are the weapon of choice in this war, although a bow that shoots marshmallows instead of arrows is also used. In the most intense battles, one might also see a plastic sword or two.

Most of the battles are generally friendly, but sometimes things don't go right. A gun gets taken. A sword is broken. Complaints ring in my ears, and when they do, I respond with one of several phrases that I have come up with for the occasion, phrases that inevitable fail to satisfy the sense of injustice felt by the troops: "Casualty of war." "Cheap sword." "Game over."

As today's battle rages, I'm inside, reading, thinking, and wondering. Specifically, I'm thinking and wondering about how people have such different views of Jesus. Some see him as a great warrior, all-powerful, conquering evil with his mighty strength. This Jesus would kick ass in a nerf gun war, no doubt about that! Others see Jesus as meek and mild, soft-spoken, gentle--a lamb who would run away in fear.

Last week, I challenged the members of our high school youth group to try to imagine Jesus in a new way, as neither conqueror nor lamb. I also shared with them a series of hypothetical situations, situations in which a typical response would be "fight" or "flight," and asked them how they'd respond. (Nearly every time, they chose "fight.")

"OK," I said. "Now try to imagine a third way to respond, one that involves neither fighting nor running away; a response that is more creative than either of these, more effective, and more Christ-like."

Following Jesus is about finding that third option, choosing that third way, the way that is neither fight nor flight. It's the way outlined in the Sermon on the Mount. Don't fight back, but don't run away, either. Instead, go the extra mile.

Is there someone with whom you are constantly butting heads? Perhaps a co-worker who is controlling and overbearing in the workplace, not to mention obnoxious? How do you respond? Do you let him or her walk all over you? Do you push back, confront, challenge? Do you (in other words) run away, or do you fight?

Or do you look for the third option, a better, more creative solution, one that will lead to greater peace for both of you?

Whether it's nerf gun wars in the neighborhood, conflict in the workplace, or tension among nations, most people see only two options, but it's the third option that will make us all winners. It's the third option that will bring peace.

Is It True?

Several people have expressed concern for me after reading last week's post. (Wow, people really do read this blog!) Let me clarify. "The Pastor's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day" is a highly fictionalized account of what I was feeling on one particular day. As the story's conclusion points out: "some days are like that." It doesn't matter if you're a pastor or Alexander (the protagonist in Judith Viorst's story, upon which my story is based). It doesn't matter if you're the happiest, richest person in the world. Some days are like that.

How much of my story is actually true? Well, it depends on what one means by true. I'm told that someone once asked Fred Craddock (a prominent Disciples preacher) how many of his stories are true. Supposedly, he replied that all of them are true, because they happen to countless people every day.

In that sense, what I wrote is true. It's true enough that other pastors who read it immediately identified with it. One even told me to submit it for publication to various magazines. The details of the story may not be true for them (many of the details aren't even true for me), and yet the story as a whole is true.

What else is true? It is true that ministry can be, at times, frustrating and depressing. So much of a minister's focus is on the world as it can be: an idealized world, the world as God intends it to be; the "kingdom of God," the beloved community; a world in which there is no more crying, a world where lions and lambs live in peace, a world in which valleys are exalted and hills brought low.

But we still live and do ministry in "the real world," the world as it is. Last week, for example, the news here in Long Beach focused on a high-school honors student who was shot and killed following a homecoming football game. She was an innocent bystander, caught in the crossfire of a gang dispute. Surely the church of Christ is called to respond to such violence in our midst--but how? And why does it seem that it's so hard for us to "make a difference" in the world? After all, we've been trying for 2,000 years.

There are many other reminders of the fact that, even though the kingdom of God is "among us," it is also not yet fully realized. If it were, would we be facing budget crises that are making things so hard for so many, and especially hard for those who had it hard to begin with? Would our members be struggling to find employment? Would our volunteers need to be fingerprinted before working with youth? Would ministry everywhere continue to be weakened by personality conflicts and misplace priorities?

(I say this, fully aware that many of the misplaced priorities are my own.)

However, there are some other things I know to be true.

It is true that the ministry of the church really does make a big difference in the lives of its members, and in the world. It is also true that sometimes the pastor, sitting at his desk on a Monday morning, might--for a moment or two--lose sight of this, and fail to see the wider picture.

It is true, for me at least, that it is the greatest joy in the world to know that, despite my imperfections, I am called by God and by a congregation of God's people to preach the gospel and invite the gathered community to the Lord's Table.

It is true that everyone has a "terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day" now and then. Even in Australia. It is also true that "terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days" usually don't last, at least not for most of us. When people do experience seemingly endless days like that, to them God provides strength, and to the rest of us, God provides opportunities for ministry.

Finally, it is true that I am blessed to be where I am; blessed by my family and my church. There's no other place I'd rather be. Not even Australia.

Is This Spooky, or What?

The pictures in the previous post and this post are from the Historical Society of Long Beach's Cemetery Tour on October 31. Ethan was asked to be a "ghost child," wandering around the graveyard, especially near the graves of children who died a century ago. However, this tombstone near the cemetery's entrance seemed a more fitting spot to take his picture.

Ethan enjoyed the day. Visitors had the opportunity to witness a dozen or so historical vignettes, performed by actors which, I'm told, even included the mayor of Long Beach. Over 1,500 people attended.